Yes, tobogganing is great fun. It was the beavers, by the way, who first taught the Indians of the Rocky Mountains the game. Then the Indians taught the whites; and I think it is far from fair not to erect a monument to the beaver in some public thoroughfare in Montreal or New York.
Peter and I, with the a.s.sistance of others, established a kind of circus. This was also great fun. The feats of horsemanship performed in our circle before the log-hut doors, I have never seen surpa.s.sed at any hippodrome at home or in Paris.
We had old men riders, bare-back, standing and sitting.
We had young boy riders.
We had girl riders. We had _infant_ riders.
We had la.s.so performances and bolas play. Before the winter drew to a close, I verily believe that our company was good enough to make our fortune in any large city of Europe.
Peter once undertook to ride a Pampas pony, or rather a dwarf horse.
"It seems simple," said Peter, "and I won"t have far to fall."
Well, if Peter had studied for a month how best to amuse these Indians, he could not have fallen upon a better plan. "Fallen" did I say? Yes; and it seemed all falling, for Peter was no sooner on than he was off again; and the variety of different methods that pony adopted in spilling him proved it to be a little horse of the rarest versatility.
No wonder Nadi clapped her hands as she shouted with laughter, crying--
"O, O, Angleese! Angleese!" Had this been an intentional display of Peter"s powers, it really would have been exceedingly clever; but tumbling off a horse came natural to Peter, so that instead of trying to fall off in a great many different ways, as the Indians all thought he was, he was all the while doing his very best to keep on top, as he called it.
Peter"s performance brought _down_ the house, but it brought _up_ his b.u.mps again.
If tobogganing, hunting in the plains and forest, and fishing in the rivers, with circus riding, were our outdoor games, at night innocent games of cards, story-telling, singing, and dancing, helped to pa.s.s away the time till ten o"clock, after which all was silence in and around the camp and huts, except the doleful chant of the sentries.
The Indians by day, however, were certainly not always playing. They were often enough busy manufacturing various articles from silver, iron, copper, and wood, to say nothing of pipes. All these would barter well when spring came round and they met once more the white men of Santa Cruz, or even of Sandy Point itself. All this was men"s work; meanwhile the women were busy sewing skins.
Peter had already been presented with his little skunk-skin poncho or capa, and very proud he was thereof.
"Aren"t you fellows jealous!" he said, as he went marching up and down to show it off. "Just wait till _you_ get a little poncho; there will be no holding you for pride."
So one way or another the winter wore away far more quickly than would be imagined. Of course, Jill and I often thought of home and mother and Mattie. Sometimes our hearts would give an uneasy thud, as we remembered how long a time it was since we had seen them, or even heard from them.
What if our darling mother were dead! This would indeed be the greatest grief that could befall us. We could only hope for the best, and pray.
Every Sunday all through the winter we had reading and prayers in the log hut. Jeeka and his wife were constant in their attendance, and if Nadi did not understand all that was said, let us hope she learned enough for her soul"s salvation.
Grief had not yet visited our little settlement, but, alas! it was to come.
August was nearly at a close, and we were beginning to look forward to the coming of spring, when a more bitter snowstorm came on than any we had yet known. The snow was not so very deep, but the wind was very high and keen.
Early on the second morning of the second day of the storm, Nadi came running to our log-house, and, wringing her hands as if in terrible grief, asked for Peter.
"Nadi, what is it?" cried Peter, in great concern to see her tears.
"What has happened?"
Nadi spoke English now. That showed how great and real was her anguish.
"Oh, come, come!" she cried; "come you, quick, plenty quick. De leetle coqueet, he die. Oh, come!"
Peter never stayed even to put his cap on, but hurried away through the snow with Nadi towards the Indian toldos.
It was too true. The poor baby was _in extremis_. Peter bent over it as he sat down. It knew him, and smiled in his face.
Peter gave it his forefinger, as he was wont to do, and this the poor little thing clutched with its soft hand, and held until it died. Child though it was, holding Peter"s finger seemed to give it confidence. It was as if some one was leading it safely through the dark valley.
I had never seen tears in Peter"s eyes till that morning.
Let us hope poor baby soon saw the Light.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
THE DREADED RIVER-LION--ADVENTURE ON THE PLAINS--LOST IN A SNOWSTORM--"TO SLEEP WERE DEATH."
The grief of Jeeka and his wife Nadi for the death of their infant was positively painful to witness. Every one in the camp seemed also to partake in it. There was a kind of wake held the night before the funeral, and the wailing was greater than anything I have heard in Ireland on a like occasion.
At the grave, the horse on which Nadi and baby had travelled all across the Pampa was thrown and strangled, and all the child"s trinkets and playthings and even clothes were burned. The body was rolled in a guanaco robe and laid to rest, the clods were heaped in, and snow put over these. Then we all came silently back.
Next day everything was _in statu quo_ except that baby was not there.
We could trace signs of deep grief and a sleepless night in Jeeka"s and Nadi"s faces but they made no reference of any kind to their dead and gone darling.
One calm cold day, Ritchie and Jill returned from the river to say that they had seen a most wondrous sight. A huge animal with terrible teeth and eyes, shaped somewhat like a tiger, had rushed up out of one of the deepest, darkest pots or pools and attacked a native dog which was standing near.
The fight had been sharp and fierce, but before a.s.sistance could be rendered, the beast, whatever it was, had conquered the dog and dragged him down under water.
"_Gol de Rio. Gol de Rio_," said Jeeka, who had heard the account.
"Not go near. He all same as one Gualichu. Bad man! So, so."
"Bad man here, or bad man there," said Ritchie, "I mean to have a shot at him."
We backed Ritchie in his wish, but as there was evidently no chance of getting Jeeka to come with us, we determined to set out ourselves next day.
We did, and waited four hours in ambush. But all in vain. The Gol de Rio, or water-lion, never showed face.
"He is gorging on the poor dog," said Ritchie. "Let us give him a rest for a day or two."
"I"ve a plan," said Jill. "Let us tether the guanaco lamb to the bank, and stand by with our guns."
The lamb was a poor forsaken little beast we had found half-dead beneath a tree, and taken home and tried to rear.
The plan was feasible. We went very early next morning and tied the wee thing up to a bush near the bank. It seemed to know there was danger as if by instinct, for it struggled and cried most plaintively and pitifully.
Meanwhile we hid behind a rock, with our guns in position.
We had not long to wait. First there was a ripple on the pool, then a monster brownish-yellow head was protruded, with paws near it paddling lightly as if for support. The face was whiskered, and the eyes looked extremely fierce. The beast looked cautiously round first, then it eyed the shivering lamb, and at once made for the bank.
When near its intended victim, it stopped as if about to spring, moving its long moustache rapidly fore and aft, as a cat does.
Three rifles rang out sharp and clear in the wintry air. Next moment the huge beast had turned on its back, and its death struggle was a brief one.