The Big Otter

When the crumpled-up organs began to recover, Bane said to Dougall, “Shames, this iss a bad business.”

Dougall, having been caught twice that evening, was on his guard. He would not absolutely agree with his friend, but admitted that he was not far wrong.

Again the yell burst forth with intensified volume and complicated variation. Salamander was young; he did not yet know that it is possible to over-act.

“Shames!” whispered Bane, “I hev got a notion in my hid.”

“I hope it’s a coot w’an, Tonald, for the notions that usually git into it might stop there with advantage. They are not much to boast of.”

“You shall see. Just you keep talkin’ out now an’ then as if I wass beside you, an’ don’t, whativer ye do, fire into the bushes.”

“Ferry coot,” answered Dougall.

Another moment, and Donald Bane glided over the parapet of their fort at the side nearest the lake; and, creeping serpent-fashion for a considerable distance round, gained the bushes, where he waited for a repetition of the cry. He had not long to wait. With that boldness, not to say presumption, which is the child of success, Salamander now began to make too many drafts on genius, and invented a series of howls so preposterously improbable that it was impossible for even the most credulous to believe them the natural cries of man, beast, demon, or monster.

Following up the sound, Donald Bane soon came to a little hollow where, in the dim light, he perceived Salamander’s visage peering over a ridge in the direction of the fortress, his eyes glittering with glee and his mouth wide-open in the act of giving vent to the hideous cries. The Highlander had lived long in the wilderness, and was an adept in its ways. With the noiseless motion of a redskin he wormed his way through the underwood until close alongside of the nocturnal visitor, and then suddenly stopped a howl of more than demoniac ferocity by clapping a hand on Salamander’s mouth.

With a convulsive wriggle the youth freed his mouth, and uttered a shriek of genuine alarm, but Bane’s strong arm pinned him to the earth.

“Ye dirty loon,” growled the man in great wrath, “wass you thinkin’ to get the better of a Heelandman? Come along with ye. I’ll give you a lesson that you’ll not forget—whatever.”

Despite his struggles, Bane held Salamander fast until he ceased to resist, when he grasped him by the collar, and led him towards the little fort.

At first, Salamander had been on the point of confessing the practical joke, but the darkness of the night induced him to hope for another escape from his position. He had not yet uttered a word; and, as he could not distinguish the features of the Highlander, it was possible, he thought, that the latter might have failed to recognise him. If he could give him the slip, he might afterwards deny having had anything to do with the affair. But it was not easy to give the slip to a man whose knuckly hand held him like a vice.

“Shames,” said Bane as he came near the fortress, “I’ve cot the peast! come oot, man, an’ fetch a stick wi’ you. I’ll ha’d ’im while you lay on.”

Salamander, who understood well enough what he might expect, no sooner heard Dougall clambering over the barricade than he gathered himself up for a tremendous wriggle, but received such a fearful squeeze on the neck from the vice-like hand of his captor that he was nearly choked. At the moment a new idea flashed into his fertile brain. His head dropped suddenly to one side; his whole frame became limp, and he fell, as it were, in a heap on the ground, almost bringing the Highlander on the top of him.

“Oh! the miserable cratur,” exclaimed Bane, relaxing his grasp with a feeling of self-reproach, for he had a strong suspicion that his captive really was Salamander. “I do believe I’ve killed him. Wow! Shames, man, lend a hand to carry him to the fire, and plow up a bit flame that we may see what we’ve gotten.”

“Iss he tead, Tonald?” asked Dougall, in a pitiful tone, as he came forward.

“No, Shames, he’s no tead yet. Take up his feet, man, an’ I’ll tak’ his shouthers.”

Dougall went to Salamander’s feet, turned his back to them, and stooped to take them up as a man takes a wheelbarrow. He instantly received a kick, or rather a drive, from Salamander’s soles that sent him sprawling on his hands and knees. Donald Bane, stooping to grasp the shoulder, received a buffet on the cheek, which, being unexpected, sent him staggering to the left, while the sly youth, springing to his feet bounded into the bushes on the right with a deep-toned roar ending in a laugh that threw all his previous efforts quite into the shade.

The Highlanders rose, but made no attempt to pursue.

“My friend,” said Bane, softly, “if that wass not an evil speerut, I will be fery much surprised.”

“No, Tonald, it wass not a speerut,” replied the other, as they returned to their fortress. “Speeruts will not be kickin’ an’ slappin’ like that; they are not corporeal.”

While these scenes were enacting on the margin of Lake Wichikagan, Lumley and Mozwa arrived at the enemy’s camp. It was a war-camp. All the women and children had been sent away, none but armed and painted braves remained.

They were holding a palaver at the time. The spot was the top of an open eminence which was so clear of underwood that the approach of a foe without being seen was an impossibility. Although the night was rather dark, Lumley and his guide had been observed the instant they came within the range of vision. No stir, however, took place in the camp, for it was instantly perceived that the strangers were alone. With the grave solemnity of redskin warriors, they silently awaited their coming. A small fire burned in their midst, for they made no attempt at concealment. They were prepared to fight at a moment’s notice. The red flames gleamed on their dusky faces, and glittered in their glancing eyes, as Lumley and Mozwa strode boldly into the circle, and stood before the chief.

Intense surprise filled the hearts of the warriors at this unexpected apparition of a white man, but not an eye or muscle betrayed the smallest symptom of the feeling.

“The pale-face is welcome,” said the chief, after a short pause.

“The pale-face is glad to meet with his dark-skinned brother, and thanks him,” returned Lumley.

If the surprise at the sudden appearance of the pale-face was great, the astonishment to find that he spoke the Indian tongue was greater; but still the feeling was not betrayed.

After a few short complimentary speeches, our hero came at once to the point.

“My brothers,” he said, looking round on the dusky warriors, who remained sitting all the time, “the white chief of the fur-traders has sent me into this country to trade with you.”

This statement was received with a “waugh” of satisfaction from several of the warriors.

“And,” continued Lumley, “I have brought men—strong men, who can work well—to help me to build a house, so that we may live among you and hunt together.”

He paused here to let the statement have its full effect. Then he continued:—

“I have also brought plenty of guns, and powder, and lead.”

Again he paused, and an emphatic “waugh” proved that the remark was fully appreciated.

“The white man knows,” continued Lumley, in a more flowing style, “that his red brothers have need of many things which they do not possess, while the white man is in need of furs, and does not possess them. It is for the good of each that we should exchange. The Great Spirit, who is all-wise, as well as all-good, has seen fit to scatter His children over a wide world, and He has given some of them too much of one thing, some of them too much of another. Why has He done so? May we not think that it is for the purpose of causing His children to move about the world, and mingle, and help each other, and so increase Love? Some of the bad children prefer to move about and steal. But there is no need. It is easier to do good than to do evil. If all men would help and none would steal, there would be more than enough for all.”

Again a pause. Some of the savages, who were thoughtful men, were greatly tickled in their minds by the arguments set forth. Others, who could not understand, were deeply impressed.

“Now,” continued Lumley, coming to the marrow of his discourse, “the red-men have more than enough of furs.”

“Waugh!” in a tone of emphasis, that implied “that’s true.”

“And the pale-faces have few furs, but want some very much.”

“Waugh?” interrogatively, in a tone that implied “what then?”

“Well, but the pale-faces are not poor. They are rich, and have far too much of many things. They have far too much of those pleasant sweet things called sugar and molasses (the Indians involuntarily licked their lips). Too much cloth as bright as the sun at setting, and as blue as the sky at noon (the Indian eyes glistened). Too many guns, and too much powder and shot (the savage eyes glared). They have more beads, and blankets, and hatchets, and tobacco, than they know what to do with, so they have sent some of these things here to be given to you in exchange for furs, and food, and leather.”

The waughs! and hows! and hos! with which these remarks were followed up were so hearty, that Lumley thought it best to make a considerable pause at this point; then he resumed:—

“But, my brothers,”—he stopped for a considerable time, and looked so grave, that the hearts of the red-men sank, lest the glorious vision which had been suddenly revealed to them, should be as suddenly withdrawn in some way.

“But,” repeated Lumley, again, with a sort of awful emphasis, “the pale-faces detest war. They can fight—yes, and when they must fight, they will fight, but they do not love fighting, and if they are to stay here and open up trade with their guns, and their powder, and their blankets, and beads, and cloth (he wisely went all over it again for the sake of effect), there must be peace in the land. If there is war the pale-faces will take all their good things and go away—waugh!”

Finishing off in the true red-man style, Lumley sat down with decision, as though to say, “Now, the ball is at your own feet, kick it which way you please.”

Then the chief of the savages rose with dignity, but with a tinge of eagerness which he could not altogether conceal, and said:—

“Let not my white brother talk of going away. War shall cease at his bidding. Let him and his pale-faced warriors fell trees, and build wigwams, and hunt. We have plenty furs—the black fox, the red fox, the beaver, the marten, the minks, the bear, and many other animals are plentiful. We will exchange them for the goods of the white man. We will bury the hatchet, and smoke the calumet of peace, and the sound of the war-whoop shall no more be heard in the land—waugh!”

“Are my brothers ready to go to the camp of Big Otter, and make friends at once?” asked Lumley.

This was a testing question, and for some time remained unanswered, while the chiefs and braves looked preposterously solemn. At last, however, they seemed to make up their minds, and the chief replied, “We are ready.”