PAGE 2
The Indian Mother, A Tale Of The Rocky Mountains
by
The usual ceremonies having been gone through, the young Kamela went to La Touche’s tent, and became his most loving and devoted wife. He treated her, not as the Indians would–as a slave, but as an equal and a friend, except in the presence of her countrymen, when he assumed the stern, indifferent manner with which they treat their wives. La Touche did not long remain idle; but away over the mountains, and down streams and rapids, across lakes, and through dense forests, he had to travel to join a band of the fur-trading company to which he belonged. Here four or five years of his life were spent; and the once-graceful Kamela had become a mother, with two fine children–Moolak, a boy, and a little Kamela.
One day, towards the end of the year, La Touche received orders to join Mr McDonald, a factor, with several other men, to assist in establishing a fort on one of the streams which run into the Fraser River. The spot selected was on a high bluff, with the river flowing at its base. The fort was of a simple construction. It was surrounded by a palisade of stout timbers, fixed deeply in the ground, and united by cross-bars, further strengthened by buttresses, and loop-holed for musketry, with a few light guns to sweep the fort should the enemy break in. The interior consisted of log-huts and storehouses. Such is the style of most of the fur-trading forts. To these forts the Indian hunters bring their furs at periodical seasons, and receive fire-arms and ammunition, tobacco, blankets, hatchets, knives, and other articles in return; and too often, also, the deadly “fire-water.”
The fort being finished, the hunters were sent off in parties in different directions to search for game–either for food, or for the furs of the animals. Mr McDonald, sending for La Touche, told him that he must proceed to a spot at the distance of about five days’ journey, with provisions for six weeks, accompanied by two other men. “We will take care of your wife and children till you return,” he added.
“No, thank you, sir; I prefer having my wife’s society. We have gone through many hardships and dangers together; and she will be happier with me, and safer than in the fort,” answered the hunter.
“How so, La Touche?” asked the factor.
“Why, sir, I mean that we have enemies–that it is possible the fort may be attacked; and that, if you are not very vigilant, it may be captured by treachery, if not by force,” answered La Touche.
“You are plain spoken; but you need not be alarmed about our safety. I have not lived among these Red Skins for eight years or more, without knowing their habits and tricks,” answered Mr McDonald. “However, by all means, take your wife and children with you: you can have horses to convey them.”
La Touche, thanking the good-natured factor, set off with his companions and wife and children. His wife, from habit, marked well the way they took; indeed, from constantly accompanying her husband, she knew the country as well as he did. They met on their way natives of two or three of the neighbouring tribes; but, as they were well mounted and armed, no one molested them. They had rivers to ford, and hills to climb, and there were woods through which, occasionally, to save a long round, they had to hew their way.
At length the party reached the hunting-ground to which the factor had directed them. Wigwams were erected–conical shaped, and covered with birch-bark–in a nook of the dense grove of cedars, where they would be sheltered from the icy winds of the north; one for La Touche and his family, the other for their companions. While the men went out hunting, Kamela remained at home to cook their provisions, and to look after her children; she also set cunningly-devised traps in the neighbourhood of the wigwams, over which she could watch. She never failed to have a good supper prepared for the hunters on their return home in the evening. She was one evening employed as usual, now lulling her little girl to sleep as the infant lay in its hammock in the wigwam, now attending to the simmering caldron, her quick ear ever on the watch for the footstep of her husband. Suddenly she started. “That is not Pierre’s footstep,” she muttered; “it is that of a stranger–no; it is Michel’s. Alas! he is wounded.”