"I guess, then, that we won't take yer advice, old man," said Big Waller with a laugh.

"'Old man?'" echoed Macgregor with a start.

"Wall, if ye bean't old, ye ain't exactly a chicken."

"You're a plain-spoken man," replied the trader, biting his lips.

"I always wos," retorted Waller.

Macgregor frowned for a moment, then he broke into a forced laugh, and said--

"Well, friends, you'll please yourselves, of course--most people do; and if you are so determined to stick to the wilderness I would advise some of you to stop here. There's plenty of fun and fighting, if you're fond of that. What say you now, lad," turning to March, "to remain with us here at the Mountain Fort? I've ta'en a sort of fancy to your face. We want young bloods here. I'll give you a good wage and plenty to do."

"Thanks; you are kind," replied March, smiling, "but I love freedom too well to part with it yet awhile."

"Mais, monsieur," cried Gibault, pushing forward, pulling off his cap, and making a low bow; "if you vants yonger blod, an' also ver' goot blod, here am von!"

The trader laughed, and was about to reply, when a sudden burst of laughter and the sound of noisy voices in the yard interrupted him.

Presently two of the men belonging to the establishment cantered out of the square, followed by all the men, women, and children of the place, amounting probably to between twenty and thirty souls. "A race! a race!" shouted the foremost.

"Hallo! Dupont, what's to do?" inquired McLeod as the two hors.e.m.e.n came up.

"Please, monsieur, Lincoln have bet me von gun dat hims horse go more queek dan mine--so we try."

"Yes, so we shall, I guess," added the man named Lincoln, whose speech told that he was a Yankee.

"Go it, stranger; I calc'late you'll do him slick," cried Waller patronisingly, for his heart warmed towards his countryman.

"Ah! non. Go home; put your horse to bed," cried Gibault, glancing at the Yankee's steed in contempt. "Dis is de von as vill do it more slicker by far."

"Well, well; clear the course; we shall soon see," cried McLeod. "Now then--here's the word--one, two--away!"

At the last word the riders' whips cracked, and the horses sprang forward at a furious gallop. Both of them were good spirited animals, and during the first part of the race it could not be said that either had the advantage. They ran neck and neck together.

The racecourse at the Mountain Fort was a beautiful stretch of level turf, which extended a considerable distance in front of the gates. It crossed a clear open country towards the forest, where it terminated, and, sweeping round in an abrupt curve, formed, as it were, a loop; so that compet.i.tors, after pa.s.sing over the course, swept round the loop, and, re-entering the original course again, came back towards the fort, where a long pole formed the winning-post.

Dupont and Lincoln kept together, as we have said, for some time after starting, but before they had cleared the first half of the course the former was considerably in advance of the latter, much to the delight of most of the excited spectators, with whom he was a favourite. On gaining the loop above referred to, and making the graceful sweep round it, which brought the foremost rider into full side view, the distance between them became more apparent, and a cheer arose from the people near the fort gate.

At that moment a puff of smoke issued from the bushes. Dupont tossed his arms in the air, uttered a sharp cry, and fell headlong to the ground. At the same instant a band of Indians sprang from the underwood with an exulting yell. Lincoln succeeded in checking and turning his horse before they caught his bridle, but an arrow pierced his shoulder ere he had galloped out of reach of his enemies.

The instant Dupont fell, a savage leaped upon him, and plunged his knife into his heart. Then, pa.s.sing the sharp weapon quickly round his head with his right hand, with his left he tore the scalp off, and, leaping up, shook the b.l.o.o.d.y trophy defiantly at the horrified spectators.

All this was accomplished so quickly that the horror-stricken people of the Mountain Fort had not time to move a finger to save their comrade.

But, as the savage raised the scalp of poor Dupont above his head, Redhand's rifle flew to his shoulder, and in another moment the Indian fell to the earth beside his victim. Seeing this, the other Indians darted into the forest.

Then a fearful imprecation burst from the lips of Macgregor, as, with a face convulsed with pa.s.sion, he rushed into the fort, shouting: "To horse! to horse, men! and see that your horns and pouches are full of powder and ball!"

The commotion and hubbub that now took place baffle all description.

The men shouted and raved as they ran hither and thither, arming themselves and saddling their horses; while the shrieks of poor Dupont's widow mingled with those of the other women and the cries of the terrified children.

"Half a dozen of you must keep the fort," said McLeod, when they were all a.s.sembled; "the others will be sufficient to punish these fiends.

You'll help us, I suppose?"

This latter question was addressed to Redhand, who, with his comrades, stood armed, and ready to mount.

"Ready, sir," answered the trapper promptly.

McLeod looked round with a gleam of satisfaction on the stalwart forms of his guests, as they stood each at his horse's head examining the state of his weapons, or securing more firmly some portion of his costume.

"Mount! mount!" shouted Macgregor, galloping at that moment through the gateway, and dashing away in the direction of the forest.

"Stay!--my sketch-book!" cried Bertram in an agony, at the same time dropping his reins and his gun, and darting back towards the hall of the fort.

"Git on, lads; I'll look arter him," said Bounce with a grin, catching up the bridle of the artist's horse.

Without a moment's hesitation, the remainder of the party turned, and galloped after Macgregor, who, with the most of his own men, had already wellnigh gained the edge of the forest.

In a few seconds Bertram rushed wildly out of the fort, with the sketch-book in one hand and the two blunderbuss-pistols in the other.

In leaping on his horse, he dropped the latter; but Bounce picked them up, and stuck them hastily into his own belt.

"Now put that book into its own pouch, or ye'll be fit for nothin',"

said Bounce almost sternly.

Bertram obeyed, and grasped the rifle which his friend placed in his hand. Then Bounce vaulted into his saddle, and, ere those who were left behind had drawn the bolts and let down the ponderous bars of the gate of the Mountain Fort, the two hors.e.m.e.n were flying at full speed over the plain in the track of the avengers of blood who had gone before them.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE PURSUIT--CONSCIENTIOUS SCRUPLES OF THE ARTIST--STRATEGIC MOVEMENTS-- SURPRISED IN THE WILD-CAT Pa.s.s--MARCH SHOWS COOLNESS AND PLUCK IN THE HOUR OF DANGER--A TERRIFIC ONSLAUGHT BY A WONDERFUL WARRIOR--THE BATTLE--HARD KNOCKS AND MYSTERIOUS DIFFERENCES OF OPINION.

Crossing the open ground in front of the Mountain Fort, Bounce and Bertram entered the wood beyond, and traversed it with comparative ease, by means of a bridle-path which had been cut there by the fur-traders.

A few minutes' gallop brought them to the other side of the wood, which was one of those narrow strips or clumps of forest which grow, more or less thickly, on the skirts of the Rocky Mountains, forming that fine picturesque region where the prairie and the forest meet and seem to contend for the mastery.

The plain beyond this belt of wood was open and level--at least, sufficiently so to enable the two hors.e.m.e.n to see for a considerable distance around them. Here, in the far distance, they descried their companions, sweeping over the turf at their utmost speed, and making towards a low hill or ridge that intercepted the view of the more distant country.

"They'll have to draw in a bit," said Bounce, turning to his comrade.

"Horses no more nor men can't go helter-skelter up a hill without takin'

breath; so rouse up your beast, Mr Bertram, an' we'll overtake 'em afore they gits to the t'other side."

Bertram obeyed his friend's command, but made no rejoinder, his thoughts being too deeply engaged at that moment in a controversy with his conscience as to the propriety of the business he had then in hand.

The young artist had a deep veneration for abstract truth--truth pure and simple, not only in reference to morals, but to all things terrestrial and celestial; and he was deeply impressed with the belief that what was right was right, and what was wrong was wrong, and could not, by any possibility, be otherwise. He felt, also, that the man who recognised truth and acted upon it must go right, and he who saw and did otherwise _must_ go wrong!

Holding this simple creed very tenaciously, and, as we think, very properly, Bertram nevertheless found that his attempts to act up to it frequently involved him in a maze of perplexities.

On the present occasion, as he and Bounce thundered over the green turf of the flowering plains, scattering the terrified gra.s.shoppers right and left, and causing the beautifully striped ground-squirrels to plunge with astonishing precipitancy into their holes, he argued with himself, that the mere fact of a murderous deed having been done was not a sufficient reason, perhaps, to justify his sallying forth with a reckless band of desperate fur-traders, bent on indiscriminate revenge.

It was quite true, in his opinion, that a murderer should be punished with death, and that the pursuit and capture of a murderer was not only a legitimate act in itself but, in the circ.u.mstances, a bounden duty on his part. Yet it was equally true that most of the men with whom he was a.s.sociated were thirsting for vengeance, and from past experience he knew full well that there would be no attempt to find out the murderer, but a simple and general ma.s.sacre of all the Indians whom they could overtake.