The Rising of the Red Man | Page 3

these were always charitable.
But to-night he did not speak much; he was gazing thoughtfully into the
flames that sprang in gusty jets from the logs, dancing fantastically and
making strange noises. At length he lifted his head and looked at that
great good-natured French Canadian giant, Jacques St Arnaud, who sat
opposite him, and said--
"I tell you, Jacques, I don't like it. There's trouble brewing oh the
Saskatchewan, and if the half-breeds get the Indians to rise, there'll

be--" he glanced sideways at his daughter, and hesitated--"well,
considerable unpleasantness."
"That's so," said Jacques, also looking at the fair girl with the strangely
dark eyes. "It is all so queer. You warned the Government two, three
months ago, did you not, that there was likely to be trouble, but still
they did not heed? Is not that so?"
"I did, but I've heard no more about it. And now the Police are
beginning to get uneasy. They're a mighty fine body of men, but if the
half-breeds and Indians get on the war-path, they'll swamp the lot,
and--"
"Shoo!" interrupted the giant, again looking at the girl, but this time
with unmistakable alarm on his face. "Them Injuns ain't going to eat us.
You've been a good friend to them and to the metis. So!"
Jacques St. Arnaud had been in the rancher's service since before the
latter's child had been born down in Ontario, some eighteen years ago,
and followed him into the great North-West to help conquer the
wilderness and establish his new home. He had a big heart in a large
body, and his great ambition was to be considered a rather terrible and
knowing fellow, while, as a matter of fact, he was the most inoffensive
of mortals, and as simple in some ways as a child.
"Bah!" he continued after a pause, "the metis are ungrateful dogs, and
the Indians, they are mad also. I would like to take them one by one
and wring their necks--so!"
The rancher tried to conceal the concern he felt. His fifty odd years sat
lightly upon him, although his hair was grey. His daughter had only
been back from Ontario for two years, but in that time she had bulked
so largely in his life that he wondered now how he could ever have got
along without her. She reminded him of that helpmate and wife who
had gone hence a few years after her daughter was born, and whose
name was now a sacred memory. He had sent the girl down East to
those whom he knew would look after her properly, and there, amid
congenial surroundings, she grew and quickened into a new life. But

the spell of the vast, broad prairie lands was upon her, and the love for
her father was stronger still, so she went, back to both, and there her
mind broadened, and her spirit grew in harmony with the lessons that
an unconventional life was for ever working out for itself in those great,
unfettered spaces where Nature was in the rough and the world was still
young. She grew and blossomed into a beautiful womanhood, as
blossoms the vigorous wild-flower of the prairies. When she smiled
there was the light and the glamour of the morning star in her dark
hazel eyes, and when her soul communed with itself, it was as if one
gazed into the shadow of the stream. There was a gleam of gold in her
hair that was in keeping with the freshness of her nature, and the hue of
perfect health was upon her cheeks. Her eighteen years had brought
with them all the promise of the May. That she had inherited the
adventure-loving spirit of the old pioneers, as well as the keen
appreciation of the humorous side of things, was obvious from the
amount of entertainment she seemed to find in the company of Old
Rory. He was an old-timer of Irish descent, who had been everywhere
from the Red River in the east to the Fraser in the west, and from
Pah-ogh-kee Lake in the south to the Great Slave Lake in the north. He
had been _voyageur_, trapper, cowboy, farm-hand in the Great
North-West for years, and nothing came amiss to him. Now he was the
hired servant of her father, doing what was required of him, and that
well. He was spare and wrinkled as an old Indian, and there was hardly
an unscarred inch in his body, having been charged by buffaloes,
clawed by bears and otherwise resented by wild animals.
"Rory," said the girl after a pause, and the softness of her voice was
something to conjure with, "what do you think? Are the half-breeds and
Indians going to interfere with us if they do rise?"
"Thar be good