Snowflakes and Sunbeams; Or, The Young Fur-traders: A Tale of the Far North. Robert Michael BallantyneЧитать онлайн книгу.
I wish to speak to him."
Harry sprang from his stool with a suddenness and vigour that might have justified the belief that he had been fixed to it by means of a powerful spring, which had been set free with a sharp recoil, and shot him out at the door, for he disappeared in a trice. In a few minutes he returned, followed by the groom Tom Whyte.
"Tom," said the senior clerk, "do you think we could manage to mount
Charley to-morrow?"
"Why, sir, I don't think as how we could. There ain't an 'oss in the stable except them wot's required and them wot's badly."
"Couldn't he have the brown pony?" suggested the senior clerk.
Tom Whyte was a cockney and an old soldier, and stood so bolt upright that it seemed quite a marvel how the words ever managed to climb up the steep ascent of his throat, and turn the corner so as to get out at his mouth. Perhaps this was the cause of his speaking on all occasions with great deliberation and slowness.
"Why, you see, sir," he replied, "the brown pony's got cut under the fetlock of the right hind leg; and I 'ad 'im down to L'Esperance the smith's, sir, to look at 'im, sir; and he says to me, says he 'That don't look well, that 'oss don't,'—and he's a knowing feller, sir, is L'Esperance though he is an 'alf-breed—"
"Never mind what he said, Tom," interrupted the senior clerk; "is the pony fit for use? that's the question."
"No, sir, 'e hain't."
"And the black mare, can he not have that?"
"No, sir; Mr. Grant is to ride 'er to-morrow."
"That's unfortunate," said the senior clerk.—"I fear, Charley, that you'll need to ride behind Harry on his gray pony. It wouldn't improve his speed, to be sure, having two on his back; but then he's so like a pig in his movements at any rate, I don't think it would spoil his pace much."
"Could he not try the new horse?" he continued, turning to the groom.
"The noo 'oss, sir! he might as well try to ride a mad buffalo bull, sir. He's quite a young colt, sir, only 'alf broke—kicks like a windmill, sir, and's got an 'ead like a steam-engine; 'e couldn't 'old 'im in no'ow, sir. I 'ad 'im down to the smith 'tother day, sir, an' says 'e to me, says 'e, 'That's a screamer, that is.' 'Yes,' says I, 'that his a fact.' 'Well,' says 'e—"
"Hang the smith!" cried the senior clerk, losing all patience; "can't you answer me without so much talk? Is the horse too wild to ride?"
"Yes, sir, 'e is" said the groom, with a look of slightly offended dignity, and drawing himself up—if we may use such an expression to one who was always drawn up to such an extent that he seemed to be just balanced on his heels, and required only a gentle push to lay him flat on his back.
"Oh, I have it!" cried Peter Mactavish, who had been standing during the conversation with his back to the fire, and a short pipe in his mouth: "John Fowler, the miller, has just purchased a new pony. I'm told it's an old buffalo-runner, and I'm certain he would lend it to Charley at once."
"The very thing," said the senior clerk.—"Run, Tom; give the miller my compliments, and beg the loan of his horse for Charley Kennedy.—I think he knows you, Charley?"
The dinner-bell rang as the groom departed, and the clerks prepared for their mid-day meal.
The Senior clerk's order to "run" was a mere form of speech, intended to indicate that haste was desirable. No man imagined for a moment that Tom Whyte could, by any possibility, run. He hadn't run since he was dismissed from the army, twenty years before, for incurable drunkenness; and most of Tom's friend's entertained the belief that if he ever attempted to run he would crack all over, and go to pieces like a disentombed Egyptian mummy. Tom therefore walked off to the row of buildings inhabited by the men, where he sat down on a bench in front of his bed, and proceeded leisurely to fill his pipe.
The room in which he sat was a fair specimen of the dwellings devoted to the employés of the Hudson's Bay Company throughout the country. It was large, and low in the roof, built entirely of wood, which was unpainted; a matter, however, of no consequence, as, from long exposure to dust and tobacco smoke, the floor, walls, and ceiling had become one deep, uniform brown. The men's beds were constructed after the fashion of berths on board ship, being wooden boxes ranged in tiers round the room. Several tables and benches were strewn miscellaneously about the floor, in the centre of which stood a large double iron stove, with the word "Carron" stamped on it. This served at once for cooking and warming the place. Numerous guns, axes, and canoe-paddles hung round the walls or were piled in corners, and the rafters sustained a miscellaneous mass of materials, the more conspicuous among which were snow-shoes, dog-sledges, axe-handles, and nets.
Having filled and lighted his pipe, Tom Whyte thrust his hands into his deerskin mittens, and sauntered off to perform his errand.
CHAPTER IV
A wolf-hunt in the prairies—Charley astonishes his father, and breaks in the "noo 'oss" effectually.
During the long winter that reigns in the northern regions of America, the thermometer ranges, for many months together, from zero down to 20, 30, and 40 degrees below it. In different parts of the country the intensity of the frost varies a little, but not sufficiently to make any appreciable change in one's sensation of cold. At York Fort, on the shores of Hudson's Bay, where the winter is eight months long, the spirit-of-wine (mercury being useless in so cold a climate) sometimes falls so low as 50 degrees below zero; and away in the regions of Great Bear Lake it has been known to fall considerably lower than 60 degrees below zero of Fahrenheit. Cold of such intensity, of course, produces many curious and interesting effects, which, although scarcely noticed by the inhabitants, make a strong impression upon the minds of those who visit the country for the first time. A youth goes out to walk on one of the first sharp, frosty mornings. His locks are brown and his face ruddy. In half-an-hour he returns with his face blue, his nose frost-bitten, and his locks white—the latter effect being produced by his breath congealing on his hair and breast, until both are covered with hoar-frost. Perhaps he is of a sceptical nature, prejudiced it may be, in favour of old habits and customs; so that, although told by those who ought to know that it is absolutely necessary to wear moccasins in winter, he prefers the leather boots to which he has been accustomed at home, and goes out with them accordingly In a few minutes the feet begin to lose sensation. First the toes, as far as feeling goes, vanish; then the heels depart, and he feels the extraordinary and peculiar and altogether disagreeable sensation of one who has had his heels and toes amputated, and is walking about on his insteps. Soon, however, these also fade away, and the unhappy youth rushes frantically home on the stumps of his ankle-bones—at least so it appears to him, and so in reality it would turn out to be if he did not speedily rub the benumbed appendages into vitality again.
The whole country during this season is buried in snow, and the prairies of Red River present the appearance of a sea of the purest white for five or six months of the year. Impelled by hunger, troops of prairie wolves prowl round the settlement, safe from the assault of man in consequence of their light weight permitting them to scamper away on the surface of the snow, into which man or horse, from their greater weight, would sink, so as to render pursuit either fearfully laborious or altogether impossible. In spring, however, when the first thaws begin to take place, and commence that delightful process of disruption which introduces this charming season of the year, the relative position of wolf and man is reversed. The snow becomes suddenly soft, so that the short legs of the wolf, sinking deep into it, fail to reach the solid ground below, and he is obliged to drag heavily along; while the long legs of the horse enable him to plunge through and dash aside the snow at a rate which, although not very fleet, is sufficient nevertheless to overtake the chase and give his rider a chance of shooting it. The inhabitants of Red River are not much addicted to this sport, but the gentlemen of the Hudson's Bay Service sometimes practise it; and it was to a hunt of this description that our young friend Charley Kennedy was now so anxious to go.
The morning was propitious. The sun blazed in dazzling splendour in a sky of deep unclouded blue, while the white prairie glittered as if it were a sea of diamonds rolling out in an unbroken sheet from the walls of the fort to the horizon, and on looking at which one experienced all