Wrecked but not Ruined | Page 4

quite scatheless, however," said Redding, rubbing
the top of his head tenderly, "for here is a bump that would perplex the
whole college of phrenologists."

"Skin broke, sir?" asked Bellew, advancing and examining the part.
"No, all right. A good supper will be the best cure for it. If I was a
phrenologist now, I'd name it the bump of top-heaviness. Sit down, sir;
sit down, Le Rue, an' look after my kettle while I see to your nag."
So saying, their host went out and left his unexpected, but evidently
welcome, guests to make themselves comfortable.
Although Jonas Bellew was a recluse, he was by no means an ascetic.
He was marked by deep gravity of countenance coupled with a kindly
humorous disposition. No one knew where he came from, or why he
had taken up his abode in such a lonely spot. Many of the rough
fellows who hang on the outskirts of the wilderness had tried as they
said, to "pump" him on these points, but Jonas was either a dry well or
a deep one, for pumping brought forth nothing. He gained a livelihood
by shooting, fishing, trapping wild animals for their skins, and,
sometimes, by doing what he called "odd jobs" in the settlements.
"Your home appears to me to grow wilder every time I see it," said
Redding, as Bellew re-entered the hut, and busied himself in spreading
on a rough deal table the materials of a plain but substantial meal.
"That seems to be the idea of most men who come here," replied the
trapper, "but it's not many that favour me with a visit."
"Ha! vraiment, dat must be true," interposed the Canadian, "for no body
vill com' here 'xcept them as do want hims legs broke."
"Well, I have seen a few damaged shins and broken heads since I came
to this location," said Jonas, "but such accidents occur chiefly among
the Canadian French, who seem on the whole to be a clumsy set."
"Not von half so clumsy as de Engleesh, or Irish, or Scosh," retorted Le
Rue.
"Perhaps you're right, an' mayhap you're wrong, lad, anyway here is
supper. The Frenchmen are always good at their victuals, so sit in an'
go to work. Take the keg, Mister Redding. I've not found time yet to

make chairs, but it's wonderful how well a man gets along without such
luxuries."
"Especially when a man sits down to a venison-steak like this," said the
fur-trader, taking the offered seat, while his man sat down on a block of
wood set on end, and prepared to prove the truth of the trapper's
assertion in regard to French capacity for food.
"'Taint venison," said Bellew, assisting his companions to the meat in
question, "it's bear."
"Indeed? and not bad food for a hungry man," returned Redding, as he
began supper. "Where got you him?"
"Down near Jenkins Creek, where the McLeods are setting up their
saw-mill."
"The McLeods!" exclaimed Redding, looking up suddenly, "have you
seen the McLeods?"
"Ay, I've bin helpin' them a bit wi' the mill. Goin' down again
to-morrow. If this weather holds, the ice must give way soon, and then
we'll be able to push ahead faster."
The trapper said this quietly, and without looking up from the
bear-steak with which he was busy, so that Redding's look of surprise
appeared to be lost on him. The fur-trader and his man exchanged
glances.
For a few minutes the process of mastication completely engrossed the
trio, but the thoughts of the fur-trader were busy, for he was
disappointed to find that one whom he respected so much as Jonas
Bellew should thus coolly state that he was aiding the interlopers.
Presently he laid down his knife and fork, and said:--
"Are you aware, Bellew, that these McLeods have settled themselves
on the Company's reserve lands?"

"No, sir, I wasn't aware of it."
"Well, then, I now tell you that they have," said Redding, who,
unfortunately for himself and others, possessed an easily-roused spirit
and was apt to become irascible when the rights--real or supposed--of
the Company which he represented appeared in danger of violation. "At
least," he continued, in a less positive tone, "I have reason to believe
that such is the case, and I am now on my way to--"
He paused abruptly, feeling the impropriety of revealing his plans to
one who, although a quiet and sensible man, and not given to talk too
much, was, nevertheless, by his own admission, an aider and abettor of
the enemy.
"Whereabouts is the boundary line?" asked Bellew, after a short
silence.
"At Jenkins Creek--that creek is the boundary," answered the fur-trader.
"On which side of the creek have they begun to build the mill?"
"They haven't begun yet, sir, but I believe they