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Title: The Trapper's Son

Author: W.H.G. Kingston

Release Date: May 16, 2007 [EBook #21491]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Trapper's Son, by W.H.G. Kingston.

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A very short book, set in North America some time in the nineteenth
century, at a time when Indian tribes were still hunting over the
land--Crees, Dacotahs, Peigans.  An old trapper and his son are
preparing for the winter, when their horses are found dead, killed
either by wolves or by Indians.  So they have to cache most of the skins
they were planning to take to a nearby fort, and set off on their
journey there.

Michael Moggs, the trapper, had fathered the boy, Laurence, with an
Indian woman, who had brought Laurence up to the point where Michael
comes to collect him.  The boy had never been taught the principles of
Christianity, and his father never knew them either.  So most of the
book deals with the conversion of the boy and his father to true
religion, by people they meet at the fort.

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THE TRAPPER'S SON, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON.



CHAPTER ONE.

THE TRAPPER'S CAMP--BEAVERS CAUGHT--THE HORSES KILLED BY WOLVES--TRAPS
TO CATCH THE WOLVES.

In the far western wilds of North America, over which the untutored
red-skinned savage roams at liberty, engaged throughout life in war or
the chase, by the side of a broad stream which made its way towards a
distant lake, an old man and a boy reclined at length beneath a wigwam,
roughly formed of sheets of birch-bark placed against several poles
stuck in the ground in a circular form, and fastened together at the
top.  The sun was just rising above a wood, composed of maple, birch,
poplar, and willow, fringing the opposite bank of the river; while rocky
hills of no great elevation formed the sides of the valley, through
which the stream made its way.  Snow rested on the surrounding heights,
and the ground was crisp with frost.  The foliage which still clung to
the deciduous trees exhibited the most gorgeous colours, the brightest
red, pink, yellow, and purple tints contrasting with the sombre hues of
the pines covering the lower slopes of the hills.

"It's time to look to the traps, Laurence," said the old man, arousing
his young companion, who was still asleep by the side of the smouldering
embers of their fire.

The boy sat up, and passed his hand across his eyes.  There was a weary
expression in his intelligent and not unpleasing countenance.

"Yes, father, I am ready," he answered.  "But I did not think the night
was over; it seems but just now I lay down to sleep."

"You have had some hard work lately, and are tired; but the season will
soon be over, and we will bend our steps to Fort Elton, where you can
remain till the winter cold has passed away.  If I myself were to spend
but a few days shut up within the narrow limits of such a place, I
should soon tire of idleness, and wish to be off again among the forests
and streams, where I have passed so many years."

"Oh, do not leave me among strangers, father," exclaimed the boy,
starting to his feet.  "I am rested now, and am ready."

They set out, proceeding along the side of the stream, stopping every
now and then to search beneath the overhanging bushes, or in the hollows
of the bank, where their traps had been concealed.  From the first the
old trapper drew forth an animal about three feet in length, of a deep
chestnut colour, with fine smooth glossy hair, and a broad flat tail
nearly a foot long, covered with scales.  Its hind feet were webbed, its
small fore-paws armed with claws, and it had large, hard, sharp teeth in
its somewhat blunted head.  Hanging up the beaver, for such it was, to a
tree, they continued the examination of their snares.

"Who would have thought creatures so easily caught could make such a
work as this?" observed the old man, as they were passing over a narrow
causeway which formed a dam across a smaller stream falling into the
main river, and had created a back water or shallow lake of some size.
The dam was composed of innumerable small branches and trunks of trees,
laid horizontally across the stream, mixed with mud and stones.  Several
willows and small poplars were sprouting up out of it.

"What! have the beavers made this?" asked Laurence.

"Ay, every bit of it, boy; each stem and branch has been cut down by the
creatures, with their paws and teeth.  No human builders could have
formed the work more skilfully.  And observe how they thus have made a
pond, ever full of water, above the level of the doorways to their
houses, when the main stream is lowered by the heats of summer.  See,
too, how cleverly they build their houses, with dome roofs so hard and
strong that even the cunning wolverine cannot manage to break through
them, while they place the doorway so deep down that the ice in winter
can never block it up inside.  How warm and cozy, too, they are without
the aid of fires or blankets."

"How comes it, then, that they have not the sense to keep out of our
traps, father?" inquired Laurence.

"If you had ever been to the big cities, away to the east, you would not
ask that question, boy," answered the old trapper.  "You would there
have seen thousands of men who seem wonderfully clever, and yet who get
caught over and over again by cunning rogues who know their weak points;
just as we bait our traps with bark-stone, [see Note] for which the
foolish beaver has such a fancy, so the knaves bait their snares with
promises of boundless wealth, to be gained without labour or trouble.
To my mind, nothing is to be gained without working for it, and pretty
hard work too, if the thing is worth having."

This conversation passed between the old man and his son as they
proceeded along the bank of the pond where some of their traps had been
set.  Some had failed to catch their prey, but after the search was
ended, they returned to their camp with a dozen skins as the result of
their labour.  One of the animals which had been skinned having been
preserved for their morning meal, it was soon roasting, supported on two
forked sticks, before the freshly made-up fire.  This, with some maize
flour, and a draught of water from the stream, formed their repast.

"Now, Laurence, go and bring in the horses, while I prepare the skins
and do up our bales, and we will away towards the fort," said the old
man.

Laurence set off in search of their horses, which had been left feeding
during the night in a meadow at some distance from the camp.  The
well-trained steeds, long accustomed to carry them and their traps and
furs, were not likely to have strayed away from the ground.  Laurence
went on, expecting every moment to find them, but after proceeding some
way, they were nowhere visible.  Near at hand was a rocky height which
overlooked the meadow.  He climbed to the top; still he could not see
the horses.  Becoming somewhat anxious at their disappearance, he made
his way across the meadow, hoping to find that they had discovered a
richer pasturage farther on.  As he looked round, he saw, to his dismay,
two horses lying motionless on the ground.  He hurried towards them.
They were dead, and fearfully torn and mangled.

"The wolves have done this, the savage brutes.  We will be revenged on
them," he exclaimed as he surveyed the dead steeds.  "Father and I must
have slept very soundly during the night not to have been awoke by their
howling.  It will be a sore grief to the old man, and I would that he
had found it out himself, rather than I should have to tell him.
However, it must be done."  Saying this, he set off on his return to the
camp.

"The brutes shall pay dearly for it," exclaimed the old trapper, when
Laurence brought him the intelligence of what had happened.  "Whether
Injuns or wolves wrong him, Michael Moggs is not the man to let them go
unpunished;" and his eyes lighted up with a fierce expression which made
the young boy instinctively shrink back from him.  "We have three strong
traps which will catch the biggest wolf on the prairies; and if they
fail, I'll lie in wait till I can shoot the savage brutes down with my
rifle.  We shall have to tramp it on foot, boy, with the furs on our
backs.  That's bad for you, but we can leave the traps hidden away _en
cache_; and as the snow will soon cover the ground, the cunning Injuns
are not likely to find them.  It's not the first adventure of the sort I
have met with; and though I am sorry for your sake, and for the loss of
our poor horses, I am not going to be cast down."

Some time was spent in scraping the skins, and in repacking the most
valuable of those already obtained in a compass which would enable the
old man and his son to carry them.  Not wishing to leave such valuable
property in the hut, which might be visited during their absence by some
wandering Indian, they then strapped the bales on to their backs, the
old man carrying his rifle and the steel traps, and set out towards the
meadow where their horses had been killed.

Having planted the traps round the carcases of the slaughtered animals,
and concealed them carefully, so that they could not be seen by the
savage wolves, they returned to their hut.

"The brutes will pay another visit to the poor horses, unless they fall
in with other prey in the meantime, and that they are not likely to find
about here," observed Moggs, as he sat down and struck a light to
rekindle the fire.  Laurence had collected a supply of dried branches,
of which there was an abundance in the surrounding woods.

"We must keep the fire burning during the night, or the savage creatures
may chance to pay us a visit; and if they find us napping, they may
treat us as they have our horses," continued the old man.  "To-morrow
morning, we shall have our revenge, and I shall be vexed indeed if we do
not find two or three of the brutes in the traps."

The day was spent, as many before had been passed when they were not
travelling or setting their snares, in scraping furs, greasing their
traps, and cleaning the old man's highly-prized rifle.

Their conversation related wholly to the occupation in which they were
engaged; of other matters young Laurence knew nothing.  He was a true
child of the desert.  His early days had been spent in the wigwam of an
Indian squaw, who had taught him the legends and faith of her people.
Beyond that period his recollections were very faint.  He had remained
with her until Michael Moggs, who called himself his father, came for
him and took him away.  He had almost forgotten his native tongue; but
from that time, by constantly associating with the old trapper, he soon
again learned to speak it.  Of the Christian faith he knew nothing, for
Moggs and himself were utterly ignorant of its truths; while they had
imbibed many of the superstitions of the savage Indians, the only human
beings with whom they had for long years associated.  Laurence believed
firmly in the Great Spirit who governs the destinies of the Red men of
the desert--in the happy hunting-grounds, the future abode of brave
warriors who die fighting on the battle-field--in the existence of
demons, who wander through the forests in search of victims--and in the
occult powers of wizards and medicine men.  He had been taught that the
only objects in life worthy of the occupation of men were war and the
chase--that he should look with contempt on those who, he had heard,
spent their time in the peaceful business of agriculture and commerce;
that revenge and hatred of foes were the noblest sentiments to be
cultivated in the human breast; and that no act was more worthy than to
kill a foe, or a feeling more delightful than to witness his suffering
under torture.  Yet the heart of young Laurence was not hardened, nor
altogether debased.  Occasionally yearnings for a different life to that
he led rose in his bosom.  Whence they came he could not tell.  Still he
could not help thinking that there might be a brighter and better state
of existence in those far-off lands away beyond where he saw the
glorious sun rise each morning, to run its course through the sky, and
to sink again behind the snow-capped range of the Rocky Mountains, to
the base of which he and his father had occasionally wandered.  Whenever
he had ventured even to hint the tenor of his thoughts to the old
trapper, the scornful rebuke he had received kept him for many a day
afterwards silent.

As evening approached, the old man made a wide circuit round the camp to
ascertain that no lurking foes lay hid in the neighbourhood.  Having
satisfied himself on that score, a large supply of fuel was piled up on
the fire, when, after a frugal supper, he and the boy lay down to rest.
Although Laurence slept soundly, Michael awoke constantly to put more
wood on the fire, and not unfrequently to take a survey around the
wigwam, knowing well that their lives might depend on his vigilance.

No sooner did the first faint streaks of dawn appear in the sky than he
aroused the boy.  A hurried meal was eaten, and then they strapped on
their packs and several bundles of furs, which, with their traps, Moggs
intended to conceal till he could return for them.  The remaining
articles, and a few of the least valuable of their furs, were then
thrown on the fire, and the wigwam being pulled down on the top of it,
the whole mass of combustible material soon burst up into a flame,
leaving in a short time no other trace of their abode on the spot than a
pile of blackened cinders.

They then made their way by a wide circuit into a neighbouring wood,
beyond which a rocky hill afforded, in the old trapper's opinion, a
secure place for concealing their goods.  The old man stepped cautiously
along, avoiding even brushing against any of the branches on either
side, Laurence following in his footsteps.

A small cave or hollow, which he had before observed, was soon found.
In this the articles were deposited, and the mouth was closed up with
stones brought from the hill-side, they again being concealed by a pile
of broken branches and leaves, which, to the eye of a passer-by, might
appear to have been blown there by the wind.

"It is the best place we can find," exclaimed Moggs.  "But if a strange
Injun was to come this way before the snow covers the ground, our traps
would soon be carried off.  Most of the Crees, however, know that they
are mine, and would think it wiser to leave them alone.  We will hope
for the best; and now, Laurence, let us go and see what the wolves have
been about."  Saying this, he and the boy commenced their retreat from
the wood in the same cautious way by which they had approached it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note.  The bark-stone of which the old trapper spoke is the Castoreum, a
substance secreted in two glandular sacs near the root of the beaver's
tail, which gives out an extremely powerful odour, and so strangely
attracts beavers that the animals, when they scent it at a distance,
will sniff about and squeal with eagerness as they make their way
towards it.  The trapper, therefore, carries a supply in a bottle, and
when he arrives at a spot frequented by the animals, he sets his traps,
baiting them with some of the substance.  This is done with a small twig
of wood, the end of which he chews, and, dipping it in the Castoreum,
places it just above water, close to the trap, which is beneath the
surface, and in such a position that the beaver must pass over it to get
at the bait.



CHAPTER TWO.

PURSUIT AND CAPTURE OF A WHITE WOLF--LAURENCE'S DREAM--JOURNEY TO THE
FORT OVER THE SNOW--FRIENDLY RECEPTION AT THE FORT--LAURENCE FALLS SICK.

The old trapper and his son crept cautiously among the rocks and shrubs
towards the spot where the traps had been set around their slaughtered
steeds.  Moggs cocked his rifle as his keen eye fell on a large white
wolf, which, caught by the leg in one of the traps, was making desperate
efforts to free itself, and appeared every instant on the point of
succeeding.  As they drew near, the ferocious animal, with its mouth
wide open, its teeth broken in its attempts to gnaw the iron trap, and
its head covered with blood, sprang forward to reach them, but the trap
held it fast.

"Keep behind me, Laurence," said Michael.  "If the creature gets loose,
it will need a steady aim to bring it to the ground."  Not for a moment
did the wolf turn round to fly, but again and again it sprang forward as
far as the chain would allow it.

Although old Michael knew nothing of the humanity which would avoid
allowing any of God's creatures to suffer unnecessary pain, he was
preparing to put an end to its agonies, when the creature, by a frantic
effort, freeing itself, sprang towards him.  Laurence uttered a cry of
terror; for he expected the next moment to see its savage jaws fixed in
his father's throat; but the old man, standing calm and unmoved, fired,
and the animal fell dead at his feet.

"Did ye think, Laurence, that I could not manage a single wolf," he
said, half turning round with a reproachful look towards the boy, who
had not yet recovered from his alarm.  "This is a prize worth having,
though.  It has not often been my luck to kill a white wolf, and we may
barter this skin with the Crees for six of the best mustangs they have
got.  While I skin the varmint, see what the other traps have been
about."  Laurence went forward to examine them.

"Here is a foot in one of them," he exclaimed.  "The creature must have
gnawed it off, and got away.  The other trap has been pulled up.  I can
see the tracks it has left, as the animal dragged it away."

"We will be after it, then," cried Moggs.  "If it is another white wolf
we shall be well repaid indeed for the loss of our steeds, though we
have to carry our packs till we can reach the fort.  Come, Laurence,
help me to finish off this work."

The skin was added to the already heavy load which old Moggs carried,
and the traps hid in a spot which, with his experienced eye, he could
without difficulty find.

"Now Laurence," he exclaimed, "we will be after the runaway."

The keen sight of the old man easily distinguished the marks left on the
ground by the heavy trap as the animal trailed it behind him.  The
creature, after going some way along the valley, had taken to the higher
ground, where its traces were still more easily distinguished upon the
crust of the snow which lay there.  The white wolf had got some distance
ahead, when at length, to the delight of old Moggs, he discovered it
with the trap at its heels.  It seemed to know that its pursuers were
close behind.  Off it scampered at a rapid trot, now over the rugged and
broken surface of rocks, now descending into ravines, now going north,
now south, making numerous zigzag courses in its efforts to escape and
deceive the hunters.  Still old Moggs pursued, regardless of fatigue,
though Laurence had great difficulty in keeping up with him, and often
felt as if he must drop.  His father encouraged him to continue the
chase, promising soon to overtake the creature.  At length, however,
Laurence could go no further, and sank down on a hill, over which they
had just climbed, and were about to descend to a valley below them.

"Rest there till I come back, then, boy," exclaimed the hardy old
trapper, a slight tone of contempt mixed with his expression of pity.
"The wolf I must have, even though he leads me a score of miles further.
Here, take the tinder-box and axe, and make a fire; by the time I come
back we shall need some food, after our chase."

Having given Laurence the articles he mentioned, with a handful of
pemmican from his wallet, he hastened down the hill, in the direction
the wolf had taken along the valley.

Young Laurence was too much accustomed to those wilds to feel any alarm
at being left alone; and as soon as he had somewhat rested, he set to
work to cut a supply of dried branches from the surrounding shrubs, with
which he quickly formed a blazing fire.  The pemmican, or pounded
buffalo meat, further restored his strength, and he began to think that
he would follow in the direction his father had taken, to save him from
having to ascend the hill.  When he began to move, however, he felt so
weary that he again sank down by the side of the fire, where in a short
time he fell asleep.  Wild dreams troubled his slumbers, and
long-forgotten scenes came back to his mind.  He was playing in a garden
among flowers in front of a neat and pretty dwelling, with the waters of
a tranquil lake shining far below.  He heard the gentle voice of one he
trusted, whose fair sweet face ever smiled on him as he gambolled near
her.  The voice was hastily calling him, when suddenly he was lifted up
and carried away far from her shrieks and cries.  The rattle of musketry
echoed in his ears, then he was borne down a rapid stream, the waters
hissing and foaming around.  Now numberless Indians, in war-paint and
feathers, danced frantically before his eyes, and huge fires blazed up,
and again shrieks echoed in his ears.  Then a monstrous animal, with
glaring eyeballs, burst into their midst, putting the Indians to flight,
and scattering their fires far and wide, yelling and roaring savagely.
He started up, when what was his horror to see the fierce white wolf his
father had been pursuing rushing towards him with the chain and trap
still trailing at his heels.  Spell-bound, he felt unable to rise.  In
another moment the enraged wolf would be upon him, when a rifle shot
rang through the air, and the wolf dropped dead close to where he lay.

"Art safe, Laurence, art unhurt, boy?" exclaimed the old trapper, who
came, breathless, hurrying up the side of the hill.  "The brute doubled
cunningly on me, and thinking, from the way he was leading, that he
would pass near where I left you, I took a short cut, in hopes of being
before him.  I was nearly too late, and twice before I had fired,
shouting to you to be on your guard.  It's not often my rifle has failed
to kill even at that distance."

Laurence relieved his father's anxiety by showing him that he was
unhurt; and greatly to the old trapper's satisfaction, on examining the
wolf, three bullet holes were found in the skin, showing that his
favourite rifle had not missed, although the first shots had failed to
kill.

The prized skin having been secured, as it was too heavy to carry, in
addition to their previous loads, it was hidden, as the traps had been,
in a hollow in the rocks.

"Little chance of its escaping from Indians or wolverines, though I am
loath to abandon it," observed the old man, as he placed the last of a
large pile of stones in front of the cave.  "But the snow will be down,
may be this very night, and then it will be safe."

They now proceeded down the valley, and continued on till they reached
the edge of a small wood, where they encamped for the night.  For
several days they journeyed on towards the south and east, not meeting,
as they passed over those desert wilds, a single human being.

"Once, when I first knew this region, many thousand warriors, with their
squaws and children, were masters here," observed old Moggs.  "But they
are all gone; the white man's gunpowder, and his still more deadly
fire-water, have carried off the greater number.  Famine visited them
when they themselves had slaughtered most of the creatures which gave
them food, without having learned other means for obtaining support.
Before that time, neither white nor red trappers had to go more than a
few days' journey from the forts to obtain as many skins as they
needed."

"I wish those times would come back again," said the boy.  "For my legs
feel as if they would soon refuse to carry me further."

"Cheer up, lad, we will camp soon, and in a few days more we shall be at
the fort, when you shall have the rest I promised you."

"But you will not quit me then, father, will you?" asked Laurence.

"Well, well, I must buy fresh horses to bring in the skins and traps,
and to prepare for the next season," answered Michael.  "I have no wish
to leave you, lad; so don't let that trouble you just now."

The first fall of snow for that winter had now come down, and thickly
covered the ground.  For several days it compelled the trapper and his
son to keep within the shelter of their wigwam.  Once more they set out.
After travelling severe days, young Laurence, though he had partially
recovered, again felt ready to give way.  Still he trudged with his load
by his father's side.  The cold had greatly increased; but though he had
hitherto been indifferent to it, he felt that he would rather lie down
and die than proceed further.  The old man took his arm, and did his
utmost to encourage him.

They at length reached a wood of birch and firs.  "Oh, father, let us
camp here, for I can move on no longer," cried Laurence, in a piteous
tone.

"Cheer up, cheer up, boy," said the old trapper, repeating the
expression he had frequently of late uttered.  "A few steps farther, and
we shall see the fort."

The poor lad struggled on.  The sun was sinking low in the sky, when,
just as they doubled the wood, its beams fell on the stockaded sides of
a fort, situated on slightly elevated ground out of the prairie.

"There's our resting place at last," exclaimed the old man, pointing
with his hand towards the fort.  "Keep up your courage, and we shall
reach it before dark.  The peltries we bring will ensure us a welcome;
and though I trust not to the white men who live in cities, the chief
factor there calls me his friend, and has a heart which I doubt not will
feel compassion for your youth.  He will treat you kindly for my sake,
though most of the traders such as he care little for the old trapper
who has spent his whole life in toiling for them."

Michael continuing to support the tottering steps of his son, they at
last reached the gates of the fort, which were opened to give them
admittance, their approach having been observed from the look-out towers
on the walls.  The stockade surrounded an area of considerable size,
within which were the residences of the factor and clerks, several large
storehouses, and huts for the accommodation of the garrison and hunters,
and casual visitors.  Altogether, to Michael's eyes, it appeared a place
of great importance.  A number of voyageurs and half-breeds, in their
picturesque costumes, were strolling about; multitudes of children were
playing at the doors of the huts; and women were seen going to and from
the stores, or occupied in their daily avocations.  Laurence felt
somewhat awe-struck on finding himself among so many strangers, and kept
close to his father.  At their entrance they had been saluted by a pack
of savage-looking sleigh-dogs, which came out barking at the new-comers,
but were quickly driven back to their quarters by their masters.

"Don't mind them, Laurence," said Michael.  "As soon as they find that
we are treated as friends, they will cease their yelping, and come
humbly to our feet to seek our favour."

Michael inquired for Mr Ramsay, the chief factor.

"There he comes from his house," answered the man to whom he had
addressed himself.

"What! old friend!  I am right glad to see you again," exclaimed Mr
Ramsay, advancing, and with frank cordiality shaking the old trapper by
the hand.  "I was afraid, from your long absence, that you would never
find your way back to the fort.  And who is this lad?  He seems very
young for the life of a trapper."

Michael then introduced Laurence, and narrated how they had lost their
horses and been compelled to tramp the whole distance on foot, not
having met any Indians from whom they could purchase fresh steeds, or
obtain assistance in carrying their bales.

"He looks worn out and ill," said the kind-hearted factor.  "Come in to
my house, and we will have him seen to.  A comfortable bed and a quiet
night's rest will, I hope, restore him; and you, friend, will, I
suspect, be glad to get that heavy pack off your shoulders."

"The boy has not been much accustomed to beds or houses, and the change
may, as you say, do him good," observed Michael.  "But my old sinews are
too tough to feel the weight of this pack, heavy as it is, I'll allow.
However, for the boy's sake, I'll accept your hospitality; and, if
you'll look after him till he is recovered, the best peltries I have
shall be at your service without any other payment."

"Nay, nay, friend; I come frae the Hielands, and have not so far
forgotten the customs of the old country as to receive payment for
entertaining a guest, and as such your son is welcome.  However, come
in, and get rid of your packs; and to-morrow, when you have rested, we
will examine their contents and calculate their value."

Poor Laurence tottered on, but scarcely had he reached the entrance of
the house than he sank to the ground.  His pack was quickly taken off,
and kindly hands lifted him to a room, where he was undressed and put to
bed--a luxury he had not, as his father had said, for many years
enjoyed.  Restoratives were applied; but kind Mrs Ramsay and those of
her household who watched him, as they observed his pale cheeks and
slowly-drawn breath, feared that nature was too far exhausted by the
fatigue he had undergone to recover.  The old man's alarm and grief,
when he heard of the dangerous state of his son, was excessive.  Kind
Mrs Ramsay did her best to console him, and her young daughter, a
fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl, Jeanie, climbed up on his knee, and
stroked his rough hair, as he hung down his head, utterly overcome.

"We will pray to our merciful Father in heaven to take care of the young
boy, and to make him strong and well again," she whispered.  "You know
that God hears our prayers; and oh, how good and kind He is, to let us
speak to Him, and to do what we ask Him in the name of His dear Son
Jesus Christ."

The old man gazed earnestly at the child for a few seconds, and, a look
of anguish passing over his countenance, he shook his head; and then
turning away from her, he put her gently down, as if he was afraid of
being thus again addressed, and answered, "Thank you, thank you, little
damsel; I hope my boy will get well.  It will go pretty nigh to finish
me if he does not," he murmured to himself.  "I ought to have known that
his strength was not equal to the task I put upon it.  If he dies, men
will say, and justly, that I am his murderer."

The old man partook but sparingly of the abundant repast spread before
him, and declining the luxury of a bed, rolled himself up in a blanket,
and took his post in the hall, near the door of the room where Laurence
had been placed, that he might hear from those who were attending on his
boy how it went with him.  At every footstep which passed he started up
and made the same inquiry, and then with a groan lay down again, his
desire to keep on the watch in vain struggling with his fatigue.



CHAPTER THREE.

ANXIETY OF THE TRAPPER ABOUT HIS SON--JEANIE TELLS LAURENCE ABOUT THE
BIBLE AND GOD'S LOVE TO MAN--LAURENCE OUT OF DANGER--THE TRAPPER LEAVES
LAURENCE WITH HIS FRIENDS--JEANIE TRIES TO TEACH LAURENCE TO READ--
HISTORY OF MRS. RAMSAY.

The following morning, the old trapper was sitting on the floor, where
he had passed the night, with his head bent down on his knees, when Mrs
Ramsay came out of his son's room.

"Is he better?  Will he live?" he asked in a low, husky voice, gazing up
anxiously at her countenance.

"The issues of life and death are in God's hands," she answered.  "Your
young son is very ill; but our merciful Father in heaven can restore him
if He thinks fit; we can but watch over him, and minister to his wants
as may seem best to us.  Lift up your heart in prayer to that Great
Being through Him who died for us, sinning children as we are that we
might be reconciled to our loving Parent, and He will assuredly hear
your petition, and grant it if He thinks fit."

The old man groaned as she ceased speaking, and again dropping his head
on his breast made no reply to her, though he muttered to himself, "She
tells me to pray.  The Great Spirit would strike me dead in his anger
were I to dare to speak to Him."  The kind lady, seeing he did not
speak, passed on.

Old Michael could with difficulty be persuaded to eat anything, or to
quit his post during the day.  Little Jeanie was at length sent to him
with some food, to try if he would receive it at her hands.

"Here," she said, placing her hand on his arm.  "You must take some of
this, or you will become weak and ill.  God, you know, gives us food to
support our bodies, just as He sends His holy spirit to strengthen our
souls.  It is very wrong not to eat when we require food, and so it is
when we refuse to receive the aid of the Holy Spirit, which we so much
need every moment of our lives."

"Who told you that, little damsel?" asked the old man, looking up in the
child's sweet face.

"Mamma, of course," she answered.  "And Mr Martin, the missionary, who
came here some time ago, says she is right, and told me never to forget
what she says to me.  I try not to do so; but when I am playing about,
and sometimes when I feel inclined to be naughty, I am apt not to
remember as I ought; and then I ask God to help me and to forgive me,
through Jesus Christ, and all those things come back again to my
memory."

"You naughty!" said the old man, gazing still more intently at the young
fair countenance.  "I don't think you ever could be naughty."

"Oh yes, yes, I am, though," answered the child.  "I feel sometimes
vexed and put out, and so do all sorts of naughty things; besides, you
know that God says, `there is none that doeth good, no, not one;' and
even if I did not think I was naughty, I know that I must be in His
sight, for He is so pure and holy that even to Him the heavens, so
bright to us, are not pure."

The old man apparently did not understand what the child was saying to
him, but the sound of her soft voice soothed his troubled heart.  She
little knew how dark and hard that heart had become.

"What is it you want, little damsel?" he asked, in a tone as if he had
been lost in thought while she was speaking.

"I came to bring you this food," she said.  "I shall be so glad to see
you eat some."

The old man, without further remonstrance, almost mechanically, it
seemed, consumed the food she offered him.

For several days Laurence hung between life and death, but the constant
and watchful care of his new friends was blessed with success; and once
more he opened his eyes, and was able to understand and reply to what
was said to him.  As soon as he was considered out of danger, old
Michael regained his usual manner.  Though he expressed his gratitude to
his hosts in his rough, blunt way, he uttered no expression which showed
that he believed that aught of thanks were due to the Giver of all good
for his son's recovery.  With his ordinary firm tread he stalked into
the room where Laurence lay.

"I am glad to see thee coming round, boy," he said.  "Food and quiet is
all that is now required to fit thee for work again.  Dost not long to
be once more wandering through the forest, or trapping by the side of
the broad stream?  I am already weary, as I knew I should, of this dull
life, and must away to look after our traps and such of our peltries as
may have escaped the claws of the cunning wolverines."

"Stay for me but a few days, and I shall be ready to go with you,
father," said the boy, trying to raise himself up.

"Nay, nay, boy; but you're not yet strong enough for travelling.  The
snow lies thickly on the ground, and the winter's wind whistles keenly
through the forest and across the plain.  Stay a while with your good
friends here, and I'll come back for thee, and then we will hie away to
lead the free life we have enjoyed so long."  Old Michael spoke in a
more subdued tone than usual.

"You speak truth, father, when you say our friends are kind; if it were
not for you I should not wish to leave them.  Sometimes, when Mrs
Ramsay and her little daughter have been tending me, my thoughts have
been carried back to the days when I was a young child, or else to some
pleasant dreams which have visited me in my sleep."

"Speak not again of those times, Laurence," exclaimed the old trapper in
an angry tone.  "They are mere foolish fancies of the brain.  You are
still weak and ill, but you will soon recover," he added in a more
gentle voice.  "And when I come for you, promise me that you will be
ready to go forth once more to be my companion in the free wilds."

"Yes, father, yes; I promise, whenever you come and summon me away, I
will go with you."

"Farewell, then, boy," said the old trapper, taking his son's hand.  "We
will look forward to the time when we may enjoy our free roving life
together again."

On the entrance of Mrs Ramsay and Jeanie, who came with some nourishing
food for Laurence, the old trapper silently left the room.  When, a
short time afterwards, Mrs Ramsay inquired for him, she found that he
had quitted the fort, leaving behind him his bales of peltries, with the
exception of the white wolf-skin.

"He has taken it to trade with the Indians," observed the factor.  "He
knows that they value it more than we do."

"I am so sorry that your father has gone away, Laurence," said Jeanie,
as she sat by the bedside of the young invalid, trying to console him
for the grief he showed when he heard of the old trapper's departure.
"But remember you are among friends, and we will do all we can to make
you happy.  Still, it is a great thing to know that your father loves
you.  I should be miserable if I could suppose that my father and mother
did not love me.  But do you know, Laurence, I have often thought how
much more wretched I should feel if I did not know that our Heavenly
Father loves me also even more than they do.  Mamma has often told me
that His love is so great that we cannot understand it.  It always makes
me feel so happy when I think of it, and that He is always watching over
us, and that His eye is ever upon us."

"Do you speak of the Great Spirit, little girl?" said Laurence, raising
himself on his elbow, and gazing inquiringly at her.  "I have heard that
He is the Friend of brave warriors and those who obey Him, and that He
is more powerful than any human being; but still I cannot fancy that He
cares for young boys and girls, and women and slaves, or cowards who are
afraid to fight."

"Oh, yes, yes; He cares for everybody," exclaimed Jeanie.  "He loves all
the creatures He has made, to whom He has given souls which will live
for ever and ever.  He wants them all to live with Him in the glorious
heaven He has prepared for all who accept the gracious offer of mercy
which He makes to us.  You know that we are by nature rebels and
disobedient children; and consequently Satan, the great rebel chief, has
power to do evil, and to tempt us to sin, and to rebel against God, as
he tempted our first parents; but God sent His Son Jesus Christ into the
world, to suffer the punishment which, for our disobedience and sin, we
ought to suffer, and to tell us that, if we trust Him and believe that
He has so suffered for our sins, and thus taken them away, and will love
and obey Him, and follow the laws which He established, we shall be
received back again into favour, and when our souls quit this world,
that they will go and dwell with Him in that glorious and happy land
where He will reign for ever and ever."

Laurence continued his fixed gaze at the young girl as she spoke.

"These are very wonderful words you speak.  They are so wonderful that I
cannot understand them," said Laurence very slowly.

"What I speak of is indeed very wonderful, for even the angels in heaven
wonder at it; but if you seek the aid of the Holy Spirit, He will make
it clear to your mind, for He it is who alone can teach us what Christ
is, and what He has done for us.  My mamma often told me about these
things, and I did not understand them; but when I prayed that the Holy
Spirit would help me to know the love of Jesus, and all He has done for
me, then what appeared so dark and mysterious became as clear as the
noonday; and, oh, I am sure that there is no joy so great as that of
knowing that Jesus Christ loves us."

"I don't think I shall ever understand that," said the boy, sinking back
on his couch.  "My father has never told me anything about those things
and I am sure He is very, very wise, for the Indians say so; and every
one owns that he is the best white trapper between the Rocky Mountains
and the Red River.  When he comes back, I'll talk to him, and learn what
he thinks of the matter."

"Oh, but God tells us that He has `hid these things from the wise and
prudent, and revealed them unto babes,'" observed Jeanie.  "Your father
is all you say, I am sure; but does he read the Bible, the book which
God has given to us, to tell us about Jesus, and to let us know His
will?"

"I never heard of such a book," answered the boy.  "But then I know
nothing about books; I could not understand its meaning if I had one."

"What! cannot you read?" asked the little girl, in a tone of
astonishment.

"No, of course not," answered Laurence.  "The only books I have seen are
those in the hands of the white traders, when they have been taking
notes of the peltries they have bought from us or our Indian friends.
Then I have observed that they make marks with the end of a stick in
their books, and that is all I know about the matter."

"Oh, then, I must show you some books, and you must learn to read.  It
is a sad thing not to be able to read the Bible."

"I have no wish to learn, though you are very kind to offer to teach
me," answered the boy, in a somewhat weary tone.  "When I am well
enough, I should like to be following my father, or chasing the buffalo
with the brave hunters of the prairie.  Still, I should be sorry to go
away from you and those who have been so kind to me."

"But it will be a long time before you are able to sit on horseback, or
to endure the wild camp-life of a hunter, and until that time comes you
must let me teach you."

"My head would ache if I were to try to learn anything so strange as
reading," said Laurence, closing his eyes.  "Even now I cannot bear to
think.  But you are very kind, very kind," he added, as if he felt the
little girl would consider him ungrateful for refusing her offer.

Mrs Ramsay, who had just then come in unperceived, had heard the last
part of the conversation, and understanding better than her daughter did
the boy's still weak state, saw that it was not the time to press the
point, and that it would be better just then to allow Laurence to fall
asleep, as she judged from his heavy eyes he was inclined to do.  She,
therefore, smoothing his pillow, and bestowing a smile on him, led
Jeanie from the room.

Mrs Ramsay had gone through many trials.  She had been brought up among
all the refinements of civilised society in Scotland, and had been early
brought by her pious parents to know and love the Lord Jesus.  She had
married Mr Ramsay, then employed in the service of the Hudson's Bay
Company, dining a short visit he paid to his native land; but she had
been little aware of the dangers and hardships she would be called on to
endure in the wild region to which he was to take her.  He had been so
accustomed to them from his earliest days that, when describing the life
he had led, he unconsciously made light of what might otherwise
naturally have appalled her.  For his sake she forbore from complaining
of the perils and privations to which she had been exposed; and she had
ever, by trusting to the aid and protection of God, borne up under them
all.  Two of her children had been taken from her, and Jeanie alone had
been left.  Famine, and the small-pox and measles, which has proved so
fatal to the inhabitants of those northern wilds, had on several
occasions visited the fort, which had also been exposed to the attacks
of treacherous and hostile natives; while for years together she had not
enjoyed the society of any of her own sex of like cultivated mind and
taste.  Yet she did not repine; she devoted herself to her husband and
child, and to imparting instruction to the native women and children who
inhabited the fort.  She went further, and endeavoured to spread the
blessings of religion and civilisation among the surrounding Indian
population.  By her influence her husband had been induced to take an
interest in the welfare of the Indians, and no longer merely to value
them according to the supply of peltries they could bring to trade with
at the fort.  He endeavoured also to instruct them in the art of
agriculture, and already a number of cultivated fields were to be seen
in the neighbourhood.  He had introduced herds of cattle, which the
Indians had been taught to tend and value, and numerous horses fed on
the surrounding pastures.  His great object now was to obtain a resident
missionary, who might instruct the still heathen natives in the truths
of Christianity; for when he had learned to value the importance of his
own soul, he of necessity felt deeply interested in the salvation of the
souls of his surrounding fellow-creatures.  He had been warned that,
should the natives become Christians and civilised, they would no longer
prove useful as hunters and trappers, and that he was acting in
opposition to trade.

"When that occurs it will be time enough, if you think fit, to complain,
my friends," he answered.  "At present I see innumerable immortal souls
perishing in their darkness; and am I to be debarred, for fear of future
consequences, in offering to them the blessings of the gospel?"

Most of those to whom he spoke were unable to comprehend him, but he
persevered; and as the native trappers, certain of being fairly dealt
with, resorted in greater numbers than before to the fort, and the
amount of peltries he collected not falling off, no objection was taken
at headquarters to his proceedings.



CHAPTER FOUR.

DANGERS IN THE FORT--THE WINTER SETS IN--SCARCITY OF FOOD--MR. RAMSAY'S
ACCOUNT OF HIS FIRST MEETING WITH THE OLD TRAPPER--HIS JOURNEY ACROSS
THE PRAIRIES--ATTACKED BY DACOTAHS--DEATH OF HIS COMPANIONS--RESCUED BY
THE OLD TRAPPER--PRAIRIE ON FIRE--RIDE FOR LIFE.

The remote forts, as the trading posts of that region are called, were
exposed at that period to numerous vicissitudes.  When the buffalo, in
large herds, came northward from the wide prairies in the south, and
fish could be caught in the neighbouring lakes and rivers, provisions
were abundant.  But at other times, as all articles of food had to be
brought many hundred miles in canoes, along the streams which intersect
the country, or overland by carts or sleighs, notwithstanding all the
forethought and precaution of the officers in charge, they were
occasionally hard pressed for means of supporting life.

At the period we are describing, the frost had set in earlier than
usual, and the neighbouring streams and lakes had been frozen over
before a supply of fish could be caught for the winter store.
Grasshoppers, or locusts, as they should be more properly called, coming
in vast hordes from the south, had settled on the fields, and destroyed
the crops of maize and barley; while the buffalo had not migrated so far
to the northward as in other years.  The hunters who had gone forth in
chase of the moose, elk, bears, and other animals, had been less
successful than usual.

Mr Ramsay, as the winter drew on, dreaded that famine would visit the
fort.  He had sent for supplies to headquarters, which he was daily
expecting to arrive by a train of dog-sleighs, and had again despatched
his hunters in all directions, in the hopes that they might bring in a
sufficient number of wild animals of the chase to provision the garrison
till their arrival.

Laurence slowly recovered his strength.  Mrs Ramsay took care that he,
at all events, should be well supplied with nourishing food.

"For his father's sake, I wish you to do all you can for the poor lad,"
said Mr Ramsay to his wife.  "I owe him a debt of gratitude I can never
repay, though he appears unwilling to be my creditor, by speaking of the
matter as an every-day occurrence.  I was travelling some years back,
with a small party of half-breed hunters and Crees from the Red River to
Chesterfield House, when, a fearful storm coming on, we were compelled
to encamp in the open prairie.  A short time before we had passed a
small stream, on the banks of which grew a few birch and willows.  The
country was in a disturbed state, and we had heard that several war
parties of Dacotahs were out, with the intention of attacking the Crees,
their hereditary enemies.  Thinking it possible we might be attacked,
should our trail have been discovered, we arranged our carts in a
circle, to enable us to resist a sudden onslaught of the foe.  We were,
however, without water or fuel.  To obtain a supply of both these
necessaries, we sent back several of our men to the stream I mentioned,
hoping that they would return to the camp before dark.

"The shades of evening were already coming on when we caught sight, in
the far distance, of a large party of horsemen scouring over the
prairie.  We had little doubt that they were Dacotahs, but we hoped that
our small encampment, at the distance we were from them, might escape
detection.  The keen eyes of the red-skin warriors, however, ere long
found us out, and we saw them galloping towards us, flourishing their
spears and uttering their savage war-cries.  Except the plumes in their
hair and girdles round their waists, they were destitute of clothing,
though their bodies and faces were covered thickly with paint, making
them look more like demons than human beings.  Had our whole party been
together, we might have been able, with our rifles, to drive them back;
but divided as we were, had we fired, although we might have shot some
of those in advance, the remainder would have dashed forward and speared
us before we could have had time to reload.

"The warriors, on getting near the camp, and discovering the
preparations we had made for their reception, those in advance waited
till the remainder of their party came up.  Just then they caught sight
of our friends returning across the open plain bringing the wood and
water.  With wild and fearful shouts the savages dashed forward to cut
them off.  They had no means of defending themselves, and terror seizing
them, they took to flight, hoping to escape to the river and lie
concealed under its banks.  The horsemen, however, overtook them before
they could reach it, and in a short time we saw the Dacotahs returning
with the scalps of their victims at the end of their spears.  Like
savage beasts who have once tasted blood, their rage and fury increased,
and they seemed resolved, at all risks, to destroy us, as they had our
companions, and to obtain the rich booty they expected to find in our
camp.  On they came, shrieking and howling more fearfully than before.
I called on my few remaining men to fight bravely in defence of our
lives, reminding them that should they yield they would be cruelly
tortured, and ultimately put to death.

"Although at first driven back by our fire, again and again they rushed
forward, surrounding our camp, and breaking through our imperfect
fences.  Most of my little garrison were speared, and I had received two
wounds; but I scarcely felt them, and still retained my strength and
energy.  The rest of the survivors, although much more hurt, and
bleeding at every pore, fought bravely; for all of us knew that we could
expect no mercy from our savage foes.

"Night was coming on, and we had little hopes of ever seeing another sun
rise.

"Among the stores we were conveying were several casks of gunpowder.  As
a last resource, I seized one of them which I managed to reach, and
placing it before me, shouted out to our enemies that if they approached
nearer, I would fire my rifle into it, and blow them and the whole camp
into the air.  They were well acquainted with its power, and held it, as
I knew, in great dread.  My example was followed by the rest of my party
who had yet strength to move.  The Dacotahs retired to a short distance,
and held a consultation, after which they galloped round and round us,
shrieking and shouting, when one of them advanced somewhat nearer, and,
in a derisive tone, told us that we were welcome to remain where we
were, for escape was impossible, as they intended to keep near us, and
that in a short time we should be starved to death, when they would have
our scalps, and take possession of our goods.  We knew too well that
they spoke the truth; but we replied that we were determined not to
yield, and that if they approached, we would carry our threat into
execution.

"Darkness had now come on, but we distinguished them still hovering
around us in the distance.  That was the most dreadful night I ever
passed.  The groans and cries of the wounded, as they lay on the ground
around me, continued without intermission.  I could do but little to
relieve them; for we had no water to quench our burning thirst, and had
I placed them in the carts they might have been speared, should the
enemy have made a sudden attack, as they were very likely to do, hoping
to catch us unprepared.

"When morning dawned, the Dacotahs again dashed forward, yelling as
before, and approached sufficiently near to survey our condition.  All
day long they continued the same system, hoping apparently to wear us
out, which, indeed, there appeared every probability of their doing.

"Several of my unfortunate companions had sunk from loss of blood and
thirst, and my sufferings had become so great that I envied them their
fate, when, as I cast my eyes around to watch the movements of our foes,
I saw them gathering together in a body, while in the far distance
appeared a single horseman, who, galloping at full speed, was coming
towards the camp.  He stopped short as he approached the Dacotahs, as if
to ascertain who they were; he then rode boldly forward towards them.  I
saw that he was a white man, and knew by his gestures that he was
haranguing the savages.  Several of their chiefs appeared to be replying
to him.  He then waved his hand, and galloped up to the camp.

"`I know all about it,' he exclaimed in English, and his words sounded
pleasantly in my ears.  `I made them promise to give me one of my
countrymen instead of a debt they owe me, and I wish that I could save
more of your lives.  What!' he exclaimed, on seeing me rise to move
towards him, `are you the only one left alive?'

"I had no need to reply, but pointed to the bodies of my companions on
the ground; for by that time nearly all were dead, while those who still
remained alive were too weak to move, and it was evident that in a short
time they also would be numbered with the dead.  It grieved me much to
leave them in their sad condition; but yet by remaining I could do them
no good.  The stranger lifted me up on his horse with as much ease as if
I had been a child, and bore me off in the direction from whence he had
come.

"`We have no time to lose, for I don't trust the red-skins, friends
though they are of mine,' he said.  `They may in a few minutes change
their minds.'

"We had gone but a short distance when I saw my preserver turn his head
to look behind him.  There was an expression of anxiety in his
countenance.

"`What is the matter?'  I asked.

"`The red-skins have set the prairie on fire,' he answered.  `I don't
think they did it on purpose, for they will chance to suffer more than
we do; but we must push onwards, or the flames will anon be close at our
heels.'

"I raised my head as he spoke, and saw dense wreaths of smoke rising up
to the southward, below which I could distinguish a broad red line,
extending for a mile or more from east to west.

"The hunter, holding me in his firm grasp, put spurs to his horse, and,
slackening his rein, galloped at full speed over the ground.  The motion
caused my wounds to bleed afresh, but it was no time to stop to bind
them up.  I felt very weak, and the dreadful thought came across me
that, should I faint, my new friend would suppose me dead, and naturally
leave me to my fate.  Might he not even do so, at all events, should the
fire come rapidly after us, for the sake of preserving his own life?  He
seemed to divine my thoughts.

"`I will not desert you, lad,' he said.  `Cheer up; we have but a few
leagues to go to reach a river, on the further side of which we shall be
safe.  My good steed has been well accustomed to carry a heavy weight,
and he makes nothing of what he has now on his back.'

"While he was speaking, a loud dull roar like thunder was heard, and a
dense column of smoke rose upward from the spot where we had been
encamped.

"`Ah! ah! the red-skins have lost the booty they were so eager to
secure,' he exclaimed with a peculiar laugh.

"The fire had reached the camp, and the casks of powder had ignited and
blown the carts and the rest of their contents into the air.

"`We shall be safe from them, at all events,' observed the stranger;
`for they will not pull rein for many a long league from this, if they
should escape the effects of their own carelessness.'

"The raging fire had now extended from east to west as far as the eye
could reach, and came on even faster than we could move.  Still the
dauntless hunter showed no signs of fear or intention of abandoning me,
that he might insure his own safety.  The love of life was strong within
me, but I felt that it was almost unjust to allow him to risk his for
the sake of saving mine.  Away we went, scouring the prairie, the hunter
urging on his steed with slackened rein and spur, and by word of mouth.
Already I could hear the ominous crackling and hissing of the flames as
they made their way over the long dry grass, and caught the bushes which
here and there were scattered over the plain.  Every now and then the
hunter looked behind him.  Nearer and nearer came the long line of fire
and smoke; the sky overhead was darkened; the air was hot and stifling.
Still he cheered on his steed.  Fast as we went, the fire came faster.

"On and on we galloped, the dense smoke surrounding us.  I gasped for
breath; already it seemed that the flames were close at the horse's
heels.  The animal appeared to know his danger as well as his rider, and
sprang frantically forward.  I saw no more.  I only felt that the horse
had made a desperate plunge, and soon afterwards there was the sound of
water in my ears, and instead of the violent movements of the galloping
horse I felt myself borne smoothly forward.  Then I was lifted in the
strong arms of the hunter and placed on the ground.  I opened my eyes,
and found myself seated on a narrow strand, on the opposite side of a
river, with a high bank rising above my head.  Across the stream the
fire raged furiously, devouring the trees which fringed its shores;
while close above our heads hung a black canopy of smoke, though a cool
current of air, which blew up the stream, enabled me to breathe freely.
The hunter, holding the bridle of his horse, was seated by my side.

"`We have done it, friend,' he said.  `I knew we should.  It's not the
first time I have had to ride for my life; but I never had a harder
gallop, that I'll allow.  The Dacotahs will have had a narrow escape if
they managed to get clear.  Let me look to your hurts.  You are hungry,
it may be.'

"`Water, water,' were the only words I could utter.  He produced a
leathern cup from his ample pouch, and, filling it with water, poured
the contents down my throat.  I felt as if I could have drunk the stream
dry, but he would give me no more.

"`Wait a bit; you shall soon have another draught,' he said.  `And now
let me see to your hurts.'  He brought more water, and having bathed my
wounds, bound them skilfully up with a handkerchief which I fortunately
had in my pocket.  After I had taken another draught of water, I quickly
began to revive under his careful treatment.  When he thought that I had
sufficiently recovered to be removed, he bore me up a bank, and then led
his horse round another way up to where I lay.  He carried me on till we
reached a wood near a stream.  Here, finding from my weak state that I
was unable to travel further, he built a hut and tended me with the
greatest care till I had recovered sufficiently to sit on horseback.  He
often, I found, deprived himself of food that I might be amply supplied.
As soon as I was able to bear the journey he placed me on the horse,
and walking by my side, we set out for the fort.  We had many weary
leagues to go, and frequently we fell in with traces of the savage and
treacherous Sioux or Dacotahs, evidently out on expeditions against the
Crees.  Occasionally, to avoid our foes, we had to remain in concealment
for several days together, and at other times it was necessary to halt
while my companion went in search of game, and to obtain provisions.
Ultimately, after many adventures, when he often exposed his own life to
preserve mine, we reached the fort in safety.

"Such was the commencement of my acquaintance with Michael Moggs, the
old trapper.  We have met occasionally since, but he has always refused
to receive any recompense for the service he rendered me, declaring that
he was deserving of none, as he would have done the same for any other
white man who might have needed his assistance.  I have vainly
endeavoured to induce him to remain in the fort, or to take service with
the company; but he invariably replies that he prefers the life of a
free trapper, and that he will not bind himself to serve any master."

"I wish we could induce him to stop with us, both for his own sake, and
for that of his young son," observed Mrs Ramsay.  "He is an intelligent
youth, with a mind capable of cultivation.  It is sad to see him so
utterly ignorant of religious truth; and I fear that his strength will
give way if he continues the hard life he has shared with his eccentric
father.  I cannot but think that the old man is greatly to blame for
bringing him up as he has done."

"We must hope for the best," said Mr Ramsay.

"We have no right to hope unless we pray and strive, dear husband," said
Mrs Ramsay.  "God will hear our prayers, both for father and son.
After the account you have just given me, I feel that we are doubly
bound to pray for them.  How greatly ought we to value that glorious
privilege of prayer, which allows us sinful creatures, trusting to the
all-cleansing blood of Jesus, to go boldly to the throne of grace,
knowing that our petitions will be heard and granted by the all-pure,
all-seeing, and all-just God, who does not look upon us as we are in
ourselves, but as clothed with the righteousness of Christ.  Let us pray
this night that the dark mind of our poor friend may be enlightened, and
that the Holy Spirit may bring home the truths of the gospel to that of
his young son."

"You are right; you are right, wife," said Mr Ramsay, taking her hand.
"I have hitherto thought only how I could benefit his temporal
condition.  It did not occur to me how much more important it was to
seek the good of his soul."

Little did the old hunter think, as he was wandering across the snowy
waste, that the hearts of friends were lifted up for him in prayer to
that God from whom he had so long obstinately turned away; yet though we
must be assured that God overhears the prayers of those who come to Him
in His Son's name, He takes His own good time and way to answer the
petitions he receives; and we must be prepared to wait patiently for the
result, and not expect always to see it brought about in the manner we
in our ignorance may have desired.



CHAPTER FIVE.

STOCK OF PROVISIONS AT THE FORT STILL FURTHER DECREASED--REPORTS OF
SIOUX BEING IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD--PREPARATIONS FOR DEFENCE--CHILDREN'S
AMUSEMENT OF "COASTING"--SIOUX SEEN IN THE DISTANCE--THE HUNTERS CAUGHT
BY THEM--CAMP-FIRES OF INDIANS SEEN IN THE DISTANCE--FRESH BANDS JOIN
THEM.

The trials to which the inhabitants of the fort were exposed were
becoming greater every day.  The store of potatoes and other vegetables
in the root-house, where they were secured from the frost, deep down
below the surface, was rapidly lessening.

Mr Ramsay had lately inspected the meat pit, in which the carcases of
the buffaloes and other animals shot during the previous fall were
preserved, and found it nearly empty.  Meat is preserved in that region
in a peculiar manner.  A deep pit is dug, and while the frost is still
in the air, and the snow covers the ground, all the animals killed are
placed in it.  The bottom is lined with a coating of snow beaten hard,
and then a layer of meat is placed on it.  On the top of this more snow
is beaten, when an additional layer of meat is placed in the pit, and so
on till the whole is full.  It is then covered over with snow, and a
thickly-thatched roof is erected over it.  The meat-cellar, indeed,
resembles an English ice-house.  The meat thus remains in a fit
condition to be eaten throughout the year.  Fish is preserved in the
same way.  During the winter, however, the fish, when caught, become
frozen, and can be kept in an open shed.

This year, as we have said, in consequence of the early frost, but a
small supply of fish had been caught.

Mr Ramsay was looking out anxiously for the arrival of the expected
supplies, but no news of their coming had yet readied him.  The hunters
had returned unsuccessful from the chase, and had again gone out with
the intention of proceeding to a greater distance than before.  News
came also which caused the small remaining garrison some anxiety.  It
was reported that, contrary to their usual custom, for they seldom
travel during winter, a large body of Sioux had been seen moving
northward on a warlike expedition.  Although their destination was
unknown, it was feared, as they had long threatened to attack the fort,
should they discover how small was its present garrison, and how greatly
pressed for food, they might put their evil intentions into execution.
Mr Ramsay accordingly made every preparation for defence in his power,
and few as were the numbers with him, he hoped to repulse the foe.  His
fears were rather on account of the hunters scattered at a distance from
each other, and who, should they fall into the hands of the Sioux, might
be cut off in detail.  To call them back was now impossible, as, should
he send out to search for them, he would have had still further to
lessen the number of defenders.  Constant watch was kept day and night,
and he determined, at all events, not to be taken by surprise.

Meantime Laurence had greatly recovered his strength, and, clad in a
warm fur dress, was able to move about, both inside and for a short
distance outside the fort.

The chief amusement of the younger portion of the inhabitants was
"coasting," or sliding down the steep side of the hill on which the fort
stood seated on small boards placed on runners, called "toboggins."
Descending from the height, the impetus they gained carried them for a
considerable distance over the level plain, till they were finally
brought up by a heap of snow at the end of a long path they had thus
formed.  The toboggin was then drawn up to the top of the hill, when the
young coaster again went sliding down, followed in succession by his
companions, shouting and cheering with delight, especially when any of
the toboggins went off the line, and their companions were half-buried
in the heap of snow below.

This amusement Laurence infinitely preferred to learning to read the
books which Jeanie brought him, although she offered to be his
instructress.  He would sit, however, very patiently during the long
winter evenings while she read to him.  He told her frankly that the
only books which interested him were those of adventures and hairbreadth
escapes in various parts of the world.  He listened attentively,
however, when she read the Bible, but seemed far more interested in the
narratives it contained than in any other portion.  Its Divine truths
had as yet, it seemed, made no impression on his mind.

"Now, Jeanie, I have been a good boy, and listened with my ears open to
all you have been reading about, and I think it is but fair that you in
return should come and coast with me to-morrow," he said one day, after
she had read to him for some time.  "I have had a beautiful new toboggin
made for you, and I am sure it will run faster and straighter than any
in the fort."

"I shall be very glad to come, if mamma will let me, though you are so
very bad a scholar that you do not deserve to have your way," she
answered.

"If I promise to learn better in future, will you ask leave to come?"
urged Laurence.  "I should like to be able to read about the wonderful
things you tell me of in your books."

"If you promise, I'll ask mamma to let me do as you wish," answered
Jeanie.  "But, remember, God hears every word you say, and knows
everything you think, and the promise made to me is really made to God,
and it will grieve Him if you break it."

"Oh, but I mean to keep my promise, though I cannot fancy that the Great
Spirit cares for what a young boy like me may think or say," answered
Lawrence.

"Oh, yes, yes, He cares for young and old alike," exclaimed Jeanie.  "He
tells us that the very hairs of our head are numbered, and He knows
every sparrow that falls to the ground.  That is to make us understand
that He is interested in all we think about, and in even the very
smallest thing we do.  It always makes me very happy when I reflect that
God cares for me, and loves me even more than my father and mother can
do, though they love me a great deal, because He is so much more
powerful than they are, and He can help me and keep me out of temptation
when I am inclined to be naughty, which they, with all their love and
interest in me, cannot do."

"I wish that I could think as you do, Jeanie," said Laurence.  "I must
try to do so, though; then you will ask your mamma's leave to come and
coast on the new sleigh?"

"Yes, I will ask her," said Jeanie.  "And you must show that you are in
earnest, by trying to say your alphabet this evening.  You missed out a
great many of the letters yesterday, and I felt ashamed of you."

Laurence had hitherto made but very slow progress in his studies.  His
head and eyes ached, he said, whenever he looked at a book, though he
really was anxious to learn for the sake of pleasing Jeanie.

Mrs Ramsay did not object to allow Jeanie to try the new sleigh, and
the next morning, accompanied by several other girls, she set out in
high glee with Mrs Ramsay, who went to look on at the sport.  Laurence
carried the sleigh on his shoulders, a number of other boys being
similarly provided.

Proceeding round outside the fort, they soon reached the steep part of
the hill.  In another minute, a merry laughing party were gliding down
the side, one after the other, with headlong speed, the impetus sending
them several hundred yards over the smooth hard surface of the snow
beyond.  Laurence, who sat in front, guiding Jeanie's sleigh, was
delighted to find that it went further than any of the others.  Up the
hill again they soon came, the boys carrying the sleighs, and the girls
scrambling up by their sides.

Laurence and Jeanie had coasted down the side of the hill, followed by
their companions, and had been carried some distance from the fort, when
they heard a shout from the watch-tower nearest them.  It was repeated
again and again in more urgent tones, calling them back to the fort.

"What can it mean?" asked Jeanie.  "We must go, at all events; and, see,
there's mamma on the top of the hill beckoning to us."

Laurence proposed to make another trip, saying he was sure there was no
necessity to be in a hurry.

"If we are called, we ought to go, we must go," said Jeanie.  "It would
be very wrong to delay a minute."

Thus urged, Laurence took up the sleigh, and the whole party reached the
top of the hill, where they found Mrs Ramsay, who told them to hurry
back with her to the fort.  On reaching the gate, they were informed
that a large party of Indians had been seen in the far distance, and
were still hovering just within sight of the fort.  At first it was
hoped that they were the hunters returning; but from their numbers and
the way they were moving it was suspected that they must be a band of
Sioux said to be out on a war-path, and that it was very probable they
would attack the fort.  The gates were accordingly shut, a drawbridge
over a deep cutting in front of them was drawn up, arms and ammunition
were placed on the platform inside the stockade, ready for use, and
every other preparation made for the reception of the foe.  Mr Ramsay
urged his little garrison to fight bravely in defence of their wives and
children, and the property committed to their charge.  For some time the
Indians had not approached nearer than when they were first seen, and
hopes were entertained that they would not venture on an attack.  Mr
Ramsay had always endeavoured to avoid hostilities with the natives, and
had on several occasions succeeded in gaining over and securing the
friendship of those who came with the intention of attacking the fort.
Under ordinary circumstances he would have felt confident, even should
he be unable by diplomacy to pacify the Indians, of easily keeping them
at bay, as the fort was sufficiently strong to resist any ordinary
attack.  Having, however, now but a very small garrison, and being hard
pressed for provisions, he felt more anxious than usual as to the result
should the fort be attacked; for of the savage character of the Sioux he
had already had too much experience not to know the fearful cruelties
they would practise should they gain the victory.  He examined every
part of the fort, and showed his men those points most likely to be
assailed, and which it was necessary to guard with the greatest
vigilance.  It might, however, have damped their spirits had he told
them of the scanty supply of provisions which remained.  Still he hoped
to hold out till the enemy were driven away, when the expected relief
might arrive, or the hunters return with a supply of game.

Mrs Ramsay was fully aware of the state of things.  She had before been
exposed to similar dangers.  "We must not faint, dear husband," she
said, "but continue to put our trust in God.  He will relieve us if he
thinks fit.  At all events, let us have faith in His protecting love,
and know that He does all for the best."

Several hours passed by, and still the strange Indians did not approach.

"There's a man coming towards the fort," shouted the look-out from the
tower.  "He drags himself but slowly over the snow, and appears to be
wounded.  He is one of our own people," added the sentinel, in a short
time, "and seems to be signing to us to send him assistance."

Mr Ramsay, on hearing this, despatched two of the garrison to bring in
the wounded hunter.  They lifted him along, looking every now and then
behind, as if they expected to be followed.  At length they arrived at
the gate, but the poor fellow Jaques Venot, was so exhausted from loss
of blood that he could not at first speak.  On reviving, after his
wounds had been bound up, and a cordial given him, he had a sad tale to
tell.  He and three other hunters were returning to the fort with the
flesh of a moose and bear which they had shot, when they were set upon
by a band of Sioux.  His three companions were shot down, he himself
being wounded and taken prisoner by them.  Instead of killing him, they
led him to their camp, as he supposed, that they might employ him to
negotiate with the garrison, and gain their object without the danger of
attacking the fort.  They knew from experience that in such an exploit
many of them would lose their lives.

"I found that I was right in my conjectures," continued Jaques.  "I was
at once carried before the Sioux leader, who was holding a council of
war with several other chiefs, and being placed in their midst, I was
asked whether I preferred torture and death to life and liberty.  I
replied that if they chose to torture me they should see that I could
surfer like a man, and that the hunters of the prairies always carried
their lives in their hands; but as I had no wish to die, I should be
glad to hear on what terms they offered me freedom."

"`You choose wisely,' said the chief.  `Tell us, then, what number of
men defend the fort.  Are they well armed?  Have they a good supply of
ammunition?  Are there many women and children?  And have they an
abundance of provisions?'"

"I smiled as the chief spoke.  `You ask many questions,' I said, `but
they are not difficult to answer.  The fort is strong, and there are men
enough within to defend it against twice the number of warriors I see
around me, whose bones will whiten the prairie if they make the attempt.
There are great guns which can send their shot nearly as far as this
camp, and each man has as many rifles as he can fire, while the women
and boys load them.  As to provisions, the whites are not like the
improvident red-skins, who gorge themselves with food one day and starve
for many afterwards.  I have spoken.  What is it you would have me do?'"

"The chiefs, on hearing my reply, consulted together.  `Listen,' said
their leader at length.  `You will go back to the fort and persuade the
white-skins within that we are their friends.  We want shelter and food
while the snow covers the ground; and if they give us that, we will go
forth and fish and hunt for them, and bring them more peltries than they
have ever before received in one season.'

"`But if I fail to persuade them, I asked, wishing to learn the designs
of the Sioux, what am I then to do?'

"`You will try to win some of the people with such promises as you well
know how to make.  Tell them they will be received among us as friends,
and that we will give them all that their hearts desire.  Then wait till
our warriors collect around the fort, and seek an opportunity at night
to open the gates and admit us.  You and those who will thus assist us
will gain our friendship, and all you ask shall be given you.'

"`The great Sioux chief speaks wise words,' I answered.  `Let me go
free, and I'll do your bidding.  I have long served the white-skins, and
it is time that I should seek new friends.'  On hearing my reply the
chief seemed satisfied.

"`You shall go, then,' he said; `but remember, should you fail to carry
out our wishes, you will learn that the Sioux know how to punish those
who play them false.'  On this the chief, bidding me hasten to the fort,
ordered some of his braves to conduct me through the camp and let me go
free.

"The Sioux are very numerous," continued the hunter, "and there are not
only warriors, but women and children among them.  They have lately
received a severe defeat from the Americans, and have been driven from
their hunting-grounds, and have vowed vengeance against all white-skins
and their friends.  They are expecting the arrival of another large
band, and I fear that they will fall in with the trails of the other
hunters and cut them off.  Even should our friends escape them, they
will find it difficult to return to the fort."

Laurence, who was present, listened eagerly to what Jaques said, and
made several inquiries about the appearance of the Sioux chief and
others of his followers.  He said nothing, however, but for some time
afterwards appeared lost in thought.

Night came on.  The garrison was kept constantly on the alert.  In the
far distance the camp-fires of the Indians could be seen blazing up near
a wood, under shelter of which they had pitched their skin tents, and
where, the snow being of less depth than on the open plain, their horses
could more easily get at the grass below it.  They on that account had
probably chosen the spot, instead of camping nearer the fort.

No one during the night was seen to approach, although any object might
easily have been distinguished moving across the surrounding white field
of snow.  It was remarked, however, that the fires had increased in
number since they had at first been lighted in the evening, and it was
consequently surmised that a fresh body of Sioux had arrived.

Frequently during the day Mr Ramsay anxiously looked out from the
watch-tower towards the east, in the hopes of seeing the expected train
with provisions.  He feared, however, that it might be perceived by the
Sioux before it could reach the fort.  To prevent this, he sent out a
couple of scouts to intercept the train, and lead it by a circuitous
route to the north, where it could not be seen from the camp of the
Sioux.

The day went slowly by, and another night came on.  Again the distant
camp-fires were seen blazing up, showing that the savages had not
abandoned their designs.  What prevented them from at once attacking the
fort it was difficult to say, unless they were better informed with
regard to its scanty supply of provisions than Jaques had supposed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note.  In the markets in Canada, not only fish, but animals of all
sorts, frozen hard, are brought for sale, and it is curious to see deer
and hares and pigs standing in rows, like stuffed animals in a museum,
on the market people's stalls; while fish are placed upright on their
tails in the baskets, and look as if they were endeavouring to leap out
of them.



CHAPTER SIX.

THE INDIANS BLOCKADE THE FORT--LAURENCE RECOGNISES THE SIOUX AS OLD
FRIENDS--OBTAINS LEAVE TO GO OUT AND MEET THEM--INDUCES THE SIOUX CHIEF
TO RETIRE--OBTAINS PRESENTS FOR THE INDIANS--ACCOMPANIES THEM--LAURENCE
FINDS HIS OLD NURSE--LAURENCE BIDS FAREWELL TO HIS FRIENDS AT THE FORT.

Several days had passed by; the provision sleighs had not arrived; none
of the hunters had returned to the fort; and already the garrison were
feeling the pangs of hunger.  Mr Ramsay had placed the people on the
smallest possible allowance of food, and yet, on examining the remaining
store, he found to his grief that it could not last many days longer.
There were horses and cattle feeding in a sheltered valley some miles
away, and had it not been for the besieging bands of Sioux, they might
easily have been brought in; and unwilling as he would have been to kill
them, they would have afforded an ample supply of food.  The fort,
however, was narrowly watched, and had any people been sent out to bring
in the cattle, they would have been pursued and cut off, or had they
succeeded, in getting away, they and the cattle would have been to a
still greater certainty captured on their return.  Mr Ramsay,
therefore, unwilling to risk the lives of any of his people, resolved
not to make the attempt till they were reduced to the last extremity.
He feared, from the conduct of the Sioux, that they must have become
acquainted with the condition of the fort, probably from one of the
hunters, who, under torture, might have confessed the state of the case.

The early part of the morning had passed quietly away, when a movement
was observed in the camp of the Sioux.  The white sheet of snow which
intervened was soon clotted over with their dark forms as they advanced
towards the fort in a long line, extending from east to west, the
extreme ends moving at a more rapid rate than the rest, as if they
purposed to surround it.  On they came, increasing their speed as they
drew near, shrieking, and shouting, and frantically brandishing their
weapons.  Their cries and gestures were terrific in the extreme.  They
seemed to be working themselves up into a fury, as if preparing to
attack the fort, and to destroy the hapless defenders.  Mr Ramsay again
urged those under his command to die at their posts rather than yield,
or to trust to any terms the savages might offer.  Mrs Ramsay and her
daughter, though pale from hunger, showed no signs of alarm.  Their
usual morning avocations having been performed, they sat together with
the Bible before them, and then kneeling down, with calm confidence
offered up their prayers for protection to that merciful God whom they
well knew heard all their petitions.

Laurence, now perfectly recovered, was on the platform, where most of
the garrison were stationed.  He there stood, with several guns by his
side, prepared to fire on the advancing savages.  Mr Ramsay had given
orders that not a shot should be discharged till the last moment.
Although the men had hitherto shown no lack of courage, when they saw
the overwhelming numbers of the expected assailants some of them cried
out that it would be impossible to defend the fort against their
assaults.  Mr Ramsay rebuked them severely, and charged them not again
to express such an idea.  Their courage, was, however, put to a great
test; for the savages, rushing on, fired their rifles, sending showers
of bullets rattling against the stockades.  Happily, none of the
defenders were struck.  Still, not a shot was discharged in return, and
the savages, surprised at this, instead of continuing to rush on,
halted.

They had now got so near that even their faces as well as their
head-dress, by which the different tribes are distinguished, could
clearly be discerned.  Mr Ramsay, though unwilling to shed blood, was
about to give the order to fire should they again advance, when Laurence
exclaimed, "I know them.  They are my friends.  I am a child of their
tribe.  They love me; and if I go forth to them, they will listen to
what I say."  His whole manner seemed changed.  As he spoke, his eye
brightened.  He looked a different being to the careless boy he had
hitherto seemed.

"How can you influence them, Laurence?" asked Mr Ramsay.  "They are not
likely to abandon their designs for anything you can say."

"Oh, yes, yes, I am sure they will," answered Laurence.  "Let me go
forth at once.  I'll tell them that you are my father's friend, that you
preserved my life, and that, if they love me as they say, they must not
hurt you or any of your people."

"But I am afraid that they will shoot you before they know who you are,"
said Mr Ramsay.

"Oh, I'll run the risk," exclaimed Laurence.  "Let me go forth at once,
before it is too late.  I will tell them how unwilling you were to
injure any of them, and that you are good and kind, and wish to be the
red man's friend."

Mr Ramsay, thinking that Laurence might be the means of preserving the
fort, no longer opposed his proposal.  Laurence, however, agreed to take
a white flag in his hand, with the meaning of which most of the tribes
accustomed to trade at the forts were well acquainted.

Slipping out at a small postern gate, he let himself down into the
trench unseen by the Sioux, and climbing up the opposite bank, the next
instant was bounding down the slope of the hill, waving his flag.  In a
few minutes he had reached the chief who had led the assailants.  He
uttered a few words, and the next moment the savage warrior stood
grasping his hands and gazing in his countenance.

"My second father, though your child has long been away from you, he has
not forgotten you," he exclaimed; "but he would ere this have been in
the world of spirits had not the good white chief, commander of yonder
fort, saved his life; and you cannot, knowing this, desire to injure his
kind friends.  No, my father; you and my brothers promised to be the
friend of your son's friends.  I knew you even afar off, and my heart
yearned towards you, and I felt sure that you would listen to my
prayers.  You know not the power and generosity of my white friends.
Even at this moment their far-reaching guns are pointed towards you, and
had they desired to take your life, they would have fired and laid you
and many of my brothers low."

Laurence continued for some minutes in the same strain.  The chief
seemed troubled.  He was unwilling to lose the booty he expected to find
in the fort, at the same time that he remembered his promise to his
adopted son, and was struck also by what he had said about his white
friends.

Laurence thus went on eloquently to plead his cause; at the same time,
he took care not to acknowledge how unable the garrison were to hold out
much longer.

"You have conquered, my son," exclaimed the chief.  "I will speak to
your brothers; your friends should be our friends.  Had blood been shed,
our people would have been unwilling to listen to my counsels; but now
all will be well.  Show the flag you carry, that no one may fire at us
as we retire.  We will return to our camp, and you will there see many
who will welcome you joyfully again among them."

Laurence, rejoiced at the success of his mission, stood waving his flag,
while the Sioux retired from around the fort.  He then quickly followed,
and overtook the chief.  Inquiries were made for his father, who had
been received into the tribe and long resided among them.  Laurence
replied that he hoped he would soon return, and that he was sure he
would be well pleased to hear that they had refrained from injuring his
white friends.

On reaching the camp, Laurence was received with warm greetings from his
red-skinned brothers and sisters, for he was looked on as a brother by
all the tribe.  He soon found his way to a lodge in which was seated an
old woman with shrivelled features, her long white locks hanging down
over her skeleton-like shoulders.  No sooner did she see him than,
uttering a wild shriek of delight, she seized him in her withered arms,
and pressed him to her heart.

"My child!" she exclaimed; "and you at length have come back to visit
the mother who has been yearning for long years to see you; and you have
not forgotten her?"

"No, indeed," answered Laurence; "from the day my white father took me
away I have ever thought of you, and recollected the happy times I
passed under your care."

"You have come, then, once more to be a brother of our people!"
exclaimed his old nurse.  "You will not go away again; but you will stay
and live in our lodges, and grow up and become a brave hunter of the
buffalo and moose, and gladden the eyes of one who loves you better than
any white mother."

"I have white friends who love me, and have treated me kindly; I should
be loath not to see them again.  And there is my white father, who may
come for me, and I am bound to follow him," answered Laurence.

"Your white friends and your white father cannot care for you as we do.
Your heart cannot be so hardened towards those who brought you up as to
wish again to quit them."

Much more his old nurse said in the same strain.  Laurence thought of
all the kindness he had received from Mrs Ramsay.  He was very
unwilling also to part from little Jeanie; but old feelings revived
within him, the new principles which he had of late heard in the fort
had taken no strong hold of him, and he became once more the wild Indian
boy of former years.

The chief sent for him, and used further powerful arguments to induce
him to remain.  Laurence at length promised to continue with his old
friends, unless his father should claim him; but he begged first to be
allowed to go back to the fort to bid farewell to his white friends.

The wily Sioux had had no intention of losing altogether the share of
the prized articles which he supposed the fort to contain.  He
consented, therefore, to allow Laurence to return, on condition that he
would obtain from the white chief, as he called Mr Ramsay, a certain
number of guns, ammunition, blankets, knives, and numerous other things
which he named.

"If he sends them, we will be his friends; but if not, we shall know
that he looks upon us as enemies, and we will take by force what we now
only ask as a gift."

Laurence, accompanied by a small band of Sioux, set out as the bearer of
this message to the fort.  The Indians remained outside while he made
his way to the gates.  He was welcomed warmly by Mr Ramsay.  He was
thankful to find that the train with the provisions had arrived, and
that several of the hunters had also made their way round by the north
into the fort, with two bears and several deer and other animals.

Mr Ramsay, notwithstanding this, wishing to establish, if possible,
friendly relations with the Sioux, agreed to send the articles the chief
demanded as a gift, though he still thought it prudent not to put
himself or any of his people in their power.

"You and your red-skinned friends who have come with you shall,
therefore, convey them to the chief, and you will then return and remain
with us.  I wish to show you how much I value the service you have
rendered us; for had the Sioux assailed the fort--as not only had the
provisions, but our ammunition run short--they very probably would have
entered and put every one within to death."

Laurence hung down his head.  "I should like to remain, sir," he said,
"but I have promised to return, and live with the Sioux, unless my
father comes for me.  I am at home with them, and know all their ways,
and shall become some day, so they say, a great chief among them."

"Their ways, I fear, are bad ways," said Mr Ramsay.  "And though I
cannot tell you to break your promise, you will, I am sure, some day
grieve bitterly that you made it.  However, go in and see Mrs Ramsay
and Jeanie.  You would not wish to go without bidding them farewell."

"I dare not face them; they might make my heart melt," answered
Laurence, doubting his own resolution; but Mr Ramsay led him to the
house.

Jeanie burst into tears when she heard of his intentions.  "Oh,
Laurence, and can you, after you have heard about Jesus, have been told
of His love, and how He wishes you to be ready to go and live with Him
for ever and ever, in glory and happiness, again go back to dwell among
heathen savages, who do all sorts of things contrary to His will, merely
for the sake of enjoying what you call liberty for a few short years,
and thus risk the loss of your soul?" said Mrs Ramsay, taking him
kindly by the hand.

"The Sioux, in their dark ignorance, may wish you well, so far as this
world is concerned, though the life they would induce you to lead is
full of danger and hardships; but here you have friends, who desire not
only to benefit your mind and body, but to show you how you may obtain
blessings which no earthly power can take away, and which will endure
throughout eternity.  Think of that, Laurence.  Would you barter your
soul for the sake of a few years of wild excitement, and what you
suppose to be enjoyment, and die as a poor ignorant savage, forgetting
God and His mercy and loving-kindness, as shown to us in giving His Son
to die for our sins, that we may be received again as favoured children,
to live with Him in unspeakable happiness for ever and ever?"

"But if I become a warrior, and die bravely fighting, I shall go to the
happy hunting-grounds with my Indian friends," answered Laurence.

It was too evident that all which had been said to the poor lad had
fallen upon barren ground.  Laurence was still a heathen.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE LIFE OF LAURENCE AMONG THE INDIANS--SHOOTING THE BUFFALO--THE
HUNTERS' CAMP AND FEAST--LAURENCE IN THE WOOD--THE SIOUX HUNTERS SHOT BY
CREES--LAURENCE LIES CONCEALED--HIS FIRST PRAYER--PASSES A FEARFUL
NIGHT--HIS ENCAMPMENT ATTACKED BY WOLVES--JOURNEY OVER THE SNOW--FALLS
INTO A SNOW-DRIFT.

Laurence was once more with his Indian friends.  They were delighted
with the presents they had received, and he found himself treated with
respect and attention by all the tribe.  A horse and arms were provided
for him; he was clothed in a dress of skins, ornamented with feathers
and beads, and was looked upon as the son of their chief.  Still he
could not forget the kindness he had received at the fort, and he very
often regretted that he had been persuaded by the Sioux to abandon his
white friends.  Mr Ramsay would, he knew, inform his father where he
had gone, should he return to the fort.  He sometimes hoped that the old
trapper would come and claim him, although the life he was compelled to
lead with him was even harder and more full of danger than his present
existence with the Sioux.

The tribe had moved to a considerable distance from the fort, where they
again took up their winter quarters.  Hence they sent out parties of
hunters to capture buffalo, which, in small herds, pasture, even while
the snow lies on the ground, by digging beneath it to reach the dry
grass.  Laurence, whose mind was ill at ease, endeavoured to banish
thought by joining on every opportunity these expeditions.  They were,
he knew, full of danger.  Sometimes the powerful buffalo would turn on
their assailants, and broken limbs and wounds, and not unfrequently
death, was the consequence.  Snow storms might come on, and before the
shelter of a wood could be gained horses and men might be overwhelmed.
They were also on the borders of the country of the Crees, the deadly
enemies of the Sioux, who would without fail put to death any who might
fall into their hands.  In the summer, when large herds of buffaloes
appear, the hunters, on swift horses, and armed with rifle, or bows and
sharp arrows, gallop fearlessly in among them, shooting them down, again
managing dexterously to extricate themselves from amid the concourse of
animals.  Sometimes also a large enclosure is formed with a narrow
entrance, and having a road lined with trees leading to it, broad at the
outer end, and gradually decreasing in width towards the mouth of the
pound.  The hunters, forming a wide semicircle in the distance, drive
the animals towards it, while people with flags stationed on either side
of the road prevent the buffalo breaking through, which are thus induced
to rush on till they become entrapped in the pound, where they are shot
down with bullets or arrows.  In the winter, however, buffaloes can only
be approached by stalking, the hunter creeping cautiously on till he
gets within range of his victim.  Sometimes also a cruel stratagem is
employed.

Laurence had gone out with three hunters on horseback.  They had
proceeded a considerable distance without meeting any animals; still,
eager to obtain some meat, of which the camp was greatly in want, they
pushed onwards.  At length they descried, in the far distance to the
north, several buffalo feeding near the banks of a broad stream.  As
they approached, they discovered that they were cows, and had two young
buffaloes among them.  The wary animals had espied them, and were making
slowly off.  Each of the hunters carried on his saddle the skin of an
animal with the hair on.  Laurence had that of a young buffalo calf, as
also had one of the others, while the remaining two were provided with
skins of wolves.  Securing their horses to some trees near the banks of
the river, the hunters covered their backs with the skins.  Trailing
their rifles along the ground, Laurence and his companion with the calf
skin cautiously crept towards the buffalo, while the men in wolves'
clothing followed at a distance.  As they advanced, the animals stopped
to watch them, uncertain what they were.  Thus they were enabled to make
their way towards the generally cautious monsters of the prairie.  The
seeming wolves now crept on at faster speed, when the buffaloes,
believing that some of their young were in danger of destruction from
the savage foes they were accustomed to dread, dashed forward to rescue
them.  The wolves now hastened on, and made as if they were about to
spring on the calves.  As the buffaloes rushed up, the hunters sprang to
their feet, and firing at the heads of the confiding and faithful
animals, brought three of them to the ground.  The rest, astonished at
finding themselves face to face with human foes, turning round,
bellowing with rage, galloped away.  The unfortunate animals were
quickly despatched with the hunters' knives.  The bodies were then
dragged by the horses to the wood which bordered the stream.  As much of
the meat as the horses could carry was then packed, ready to be
transported to the camp the following morning, while the remainder was
hung up on the higher branches of the neighbouring trees.  The hunters
next lighted a fire, putting up a screen of birch bark to keep off the
wind, while they sat down to regale themselves on the humps and other
prize portions of the animals.  Here, while their horses were left to
pick up their food from beneath the snow, the hardy hunters purposed,
without seek any other shelter, to pass the night.

The sky had been for some time overcast, and snow began to fall heavily;
but their fire blazed up brightly, and as they sat close round it,
enjoying its warmth, they cared little for the thick flakes which passed
by them.  Steak after steak of the buffalo meat disappeared, as they sat
eating and boasting of their deeds of war and the chase, and fully
giving themselves up to savage enjoyment.

Laurence listened to their tales, wondering whether he should ever
perform similar brave deeds.  Unaccustomed for so long to the ways of
his wild companions, he had soon satisfied his hunger, and in spite of
the fire, feeling the cold severely, he had gone a short distance into
the wood to bring some large pieces of birch-bark with which he could
form an additional shelter for himself, by putting up a small wigwam.
Having found the pieces of bark, he was on the point of returning when
the sharp report of several rifles rang through the air, and looking
towards the fire, he saw two of his companions stretched on the ground,
while the other was in vain struggling to rise.  A fierce yell followed,
and directly afterwards the light of the fire fell on a party of Cree
warriors, who came springing out of the darkness towards the spot.  He
stopped to see no more, but, urged by the instinct of self-preservation,
he made his way through the wood till he reached a thick mass of bushes,
into the midst of which he threw himself, in the hopes that he might
escape the search of the savages.  He lay there, expecting every instant
to be discovered, and put to death.  He could hear the shouts of the
victors as they hastily partook of the feast prepared by those they had
slaughtered, and having caught their horses, loaded them with the
buffalo meat.  He judged by the sounds of their voices that his enemies
were moving from the spot; and as they got further and further away, he
began to entertain the hope of escape.  Still fearing that they might
come back, he dared not move.  He felt very cold and wretched, yet the
horror of the scene he had witnessed kept him from going to sleep.  Poor
Laurence, as he lay there almost frozen to death, not for the first time
perhaps repented of his folly in having quitted the protection of his
kind friends in the fort.  The recollection, too, of the many things
Mrs Ramsay and Jeanie had said to him came back to his mind.

"I wonder if I was to pray to the great God they told me of, He would
take care of me, and lead me back to them," he thought.  "They told me
He hears prayers, and would listen to those which so careless and
foolish a boy as I have been may make to Him; but then they said I must
pray through Jesus Christ; that He is good and merciful, and loves me,
and died for me too.  I am sure they spoke the truth, for they would not
deceive me; and so I'll pray through Jesus Christ, and ask God to
protect me; for I am sure I shall never get back to the camp of the
Sioux by myself without my horse, and that, of course, the Crees have
carried off."

Poor Laurence did pray with all his heart, ignorant half-heathen that he
was in many respects.

He soon fell asleep, and the snow came down and nearly covered up the
bushes among which he lay.  He awoke at length, finding a thick canopy
over him, which, had he not been well clothed in furs, would probably
have formed his shroud.  He easily made his way out.

The spot where the fire had been was covered with snow.  He could
distinguish the bodies of his companions beneath it, but he dared not
disturb them.  Some of the buffalo meat which the Crees had not
discovered still hung on the trees; he loaded himself with as much as he
could carry, and then hastened away from the fatal spot.  At first he
thought of attempting to reach the camp of the Sioux, but it was a long
distance off, and all the tracks had disappeared.  So had those of the
Crees.  Should they be on the watch for their enemies, he would very
probably fall into their hands.  Then, again, the desire to be once more
with his friends at the fort came strong upon him; but how could he hope
to reach it across miles and miles of snow?  It was somewhere away to
the north-east, that was all he knew; and although the son was gaining
power when the sky was bright, the wind often blew bitterly cold at
night.  Yet to stay where he was would be certain death, and so the
hardy boy, making up his mind to try and reach the fort, and trusting to
his strength and courage, began his hazardous journey.

He had lived among the Indians long enough to learn something of their
cunning; and as he went along he stripped off from his dress all the
ornaments and other signs which might show that they had been
manufactured by the Sioux, and hid them away in a hole beneath the snow.
He had a tinder-box and powder-horn in his pouch, so that he was able
to light a fire.  As night approached, he made his way towards a wood,
near the bank of a stream, where he could procure fuel.  Here he built
himself a hut with birch-bark, banking it up thickly with snow.  He had
not forgotten the fate of his companions on the previous night; but he
hoped that the Crees were by this time far away, and he knew that,
without a fire, he should run the risk of being destroyed by wolves
prowling about.  He therefore made it inside the hut, where it was also
well sheltered from the wind, and he hoped that the light would not be
seen at a distance; his chief fear was that, should he sleep too long it
might go out.  Closing the entrance of his hut with a sheet of bark, he
made up his fire, and sat down to sup on a piece of meat which he cooked
before it.  There was but little space in his hut to allow him to go to
sleep without the risk of burning his clothes, though he had drawn
himself as far away from it as he could, and leaned back against the
wall of the hut.  Fatigue at length, however, overcame his desire to
keep on the alert.

He was awoke by hearing a wild howling around him: he knew the sound
full well; it was that of a pack of wolves.  His fire had almost gone
out; he hurriedly scraped the embers together, and drew in from the
front of the hut some fuel which he had kept in store.  The voices of
the wolves came nearer and nearer.  He had just time to light a bundle
of sticks when he heard the savage animals close to his hut.  He boldly
went out and waved his torch around, shouting and shrieking with all his
might.  The wolves, alarmed at the sudden glare of the light and the
sound of a human voice, took to flight.  He once more closed the
entrance of his hut and sat down.  It did not occur to him that it was
his duty to return thanks to God for his deliverance.  He fancied that
it was his cleverness and boldness that had saved him.  He had been
ready to ask that unknown Great Spirit to preserve him.  How many daily
receive blessings from the Giver of all good, and yet ungratefully
forget to acknowledge them and refuse to do His will!

Fear of the wolves prevented Laurence from sleeping soundly, and he
started up constantly, expecting to hear their savage howlings.

Daylight came at last, and he once more pushed forward over the snow.
He had cooked a piece of buffalo meat, which he ate beneath the shelter
of a bank, when he saw the sun high in the sky.  It restored his
strength for a time; but as night again approached he felt far more
weary than on the previous day.  He built a hut as before, and lighted a
fire, and scarcely had he eaten his supper before he dropped off to
sleep.  He awoke, feeling very cold, though somewhat refreshed; and
great was his surprise to find the sun already high in the sky.  He had
been preserved from danger during the hours of darkness; but, alas! he
did not kneel down to pray, but thought only that it was very fortunate
the wolves had not come near him, and he hoped to have the same good
luck, so he called it, the next night.

"I daresay I shall be able to reach the fort, notwithstanding my fears,
in a few days," he said to himself.  "I must try to avoid the Crees,
though; but I fancy that I am clever enough to do that."

He trudged bravely on, hour after hour.  The sky was clear, and the sun
enabled him to direct his course with tolerable accuracy.  Still his
feet, inured though he was to fatigue, felt very weary, and he longed to
arrive at the end of his journey.  Sometimes he regretted that he had
not tried to make his way to the Sioux camp; he might have reached it
sooner.  No wood was in sight, where he might build his hut and light a
fire as usual for the night.  He gnawed, as he walked on, a piece of the
hard frozen meat, a small portion of which now only remained.  Still he
was afraid to stop.

A level plain, covered with snow, lay before him; he looked around in
vain for some sheltering hill or wood.  The sun was sinking low on his
left.  He must try, before darkness set in, to make his way across that
wide plain.  He did his utmost to exert his remaining strength.
Darkness at last came on.  He fancied he could distinguish a wood and a
range of hills in the distance.  He would make a desperate effort to
reach it.  Suddenly he found himself sinking in the snow.  He struggled
to get out, but sank lower and lower.  He had fallen into a gully or
water-course, now filled up by drift-snow.  At length, finding his
efforts vain, he gave himself up for lost, every moment expecting that
the snow wreath would overwhelm him.  As he lay there, he could see the
stars come out and shine brightly over his head, and thus he knew that
there was an opening above him; but he was afraid to move lest he might
bring the snow down upon his head.  Sheltered from the wind, he felt
tolerably warm, and at last, in spite of his perilous position, he fell
fast asleep.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

LAURENCE IN THE SNOW--DISCOVERED BY CREES--RESCUED--CONVEYED TO THE
CHIEF'S TENT--KINDNESS OF THE OLD CHIEF--ESCORTED TO THE FORT--FEARS AS
TO HIS RECEPTION--KINDLY WELCOMED BY MR. RAMSAY--LAURENCE AGAIN FALLS
SICK--MRS. RAMSAY EXPLAINS THE GOSPEL TO HIM--LAURENCE BEGINS TO
UNDERSTAND IT.

Daylight came again.  Laurence, on opening his eyes, found himself
surrounded by a high wall of snow.  He was hungry, but he had consumed
every particle of food.  His strength was almost gone.  He somewhat
assuaged his thirst by eating a little snow, though that gave him but
momentary relief.  Again he made an attempt to get out, hoping by
beating down the snow to form steps in the side of the wall up which he
might climb, but the snow came sliding down in vast masses upon him, and
by the time he had struggled out of it he felt so weak that he was
unable to make any further effort.  With a cry of despair he fell back
on the heap which had been formed by the snow slipping down, and out of
which he had just made his way.  For some minutes he was unconscious.
Then the barking of dogs once more aroused him.  The sound of human
voices struck his ear.  He listened with breathless anxiety to hear the
language they spoke.  They drew near.  "I am lost if they find me," he
said to himself.  "They are Crees."  Directly afterwards, several dogs
poked their noses over the edge of the pit and barked to attract the
attention of their masters.  He waited, expecting in a few minutes to be
put to death.  Then, casting his eyes upwards, he saw the faces of two
savages looking down upon him.  He knew them at once to be Crees.  He
tried to speak--not to ask their pity, for that he believed would be
useless, but, after the Indian fashion, to dare them to do their worst.
His tongue, however, refused its office.  Presently he saw them
beginning to scrape away the snow; and as they commenced at the top,
they were soon able to form some rough steps in the side of the pit,
down which one of them descended.  Laurence closed his eyes, expecting
to have the scalp cut from his head.  Instead of that the Cree lifted
him in his arms, and, with the assistance of his companion, soon brought
him to the surface.  Making a wide circuit, to avoid the gully, together
they bore him across the plain.  They were directing their course
towards some lodges which were erected close to a wood, and under the
shelter of a high hill.  On reviving, Laurence found himself in a large
roomy hut, by the side of a fire, near which sat a tall Indian somewhat
advanced in years.  A squaw was chafing his feet, while another, bending
over the fire, was cooking a mess of broth.  She soon came round to him,
and poured some of the warm mixture down his throat, which greatly
revived him.  He tried to sit up, but again fell back on the pile of
skins on which his head had been resting.

"Do not try to move, young pale face," said the chief.  "Your strength
has gone for a while, but the Great Spirit will soon restore it.  You
shall then tell me whence you come, and how you happened to be where my
sons found you.  We are friends of the pale faces, and would gladly aid
you to the best of our power."

These words greatly revived Laurence's spirits.  The chief, however,
insisted on not letting him speak until he had taken some rest.  The
kind squaw had put on his feet some warm dry socks, and then began
chafing his hands, and in a short time he again fell asleep.

When Laurence awoke there was no one in the tent.  This gave him time to
consider what he should say.  He would speak truly, and tell the Cree
chief that he wished to make his way to the fort, and would be grateful
to him if he would assist him in reaching it.  He soon found, however,
when he attempted to rise, that he was utterly unable to do so.  The
chief smiled when he heard his account.

"You speak but partly the truth," he said.  "Still, you are a pale face,
and I regard the pale faces with affection.  When you are restored to
strength I'll conduct you thither; for it is some way off, and unaided,
without horses, or weapons to defend yourself or obtain food, you would
not have been able to find your way there.  I know with whom you have
been, though you have pulled off the ornaments.  That dress was
manufactured by the Sioux.  However, though you were foolish to consort
with such people, you are wisely making your escape from them.  So speak
no more about it."

Laurence felt ashamed of himself at having been so easily detected.  He
at once acknowledged that the chief was right in his conjectures.

For several days he was kept in the tent of the friendly chief, and
treated by his squaws as if he had been a son.  When he had sufficiently
recovered to sit on horseback, the chief, covering him with a thick
cloak of furs, set out with a party of his people towards the fort.
Even although they formed a strong party, as it was possible that bands
of Sioux might attack them, scouts were sent out in all directions to
feel their way as they advanced.

In what a wretched state is man who knows not God, and loves not the
Saviour!  Instead of peace, goodwill, and friendly intercourse existing
in that savage land, every man's hand is against his neighbour, and in
each stranger he expects to find a foe.

The party, however, reached the neighbourhood of the fort without
meeting any enemies.  Laurence had left his friends, proud of his
recovered strength, and fancying that he was about to enjoy the liberty
of a savage life.  He was now returning sick and weak, and a feeling of
shame and doubt of the reception he might meet with stole over him.  He
kept behind the chief and his party, and hung down his head as they drew
near the gates.  They were recognised from the fort, and several of the
garrison came out to give them a friendly greeting.

The old chief related how his sons had found and rescued the white-skin
boy, and Laurence was brought forward just as Mr Ramsay, followed by
his wife and daughter, appeared from their house.  Jeanie recognised him
in a moment, and running forward, took his hand, exclaiming, "Oh,
Laurence, is it you?  I am so glad you have come back.  We all thought
harm would befall you among those savage Sioux.  You look pale and ill.
Oh papa! mamma! it is Laurence," she added, looking towards her parents,
who were advancing.

Laurence was silent.  It was so long since he had spoken English that he
could not for some seconds find words to express himself.  Mr Ramsay
warmly shook him by the hand, and his wife welcomed him with the same
cordiality, while not a syllable of reproach did they utter.

"He does indeed look ill," said Mrs Ramsay.  "Come to the house, my
poor boy," she said.  "Your old room shall be prepared for you, and you
can tell us all that has happened by-and-by."

Laurence burst into tears.  The reception he met with was so different
from what he had expected that it overcame him.  He had borne up during
the journey, but his strength now gave way; and he required almost the
same attention and care that he had before received.

"I was indeed wicked and foolish in choosing to go and live with my old
savage friends, instead of remaining with you, good Christian people,
who are so kind to me," he said at length to Mrs Ramsay, as she sat by
his bedside.  "Can you forgive me?"

"Yes, indeed we can; and we are very thankful that you have been brought
back to us," she answered.  "God himself shows that we ought to receive
those who have done wrong when they repent and desire to return to the
right way.  He himself in His mercy is always thus ready to receive
repentant sinners who desire to be reconciled to Him.  I'll read to you
the parable of the prodigal son, and you will then understand how God
the Father, as He in His goodness allows us to call Him, receives all
His children who come back to Him, acknowledging their sins and
transgressions.  He not only does this, but He has pointed out a way by
which the sinner can be reconciled to Him, and have all his sins
completely blotted out, or put out of remembrance and done away with.
That way is by simple faith in the atoning blood of Jesus; in other
words, God desires us to believe that Jesus, His own well-beloved Son,
pure and holy and sinless, became man, and was punished by death on the
cross instead of us; and thus His justice, which can by no means
overlook or forgive sin, is perfectly satisfied with that punishment,
and He considers the debt we owe Him fully paid.  Can you understand
this, Laurence?"

"I will try to do so," answered the boy.  "But I do not understand it
yet."

"Then you must pray for the aid of God's Holy Spirit to enable you to
understand it; for He alone has the power of doing that.  All that one
person can do for others is simply to explain the truth to them, and to
read God's Word to them, or urge them to read it if they can.  You,
Laurence, must learn to read it without delay."

"Oh, yes, I will try now," he said, "if you and Jeanie will teach me.  I
was very idle before."

"That we will gladly," answered Mrs Ramsay.  "But, recollect, you must
not only try to read, but you must ask God's Holy Spirit to enable you
to understand it also.  It is not sufficient to know that Christ died on
the cross to reconcile sinners to God; but you must believe that He died
for you, and to reconcile you to God; for without that, whatever you may
do or profess, you are still in your sins, an outcast from God, and
deserving, as you will assuredly receive, punishment for your sins."

"Tell me, Mrs Ramsay, how am I to believe that Christ died for me?  I
feel that I am wicked, and very unlike what you, and Mr Ramsay, and
Jeanie are, who are Christians; but I cannot think that the Son of God
should have suffered death for a poor miserable boy like me."

"It's very simple.  God does not give us a very difficult task,"
answered Mrs Ramsay.  "All He requires of us is to take Him at His
word: `God so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten Son, that
whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting
life.'  You understand, Laurence, that God does not say, only people who
have have been generally well behaved, and are supposed to be good, but
_whosoever_, which includes every human being, however bad and abandoned
they may have been.  The prodigal son had been very ungrateful and very
wicked, but his father received him as soon as he came back.  That
parable was told by Christ himself, to show that His Father in heaven
gladly receives all sinners returning to Him.  When God says, `He so
loved the world,' He means the people in the world, and we know that the
world lies in wickedness.  Oh, trust God, for He is loving and merciful,
and without doubt or fear accept His offers of reconciliation."



CHAPTER NINE.

ARRIVAL OF MR. MARTIN, THE MISSIONARY--HE PREACHES THE GOSPEL TO THE
INDIANS--LAURENCE LISTENS WITH ATTENTION--LEARNS MORE OF THE TRUTH, AND
EXPRESSES HIS WISH TO MAKE IT KNOWN TO OTHERS--THE SPRING RETURNS.

A keen, strong wind was blowing, driving the heavy snow which fell in
small sharp flakes over the ground, when, one evening shortly after the
arrival of Laurence, a dog sleigh was seen approaching the fort.  The
sleigh, which was simply a narrow board turned up in front, a slight
iron frame forming the sides and back, and lined with buffalo skins, was
drawn by six dogs, harnessed two and two, while the driver ran behind,
with a long whip guiding the animals.  On it came, in spite of the snow
storm, at rapid speed, for the sagacious dogs knew that they had nearly
reached the end of their journey.  The traveller, who had faced the
dangers of a long journey over the trackless wintry waste, was welcomed
by Mr Ramsay, who conducted him to the house.  Some time elapsed,
however, before he could venture near a fire, after the bitter cold to
which he had been exposed.

"We have been long looking for you, Mr Martin," said Mrs Ramsay, as
she came out to greet him; "and thank Heaven that you have arrived in
safety."

"We should thank the God of heaven and earth for all the blessings we
receive," answered Mr Martin, who was the missionary Mrs Ramsay had
been so anxious should come to form a station near the fort.  "I shall
be amply repaid if I am permitted to win souls to Christ in this
neighbourhood."

"It will be a hard task, for they are deeply sunk in heathen ignorance,"
observed Mr Ramsay.

"An impossible task, if man alone were to engage in it," said Mr
Martin.  "Man, however, is but the humble instrument; God the Holy
Spirit is the active agent, and with Him nothing is impossible.  Let us
labour on, confident in that glorious fact; and whatever may appear in
the way, we may be sure that the victory will be won, not by us, but by
Him, who is all-powerful."

Such was the faith in which the new missionary commenced his labours
among the savage Crees of the woods and plains who frequented the
neighbourhood of the fort.  The glad tidings of salvation by faith in
the blood of the Lamb, shed for sinful man, sounded strange in their
ears.  Strange, too, it seemed to them, when they were told of His great
love, which made Him willingly yield himself up as an all-atoning
sacrifice of His abounding goodwill; and stranger still seemed His law,
that man should not only love his neighbours himself, but should love
his enemies; should do good to those who despitefully use and abuse him,
and should willingly forgive all who offend him, as he hopes to be
forgiven by God for his offences.

Among his most earnest hearers on the first day he preached the gospel
to the Indians assembled in the fort was young Laurence.  He had
sufficiently recovered to leave the house, though he was now always
unwilling to be absent from it longer than he could help.  All the time
he was within doors he was endeavouring to learn to read that wonderful
Book, which God in His mercy has given to man, that he may know His will
and understand His dealings with mankind.

Laurence, however, as yet had made little progress in reading, but he
could listen to Jeanie and her mother read to him without ever growing
weary.

Still as yet his mind did not comprehend many of the more glorious
truths, and he held to the idea that he himself had some great work to
do, to merit the love of God and the glory of Heaven.

He asked Mr Martin how he was to set about the work.  "I want to be
very good," he said, "and to do something with which God will be highly
pleased, and then I am sure I shall go to heaven when I die."

"My dear young friend," answered Mr Martin, "had you read the Bible,
you would have found that `there are none that do good, no, not one;'
and that `God came not to call the righteous, but sinners to
repentance.'  God will certainly be well pleased with you, not from any
good works which you can do, but simply if you banish all thoughts of
your own merits, and put faith in His well-beloved Son; then He will
assuredly fulfil His promise to make you heir with Him of eternal life,
and receive you into that glorious heaven he has prepared for all those
who love Him."

"But I am afraid, sir, that I can never have faith enough or love enough
to satisfy God."

"You certainly, my young friend, can never have too much faith or too
much love," said Mr Martin.  "But God does not say that He will measure
our faith or our love, or our sorrow for sin, but He simply tells us to
take him at His word, to show our love by our obedience; and then Jesus
Christ tells us what He would have all those who love Him to do, namely,
to follow His example--to make known His Gospel among those who do not
know it.  Have you read the account of the thief on the cross?"

"I have heard it," said Laurence.  "Jeanie read it to me yesterday."

"Did it not occur to you that, when Christ told that dying thief that he
should be with Him in paradise, it was not on account of his burning
faith, still less because he had performed any works, or because of
obedience, but simply because he believed that He who hung like himself
on the cross was the Messiah who should come into the world to die for
sinful men.  But though He saves all who come to Him, simply if they
will but trust Him, He desires these to remain in the world, as He
desired His disciples, to make His Gospel known among their companions,
to tell them what great things the Lord has done for their souls; while
to some He gives the command to go forth with the glad tidings
throughout all lands; and thus He has put it into my heart, and enabled
me to come here to win souls for Him."

Day after day Laurence listened to these and other glorious truths which
Mr Martin unfolded to him from God's Word, and when the missionary was
otherwise engaged, Jeanie or Mrs Ramsay read to him, or assisted him in
learning to read.  He felt himself becoming, as he was indeed, a new
creature; his old habits of thought were passing away.  He wondered
sometimes how he could have thought as he had done.

"Ah, then I was in darkness," he said to himself.  "I knew nothing of
the love of God I knew not how sinful I was, and how He hates sin,
though He loves the sinner.  I knew not that God is so pure and holy
that even the heavens are not clean in His sight; and I had no idea how
sinful sin is, how contrary in every way to God.  I had little thought
that God, my loving Father, would hear the prayers of so wicked, wayward
a child as I was, and as I am indeed still, if left to myself in my own
nakedness; but I know now that He does not look at me as I am in myself,
but as I am clothed with Christ's righteousness.  Trusting in Him, I am
no longer naked, but dressed in His pure and spotless robe, at which God
will alone look when I offer up my prayers; and that, for the sake of
His son, He listens to all who are thus clothed.  Oh how thankful I
ought to be that God has made known these joyous things to me!"

When, some days afterwards, Laurence expressed the same thoughts to Mr
Martin, the missionary replied, "Now these things are yours, can you be
so selfish as not to desire to make them known to others?"

"Oh, indeed, I do wish to make them known," exclaimed Laurence.  "I
should like to tell every one I meet of them, and to go forth and find
people to whom to tell them."

"Before you do that, you must prepare yourself, you must be armed for
the battle you will have to fight; for a severe battle it is, and you
will find Satan, the great enemy to the truth, ever ready to oppose you.
The thought of this, however, will stimulate you to make the necessary
preparations, by study and prayer; and I trust, Laurence, that some day
God will employ you as His missionary among the savage Indians of this
long-benighted land."



CHAPTER TEN.

LAURENCE LEARNS WHAT IT IS TO BE A CHRISTIAN--GETS LEAVE TO SET OUT IN
SEARCH OF HIS FATHER--STARTS ON AN EXPEDITION WITH PETER, A CHRISTIAN
CREE--DISCOVERS TWO OF MICHAEL'S TRAPS--A PARTY OF BLACKFEET--BLACKFEET
WOUND OLD MICHAEL--BLACKFEET CAPTURED--LAURENCE GOES TO HIS FATHER'S
ASSISTANCE--PETER PREACHES TO THE BLACKFEET, AND INVITES THEM TO THE
FORT--THE BLACKFEET SET AT LIBERTY--HEARING LAURENCE EXPLAIN THE GOSPEL
TO HIM--LAURENCE CONVEYS THE OLD TRAPPER TO THE FORT--NARRATES TO MR.
MARTIN HIS FORMER LIFE--MR. MARTIN TELLS HIM THAT THE QUEEN HAS PARDONED
HIM--THE OLD TRAPPER AT LENGTH BELIEVES THE TRUTH--RETURNS WITH LAURENCE
TO CANADA--LAURENCE RESTORED TO HIS PARENTS--REVISITS THE FORT AS A
MISSIONARY.

Spring was now advancing.  Laurence was anxiously looking out for the
return of his father.  He would, at all events, have longed to see him;
but his desire to do so was greatly increased by his wish to impart to
him a knowledge of the glorious truths he himself possessed.  Having
learned the priceless value of his own soul, he could now appreciate
that of others.

Laurence's faith was simple, and he enjoyed a clear view of the gospel
truth.

From every Indian who came to the fort he made inquiries for the old
trapper, who was known to many of them.  At length several brought
tidings of his death.  Laurence refused to believe them; and when Mr
Ramsay came to cross-question his visitors, he found that they had only
heard the report from others.  Laurence, therefore, begged that he might
be allowed to go out and search for the old man.

"I know all his haunts so well," he said, "that I am sure I shall find
him better than any one else; he may be sick in some distant place, and
unable to come as he promised."

So earnestly did he plead that Mr Ramsay, hoping that his old friend
might still be alive, could no longer refuse to let him go.

A Cree who had become a Christian, and was named Peter, offered to
accompany him; and Laurence thankfully accepted his assistance.

The only provision they took with them was a good supply of pemmican;
but they had an abundance of ammunition, knowing that they might depend
for their support on the animals they might shoot.

"You will come back, Laurence, when you have found your father?" said
Jeanie, as, with tears in her eyes, she wished him good-bye.

"If God spares me, and I have the means to do so, I will come back,
whether I find him or not; I promise you that," answered Laurence.
"That object alone would have induced me to quit the fort.  I have no
longer any wish to roam or lead the wild life of a trapper; and when I
return, my great desire will be to go on with the study of that blessed
Book which you first taught me to read and love."

"I taught you to read it, but God's Holy Spirit could alone have taught
you to love it," answered Jeanie.

Laurence and Peter, followed by the prayers of many in the fort, set out
on their expedition.  The appearance of the country was now completely
changed from the stern aspect it had worn but a few weeks before.  Trees
and shrubs were clothed with a livery of green of varied hues, the grass
was springing up in rich luxuriance, and flowers exhibited their
gem-like tints in the valleys and woods; full streams flowed with rapid
currents, sparkling along; numberless birds flew through the air,
swarmed on the lakes, or perched on the boughs of the forest-trees.

Laurence led the way towards the spot where he and his father had
concealed their traps before they set out to visit the fort, believing
that old Michael would to a certainty have visited them, and hoping to
find some traces beyond showing the direction he had afterwards taken.
Peter agreed with him that this was the best course to pursue.  The
journey would take them many days.  Although so long a time had elapsed,
from habit Laurence recollected the various landmarks, and was able to
direct his course with great accuracy.

They arrived at length at the spot where the white wolf-skin had been
concealed.  It was gone; and from the tracks near it, which an Indian
alone would have observed, Peter was of opinion that Michael must have
removed it.  On they went, therefore, over hill and dale, camping at
night by the side of a fire, the warm weather enabling them to dispense
with any shelter, towards the next spot where the wolf traps had been
concealed.  These also had been taken, and Peter found the tree to which
the old man had tied his horse while he fastened them on their backs.
They soon reached the wood within which Laurence had assisted to hide
the beaver traps.  They also had been removed.

"Now I know that my father intended to begin trapping as soon as the
spring commenced," observed Laurence.  "See, he took his way onward
through the wood towards the north, instead of returning by the road he
came."

Laurence and Peter's keen eyes easily distinguished the twigs which the
horses had broken as the old trapper led them through the wood.
Probably he intended to spend the remainder of the winter in a wigwam by
himself, as he often had done, or else in the lodges of some friendly
Crees.

Laurence and Peter now went confidently on, expecting before long to
meet with further traces of the old trapper.  The borders of all the
neighbouring lakes and streams were visited, but no signs of his having
trapped there were discovered.  Many leagues were passed over, till at
last an Indian village was reached.  It consisted not of neat cottages,
but of birch-bark wigwams of a sugar-loaf form, on the banks of a
stream, a few patches of Indian corn and some small tobacco plantations
being the only signs of cultivation around; fish sported in the river;
and the wild animals of the forest afforded the inhabitants the chief
means of subsistence.  They welcomed the travellers.  Peter was of their
tribe.  They gave them tidings of old Michael.  He had been seen to pass
just before the snow had begun to melt in the warmer valleys.

Peter did not fail to tell his red-skinned brothers of the wonderful
tidings the white-face missionary at the fort had brought.

"The great God of the white-faces loves us as much as He does them," he
exclaimed.  "He wishes us to go and dwell with Him in a far better land
than the happy hunting-grounds we have hitherto heard of.  He says that
we are wicked, and deserve punishment; but He has allowed another, His
own well-beloved Son, to be punished instead of us; and all He wants us
to do is to believe that His dutiful and well-beloved Son was so
punished, and to follow the example which He set while He was on earth."

"These are wise things you tell us," cried several of the Crees; "but
how do you know that it is so?"

"Because it is all written in a book which He has given to us.  He sends
His Holy Spirit to all who seek for His aid to understand that book."

Laurence assured the Crees that he had thought us they then did a short
time ago, but that now he knew that all Peter said was true.  So
earnestly did Peter plead the cause of the gospel, that many of the
Crees promised to visit the fort, to hear from the missionary himself
further on the subject.

Several of the inhabitants offered to accompany Laurence and his friends
to assist them in their search, and to spread the strange tidings they
had heard among others of their tribe whom they might fall in with.

For several days they journeyed on, lakes and streams being visited as
before.  At last they found a broken trap.  Laurence, on examining it,
decided that it belonged to his father.  Still he must have gone further
to the west.  Laurence began to fear that he might have wandered into a
part of the country frequented by Blackfeet and Peigans, among the most
savage tribes of the Sioux.

"He is friendly with many of the Sioux, among whom, indeed, I was
brought up," observed Laurence, "and fears none of them.  Still, I know
how treacherous many of them are; and he may, I fear, have fallen into
their power.  This will account for his not returning to the fort."

"He may, however, have escaped them, and be still trapping about here,
as it is a rich country for the beaver," observed Peter.  "We may then
hope ere long to find him."

The party now advanced more cautiously than before.  They had certain
proof that old Michael was in the neighbourhood; for Laurence
discovered, by the side of a beaver pond, another of his father's traps.
Why it was deserted he could not tell.  Peter was of opinion that he
had hurried away from the spot, probably on account of the appearance of
enemies, and had been unable to return.  This increased Laurence's
anxiety.  They now advanced according to Indian custom, concealing
themselves behind every bush and rock, and climbing each height or tall
tree whence they could obtain a view of the surrounding country.

It was towards evening, and they were looking out for a sheltered place
for their camp.  Peter had gone to the summit of a hill and gazed around
for the purpose mentioned, when he came hurrying down.

"There are Blackfeet at the further end of the valley," he said, "and by
their movements they are evidently watching for some one.  If it is your
father, we have no time to lose.  We outnumber them, and may hope easily
to come off victorious."

"Oh, let us not delay a moment, or we may be too late to save him,"
exclaimed Laurence; and they and their allies pushed on as before in the
direction where Peter had seen the Blackfeet.  By carefully keeping
among the thick underwood and trees they hoped to take their enemies by
surprise.

"Remember, my friends," said Laurence, "that though we conquer them, we
are to endeavour to spare their lives, and by no means to injure them."

With stealthy steps Laurence and his friends advanced towards the
Blackfeet, of whom they now discovered there were but five, while his
party numbered eight.  They were so eager in tracking whatever they were
in pursuit of that, notwithstanding their usual wariness, they did not
discover the approach of Laurence and the Crees.  Presently the
Blackfeet were seen to draw their bows, and several arrows winged their
flight through the air.  At the same time Laurence caught sight of the
figure of a man, who sprang up from where he had been seated near a fire
to seek shelter behind a rock, firing his rifle as he did so.  Laurence
recognised his father, and to his horror saw that two arrows had pierced
his body.  The moment he fired, one of the Blackfeet fell to the ground.
The old man stood as if uninjured, calmly reloading his weapon; while
the Indians, with their bows ready drawn to shoot should he reappear,
sprang towards the thick trunks of some neighbouring trees to escape his
fire.  They were thus separated from each other, and brought nearer to
where Laurence and his party lay concealed.  Peter now made a sign to
his companions, and in a few bounds they were up to the Blackfeet, who,
thus taken unawares, were pinioned and brought to the ground before they
could turn round and shoot their arrows or draw their hatchets from
their belts.

Laurence, leaving his companions to guard their prisoners, who,
expecting instant death, had assumed that stoic indifference of which
Indians boast, hastened to the assistance of his father.  He shouted as
he ran, "Father, father, I am coming to you."

The old man, who had sunk on one knee, with rifle ready prepared to
fight to the last, fortunately recognised his voice.  "What have become
of the Blackfeet, boy?" were his first words.  "I saw the Crees spring
from under cover to attack them.  Have they killed the treacherous
vermin?"

"No, father," answered Laurence.  "Our friends made them prisoners.  We
will spare their lives, and pray God to soften their hearts."

"What is that you say?" asked Michael.  "The Crees will surely kill
them, and take their scalps, unless they wish to carry them to their
lodges, that their wives and children may torture them as they deserve.
But I feel faint, Laurence; their arrows have made some ugly wounds in
my flesh; help me to get them out."

Laurence saw with grief that his father was indeed badly hurt; and as he
supported him, he shouted to Peter to come to his assistance.  Peter,
having helped to secure their prisoners, soon appeared.  The old
trapper, notwithstanding his hardihood, had fainted from pain and loss
of blood.  Peter's first care was to extricate the arrows, which, though
they had inflicted severe injuries, had mercifully not reached any vital
part.  He and Laurence then, having bound up his wounds, carried him to
his little wigwam, which stood close by.  Within it were a large supply
of skins, several traps, and articles for camp use, to obtain which
probably the treacherous Blackfeet had attacked old Michael.  In the
meadow hard by his horses were also found.  Laurence sat by his side,
supporting his head, and moistening his parched lips.  He soon
sufficiently recovered to speak.

"I was about to return, Laurence," he said, "but I wished to bring a
good amount of skins to pay for your charges, should you wish to remain
longer at the fort, and learn the ways of the white man; or if not, to
fit you out, that you might come back and trap with me.  We might have
had some pleasant days again together, boy; but had you and our friends
not appeared the moment you did, the Blackfeet would have put an end to
all my plans."

"Father," said Laurence, "I never wished to desert you; but it would
have been a sore trial to me to leave the fort; and if God in His mercy
spares your life, I pray that you may return there with me, and that we
may employ our time in a better way than in trapping beaver."

"No, no!  God cannot have mercy on such a one as I am," groaned Michael;
"and it's hard to say whether I shall ever get back to the fort."

"Oh, but God is a God of love and mercy," cried Laurence.  "He delights
in showing mercy and forgiveness.  You must hear what Mr Martin, the
missionary, will tell you about Him; then I am sure you will wish to
stop and hear more, and to serve and love Him."

Peter now came back with the old trapper's horses to the camp, near to
which his friends had dragged their prisoners.  He had had much
difficulty in persuading the Crees not to put to death the Blackfeet.
He had still a harder task to perform.

"Friends," he said, "according to Indian custom you might kill them; but
I have learned a new law, which is just and true--given me by an
all-powerful, kind, and merciful Master, who commands His servants to
forgive their enemies, and to do good to those who injure them.  Our
prisoners were doing a wicked thing, and have been severely punished,
for one of their number lies dead.  I would that he were alive again,
that he might hear what I have to say.  I must pray you, therefore, to
let these men go.  We will take their arms, that they may do us no
further injury; but we will give them food, that they may return to
their friends, to tell them about the love of our great Father; that He
desires all His children to serve Him, and to be at peace with each
other."

Peter then, in a simple way, suited to the comprehension of his hearers,
unfolded to them the gospel plan of salvation.  The Blackfeet listened
with astonished ears, and could scarcely believe the fact that they were
allowed to go free and uninjured.  Peter then invited them to the fort,
and promised to receive them as friends, and to tell them more of the
wonderful things of which he had spoken.  The coals of fire which he
heaped on their heads appeared really to have softened their hearts.
Having, with the assistance of the Crees, buried their companion, by
Peter's desire their arms were unbound, and they were set at liberty.
Uttering expressions of gratitude such as rarely fall from an Indian's
lips, they took their departure, promising ere long to pay him a visit
at the fort.

A night's rest sufficiently restored old Michael to enable him to
commence his journey on one of the horses to the fort, while the other
carried his peltries and traps.  Laurence walked all the way at the head
of his steed, endeavouring by his conversation to keep up the spirits of
his father, and never failing, at every opportunity, to introduce the
subject nearest his heart.  The old man listened to what he said; but he
seldom made any answer.  He offered, however, no opposition to his
remarks.  Frequently Laurence feared that he would sink from the effects
of his wounds; but his life was mercifully preserved, and at length the
fort was reached.

There was sincere rejoicing as Laurence was seen leading his father's
horse up to the gate.  The old trapper was carried into Mr Ramsay's
house, and there received that watchful care he so greatly needed.  He
gradually recovered his strength.  One of his first visitors was Mr
Martin.  His object, as may be supposed, was not to talk of temporal
affairs, but to unfold to him, as he perceived that his mind was capable
of comprehending it, God's merciful plan of salvation.

The old man's heart, unlike that of his young son, appeared so hardened
and seared, from having long rejected Divine truth, that some people
might have given up the attempt in despair; but Mr Martin had too much
knowledge of the human heart, and too firm a faith of the all-powerful
influence of God the Holy Spirit, to relax his efforts.  From no idle
curiosity, he endeavoured to draw from Michael some account of his early
life.  He was, he found, an Englishman, and that he had been for some
time married and settled in Canada, when he had joined the rebellion
which broke out many years ago against the authority of the British
Government.  Having acted as a leader in some of the more desperate
enterprises in which a few of the misguided inhabitants engaged at that
time, a price was set on his head.  He escaped, however, to the wilds of
the Far West, where, both from inclination and necessity, he had taken
to the pursuit of a trapper.  He quickly learned the language both of
the Crees and Sioux, and other tribes among whom he wandered.  He gained
their confidence and friendship;--he believed, indeed, that he could
lead them to any purpose he might entertain, and all sorts of wild plans
passed through his mind.  One enterprise he was, unfortunately, able to
carry out.  One of his daughters had married a gentleman of some
property who had been a firm adherent of the Government, and Moggs had,
in consequence, conceived a bitter hatred against him, which time in no
way had lessened.  Several years passed by, when he heard that his
daughter had a son, then about four years of age; and he formed the
barbarous idea of carrying off the child.  He had little difficulty in
obtaining the assistance of a band of Indians; and, disguising himself
as one of them, he led an attack on the place, and succeeded too well in
his nefarious project.  As the country was in a disturbed state at the
time, the attack was supposed to have been instigated by American
sympathisers, and the real culprit was not suspected.  Making good his
retreat, he did not stop till he had got many hundred miles away from
the borders of Canada; and believing that he might still be traced, he
placed the child under charge of an old squaw belonging to a tribe of
Sioux, with whom he had formed a friendship.  Strangely inconsistent as
it would seem, an affection for the boy grew up in his hard heart; and
in time, oppressed with the solitary life he had doomed himself to lead,
he determined to make him his companion in his trapping expeditions.

"Has no remorse ever visited you?" asked Mr Martin, when the old man
had finished his narrative.

"Yes, sometimes my thoughts have been terrible," groaned Michael.

"Then pray God that it may be a repentance to salvation not to be
repented of.  With regard, however, to your temporal affairs, my friend,
I can assure you that, through the clemency of the Queen of England, all
the rebels in Canada at the time you speak of have been forgiven."

"Ah, sir," exclaimed Michael Moggs, "the Queen may have forgiven some,
but she cannot have forgiven me.  You must, I am sure, be mistaken."

"But, my friend, if I can show you her proclamation, in which she
declares that she overlooks and pardons all those rebellious subjects
who rose against her authority, and allows those who have fled the
country to return under her rule, would you then believe me?"

"I suppose I could not help it," said Michael.  "Let me see the paper."

Mr Martin went to his room, and returned with the document he spoke of.

"I have preserved it," he said, "for I am pleased with the gracious
terras in which it is couched."

Old Michael read the paper with intense interest.

"Yes!" he exclaimed.  "I can no longer doubt the fact.  Had I not kept
away from those who knew of this, I might long ago have been enjoying
the comforts and pleasures of the home I abandoned, and have again
become a member of civilised society."

"Then, my friend, if an earthly sovereign can be so merciful and
gracious, do you suppose that the King of Heaven, who has so wonderfully
manifested his love to man, is less merciful and gracious in forgiving
those who sin against Him?" said Mr Martin, feeling the importance of
not allowing so practical an illustration of the great truth to pass
unemployed.  "Here is God's proclamation to sinful, rebellious man," he
added, lifting his Bible before the eyes of the old trapper.  "He
declares in this--not once, but over and over again--that He forgives,
freely and fully all who come to Him; that their sins and iniquities are
blotted out and remembered no more; that `though your sins be as
scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like
crimson, they shall be as wool;' that His pardon is a free gift, without
money and without price!  You have seen the Queen's proclamation, and
you believe it, and you know that you may return to your home with
perfect safety, provided you take back your grandson, and restore him to
his long-bereaved parents.  That they will forgive and welcome you I
know; for they belong to Christ's flock, and I am well acquainted with
them.  Now, my friend, let me entreat you to believe God's proclamation,
to trust to the gracious plan He has designed, whereby you can obtain
free pardon, perfect reconciliation, and life eternal."

"But can He ever pardon such a wretch as I am?  Oh! tell me, sir, what
shall I do to be saved?"

"I'll answer, as Paul answered the jailor at Philippi, who was, we have
reason to believe, a cruel and bad man, or he was very unlike others in
his occupation in those days: `Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and
thou shalt be saved.'  Paul, who certainly knew what God requires, did
not tell him to go and do anything, he was simply to believe with a
living faith.  That, my friend, is all you have to do; and, be assured,
the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, will be yours; and
however you may bewail the effects of your sins, still you will know
that they are all put out of God's remembrance; for He sees you not as
you are, but clothed with the righteousness of Christ, with the white
spotless robes of the Lamb."

Many days passed by, and at length the old trapper could say with
confidence, as he clasped the hand of the missionary, "I rejoice in the
blood of my risen Saviour."

Young Laurence had long before been able to say the same.

They together soon afterwards set out for Canada.  Mr Martin had not
wrongly estimated the character of his Christian friends.  While they
rejoiced at the return of their long-lost son, they truly heaped coals
of fire on the head of the old man by their kindness and attention.  A
few years afterwards he died, in perfect peace, in their midst.
Laurence's thoughts had ever been fixed on the far-off fort and its
beloved inmates.  He made rapid progress in his studies, and with the
entire concurrence of his parents, at an early age he returned to act as
a Catechist under Mr Martin.  He was soon placed in a more important
position, when Jeanie Ramsay became the devoted sharer of his labours in
making known the unspeakable goodness of Christ to the red men of the
woods and prairies.






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