_ CHAPTER TWELVE. AN ARGUMENT ON ARGUMENTATION--ALSO ON RELIGION--BOUNCE "FEELOSOPHICAL" AGAIN--A RACE CUT SHORT BY A BULLET--FLIGHT AND PURSUIT OF THE REDSKINS
When McLeod returned to the square, he found that the trappers had adjourned with the men of the establishment to enjoy a social pipe together, and that Theodore Bertram was taking a solitary, meditative promenade in front of the gate of the fort.
"You seem in a pensive mood, Mr Bertram," said the fur trader on coming up, "will you not try the soothing effects of a pipe? Our tobacco is good; I can recommend it."
He offered a plug of tobacco to the artist as he spoke.
"Thank you, I do not smoke," said Bertram, declining the proffered luxury. "Tobacco may be good--though I know it not from experience. Yet, methinks, the man is wiser who does not create an unnatural taste, than he who does so for the purpose of gratifying it."
"Ah! you are a philosopher."
"If judging of things and questions simply on their own merit, and with the single object of ascertaining what is truth in regard to them, constitutes a philosopher, I am."
"Don't you find that men who philosophise in that way are usually deemed an obstinate generation by their fellow-men?" inquired the trader, smiling as he puffed a voluminous cloud from his lips.
"I do," replied Bertram.
"And don't you think the charge is just?" continued the other in a jocular tone.
"I do not," replied the artist. "I think those who call them obstinate are often much more truly deserving of the epithet. Philosophers, in the popular sense of the word, are men who not only acquire knowledge and make themselves acquainted with the opinions of others, but who make independent use of acquired knowledge, and thus originate new ideas and frequently arrive at new conclusions. They thus often come to differ from the rest of mankind on many points, and, having good reasons for this difference of opinion, they are ever ready to explain and expound their opinions and to prove their correctness, or to receive proof of their incorrectness, if that can be given--hence they are called argumentative. Being unwilling to give up what appears to them to be truth, unless it can be shown to be falsehood, their opinions are not easily overturned--hence they are called obstinate. Thinking out a subject in a calm, dispassionate, logical manner, from its first proposition to its legitimate conclusion, is laborious to all. A very large class of men and women have no patience for such a process of investigation--hence argumentation, that most noble of all mental exercises, is deemed a nuisance. Certainly argumentation with unphilosophical persons _is_ a nuisance; but I know of few earthly enjoyments more gratifying than an argument with a true philosopher."
"That's wot I says, so I do, out-an'-out," observed Bounce, who had come up unperceived, and had overheard the greater part of the above remarks. "Jist wot I thinks myself, Mr Bertram, only I couldn't 'xactly put it in the same way, d'ye see? That's wot I calls out-an'-out feelosophy."
"Glad to hear you're such a wise fellow," said McLeod patronisingly. "So you agree, of course, with Mr Bertram in condemning the use of the pipe."
"Condemn the pipe?" said Bounce, pulling out his own special favourite and beginning to fill it--"wot, condemn smokin'? No, by no means wotsomdiver. That's quite another kee-westion, wot we hain't bin a disputin' about. I only heer'd Mr Bertram a-talkin' about obst'nitness an' argementation."
"Well, in regard to that," said Bertram, "I firmly believe that men and women are all alike equally obstinate."
"Ha!" ejaculated Bounce, with that tone of mingled uncertainty and profound consideration which indicates an unwillingness to commit oneself in reference to a new and startling proposition.
"On what grounds do you think so?" asked McLeod.
"Why on the simple ground that a man _cannot_ change any opinion until he is convinced that it is wrong, and that he inevitably must, and actually does, change his opinion on the instant that he is so convinced; and that in virtue, not of his will, but of the constitution of his mind. Some men's minds are of such a nature--they take such a limited and weak grasp of things--that they cannot be easily convinced. Others are so powerful that they readily seize upon truth when it is presented to them; but in either case, the instant the point of conviction is reached the mind is changed. Pride may indeed prevent the admission of this change, but it takes place, as I have said, inevitably."
At this Bounce opened his eyes to their utmost possible width and said solemnly, "Wot! do ye mean for to tell me, then, that thair ain't no sich thing as obstinacy?" He accompanied this question with a shake of the head that implied that if Bertram were to argue till doomsday he would never convince him (Bounce) of that.
"By no means," returned the artist, smiling; "there is plenty of it, but obstinacy does not consist in the simple act of holding one's opinion firmly."
"Wot _does_ it consist of, then?"
"In this--in holding firmly to opinions that have been taken hastily up, without the grounds on which they are founded having been duly weighed; and in refusing to consider these grounds in a philosophical (which means a rational) way, because the process would prove tiresome. The man who has comfortably settled all his opinions in this way very much resembles that 'fool' of whom it is written that he 'is wiser in his own conceit than seven men who can _render a reason_.'"
"Well, but, to come back to the starting-point," said McLeod, "many wise men smoke."
"If you say that in the way of argument, I meet it with the counter proposition that many wise men _don't_ smoke."
"Hah!" ejaculated Bounce, but whether Bounce's ejaculation was one of approval or disapproval we cannot tell. Neither can we tell what conclusion these philosophers came to in regard to smoking, because, just then, two horsemen were seen approaching the fort at full speed.
Seeing that they were alone, McLeod took no precautions to prevent surprise. He knew well enough that Indians frequently approach in this manner, so waited in front of the gate, coolly smoking his pipe, until the savages were within a few yards of him. It seemed as if they purposed running him down, but just as they came to within a couple of bounds of him, they drew up so violently as to throw their foaming steeds on their haunches.
Leaping to the ground, the Indians--who were a couple of strong, fine-looking savages, dressed in leathern costume, with the usual ornaments of bead and quill work, tags, and scalp-locks--came forward and spoke a few words to McLeod in the Cree language, and immediately after, delivering their horses to the care of one of the men of the establishment, accompanied him to the store.
In less than half an hour they returned to the gate, when the Indians remounted, and, starting away at their favourite pace--full gallop--were soon out of sight.
"Them fellows seem to be in a hurry," remarked Bounce as they disappeared.
"Ay, they're after mischief too," replied McLeod in a sad tone of voice. "They are two Cree chiefs who have come here for a supply of ammunition to hunt the buffalo, but I know they mean to hunt different game, for I heard them talking to each other about a war-party of Blood Indians being in this part of the country. Depend upon it scalps will be taken ere long. 'Tis a sad, sad state of things. Blood, blood, blood seems to be the universal cry here; and, now that we've had so many quarrels with the redskins, I fear that the day is not far-distant when blood will flow even in the Mountain Fort. I see no prospect of a better state of things, for savage nature cannot be changed. It seems a hopeless case."
There was a touch of pathos in the tone in which this was said that was very different from McLeod's usual bold and reckless manner. It was evident that his natural disposition was kind, hearty, and peaceable; but that the constant feuds in which he was involved, both in the fort and out of it, had soured his temper and rendered him wellnigh desperate.
"You are wrong, sir, in saying that their case is hopeless," said Bertram earnestly. "There is a remedy."
"I wish you could show it me," replied the trader.
"Here it is," returned the artist, taking his little Testament from the inside pocket of his hunting-shirt. "The gospel is able to make all men wise unto salvation."
McLeod shook his head, and said, "It won't do here. To be plain with you, sir, I don't believe the gospel's of any use in these wild regions, where murder seems to be as natural to man, woman, and child as food."
"But, sir," rejoined Bertram, "you forget that our Saviour Himself says that He came not to call the righteous but _sinners_ to repentance. In this volume we are told that the blood of Christ cleanseth us from _all_ sin; and, not only have we His assurance that none who come unto Him shall be cast out, but we have examples in all parts of the known world of men and women who were once steeped to the lips in every species of gross iniquity having been turned to the service of God through faith in Christ, and that by the power of the Holy Spirit, who, in this Word of God, is promised freely to them that simply ask."
"It may be so," returned McLeod; "I have not studied these things much. I don't profess to be a very religious man, and I cannot pretend to know much of what the gospel has done elsewhere; but I feel quite sure that it cannot do much _here_!"
"Then you do not believe the Bible, which says distinctly that this 'gospel is the power of God unto salvation to _every one_ that believeth.'"
"Ay, but these wretched Indians won't believe," objected the trader.
"True," answered Bertram; "they have not faith by nature, and they _won't_ because they _can't_ believe; but faith is the gift of God, and it is to be had for the asking."
"To that I answer that they'll never ask."
"How do you know? Did you ever give them a trial? Did you ever preach the gospel to them?"
"No, I never did that."
"Then you cannot tell how they would treat it. Your remarks are mere assertions of opinion--not arguments. You know the wickedness of the Indians, and can therefore speak authoritatively on that point; but you know not (according to your own admission) the power of the gospel: therefore you are not in a position to speak on that point."
McLeod was about to reply when he was interrupted by the approach of Mr Macgregor, who had now recovered somewhat from the effects of his violent fit of passion. Having observed during the _melee_ that strangers had arrived at his fort, he had washed and converted himself into a more presentable personage, and now came forward to the group of trappers, all of whom had assembled at the gate. Addressing them in a tone of affable hospitality he said--
"Good-day, friends; I'm glad to see you at the Mountain Fort. That blackguard Larocque somewhat ruffled my temper. He's been the cause of much mischief here, I assure you. Do you intend to trap in these parts?"
The latter part of this speech was addressed to Redhand, who replied--
"We do mean to try our luck in these parts, but we han't yet made up our minds exactly where to go. Mayhap you'll give us the benefit of your advice."
While he was speaking the fur trader glanced with an earnest yet half stupid stare at the faces of the trappers, as if he wished to impress their features on his memory.
"Advice," he replied; "you're welcome to all the advice I've got to give ye; and it's this--go home; go to where you belong to, sell your traps and rifles and take to the plough, the hatchet, the forehammer--to anything you like, so long as it keeps you out of this--" Macgregor paused a moment as if he were about to utter an oath, then dropped his voice and said, "This wretched Indian country."
"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 horsemen 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 competitors, after passing 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, passing the sharp weapon quickly round his head with his right hand, with his left he tore the scalp off, and, leaping up, shook the bloody 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 passion, 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 assembled; "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 horsemen were flying at full speed over the plain in the track of the avengers of blood who had gone before them. _