The Young Fur Traders

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"If I only had my gun here!" thought he. But not having it, he merely
shook his fist at them, stooped down again, and resumed his work.
With Harry's assistance the slabs were placed in such a way as to
form a sort of box or house, having one end of it open. This was
further plastered with soft snow at the joinings, and banked up in
such a way that no animal could break into it easily--at least such
an attempt would be so difficult as to make an entrance into the
interior by the open side much more probable. When this was finished,
they took the logs that Harry had cut and carried with so much
difficulty from the wood, and began to lop off the smaller branches
and twigs. One large log was placed across the opening of the trap,
while the others were piled on one end of it so as to press it down
with their weight. Three small pieces of stick were now prepared--two
of them being about half a foot long, and the other about a foot. On
the long piece of stick the breast of a ptarmigan was fixed as a
bait, and two notches cut, the one at the end of it, the other about
four or five inches further down. All was now ready to set the trap.

"Raise the log now while I place the trigger," said Harry, kneeling
down in front of the door, while the accountant, as directed, lifted
up the log on which the others lay so as to allow his companion to
introduce the bait-stick, in such a manner as to support it, while
the slightest pull on the bait would set the stick with the notches
free, and thus permit the log to fall on the back of the fox, whose
effort to reach the bait would necessarily place him under it.

While Harry was thus engaged, the accountant stood up and looked
towards the foxes. They had approached so near in their curiosity,
that he was induced to throw his axe frantically at the foremost of
the pack. This set them galloping off, but they soon halted and sat
down as before.

"What aggravating brutes they are, to be sure!" said Harry, with a
laugh, as his companion returned with the hatchet.

"Humph! yes, but we'll be upsides with them yet. Come along into the
wood, and I wager that in ten minutes we shall have one."

They immediately hurried towards the wood, but had not walked fifty
paces when they were startled by a loud yell behind them.

"Dear me!" exclaimed the accountant, while he and Harry turned round
with a start. "It cannot surely be possible that they have gone in
already." A loud howl followed the remark, and the whole pack fled
over the plain like snow-drift, and disappeared.

"Ah, that's a pity! something must have scared them to make them take
wing like that. However, we'll get one to-morrow for certain; so come
along, lad, let us make for the camp."

"Not so fast," replied the other; "if you hadn't pored over the big
ledger till you were blind, you would see that there is _one_
prisoner already."

This proved to be the case. On returning to the spot they found an
arctic fox in his last gasp, lying flat on the snow, with the heavy
log across his back, which seemed to be broken. A slight tap on the
snout with the accountant's deadly axe-handle completed its
destruction.

"We're in luck to-night," cried Harry, as he kneeled again to reset
the trap. "But after all these white brutes are worth very little; I
fancy a hundred of their skins would not be worth the black one you
got first."

"Be quick, Harry; the moon is almost down, and poor Hamilton will
think that the polar bears have got hold of us."

"Ail right! Now then, step out," and glancing once more at the trap
to see that all was properly arranged, the two friends once more
turned their faces homewards, and travelled over the snow with rapid
strides.

The moon had just set, leaving the desolate scene in deep gloom, so
that they could scarcely find their way to the forest; and when they
did at last reach its shelter, the night became so intensely dark
that they had almost to grope their way, and would certainly have
lost it altogether were it not for the accountant's thorough
knowledge of the locality. To add to their discomfort, as they
stumbled on, snow began to fall, and ere long a pretty steady breeze
of wind drove it sharply in their faces. However, this mattered but
little, as they penetrated deeper in among the trees, which proved a
complete shelter both from wind and snow. An hour's march brought
them to the mouth of the brook, although half that time would have
been sufficient had it been daylight, and a few minutes later they
had the satisfaction of hearing Hamilton's voice hailing them as they
pushed aside the bushes and sprang into the cheerful light of their
encampment.

"Hurrah!" shouted Harry, as he leaped into the space before the fire,
and flung the two foxes at Hamilton's feet. "What do you think of
_that_, old fellow? How are the heels? Rather sore, eh? Now for the
kettle. Polly, put the kettle on; we'll all have--My eye! where's
the kettle, Hamilton? have you eaten it?"

"If you compose yourself a little, Harry, and look at the fire,
you'll see it boiling there."

"Man, what a chap you are for making unnecessary speeches! Couldn't
you tell me to look at the fire without the preliminary piece of
advice to _compose_ myself? Besides, you talk nonsense, for I'm
composed already, of blood, bones, flesh, sinews, fat, and--"

"Humbug!" interrupted the accountant. "Lend a hand to get supper, you
young goose!"

"And so," continued Harry, not noticing the interruption, "I cannot
be expected, nor is it necessary, to _compose_ myself over again. But
to be serious," he added, "it was very kind and considerate of you,
Hammy, to put on the kettle, when your heels were in a manner
uppermost."

"Oh, it was nothing at all; my heels are much better, thank you, and
it kept me from wearying."

"Poor fellow!" said the accountant, while he busied himself in
preparing their evening meal, "you must be quite ravenous by this
time--at least _I_ am, which is the same thing."

Supper was soon ready. It consisted of a large kettle of tea, a lump
of pemmican, a handful of broken biscuit, and three ptarmigan--all of
which were produced from the small wooden box which the accountant
was wont to call his camp-larder. The ptarmigan had been shot two
weeks before, and carefully laid up for future use; the intense frost
being a sufficient guarantee for their preservation for many months,
had that been desired.

It would have done you good, reader (supposing you to be possessed of
sympathetic feelings), to have witnessed those three nor'-westers
enjoying their supper in the snowy camp. The fire had been
replenished with logs, till it roared and crackled again, as if it
were endued with a vicious spirit, and wished to set the very snow in
flames. The walls shone like alabaster studded with diamonds, while
the green boughs overhead and the stems around were of a deep red
colour in the light of the fierce blaze. The tea-kettle hissed,
fumed, and boiled over into the fire. A mass of pemmican simmered in
the lid in front of it. Three pannikins of tea reposed on the green
branches, their refreshing contents sending up little clouds of
steam, while the ptarmigan, now split up, skewered, and roasted, were
being heartily devoured by our three hungry friends.

The pleasures that fall to the lot of man are transient. Doubtless
they are numerous and oft recurring; still they are transient, and
so--supper came to an end.

"Now for a pipe," said the accountant, disposing his limbs at full
length on a green blanket. "O thou precious weed, what should we do
without thee!"

"Smoke _tea_, to be sure," answered Harry.

"Ah! true, it _is_ possible to exist on a pipe of tea-leaves for a
time, but _only_ for a time. I tried it myself once, in desperation,
when I ran short of tobacco on a journey, and found it execrable, but
better than nothing."

"Pity we can't join you in that." remarked Harry.

"True; but perhaps since you cannot pipe, it might prove an agreeable
diversification to dance."

"Thank you, I'd rather not," said Harry; "and as for Hamilton, I'm
convinced that _his_ mind is made up on the subject.--How go the
heels now?"

"Thank you, pretty well," he replied, reclining his head on the pine
branches, and extending his smitten members towards the fire. "I
think they will be quite well in the morning."

"It is a curious thing," remarked the accountant, in a soliloquising
tone, "that _soft_ fellows _never_ smoke!"

"I beg your pardon," said Harry, "I've often seen hot loaves smoke,
and they're soft enough fellows, in all conscience!"

"Ah!" sighed the accountant, "that reminds me of poor Peterkin, who
was _so_ soft that he went by the name of 'Butter.' Did you ever hear
of what he did the summer before last with an Indian's head?"

"No, never; what was it!"

"I'll tell you the story," replied the accountant, drawing a few
vigorous whiffs of smoke, to prevent his pipe going out while he
spoke.

As the story in question, however, depicts a new phase of society in
the woods, it deserves a chapter to itself.

CHAPTER XX.

The accountant's story.

"Spring had passed away, and York Fort was filled with all the bustle
and activity of summer. Brigades came pouring in upon us with furs
from the interior, and as every boat brought a C. T. or a clerk, our
mess-table began to overflow.

"You've not seen the summer mess-room filled yet, Hamilton. That's a
treat in store for you."

"It was pretty full last autumn, I think," suggested Hamilton, "at
the time I arrived from England."

"Full! why, man, it was getting to feel quite lonely at that time.
I've seen more than fifty sit down to table there, and it was worth
going fifty miles to hear the row they kicked up--telling stories
without end (and sometimes without foundation) about their wild
doings in the interior, where every man-jack of them having spent at
least eight months almost in perfect solitude, they hadn't had a
chance of letting their tongues go till they came down here. But to
proceed. When the ship came out in the fall, she brought a batch of
new clerks, and among them was this miserable chap Peterkin, whom we
soon nicknamed _Butter_. He was the softest fellow I ever knew (far
worse than you, Hamilton), and he hadn't been here a week before the
wild blades from the interior, who were bursting with fun and
mischief, began to play off all kinds of practical jokes upon him.
The very first day he sat down at the mess-table, our worthy governor
(who, you are aware, detests practical jokes) played him a trick,
quite unintentionally, which raised a laugh against him for many a
day. You know that old Mr. Rogan is rather absent at times; well, the
first day that Peterkin came to mess (it was breakfast), the old
governor asked him, in a patronizing sort of way, to sit at his right
hand. Accordingly down he sat, and having never, I fancy, been away
from his mother's apron-string before, he seemed to feel very
uncomfortable, especially as he was regarded as a sort of novelty.
The first thing he did was to capsize his plate into his lap, which
set the youngsters at the lower end of the table into suppressed fits
of laughter. However, he was eating the leg of a dry grouse at the
time, so it didn't make much of a mess.

"'Try some fish, Peterkin,' said Mr. Rogan kindly, seeing that the
youth was ill at ease. 'That old grouse is tough enough to break your
knife.'

"'A very rough passage,' replied the youngster, whose mind was quite
confused by hearing the captain of the ship, who sat next to him,
giving to his next neighbour a graphic account of the voyage in a
very loud key--'I mean, if you please, no, thank you,' he stammered,
endeavouring to correct himself.

"'Ah! a cup of tea perhaps.--Here, Anderson' (turning to the butler),
'a cup of tea to Mr. Peterkin.'

"The butler obeyed the order.

"'And here, fill my cup,' said old Rogan, interrupting himself in an
earnest conversation, into which he had plunged with the gentleman on
his left hand. As he said this he lifted his cup to empty the slops,
but without paying attention to what he was doing. As luck would have
it, the slop-basin was not at hand, and Peterkin's cup _was_, so he
emptied it innocently into that. Peterkin hadn't courage to arrest
his hand, and when the deed was done he looked timidly round to see
if the action had been observed. Nearly half the table had seen it,
but they pretended ignorance of the thing so well that he thought no
one had observed, and so went quietly on with his breakfast, and
drank the tea! But I am wandering from my story. Well, about this
time there was a young Indian who shot himself accidentally in the
woods, and was brought to the fort to see if anything could be done
for him. The doctor examined his wound, and found that the ball had
passed through the upper part of his right arm and the middle of his
right thigh, breaking the bone of the latter in its passage. It was
an extraordinary shot for a man to put into himself, for it would
have been next to impossible even for _another_ man to have done it,
unless the Indian had been creeping on all fours. When he was able to
speak, however, he explained the mystery. While running through a
rough part of the wood after a wounded bird, he stumbled and fell on
all fours. The gun, which he was carrying over his shoulder, holding
it, as the Indians usually do, by the muzzle, flew forward, and
turned right round as he fell, so that the mouth of it was presented
towards him. Striking against the stem of a tree, it exploded and
shot him through the arm and leg as described ere he had time to
rise. A comrade carried him to his lodge, and his wife brought him in
a canoe to the fort. For three or four days the doctor had hopes of
him, but at last he began to sink, and died on the sixth day after
his arrival. His wife and one or two friends buried him in our
graveyard, which lies, as you know, on that lonely-looking point just
below the powder-magazine. For several months previous to this our
worthy doctor had been making strenuous efforts to get an Indian
skull to send home to one of his medical friends, but without
success. The Indians could not be prevailed upon to cut off the head
of one of their dead countrymen for love or money, and the doctor had
a dislike to the idea, I suppose, of killing one for himself; but now
here was a golden opportunity. The Indian was buried near to the
fort, and his relatives had gone away to their tents again. What was
to prevent his being dug up? The doctor brooded over the thing for
one hour and a half (being exactly the length of time required to
smoke out his large Turkey pipe), and then sauntered into Wilson's
room. Wilson was busy, as usual, at some of his mechanical
contrivances.

"Thrusting his hands deep into his breeches pockets, and seating
himself on an old sea-chest, he began,--

"'I say, Wilson, will you do me a favour?'

"'That depends entirely on what the favour is,' he replied, without
raising his head from his work.

"'I want you to help me to cut off an Indian's head!'

"' Then I _won't_ do you the favour. But pray, don't humbug me just
now; I'm busy.'

"'No; but I'm serious, and I can't get it done without help, and I
know you're an obliging fellow. Besides, the savage is dead, and has
no manner of use for his head now.'

"Wilson turned round with a look of intelligence on hearing this.

"'Ha!' he exclaimed, 'I see what you're up to; but I don't half like
it. In the first place, his friends would be terribly cut up if they
heard of it; and then I've no sort of aptitude for the work of a
resurrectionist; and then, if it got wind, we should never hear the
last of it; and then--'

"'And then,' interrupted the doctor, 'it would be adding to the light
of medical science, you unaspiring monster.'

"'A light,' retorted Wilson, 'which, in passing through _some_
members of the medical profession, is totally absorbed, and
reproduced in the shape of impenetrable darkness.'

"'Now, don't object, my dear fellow; you _know_ you're going to do
it, so don't coquette with me, but agree at once.'

"'Well, I consent, upon one condition.'

"'And what is that?'

"'That you do not play any practical jokes on _me_ with the head when
you have got it.'

"'Agreed!' cried the doctor, laughing; 'I give you my word of honour.
Now he has been buried three days already, so we must set about it at
once. Fortunately the graveyard is composed of a sandy soil, so he'll
keep for some time yet.

"The two worthies then entered into a deep consultation as to how
they were to set about this deed of darkness. It was arranged that
Wilson should take his gun and sally forth a little before dark, as
if he were bent on an hour's sport, and, not forgetting his game-bag,
proceed to the graveyard, where the doctor engaged to meet him with a
couple of spades and a dark lantern. Accordingly, next evening, Mr.
Wilson, true to his promise, shouldered his gun and sallied forth.

"It soon became an intensely dark night. Not a single star shone
forth to illumine the track along which he stumbled. Everything
around was silent and dark, and congenial with the work on which he
was bent. But Wilson's heart beat a little more rapidly than usual.
He is a bold enough man, as you know, but boldness goes for nothing
when superstition comes into play. However, he trudged along
fearlessly enough till he came to the thick woods just below the
fort, into which he entered with something of a qualm. Scarcely had
he set foot on the narrow track that leads to the graveyard, when he
ran slap against the post that stands there, but which, in his
trepidation, he had entirely forgotten. This quite upset the small
amount of courage that remained, and he has since confessed that if
he had not had the hope of meeting with the doctor in a few minutes,
he would have turned round and fled at that moment.

"Recovering a little from this accident, he hurried forward, but with
more caution, for although the night seemed as dark as could possibly
be while he was crossing the open country, it became speedily evident
that there were several shades of darkness which he had not yet
conceived. In a few minutes he came to the creek that runs past the
graveyard, and here again his nerves got another shake; for slipping
his foot while in the act of commencing the descent, he fell and
rolled heavily to the bottom, making noise enough in his fall to
scare away all the ghosts in the country. With a palpitating heart
poor Wilson gathered himself up, and searched for his gun, which
fortunately had not been injured, and then commenced to climb the
opposite bank, starting at every twig that snapped under his feet. On
reaching the level ground again he breathed a little more freely, and
hurried forward with more speed than caution. Suddenly he came into
violent contact with a figure, which uttered a loud growl as Wilson
reeled backwards.

"'Back, you monster,' he cried, with a hysterical yell, 'or I'll blow
your brains out!'

"'It's little good _that_ would do ye,' cried the doctor as he came
forward. 'Why, you stupid, what did you take me for? You've nearly
knocked out my brains as it is,' and the doctor rubbed his forehead
ruefully.

"'Oh, it's _you,_ doctor!' said Wilson, feeling as if a ton weight
had been lifted off his heart; 'I verily thought it was the ghost of
the poor fellow we're going to disturb. I do think you had better
give it up. Mischief will come of it, you'll see.'

"'Nonsense,' cried the doctor; 'don't be a goose, but let's to work
at once. Why, I've got half the thing dug up already.' So saying, he
led the way to the grave, in which there was a large opening. Setting
the lantern down by the side of it, the two seized their spades and
began to dig as if in earnest.

"The fact is that the doctor was nearly as frightened as Wilson, and
he afterwards confessed to me that it was an immense relief to him
when he heard him fall down the bank of the creek, and knew by the
growl he gave that it was he.

"In about half-an-hour the doctor's spade struck upon the coffin lid,
which gave forth a hollow sound.

"'Now then, we're about done with it,' said he, standing up to wipe
away the perspiration that trickled down his face. 'Take the axe and
force up the lid, it's only fixed with common nails, while I--' He
did not finish the sentence, but drew a large scalping-knife from a
sheath which hung at his belt.

"Wilson shuddered and obeyed. A good wrench caused the lid to start,
and while he held it partially open the doctor inserted the knife.
For five minutes he continued to twist and work with his arms,
muttering between his teeth, every now and then, that he was a 'tough
subject,' while the crackling of bones and other disagreeable sounds
struck upon the horrified ears of his companion.

"'All right,' he exclaimed at last, as he dragged a round object from
the coffin and let down the lid with a bang, at the same time placing
the savage's head with its ghastly features full in the blaze of the
lantern.

"'Now, then, close up,' said he, jumping out of the hole and
shovelling in the earth.

"In a few minutes they had filled the grave up and smoothed it down
on the surface, and then, throwing the head into the game-bag,
retraced their steps to the fort. Their nerves were by this time
worked up to such a pitch of excitement, and their minds filled with
such a degree of supernatural horror, that they tripped and stumbled
over stumps and branches innumerable in their double-quick march.
Neither would confess to the other, however, that he was afraid. They
even attempted to pass a few facetious remarks as they hurried along,
but it would not do, so they relapsed into silence till they came to
the hollow beside the powder-magazine. Here the doctor's foot
happening to slip, he suddenly grasped Wilson by the shoulder to
support himself--a movement which, being unexpected, made his friend
leap, as he afterwards expressed it, nearly out of his skin. This was
almost too much for them. For a moment they looked at each other as
well as the darkness would permit, when all at once a large stone,
which the doctor's slip had overbalanced, fell down the bank and
through the bushes with a loud crash. Nothing more was wanting. All
further effort to disguise their feelings was dropped. Leaping the
rail of the open field in a twinkling, they gave a simultaneous yell
of consternation and fled to the fort like autumn leaves before the
wind, never drawing breath till they were safe within the pickets."

"But what has all this to do with Peterkin?" asked Harry, as the
accountant paused to relight his pipe and toss a fresh log on the
fire.

"Have patience, lad; you shall hear."

The accountant stirred the logs with his toe, drew a few whiffs to
see that the pipe was properly ignited, and proceeded.

"For a day or two after this, the doctor was observed to be often
mysteriously engaged in an outhouse, of which he kept the key. By
some means or other, the skipper, who is always up to mischief,
managed to discover the secret. Watching where the doctor hid the
key, he possessed himself of it one day, and sallied forth, bent on a
lark of some kind or other, but without very well knowing what.
Passing the kitchen, he observed Anderson, the butler, raking the
fire out of the large oven which stands in the backyard.

"'Baking again, Anderson?' said he in passing. 'You get soon through
with a heavy cargo of bread just now.'

"'Yes, sir; many mouths to feed, sir,' replied the butler, proceeding
with his work.

"The skipper sauntered on, and took the track which led to the
boathouse, where he stood for some time in meditation. Casting up his
eyes, he saw Peterkin in the distance, looking as if he didn't very
well know what to do.

"A sudden thought struck him. Pulling off his coat, he seized a
mallet and a calking-chisel, and began to belabour the side of a boat
as if his life depended on it. All at once he stopped and stood up,
blowing with the exertion.

"'Hollo, Peterkin!' he shouted, and waved his hand.

"Peterkin hastened towards him.

"'Well, sir' said he, 'do you wish to speak to me?'

"'Yes,' replied the skipper, scratching his head, as if in great
perplexity. 'I wish you to do me a favour, Peterkin, but I don't know
very well how to ask you.'

"'Oh, I shall be most happy,' said poor Butter eagerly, 'if I can be
of any use to you.'

"'I don't doubt your willingness,' replied the other; 'but then--the
doctor, you see--the fact is, Peterkin, the doctor being called away
to see a sick Indian, has intrusted me with a delicate piece of
business--rather a nasty piece of business, I may say--which I
promised to do for him. You must know that the Surgical Society of
London has written to him, begging, as a great favour, that he would,
if possible, procure them the skull of a native. After much trouble,
he has succeeded in getting one, but is obliged to keep it a great
secret, even from his fellow-clerks, lest it should get wind: for if
the Indians heard of it they would be sure to kill him, and perhaps
burn the fort too. Now I suppose you are aware that it is necessary
to boil an Indian's head in order to get the flesh clean off the
skull?'

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