The Fiery Totem - A Tale of Adventure in the Canadian North-West

C. F. Argyll Saxby

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• Publié par: feac
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 18
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fiery Totem, by Argyll Saxby This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Fiery Totem  A Tale of Adventure in the Canadian North-West Author: Argyll Saxby Release Date: August 14, 2009 [EBook #29686] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIERY TOTEM ***

Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Delphine Lettau, Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

THENHEGRIPPEDHIS WEAPONBY THEMUZZLE, AND SPRANG STRAIGHT FORTHEPACK. See page 175.

THE FIERY TOTEM A TALE OF ADVENTURE IN THE CANADIAN NORTH-WEST BY ARGYLL SAXBY, M.A., F.R.G.S. AUTHOR OF "BRAVES, WHITE AND RED" "COMRADES THREE!" "TANGLED TRAILS" ETC. ETC. SECOND IMPRESSION LONDON THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY 4 B OUVERIE S TREET   AND 65 S T . P AUL ' S C RCHYARDHU

CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A P ERILOUS P ASSAGE 5 II. D EER -S TALKING 14 III. T HE L ONELY C AMP 22 IV. F RIENDS   OR F OES ?33 V. L OST   IN   THE F OREST 41 VI. T HE M EDICINE M AN 53 VII. T HE F RIEND   IN N EED 67 VIII. N IGHT   IN   THE W IGWAM 83

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IX. T HE T EMPTATION 96 X. A D EATH -T RAP 104 XI. T O   THE R ESCUE !115 XII. C RAFTY T ACTICS 130 XIII. T HE P RICE   OF   A R OBE 142 XIV. T HE B ATTLE   OF W ITS 151 XV. O FF !165 XVI. A N IGHT ' S T ERROR 172 XVII. T HE F ATE   OF R ED F OX 181 XVIII. H OT   ON   THE T RAIL 191 XIX. T HUERND -M AKER ' S D LWOLAFN 205 XX. T HE F IERY T OTEM 217 THE FIERY TOTEM CHAPTER I A PERILOUS PASSAGE "Well, good-bye, boys! You won't go far from camp before we return, will you?" The speaker was one of two men seated in an Indian canoe. He gripped the forward paddle, while his companion at the stern added cheerfully— "The backwoods is not the City of London. There are no policemen to appeal to if you lose your way. Besides, we hope to find dinner waiting for our return. Hunting lost sons is not the same sport as hunting moose. " Both the boys laughed at the elder man's remark, and one—Bob Arnold by name—answered— "Don't worry about us, father. Alf and I can take care of ourselves for half a day. Can't we, Alf?" "Rather," the younger chum replied. "It's our respected parents who'll need to take care of themselves in unknown waters in that cockleshell." Then he called out merrily, imitating the tone of the first speaker—his father: "Take care of yourselves, dads! Remember the Athabasca River is not Regent Street!" "Cheeky youngster!" returned the elder man banteringly, as he struck the forward paddle into the water. "There's not much of the invalid left about you after three months' camping." Then with waving hands and pleasant chaffing, that showed what real good chums the quartette were, the men struck out for the centre of the river, leaving their sons watching from the strand before the camp that was pitched beneath the shadow of the great pine trees. It was a glorious morning—just the right sort for a hunting-expedition. The air was just chilly enough to render paddling a welcome exercise, and just warm enough to allow intervals of pleasant drifting in the centre of the current when there were no shoals or driftwood to be avoided. "Yes," remarked Holden, the younger of the two men, as the rhythm of the dripping paddles murmured pleasantly with Nature's music heard from leafy bough and bush; "yes, Alf's a different boy now. Who would have believed that these three short months would have changed a fever-wasted body into such a sturdy frame?" "It looks like a miracle," returned the other man. "It was a great idea, that of a six months' trapping in the backwoods. When we get back to England we'll all four look as healthy as savages. My Bob is the colour of a redskin. " "It was a great blessing that you were able to bring him. It wouldn't have been half as enjoyable for Alf, not having a chum." The elder man laughed softly as he turned a look of good-comradeship towards his companion. "That's just as it ought to be, Holden," he said. "You and I were chums at school, chums at college, and now chums in business. It's the right thing that our sons should follow our good example. At least, that's my opinion. " "And you know it's mine," was the response. "But, I say! Do you think we are wise to keep quite in the centre of the current? It seems to be driving pretty hard, and we don't know the course. We might wish to land if we saw rapids " . "I dare say you are right," replied Arnold. "We'll steer straight across that bend ahead of us. After that we can keep well under the shadow of the willows—or near them. We will look for a good landing spot and strike inwards. There ought to be moose or some equally good sport among those bluffs and clearings." It is one thing to make plans; it is quite another matter to carry them out. Especially is this the case when strangers are travelling in strange country. Of course the present mode of travel was no novelty to either of the men. Their youth had been passed in Western Canada (though not in the vicinity of the present voyage) before their parents sent them home to college in England. But even the hardened voyager knows that experience does not anticipate all chances, and this case was no exception to the rule. The river was certainly beginning to run at a pace that was perceptibly swifter than that of the start when two miles farther up. This did not give any cause for concern, however, for the ears of the travellers were prepared for any sound that indicated rapids, and there was no other contingency that they felt need to dread. At a little distance ahead, the course could be seen to take a sharp turn to the right, where the dense growth of beech and towering pines resembled the portals of a giant gateway; and, as it neared the opening, the canoe swung round the curve with the swift flight of a swallow. It was a sudden change of pace, due mainly to the sharpness of the turn. But as soon as the men fully entered the fresh span of the course they both started involuntarily, for the banks were so steep as to prohibit landing, and the river narrowed towards a second gateway formed by towering cliffs—steep as a Colorado cañon. "Look out!" exclaimed Holden, as he knelt high and gripped his paddle firmly. "Leave the steering to me, I can manage better from the stern. Come back here if you can." The canoe had already begun to dance among foaming crests like an egg-shell. Arnold crept towards his companion. "Not a pleasant look out!" he remarked, with a grim smile on his face. "It will be a marvel if we get through that cañon with dry skins." "Dry skins!" laughed Holden. His voice was laughing, but his eyes were fixed steadily a few yards in front of

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