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CroiDe//&Co. dPub//3/i ers m i I*;/ m i / 1636GG (■(.l'yn;;lit, !,-'.«;, r.V T. V. ClioWI.I.K .'c CoMrANY 'W ! I G6 SMOKY DAYS. CHAPTER I. THE FIRE-FIGHTERS. " Hush, there's mother's good little girl ! Hush, Ann Susan ! I thought I heard l*eter shouting." "Shut yer head, Ann Susan! Don't you hear yer maw?" said David Armstrong, the pioneer. Ann Susan, weary of the smoky and still air that had covered her backwoods world for three days, rubbed her sore eyes and screamed more vigorously. By niglit the smoke shrouded away the moon and stars. By day the sun was never distinctly visible, except when in mid-sky, where it now hung, red and solid looking, apparently little farther above the Armstrongs' clearing 3 imk>wmfi**9 W. I 4 SMORV DAYS. than the pines on top of the small mountain they called the I lump. "Hush, Ann Susan! Hush, baby!" said Mary, the eldest daughter, rattling two iron spoons together. "Look what Mary's doing. See what a good little girl Eliza Jane is. Lis- ten if brother Peter's calling." Ann Susan did not condescend to obey. Eliza Jane, the five-year-old, gazed across the table at the screaming "baby" with an air of superior goodness. "Hush, there! What's Peter sayin', maw?" said the pioneer, with alarm. " Is he shouting fire ? Can you make it out? " His wife listened intently. " Oh dear, oh dear, it's too bad ! " she cried, suddenly, in such anguish that Ann Susan was startled to silence. For a moment nothing was heard in the log- cabin except the rhythmical roar of the rapids of the Big Brazeau. Then a boy's voice came clearly over the monotone of the river. " Father ! Hurry ! There's fire falling near the barn ! " " The barn'U go, sure ! " shouted Armstrong, and sprang up so quickly as to upset the table, 3 9 ^f' k: si I •'■v.iT-,' .'j.-^' : SMOKY DAYS. whose pannikins, black-liandled forks and knives, coffee-pot, tin plates, fried pork, potatoes, and bread clattepni to the floor. As Ann Susan stared at the chasm which had suddenly come between her and Eliza Jane, Armstrong and ]\Iary ran out. The mother, as she tottered after her husband and daugliter, wailed, " The barn is going, sure ! Oh dear, if only lie could 'a' spared the hay ! " The children, left sitting in their high chairs, stared silently at one another, hearing only the hoarse pouring of the river and the buzzing of flies resettling on the scattered food. " De barn is doin', sure ! " echoed Eliza Jane, descending from her elevation. "Baby turn and see do barn is doin'." Ann Susan gave her hand to Eliza Jane, and the two toddled through the wrecked dinner things to the outside, where the sun, yellowed by the motionless smoke-pall, hung like a great orange over the clearing. As David Armstrong ran toward his son Peter he saw brands dropping straight down as from an invisible balloon. The lighter pieces swayed like blazing shingles ; the heavier, de- scending more quickly, gave off trails of sparks 6 SMOKY DA VS. t^ n m ml wliicli mostly tuniud to iislics before touching the grass. When the pioneer reached the phico of dan- ger, the shower had ceased ; but grass fires had already started in twenty places. Peter had picked up a big broom of cedar branches tied together, and begun to thrash at the blaze. His father and sister joined without a word in the light against lire that they had -waged at intervals for three days, during which the whole forest across the Big Tirazeau had seemed burning, except a strip of low-lying woods adja- cent to the stream. Night and day one of the four grown Armstrongs had watched for "lire falling," but none of the previous showers of coals, whirled high on the up-draught from the burning woods, and carried afar by currents moving above the still smoke-pall, had come down near the barn. Now the precious forty tons of stored hay seemed doomed, as scattered locks, strown on the ground outside the barn, caught from the blazing brands. The arid, long and trodden grass caught. Every chip and twig, dry as tinder in that late August weather, blazed •K i I 8M0KV DAYS. wlieii touched by flame. Sparks, Avaveriiig up from the grass to tlrift a liltle ou no percepLiblu wind, were enough to start fresh conflagration. Peter thraslied till all was black around him, but a dozen patches flickered near by when he looked around. Beating, stamping, sometimes slapping out sparks with their bare hands, the father, son, and daughter all strove in vain, while the mother, scarcely strong enougli to lift her broom, looked distractedly at the grow- ing area of danger. " Lord, O Lord, if you could on'y have mercy on the barn! We could make out without the house, but if the hay goes we're done!" she kept muttering. Eliza Jane, hand-in-hand with Ann Susan, watched the conflict, and stolidly re-echoed her mother's words, till both were startled to silence by suddenly catching sight of a strange boy who had ascended from the Big Brazeau's rocky bed to the Armstrong clearing. None of the other Armstrongs had yet seen the stranger boy, who neither announced him- self by a shout, nor stood on the bank more than long enough to comprehend the danger to the 8 SMOKY DAYS. I'f I; bivrn. Quickly graspiiij? tlio meaning of the desperate efforts of the pioneer family, per- ceiving clearly that the barn was in clanger, the stranger remarked, "By Jove!" threw a light pack from his back, unstrapped it, ran down to the river with his large gray blanket, dipped this into the water, and trailing it, flew swiftly to aid in the fight against fire. "Here, you boy," cried the newcomer to Peter, "come and take the other side of this blanket ! " He had already drav;n it over the flame-edge nearest the barn and was trailing its wet folds over the quickening blaze. "Hurry; help me to spread the blanket — this is the way ! " he cried with decision. Peter understood and obeyed instantly though he resented the tone of command. "Take both corners!" cried the newcomer. " Now then ! Do as I do." He and Peter walked rapidly over the wet blanket. When they lifted it the space was black. " Again ! " The stranger spoke in a calm imperative voice. They drew the blanket over another space of light flames, spread it, stamped on it, repeated the entire operation. SMOKY DAYS. 9 ''Nevor mind the firo over tlicro ! " cried this comma ndiiijij youth to David Armstrong. " Como hero — gather hetwecn the harn and the hlanketl Shap out any sparks that fly between I " Tlie stranger had brought into the struggle a clear plan and orderly action. Now all strove togetlier — brooms and blanket as organs of one firc-fighting machine. In fifteen minutes there was not a spark in tlio clearing, and the smoke- blackened Armstrongs stood panting about their young deliverer, who was api)arently quite cool. " You give us mighty good help, young fel- ler. Jest in the nick of time, too," said the pioneer, gratefully. "Aw — very glad, I'm sure," drawled the lad, almost dropping his r's while he flicked his fore-and-aft cap with a gray silk handkerchief. " I rather thought your barn was going, don't you know." " So it was, if you hadn't jumped in so spry," said Mrs. Armstrong. "Aw — well — perhaps not exactly, madam. It -wasn't to be burned, don't you know." Tlio mystified family stared at this fatalist while ho calmly snapped the handkerchief about 10 SMOh'V DAYS. U: ;': liw belted blouses lii.s tij^liL liousuis, and ovoii Ilia lliit :k-.Mf)lod Widkiiii,' b(H)t.s. AVIuiii lio had fairly ckitiid bis ganiiunts ol' litllo ciuduis and dust, bo looked pleasantly at the [(iuiicur, and said with a bow: ''Mr. David Annstronj^', I believe . * " Dave," said the backwoodsman, curtly. I'l'ter lauyiied. lie had conceived for the ceremonious youth that slight aversion which the forest-bred boy often feels for the "city feller." IMrs. Armstrong and Mary did not share Peter's sentiment, but looked wnth some admi- ration on the neat little fellow who had shown himself so quick to plan and ready to act. Peter had rashly jumped to the opinion that the stranger was a "dude" — one of a class much rei)rehended in tlie columns of the Kelh/s CroHsbiij Star and North Ottawa VaUei) Inde- pendent,, in whose joke department Peter de- lifrhted. There he had learned all that he knew about " dudes." The stranger in dusting himself, had dis- played wiiat even Mary thought an effeminate care for his personal appearance. Not only so, BMO^V DAYS. 11 but ho somehow contrived to look smartly drcssctl though (rostunied suitably for the woods iji a brownisli suit of hard "hali'ax" tweed, flannel shirt, and gray silk tie. indeed, this small city youth was so liandsome, so grace- fully built, and so well set up by as." " No, I said I camped alone last night. My chief is camped fifteen miles lower." SMOKY DAYS. 13 " Chief ! There don't look to be no Indian in ^OM." " Chief engineer." " Oho — now I size y' up. You're one of the surveyors explorin' for the railroad?" "Not exactly. But I'm on the engineering party." " Same thing, I guess. When d'ye expeck to get the line to here ? " " Next week." " Why ! yer a-goin' it ! " " Yes — the work is to he pushed quickly." "No — say? It's really goin' to be built this time?" "Certainly. The company liave plenty of money at last. Trains will be running here next spring." "Hurray! Hear that, maw ? The railroad's comin' straight on. They'll want every straw of liay we've got for their gradin' horses." "Certainly," said Bracy. "It's lucky you saved your hay. How much have you? Ten tons?" " Forty and more, I guess." " Really ! I congratulate you, by Jove." 14 SMOKY DATS. u " What you say ? " " I'm glad you saved your hay." " Oil — now I understand. So'm I. It'll fetch mebby eighty dollars a ton." "Probably. I've ceen hay at a hundred a ton on the Coulonge." In that district of the great North Ottawa Valley hay frequently sold at such enormous prices before the railway came in. A tract of superior pine had betii discovered fai from the settlements and where wild hay was not to be found. Transportation over hills, rocks, and ravines wr.s exceedingly costly. Horses were partly fed on bread, on wheat, on " bro vv se " from trees, as well as on oats, but nothing to supply the place of hay adequately could be found. Lumbermen " had to have it," and Armstrong had "moved way back" on purpose to profit by their demand. Unprecedented prices must result from the competition between lumbermen and the advance construction-gangs of the in- coming railway. "Where you off to now all alone?" asked Armstrong. " I'm going to Kelly's Crossing." .-■.iS*-Ai''-a^',-';jti-."--':-^.E^;,C'.*— •'-fiJ.'-'-t;;- SMOKY DAYS. 16 "What for?" " Well, I suppose I may tell you. My cliief could not spare a boat and men for a trip down to Kelly's. We heard of a path from here over the mountain. I am sent this way to hire all the men I can collect at Kelly's." " I guess you must be a purty smart young feller to be trusted that way." "You're very kind, I'm sure," and Vincent waved his hand with a deprecatory gesture that did not detract from his confident bearing. " At any rate," he went on, " I do my best to obey orders. Now, perhaps you will be so good as to show me the path over the mountain." "The Hump, you mean?" " Yes, I've heard it called the Hump. How far to Kelly's Crossing ? " " Thirty mile." " So much ? I might almost as well have gone down river." " No, it's a good, flat path on top there." "Well, I'm glad of that. Good-day, Mr. Armstrong. Thank you very much. Good- day, madam. Good-bye, Miss Armstrong." He raised his cap with a bow to each, and ""■^^ K t> IG SMOKY DAYS. ^■, \i concluding Avitli Pelcv, remarked, "Good-day, my boy," iu an intentionally patronizing tone. Tills was Vincent's retort for Peter's grins at the Bracy name, l)ut lie liad scarcely spoken before lie regretted the words; not because they vexed Peter, but because Vincent felt that he had descended below that altitude of manly composure at Avliich he had aimed ever since leaving Upper Canada College a year before. Even pioneer boys are but mortal, and Peter now lost his temper. "Ain't you afeard to l)o out in them woods all alone without your maw?" said he. "Not at all, thank you. Pm sure it's very kind of you to inquire," replied Vincent, sweetly. j\Iary laughed outright. " lie's too smart for you, Peter," said David Armstrong, laughing too. Quite at a loss to meet so affable an answer, Peter wrathfully watched the city boy striding away. "But saj'," cried ]Mi's. Armstrong, "you've forcrotten your blanket." "No, mad;nn," r.iid Vincent, turning round. i!*«'wninaK>!SSiiyrr?7Tf7?! SMOKY DAYS. 17 "It's not worth my while carrying it. Too heavy, don't you know." "It has. got wet and dirty — and such a handsome blanket it was!" said Mrs. Arm- strong. "But say, young gentleman, 'tain't fair you should lose your blanket helping us." "Don't mention it, madam, I beg of you. Very glad to be of service, I assure you." " Well, anyhow, take a dry blanket. We've got lots — ain't we, paw ? " " We have. Nights is often cold now. You can't sleep out without one — not to say in comfort." " Well, I will take a dry blanket," said Vin- cent, after reflection. "I mean to camp at a creek that is about fifteen miles from here, I'm told." " Yas — Lost Creek." " Aw — why so called ? " " It gets lost after it runs a good ways, some say. I guess there ain't nobody ever follered it tlirough to the Brazeau." "Here's a blanket, Mr. Bracy," said Mary, running from the cabin. " It's not such a good big one as yours was." 18 SMOKY DAYS. U She was a pretty girl, though now begrimed with smoke and cinders, and Vincent, looking at her with fun twinkling in his eyes, lifted his cap once more off his yellow, curly, close- cropped liair, with an air at which Peter se- cretly said, " Yah-ah I " in disgust. "Very good of you, Fm sure. Miss Arm- strong," concluded Vincent, as he strapped the blanket. Having placed it back of his shoul- ders, he made one more grand and inclusive bow, and then rapidly ascended the Hump. "Well, I'm teetotally blamed if we didn't let liim go without a bite to eat," said Peter three minutes later. The pioneer boy, bred in a land where hcripitality is given and taken almost as a matter of course, was aghast at the family failure to offer the stranger food. "Dear, dear! Pm ashamed of myself, so I am," cried Mrs. Armstrong. "After all he done for us ! And him that eas^/ about it." " 111 say this for him," remarked the pioneer, "he's cur'us and queer in his talk, but if it wasn't for the spry Avay he worked that blan- ket of hisn, the barn was gone sure. He saved me more'n three thousand dollars." SMOKY DATS. 19 " IIo can fly round and no mistake, I allow that. 'Tain't tlie frst lire-fightiii' he's did," said Peter, forgetting his resentment at the vanished Vincent's overpowering airs. "We was near a spat, but I liked him first-rate, all the same." " Such a name ! " said Mary, wishing to jus- tify Peter, now that he had spoken magnani- mously. " Well, he comes of respectable enough folks anyhow — Til make no doubt of that," .aid the mother, "but laws! there ain't no denyin' — for if ever there was an outlandish name ! " "Next time I see Vincent Awlgehnon Bi-acy, him and Peter Armstrong's going to try which is the best man," said Peter, who conceived, as all the men of the Brazeau do, that "best man " could signify nothing but the man most efficient in rough-and-tumble fighting. "Better look out you don't go rastlin' with no thrashin' machines, Peter," said his father. " Them city chaps has got all the trips they is, you bet. And up to boxin' too — why, they're scienced! But say, maw, you wasn't never madamed and bowed down to like that in all ^! 20 SMOKV DAYS. 1^ . W your born days before." And the pioneer, chuckling, strode off to watch the lire from a favorabh^ place by the river. " It's on'y the way he's got o' talkin'. T des- say that's tlie way he was fetched up," said the mother, indulgently, as she slowly walked with her children to the cabin. The woman moved weakly and was still gasping from the excite- ments she had undorgone. She was incessantly ailing, working, and over- worked, — it is the fate of the pioneer woman, and because she docs not chop, nor mow, nor share in the heavier labors that are easy to the great strength of pioneer men she commonly laughs at the notion that overwork is her bane. "I'm just kind o' wore out fussin' round the house" was ]\Irs. Armstrong's formula. Striding beside her Peter c d Eliza Jane and Ann Susan on his shoulders, for his good temper had returned, and the little girls were in high delight with their "horse." But sud- denly Eliza Jane screamed, the younger child stared dumb with wonder, and Peter set both down hastily in his dismay. His mother had ■stumbled and fallen heavily forward. ..„*:■■ ;;j;.^--.--.:..^>iat>£-.i'^ SMOKY DAYS. 21 As Peter lifted her lie slioiitetl, " Father — come — quick! Oh Muiy, is mother dead!" and Mary, looking into the weary face and catching it to her heart doubted her own words as sho said " No. Oh Peter, for the love of the Lord, no ! I guess she's fainted." David Armstrong running desperately to the group seized his wife in his arms. " Stand back ! " he cried as he laid her limp form on the arid ground. "Peter — hurry — git water — mother's tuckered out — it's the fear of the barn goin' that ails her. She ain't dead — it couldn't be — oh God it couldn't be ! " Meantime, Vincent Bracy had reached the flat summit of the Hump, and stood on its edge gazing far and wide. Near the horizon, in every direction except toward Kelly's Crossing, the smoke-pall was lurid from fire below. Beyond the mile-wide, low-lying, green forest north of the curving Big Brazeau extended heights Avhich now looked like an interminable embank- ment of dull red ' nked by wide patches of a fiercer, whiter glow. No wind relieved the gloomy, evenly diffused lunge, tlie city buy hud quite recovered his senses. Uo stood up, stured, reeoy-ni/ed his rescuer, und reniembe-.ed his inunners even then: — "Thiuik you. You saved my life I " ]io shouted ill I'eter'.s ear. "Saved it! Dyoii ,s'i)oso — " Tho sentence broke oil' because both boys had plunged their heads, so intense Avas the hot blast that ilcw at them. When they canio up Vincent shouted: — "I said you saved my life. You were about to remark — " "liemark!" roared Peter. "Saved your life! S'pose you're going to get out of this alive ? " Dowu M-ent both heads. When they rose again Vincent shoutcfd: — "We are in rather a bad hole, but— " Under thev went aijain. Nothing more was said for what seemed a great length of time. The boys could endure ! ■! M. SMOHr UAYS. 80 tho intense lieat but for an instant. Their heads bobbed out only that they njight snatch a breath. At sueli moments they lieard nauglit but crashing and the revelry of Hume. CHAPTER III. FLAME AND AVATER. tl I II Within twenty minutes after Peter Arm- strong and Vincent Bracy had sprawled into Lost Creek the draught from the forest fire Avas ahnost straight upward. No longer did vol- umes of smoke, sparks, and flame stoop to the floor of the woods, rise again witli a shaking motion, and hurry on like dust before a tornado. But smoke rose so densely from decaying leaf- mould that the boys could see but dimly the red trunks of neighboring trees. Overhead was a sparkling illumination from which fiery scales flew with incessant crackling and fre- quent reports loud as pistol shots. Out of the layer of clear air close to the creek's cool surface the boys could not raise their heads without suffocation. They squatted, staring into one anotlier's fire-reddened faces. Deep edges of leaf-mould on the creek's banks 40 SMOKY BAYS. 41 glowered like two thick bands of red-liot iron. " Boo-oo ! It's cold," said Peter, with chat- tering tee til. "Yes, I'm shivering, too. Rather awkward scrape," replied Vincent. " It's freeze in the water, or choke and burn out of it." Their heads were steaming again, and down they plunged. " See the rabbits ! And just look, at the snakes ! " cried Peter, rising. " The creek is alive ! " Vincent moved his head out of the course of a mink that swam straight on. Brown hares, now in, now out of the water, moved crazily along the shallow edges; land snakes writhed by; chipmunks, red squirrels, miidvs, wood rats — all went down stream at intervals between their distracted attempts to find refuge under the fire-crowned shores. Tlie boys dipped and looked again. " The smoke is lifting," said Vincent. '• If it'd only let us stand up long enough to get warm all over ! " said Peter. 42 SMOKY DAYS. W :|,; i- Down went their heads. " You do think you're goin' to get out of this alive?" inquired Peter, as they looked round agani. "The menagerie has a plan." Vincent pointed to the small creatures moving past. " Plan ! No ! no plan. They're just movin' on. "Let's move witli them." " Can't walk squattin', can ye ? " " We can soon stand up." " Then we'll bile." " Then we'll dip." "Well, you're good stuff. We'll push for the Brazeau. But I don't expect we'll get there." "Why not?" " Man, it must ho thirty mile by this creek ! S'pose we could wade ten miles a day ! D'ye think you're goin' to stand three days' shiveriii' and roastin'? Cracky, it's hot!" and they plunged down again. "IMore'n that," said Peter, rising from his dip, "there ain't no kuowin' where this creek goes to." II SMOKY DAYS. 43 " It goes down hill, and it must reach the Brazeau somewhere. Perhaps within twenty- miles." "S'pose it does? What you goin' to do to sleep and eat ? No livin' 'thout eatin', I guess. This fire'll burn fierce for three days. No gettin' through the woods for a week." " But it may rain heavily." " Yas ? Mebby it'll rain pork and bread." " Or chipmunks and squirrels," Bracy pointed to the swimming creatures. " Jimimy, that's so 1 We might catch some of 'em. Cracky, my head's burnin' again ! " Down they went. " We might stand up. The smoke has risen a good deal," said Vincent, after ten minutes more. " Wadin's better'n standin'," remarked Pete, so they began to march with the procession. Though the heat was still intense, it did not now fly in blasts. On rising they steamed quickly, and dipped again and again. Occa- sionally they saw far into the burning region, where the trunks of dry trees glowed fiercely. The living pines were no longer clothed with 44 SMOKY DAYS. columns of flame, for the resinous portions of thoir outer bark had been consumed. But from their denuded tops sparks blew upward inces- santly, while branches swayed, snapped, and sometimes fell. The up-draught could no longer carry away the heavier brands. Some wavered down into the creek, tliat soon became covered with a scum of lialf-burned bark and ashes, through which the swimming creatures made little gleaming lanes. Flame moved continually to and fro on the forest floor, now dwindling, then rising suddenly from new-found pyres, always searching insa- tiably for fuel. The roar of hurrying fire had ceased, but the sounds of crackling and crash- ing branches were so great that the boys became lioarse Avith shouting their remarks. Then dumbly they pursued their journey of the night through fifteen hundred square miles of fire. Across the glaring brook they saw one another as dream figures, with fire-reddened faces against a burning world. For what seemed many hours tliey marched thus in the water. Splashing, wading, often plunging, they SMOKT DAYS. 45 of m is- id ;o n h staggered on in various agonies until Peter's hrain, tired by his daj'S and nights of watching for falling brands in his father's clearing, whirled in the low fever of fatigue. The smoke-wraiths, as he stared at the encompassing fire, drifted into mocking, mowing, beckoning forms, and with increasing difficulty he summoned his rea- son against the delusions that assailed his soul. Young Bracy, accustomed to long marches and having rested well the previous night, retained his clear mind, and watched his tall companion with the care of a brother. "He risked his life for mine," Vincent felt deeply, and accepted the comradeship with all his steady heart. He guided Peter, he guarded him, he did not despair utterly, and yet to him it seemed, as that strange night went on, tliat the walk through fire had been longer than all his previous life. He was in a deepening dreamy dread that thus they must march till they could march no more, when Peter, wild to look upon something else than flame-lit water, went aside and climbed the bank. That newly roused Vin- cent; he crossed the creek and ascended, too. Up there the heat was more intense, the smoke 46 SMOKY DAYS. E.- f 1 more pungent, the ground burning. They kicked up black ashes, saw sparks start as in smouldering straw, and jumped, half-scalded with steam from their clotliing, back to the bed of the stream. " It's dreadful work, Peter ! " said Vincent, taking the young pioneer's arm. " We're done, I guess. But it would be mean to give up. We'll push on's long's we can. Say — when I drop, you push on. Never mind mo. No use us both dyin'." " We shall stick together, Peter," Vincent replied stoutly. " We shall pull through. See, the banks are getting liighor. The water is running faster. We shall reach a gully soon Brtd get rest." l*eter laughed hysterically at the prediction, and screamed derision at it ; but the words roused some liope in his heart. He bent his gaze to watch the contours of the l)anks. They were cert; y rising higher above the water. Gradually die creek descended. Wlien they had passed down a long, shallow, brawling rapid, the fire-forest was twenty feet higher than their heads. They no longer needed to gSS'Vj««n>«KflJ^T«Tr SMOKY DAYS. 47 dip often. In the hot night their clothing rapidly dried. "Hello! Wliere is the procession?" cried Vincent. The boys stared far along the water. Not a snake, chipmnnk, squirrel, mink, nor any other wild refugee was to be seen. . " They've gone in under the banks. We ca:i stop, too," said I'eter. "No. Too many branches falling, Peter. Let us push on to a lower place." " I won't ! I'm going to sit down right liere." " Well, but look out for the brnnches. They ai"e falling — whopping l)ig ones too, in every direction. No cliance to sleep yet. Trees may be crashing down here befoi-e morning. We must go lower." "The hunger is sore on me. If we'd on'y catched some of them squirrels ! " " I've got a cou^jle of liard-tack in my pocket. They are soaked, but all the l)etter for that." He brought several handfuls of pulp from the breast pocket of Ids ])elted blouse. While Peter devoured his sliare, Vincent ate a few morsels and put the rest back in his pocket. 48 SMOK r DA VS. m I " You're not eating," said reter. " I shall need it more before morniiirr." " There won't be no morning for you and me. Is it all gone ? " " No. We'll share the rest when we stop for tlie night. Come on, Peter; you'll die here." "I won't! I'll sleep right here, die or no die." Peter stretched himself, steaming slowly, on the pebbles. The ruddy fire shone on his up- turned face anci closed eyes. Vincent looked dowji on him meditatively. lie was casting about for words that would rouse the young pioneer. " What do you suppose your mother is doing now?" cried Vincent, sharpl3^ But Peter had instantly fallen asleep. Vin- cent stooped, shook him powerfully by the shoulder, and repeated the question at the top of his voice : — "What do you think your mother is doing now?" Peter sat up. " Burnt ! Burnt out, as sure as we're here ! " he cried. " The barn '11 be gone. We're ruined ! 8M0KV DAYS. 49 le. or 10 >ii l>" id S S And mother's out in tho night. My soul, liow could I forget her I I was dazed by tlie fire. They'll tliink I'm burned. I'm afeard it will kill mother. She'll bo lying in tho root house. They'd run there when tho house catehed." Ilis distress was such that Vincent almost regretted the artifice he liad employed. "It's likely everything at your homo is all right, Peter," ho said. " I've seen a hill fire like this flaming for days, and nothing burned below in the valleys. The wind seemed to blow up to tho high fire from all sides below." "Yes — nobody can tell what a bush fire'll do," said Peter. " Mebby mother is all right. Mebby the hay ain't gone. lUit they'll all be worn out with fear for me. Come on. If the creek goes on like this, we may reach the Brazcau to-morrow." " It's eleven o'clock now," said Vincent, look- ing at his watch. " I'm nearly tired out, myself. We shall go on all the faster for sleeping. Hello — what's that ? ~ a fall ? " The sound of brawling water came faintly. Descending quickly, they soon reached a place 50 SMOKY DAYS. i i! i wlicro tho creek appeared to pour, by a succes- sion of cascades, into a deep chasm. Helo\v, they could see nothing, except tlie gleam of dis- tant Avater, as flaming brands swayed down and down from the plateau now fifty feet over their heads. Hero the co[)ing of the 1)anks overhung a little. All about the boys lay brusliwood that had ])een left l»y spring Hoods. Peter, seizing a piece of dry cedar, flung off long splinters witli his big hunting knife. When enough for two torches liad l)een accunudated, tlie boys searched for a route down. In five minutes they were a hundred feet below the top of the I lump. "Why, here's a good path," cried Vincent. "Great place for bears," said Peter, closely examining it. " If we're goin' to stop, we'd l)et- ter stop riglit liere. The gully l)elow may be full of bears and wolves. They'd be drove out of the woods and down the gully before tlie fire." " Let's make a fire to keep them away from us," said Vincent. " No need. No beasts will come niffh." " But some may be coming down after us as we did, for safety." KTCEri:s*-5ESBE!»29 SMOKY DAYS. 61 " No ! Tliey'tl Inirrow under the bank back there. No fear of tliem, anyhow. Tliey'd bo too scared to bother us. But a fire won't do no Finding' no brands handy, they lit shavings from the matches in their little water-tight, tin boxes, piled on the heaviest driftwood they could find, and lay down on a Hat rock partly under the bank. In a few minutes both fell asleep to the clashing of the cascades. Brands fell and died out near them ; their bivouac fire became gray ; dawn struggled with the gloom overhead till the smoke ceased to look red from below, and became murky in the sunless morning. Still the tired boys slept .v'ell. But by eight o'clock they had descended tlio rocky hill down whieh t^'e cascades jumped, and were gazinj at hundreds of trout congregated in the clear long pool below. " There's plenty of breakfast if we could only catch it, Peter," said Vincent. "Catchin' them trout ain't no trouble," said Peter, taking command. " You go down yonder and whale on the water with a stick. Fll whale 52 8M0KV DATS. I I up here. We'll drive a lot of 'em into the shaller." "But how can you catch thorn without liook or lino?" " Leave nio alone for that. I've got a liook and line ii! my pocket, Imt that'd be slow." Aa tliey thrashed the water Avliilo approaching one another, many of the crowded and frantic trout-ran almost ashore. Rushing among them, Peter kicked vigorously at each step forward. Two fish flew far up the bank. Three more were thus thrown out. Sev* il ran ashore. Vincent flung himself on these before they could wriggle back. They split the fisli open, skewered them flat on sticks, and broiled them " Indian fashion " in the smoke and blaze from a fire of dry wood. Having thus breakfasted, they considered what to do. Going back was out of the question. Fire was raging two hundred feet above them, and for unknown leagues in every direction. Their only course was down the deep gully of the creek. By eleven o'clock, having walked steadily SMOKY DAYS. 58 along tlio Lost Creek's now easy descent, they found tlio crags overhead so closely approaching that the gorge, now little illuminated from the burning forest, became ever more gloomy. At last the sides of the ravine, when more than three hundred feet above them, came together as a roof. The boys stood at tho entrance to a narrow cavern. Into tliis high tunnel, roughly shaper? like p. ^^-reatly elongated V turned upside down, the creek, eow fed to a considerable volume by rivLil; 's tl'ii : had danced down the 2)rccipice8, clattv''e(l v/ith loud reverberation. '*\vnat wo goin' to do now? Seems we're stu(;k at last," said i'eter. " Let's see. This is where the creek is lost. The question is, Where does it come out?" " We're in a bad fix. There's no goin' back till the bush-fire's done." "Well — wo can live here for a few days. Plenty of trout in that last pool." "But there ain't no Armstrongs in it! I'm wild to get home. Lord, Lord, what's happened to mother? I tell you I'm just crazy to get back homo and see." 54 SMOKY DAYS. 3 i I Vi W' t 1 " You must bo, Peter. So we must jdusIi on if possible. No use trying to get up to the top of this ravine. It's all fire up there on both sides. Well, let us explore the cave. We can always lincl our way back. Wo will take torches." " Did you see a creek coming out of a place like this when you came up the river to our clearing ? " "No, but there's one coming out of a cave away down below Kelly's Crossing." " Yes, I know. But this ain't that one." "No, of course not. It is likely this creek runs out some distance before reaching the IJra- zeau. Perhaps the cave is not a long one. We're safe to explore, at any rate." " Do you mind the bears' pjith up back there ? There's room for all the bears on the Brazeau in there ahead of us," said Peter. "Our torches will scare them worse than they'll scare us. And I've got my revolver still." " Say ! I forgot to ask you ; did you fire two shots just before the fire started in the woods ? " " Yes — at a partridge. Missed him." '7imti^^i SMOKY DAYS. 65 if )f s. 'a ir " Then yon started the fire ! " "No! It came roaiing along a mmute after that, though." "Started itself — that's gen'lly the way," said Peter. " Well, s'pose'ii Ave have dinner, and go in after." They cooked more trout, supplied them- selves with bunches of split cedar, and stood peering into the entrance of the cavern, both a little daunted by the absolute darkness into which the stream brawled. By anticipation, they had the eerie sensation of moving through the bowels of a mountain. So high and dark and awful was the narrow tunnel ! So insiirnifi- cant felt the boys beneath its toppling walls ! "Here goes," said Vincent, and marched ahead. For some minutes the creek's bed was such as it had been since they left the cascades — gravel bottom alternating with rocks, and little pools that tliey walked easily around. Wliat was high above could not be seen, for the torches found no reflections up there on the cavern's roof. Instead of the reverberation increasing, it les- 5G SMOKY DAYS. m f I t seiicd as tliey went on. The brook babbled to tlicm to advance, and now there was a singular trembling of the air in which a swashing and pouring sound could be lieard. " Got plenty of room over there ? " cried Peter, from the left or nortli bank. "Yes, there's ten feet of shore here. Cross if you're crowded." " I will. There's no room on this side." As Peter lowered his torch to peer at the water, in which he was about to step that he miglit cross it, he saw that the stream broke hito a chute a little further on. Now Vincent had slopped to await his comrade. The pioneer boy entered the water at the ra])id's head, where he expected to find the usual shallow. But at the first step the cur- rents rushed about his knees. Peter half stan-- gei-ed, found a\ hat he thought would serve for forward footing, threw his Aveiglit on it, slippcfl as from a boulder, and went down. Ilis torch " sizzed " and disappeared. Vincent darted for- ward with a c]y. As Peter, struggling to reach liis feet, drifted a little, he felt himself suddenly caught as by a re i SMOKV DAYS. 57 strong millrace, and was hurriod away into the blackness of darkness. Vincent Bracy, swing- ing his torch, ran on almost blindly and at full speed, till he collided with a wall of rock and fell backward. His fallen torch went out just as Peter, now fifty feet down stream, righting himself, struck out to swim across the current. With a few strokes he touched the rock aixd strove to grasp it, but his hand slipped and slipped against a straight and slimy rise. The pioneer boy, now wholly unable to see the space in which he was struggling, put down his feet, but touched no bottom. Swimming to the other side, he found the channel but a few yards wide. There, too, he grasped vainly-for a hold. The water quite filled the space between the rock walls. He turued on his back and floated. The aniazing, cairn rapid swept liim swiftly on. And so, tlirough what seemed a long and smooth stone slide, but once interrupted by broken water, Peter, while Vincent lay sense- less in the cave, was carried away feet first as corpses go from the world to the grave. i ; i, r CHAPTER TV. EAIN n^ THE BKAZEAU. All niglit ai)d dl forenoon rain liad poured, while the pious folk of the back country of the' Bip: Brazeau blessed God that lie had saved them from the tires of the forest. liivalets clattered down tlie rocky sides of the Hump; the Brazeau Avaved in hicreasing volume; and a hundred wild tiibutaries tint^ed the great Ottawa with turbidity that slowly mhigled in its brown central volume. Dnmb creatuj-es rejoiced witli men in the moist coolness after so long a period of drought, smoke, and ilame. Ducks squawked satisfaction with new-filled farm ponds ; cattle, horses, even hens forsook shelter as if they could not have too much assurance of the rain's actuality; draggled rats, flooded from tlieir holes, scurried away as girls with petticoats over their heads went to the milking. By noon on the second OH SMOKY DAYS. 59 day after Peter Armstrong and Vincent Bracy had started for Kelly's Crossing, tlie rain had diminished to a drizzle that promised to con- tinue long. Still Lost Creek brawled enlarged into the cavern, and still the forest on the Hump smouldered and poured up blue smoke to the sky. David Armstrong's cabin and barn stood intact; all in the clearing were still alive, for the high lire had blown far across the river without di';)p[)ing many coals into the opening of tillage by the Hump's side. lUit the strain of watching for Peter had brought his mother close to the grave. " I'm not to say exactly dying. But I'm tired, Davy, tired to bo alive. It's, oh, for Peter, poor, poor Pete," she wailed without tears, lying motionless on her rnstling bed. Mary was frying a pan of pork on the out- door stove. Ann Susan and Eliza Jane, brisk with the fresh air after rain, played on the cal)in floor, and watched the cooking with inter- est. When Mary brought in the frizzling food, David Armstrong did not rise from beside his wife's bed. 60 SMOKY DAYS. ;' i "Oivo the young ones their bite and their sup,^ Mary. Muhhy I'll feel to set in after a bit," she said. " Taivo your dinner, Davy," naid Mrs. Arm- strong, trying to release her thin, hard hand. "Eat a bite, do. It's not, tlie sorrow that will strcngtlien you to get out them rails for build- ing up the bnrned fences." "No, Hannah, but I misdoubt I can't eat. Tliem molasses and l-i-ead I oat at breakfast has «tayed by me good." " Ikit you've got to keep alive, Davy." " Yes. a man's got to live til] his time comes --thG hunger will come back on me, so it will, and it's druv to eat he is. But God help us — it's to think we'll see Peter no jpore ! " The woman lying on the bed pressed her fore- head down on his hand, and so they remained, close together, while Mary fed the children. Tears were running down the pioneer's cheeks, thus furrowed often that day and the day be- fore. But the mother could not weep. "I yant Pete," whined Ann Susan. At that the lump of agony rose in Arm- strong's throat; lie could not trust himself to SMOKY DAYS. 61 s[)cak, though he wished to ouler the chihl to ho sQeiit. Mary struggled with her sobs as she listened. " I yant Pete," said Ann Susan again. *' Peter is dead ! I wisht he'd come back quick/' said Eliza Jane. INIary had vainly tried to make the children understand what had become of the big brother. " I yant Pete," persisted tlio younger. " Peter's gone away dead. lie's burned up. I wisht he'd come and ride me on his foot," returned Eliza Jane. " ril ride you," said Mary. " No, I want Peter ! " " Hush, dear — poor brother Peter won't come back no more." " Let 'em talk, Mary," said the wof ul mother. " Poor little things — they help me. Oh, I want Peter, too." She sprang up, sitting, and broke into wild lamentation. " Oh Peter, if you'd come back and kiss me good-bye ! Why couldn't you wake me when he was going away? Fd 'a' stopped him. Thirty mile ! Thirty mile and back — and the bush 62 SMOKY DAYS. afire! — only to fetch a cup of tea foi- his mother! I — I — my son's blood cries out of the woods against me ! " "No, Jliiiinali, no, don't talk on that way again. It was me that let him go. AVho'd 'a' thought iire would 'a' started up the llump?" "Oh, no, Davy, ] — me — crying like mad for tea ! Oh, my God ! — liow you can want me to go on livin*! And Peter up there — burned black in the smoke under the rain! Such a good boy — always — strong and good. Tliere ain't no mother got a helpfulier boy nor my Peter. Davy, what you s'pose I was tlnnkin' all them days sinst the hay was got in — and the big prices there is? I was hiyin' out how we could give Peter a Avinter's schoolin' in 1o the settlements. Yes — he'll learn quick. Oh, if I wasn't always so tired, what'd I do for my Pete." She lay still a long time before speaking agani. " You'll miss me sore, Davy," she whispered. *' It won't be long now." "No, Ilaimah, don't say it. You'll not leave me, Hannah." "Ay — sore you'll miss me, Davy dear — I f'^V SMOKY DAYS. 63 know how Fd 'a' missed you. Old and gray we've got, and once we was young together. Davy, don't you understand ? Don't talk on. 1 want to be with my boy." The nian clutched, sobbed, and choked for breath. Mary went to the bed, and clasped her arms about her parents' necks. " Yes — you're good at lovin' your mother," tlie poor woman went on. "All of them is. God bless them for it! They give me what I wanted more than all. Sore you'll miss me, too, Mary, and you fendin' for them all alone. I wisht I could stay. You'll tell Peter — no, I was forgetting — but there is a chance, ain't there? There's a eJuince / '" "Yes, Hannah. S'posin' he was at the creek. Or the fue might 'a' jumped over a wide place?" " Many's the day and many's the night and many's the year Peter's heart'U be glad thinkin' liow he went thirty mile and out for tea for his mother," she said, as if dreaming. They thoucfht she was faintinn-. But the vision of licr son m the burning forest returned to her mind. '.I '.1 ' n ft G4 SMOKY DAYS. 1 ■■ I .(" i t" \i i M is; 3 Then, with changed voice, rising on her elhow: — " ' . if on'y we could find his bones ! " *' I'll start first thin<' to-morrow, Hannah." " A\\ night again I'll be thinking of the rain fallin' on him lyin' there in the smoke. Rain and rain and rain and IIAIN — it come too lato to save my bor I " " Think ot the chances, Hannah. Maybe ho ain't dead at all." " He is — I seen him lyin' there too plain. Peter won't never come no more ! " " Peter won't never tum no more," repeated Eliza Jane. *' I yant Pete," said Ann Susan, firmly. " Give them to me," said the mother. Tak- ing tlie little girls in her arms, shv. lay still, thinking how soon Mary must mother them. The children, awed by the silent passion with which she strained them to her })reaking lieart, lay still, breathing uneasily, with their faces close tc her bosom. After a time the sense that they were suffer- • g came to th*. poor m ther, and she held them mure loosely. Then her brain began to woik on ili.. SMOKY DATS. 66 4 the possibilities of Peter's escape. The woman had to hope or die, and her vitality was still active. Absorbed, she had again clutched close the wondering infants, when strange voices out- side the door recalled her fully to her sei >cs. "Hey! Who's these men? Why, here's that surveyin' boy ! No, it's another one." A man, and a youth clad as Vincent Bracy had been, but taller, came up the steps into the cabin. The youth was Vincent's rodman. " I have a letter for you, Mr. Armstrong," he said. ' Tt's about your son." The mother rose, and stood staggering. "Where's Peter?" she cried. "I don't know, Mrs. Armstrong. The ^ otter — it's from Mr. Bracy. He and Peter went through tlie fire together." " The fire didn't get them ? " "No, ma'am." " Oil, thank God, thank God ! I can stand it if he's not dead that \ ay. But whero is he? Alive?" " Bracy hopes so." "Peter's lost, then?" "He is — in a way. But let me read you 66 s^roKr days. Mr. Bracy's story. IIo was up nearly all night writing it. IIo thought it would ease your heart to know all about it. The chiof cngiuocM- sent mo up on purpose that you should know what is being done." ''He didn't desert Peter, then? No — I'm sure." " Not much ! They were separated by a strange accident. Listen." He began reading the letter. Vincent had written out pretty fully the story of his march with Peter down Lost Creek, through the fire and to the cavern's mouth. The letter ^^■ont on : — ''When I picked myself up, my torch was almost out. I whirled it till it l)lazcd, and then saw tliat I had run across the old channel of the creek and again.st a solid wall of rock that ran up to the roof of the cave, I suppose. Peter was gone down the water that was running within two yards of me. All I heard was its rushing into the passage that turned to the left. " At that j)lace, the cave forks like a Y. The water runs down the left arm of the Y, and fills the whole space between the high walls there. lilt 5! SMOKY DAYS. 67 \\ That stream looks as if it had broken down shintiiig through the bod of its couree and run into the left arm of the Y, after it had been running into the right arm for ages. " I was lying at the fork of the Y, in the right-hand passage, while Peter had been swept away down the other passage into darkness." "He's gone, gone forever!" moaned Mrs. Armstrong. The young rodman read on in Vincent's let- ter: — " When I got up and tried to look down the passage after Peter, I heard a pouring sound away ahead as well as the rushing of the water. That was while I was stoojnng over. The pas- sago I was in was wider than the other, and I thought it must lead me into any place that Peter could be carried to. The other cave, down river below Kelly's Crossing, has passages that branch and come together again." "• That's so," said the pioneer. " So I thought it best to follow the right- hand passage instead of going in after Peter. I hope yon will see that I did not wish to di'scrt him. ]\Iy idea was that I might reach him soon, I t- OS SMOKY DAYS. n I .-.'fV I® and if he was in any distress, I might be all the better able to help him if I went by the dry passage." " lie did right," said the pioneer. "Vincent would be glad to hear you say that," said the rodman. " He was greatly dis- tressed by his miscalculation." " Then he didn't lind Peter again?" cried the mother. "He will lind him. "We know he nuist be still in the cave. Ten men went up before day- light to reach him. There's reason for hope. Listen again to Vincent's letter : I lit another bundle of cedars, and went on. Pretty soon the cavern began to rattle with the thunder outside. The air vibrated so nnich that one might almost fear the cave w^all would fall in. I could not see a flash of lightning at all. How long I went on I don't know, but it seemed half a mile or more. My last torch had just been lighted when 1 had a great scare, and saw the strangest sight ! "For some time there had been a strong smell as of wild animals. Suddenly the pas- sage in front of me seemed alive with creatures SMOKY DAYS. 69 that snarled, growled, yelped, and ran. Now you'll understand that those beasts couldn't trouble Peter. He went with the stream — they had been forced into the dry passage by the fire. And they were much afraid of my torch. I could not see one of them at first — there was nothing but blackness and the yell- ing and snarling. It grew fainter as they ran away, without looking around, for I never saw a glint of their eyes. "At last, as the course of the old channol turned, I saw da}'light ahead of me, and a crowd of beasts going out of the cave's mouth. I made out some bears, that shuilled along at the tail of the procession, but I could not clearly see the others. But I'm pretty sure there were wolves, skunks, and wild-cats in the herd. I was anxious to reach daylight, for I supposed I should see Peter out there. But when I reached the mouth of the cave, I saw nothing of him or the creek." "Peter's lost! We shall never see him!" said his mother. " Yes, you will. Listen to the letter," said th§ rodman. "Vincent has something impor- m s'* 70 SMOKY DAYS. tant to tell of that he heard coming through. He says : "I think we shall find Peter to-morrow morning. There must be a hole from the pas- sage I came through to the passage he went down. The reason I think so is this: Just where I stood when I saw the an'mals go out of the cave's mouth, I thought I heard a sound of falling water — that must have been the creek. The sound seemed to come from above my head. Perhaps I had passed the entrance to another corridor without noticing it, for I was a good deal taken up with fear of the beasts ahead of me. " We are going as soon as the men have had a sleep, to look up the place where the sound of falling water came from. I think we shall find Peter there, for if he had come through before me, or soon afterward, I should have heard liim answering to my shouts." Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong looked hopelessly at each other. "Vincent," said the rodman, "was so tired that he seems to have forgotten to write out here some things he told us in camp. For in- SMOKY DAYS. 71 stance, one of his reasons for supposing there must be a passage to Peter is this : the floor of the passage Vincent came through began to ascend while he was looking at and following the animals. He did not remember where he had passed off the gravel and sand of the old bed of the creek, but he found he had passed off it a good while before he reached the open air. After he began to think of something besides the beasts, he noticed that he was going up a slowly rising floor of rock, where no water had ever run. So you see the ancient channel of the creek turned off somewhere. It never flowed Avhere Vincent came out, but took a turn to where Peter is. You can understand that ? " it Yes — the water had been kind of stoi)ped by the rise of the rock, and turned off.," said Armstrong ; " and the idea is that the old chan- nel the water used to follow will lead yous to where Peter went by the channel that the water foUers now." " Exactly, that's what Vincent thinks. Now he is going, or rather he did go before daylight with ten men, to look up that passage through w'nieh the sound of water came. He'll find ^K9^f y^^H ■^^^1 El i fff ''•''^^B ■K' 31 '- ^H^B Wfc" hi -' ^BH ^B.f ^^ '' ^^^H M ^fl^B M8" '^i '■P' I^H K^ll^ cf'HBB ^f '-^HH 72 SMOKY DAYS. n \ Peter," said the rodman, confidently. "But listen — you may as well hear the rest of his letter : — " I looked for the place where the creek came out of the mountain, but the air was dark with the storm, and the thunder was rattling. So I could hear no water running except the rai)ids of the Brazeau not far ahead. I thouglit I had better go to camp for men. So I climbed down the hill to the river, found I remembered the banks below, and went about four miles down stream to camp, where I am now. To- morrow morning, long before you get this letter, I will find Peter if I have to follow him down the chute." " He will do it, too," said the rodman, admir- ingly. " The, little beggar has any amount of pluck. He'll risk his life to find your son." "Peter is dead for sure," said his hopeless mother. " Well, I don't b'leeve it, maw," said Mary. " Mr. Bracy's going to fetch him back — that's what I think." " It might be so, Hannah," said the pioneer. "Where you two jjoing?" he asked of the rod- 11 i I SMOKY DAYS. 78 man and axeman who had come with Vincent's letter. " Straight back to camp." " I'll join you," said David Armstrong. "There's no use. Peter's gone — he'd be drownded anyway," said the poor mother, with the first burst of tears since her son left. " lie's a good swimmer, isn't he ? " asked the rodnian. " First-rate," said Mary. " Then why should he not escape ? He'd go through a big rapid safely. What was the chute but a smooth rapid in the dark? Vin- cent will find hira." " Dead ! " said the mother. " No — safe and sound." " But he'd be ent up by the bears," The rodraan looked uneasy, but sp^ke con- fidently : — "Bears won't come to a fire, and your son had his watertight match-box, and could make a fire if he landed down below." "With what?" "With driftwood. Vincent says there was driftwood along the banks inside the cave \i I ■^1 i. Hi 'hi \0 i 74 SMOKY DAYS. just the same as on the banks outside and above." " It might be," said the mother, striving for hope. "Oh, mebby my son will come back! Davy," she whispered, as her husband re- appeared in readiness for the journey down the river, "if you don't find him, I'll die. I can't keep up without seeing Peter again. Carry him easy if he's dead — but no, I daren't believe but he's alive." Hi • CHAPTER V. IMPRISONED IN THE CAVE. When Peter Armstrong, with all his senses about him, floated on his back, on and on through the cavern's unmitigated darkness, down the steep slide of almost unbroken water, he was not without fear of the unknown before him. But the fear was not in the nature of despair — rather of wonder. A stolid conviction that the worst which could befall him would be loss dreadful than the fire-death which he had es- caped helped to console the young pioneer. Wonder predominated in his mind— wonder .?t the smoothness, swiftness, and length of the chute. Tlds wonder had almost become horror at being so borne on '^nd on through darkness, when the ci irtnt seei^ied to g^> from under him, and down he .;i.,bled, head over heels, into a great depth of bubbling and whirling water. Its currents pulled liim this way and that, 75 76 S3I0KY DAYS. ill! rolling liim helplessly. The forces pressed him deeper and deeper until, all in an instant, they thrust him aside. An up current caught him and brought him, gasping and spluttering, to the air. He perceived with joy that impene- trable darkness no longer filled the cavern. It was dimly lighted from the outer world. Peter soon cleared himself from the indraw of the cascade which, jumping straight down thirty feet, scarcely disturbed at a hundred feet distance the long pond into which it fell. The boy trod water, gazed, and listened amazed to the crashing of thunder that rolled over and reverberated in the high vault. He knew a rain and thunder storm had begun. The cavern, during intervals between the lightning flashes that revealed something of its extent, was dimly lighted from a narrow crack or fissure, which was about three hundred yards distant from and directly opposite to the cascade down which Peter had dropped. This crack, starting from the floor of rock, went up nearly straight two hundred feet to a hole in the roof. Peter, swimming now in smooth water, thought that this hole, so irreg- SMOKY days:. 77 ular in shape, looked like oae that would bo seen from the inside of his father's bam if some one 111 battered in its gable end. Above this hole he could see a patch of sky and storm-clouds hurrying;. They were dis- tinctly visible — he saw the sky through the hole as one might see it from a place two hun- dred feet down a slanting tunnel. And the tall, narrow strip of sky which he saw through the narrow fissure that extended from the cav- ern's floor to the roof-hole was as if seen from one end of a cathedral aisle tlirough a straight, narrow crack in its wall of masonry. Peter swam to the right or south bank of the creek, landed, and stared all around the cavern. The ravine, though roofed, was, so far as he could distinguish by the lightning's gleams, much such a ravine as he and Vincent had fol- lowed before the creek became subterranean. The main differeiices he noted were a con- siderable increase of the cavern's width, and its intersection by another ravine, also covered. Tlie floor of this intersecting cavern was some sixty feet higher than where Peter stood. Its roof was as high as the roof of rock directly i; m 78 SMOKV DAYS. ili > I i' over his head. Ho saw the interso' tinp cave as an enormous bhick hole high up hi Vac side of the wall. Evidently the creek had in former agea jumped After fitfiiing round till 1 Imd seen all tliis, Peter run, as if alarmed by the 8oleiuni(\ of the cave, straij^lit to the tall fissure, uliicli gave a dim ligl.i to liis path. ITt hoped to get through the crack. lie reached it, hesitated because of its narrow- ness, then endeavored to fo'-ee his body through the fissure. Fancy %' to squeeze through between two towc; walls of rough-faced stone less than a foot ^.art! Peter crowded in his l»ead and right shoulder. There he stuck — the crack was too narrow ! The length of the passage to the open air seemed about ten feet. " Vd need to be rolled out like one of mother's lard cakes," said Peter as he drew back, faced the fissure and stood gazing at the open outside, so near and so unattainable. The liLdit from the free, outer world nerved and encouraged him. lie was so much a boy of action that the dangers lie had passed were scarcely present to his recollection. Nor did he yet wholly com[)rehend the danger in which he stood. His main thought was that his people were liomelcss ; lat his poor mother was in the root- m MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 I.I 1.25 1150 |56 I.;. 1 2.8 m 11 3.6 114.0 1.4 2.5 2.2 2.0 .8 1.6 ^ .APPLIED IIVMGE Inc 1653 East Main Street Roctiester, New York 14609 (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone (716) 288 - 5989 - Fax USA 80 SMOKY DAYS. m. Wyr - 1 r. house, perhaps dying ; that he must get to her ; that freedom was witliin ten feet of him, and that ho woukl somehow find or force a way- out. "If I had that surveyor chap to help," said Peter aloud, and looked back to the cascade. Would Vincent Bracy come througli ? Peter looked back at the dim cascade falling as from a narrow, high gothic window. The stream down which he had come filled the whole width of the aperture. It fell as unbroken as from the end of a flume. Peter could, when the lightning flashed, see a little of the sloping sur- face of the swift, smooth chute that had borne him away from his comrade of tlie night of fire. While wondering whether Vincent would tumble over the cascade, Peter resumed his study of the interior. A few yards north of him, and to the left side of the fissure, tlie pond narrowed to the ordinary width of the creek. There the stream turned, like an obtuse-angled elbow-joint, to the left, and flowed gently on into complete darkness. Out of this darkness as if from far away \ SMOKY DAYS. 81 came a strange gurgling and washing of water, intermingled with a sound like cloop — clooj) — clooj) — such as water often makes when flowing a-wliirl out of the bottom of a basin beneath a tap. At first the boy was almost terrified by the sound, — it so much resembled the gulpings of some enormous animal. But soon his fears de- parted and hope rose high, for he bethought him that the noise must be that of escaping water. Not even by the lightning flashes could Peter see down the corridor into which the creek thus turned, and ran, and clooped. All that he could make out was that this corridor or ravine was nearly on a line with the higher-floored ravine out of which the creek had jumped in ancient days. The three corridors, that in which the pond lay, th. ^own which the dry, high old channel came from the south, and that into which the creek ran on a northerly course, did not con- nect exactly at right angles. They were all roofed at, apparently, pretty much the same height as the chute which terminated in the cascade down which Peter had tumbled. The stream which had poured for ages into ■ -^ ft i^ ^ 82 SMOKY DAYS. i4<. If the cave, by either the old or the new channel, could never have had a sufficient exit in flood time. From the hue of the walls up to a line some fifteen feet above where Peter stood, the water seemed to have accumulated often in the cave, swept round and round, and at the same time discharged part of its volume througli the narrow fissure. Peter's curiosity to know the cause of that strange chop — chop was strong, but not strong enough to lead him along the wall in the dark to what might prove another voyage down a slide and a cascade. But he determined to make the exploration by torchlight. The sloping floor of the covered ravine's right bank, on which Peter stood, was littered with driftwood. As he searched amono- it for cedar, the easiest of woods to split with the hunting-knife he still carried, he noticed some entire but small trunks of trees. Then i*- came into his mind th.at lie might escape by the old dry channel, if only he could find a pole long enough to help him up the forty-fee t-higli wall he could see behinu the lower step cf twenty feet. 8M0EY DAYS. 83 It is necessary to understand clearly the aspect which the old channel presented to the boy. Conceive, then, a church door forty feet wide and two hundred feet high. Conceive the door to be as wide as the corridc? into which it offered an opening. Conceive two steps, the lower of twenty, the upper of forty feet in height, barring you from entering the corridor. Thus did the old channel, its mouth shining high and black above Peter, step up from the cave where he stood. He determined to reach that high up old channel if possible, for he b'^lieved it would give him a passage to the open air. His search for a long pole was rewarded, after he had built a bright fire of cedar. Its smoke drifted in various directions for awhile, some going up the old channel, some down towards the passage whence the cloop — cloop came. But the greater cloud, which soon drew all the smoke with it, went out of the hole in the roof at the top of the narrow fissure. The young pioneer found a tall cedar, perfectly dry, for the cavern was not damp. With little difliculty he aucended the lower or twenty-fecl- K n ii 84 S2I0KY DAYS. m 'l\: m 1 high step of the oitl channel. All the bark luiil been torn from his cedar as it came down the rapids in flood time, but short bits of the branches remained. These assisted him to climb. He had reached the top of the first step, and nearly hauled the cedar up after him wlien he bethoujrht him that a torch would be needed after he should have attained the top of the next or forty-feet-high step. So Peter descended and split a bundle of cedar. While engaged at this work he thought he heard, as from far away, sounds as of snarl- ing and yelling wild beasts. He listened with cold creeping over his skin. Were wild beasts coming toward him ? But the sounds ceased. He doubted whether his ears had not deceived him. Only the swish- ing of the wind away off in the old channel had, he hoped, reached him. Yet he felt the edge and point of his hunting-knife after he had drawn himself again up the lower ledge. Soon he had dragged his pole to the upper step. It was barely long enough to reach the top. Piling many broken rocks that he found fs! f ■'w:«WB*«^'^S>?.»1Sl«ie9?'--'':^'IWS«WBE«J>: R, SMOKY DAYS. 85 1 M strewn there around the foot of the pole to hold it steady, he soon had his head above the upper ledge. Lifting himself by his hands and elbows, he stood joyfully on the floor of the high inter- secting ravine. Sixty feet below him lay the floor of the main cave, the pond into and out of which the creek flowed, and the dying fire that he had built of driftwood. Peter whirled the small torch that he had carried as he climbed. From it he lit another, and went bravely ahead. For a hundred yards the floor of the ancient channel was of gravel, sand, and bits of fallen rock. His torches showed him nothing more except the towering and jagged walls. He Avondered what stealthy creatures, far up there in the blackness of dark- ness, might not be watching him. F'^t trusting his torches to scare away any wolves or bears that the forest fire might have driven into the cavern, he went boldly on. Thunder rolled more frequently, but he could no longer see ahead of him by the lightning flashes which had illuminated the main ravine that he had left. When Peter stopped he stopped with a cry of despair. The passage was blocked by j! 1 ii ! 80 SMOhx^ DAYS. V Iff enormous masses of rock. The foot of the pile was of pieces that he could climb over for some forty feet. But there the pile, consisting of fragments as high as small houses, towered up without any visib)e end into the blackness above. It was plain that part of the roof of the ravine had fallen in, ages and ages before. Peter could see high enough to understand that his pole was useless here. Hope went out of his heart as he sat down and contemplated the enormous confusion which blocked his way. He seemed to see himself away off in the clearing by the Brazcau and here in the dark- ness at the same time. He seemed to see the eyes of them all at homo staring from infinite distance at him lost in the barred ravine. Then the events of the yesterday came to his mind with full force. He fancied the fire sweeping through the forest toward his mother's home — ho fancied the destruction of the cabin and the precious barn ! At the thought of his mother lying — was she dead? — in the root-house, Peter's despair for her roused him from despair for himself. It nil SMOKY DAYS. 87 "I must see mother again. I must I I will I" lie thought, and rcmembcietl again the clooj) — clooping sound in the main cave. "Where the creek gets out I can get out," he said, with new hope, and returned with dif- ficulty down his pole to the lower lloor of the vault. Now his fire of light wood had quite died out. To renew it was his first care. Then, going again to the fissure, he stood by it, pondering whether he could not get through. He bethought him of how he had seen boulders broken by building a fire round them. They sometimes fell apart on cooling. Could he not reasonably expect that a fire built in the fissure would cause its sides to scale off and afford him the little more space needed to give him escape. But time? The plan would occupy days. How could he live in the meantime ? Peter went inquisitively to the pond and looked in. lie whirled his torch close to the water. What he saw must have pleased him, for he actually laughed and felt in his trousers pocket with a look of satisfaction. His hook v.ud line were still there. But first he would ascertain where the creek I *S Ijl I* c ,lifl 1: .1 88 SMOKY DAYS. went out of the cave. The place was not far away. lie soon was standing hy the one singu- lar feature of liis prison. Other caves have intersecting vaults far more amazing than those that were above and around him. But perhaps no body of water elsewhere has so strange an escape as that by which Lost Creek goes its way to the Brazeau. Where the end of the north-going ravine stopped short, the creek, after gliding smoothly down the south edge of a truly circular basin, ran whirling around and down as straight as if into a perpendicular pipe. The water, ridged and streaked with bubbles as it circled into the funnel, was clearly illuminated at the bottom. The stream went down like water out of a basin under a tap. It might drop ten, twenty, or a hundred feet, Peter thought, but light cer- tainly struck into it not very far below. As the water gurgled and swashed around and around, a sucking sound sometimes was followed by the cloop — cloop — chop that had first caught his attention. " I can go down there," thought Peter ; " go down fast enough — that's sure." IF?-?' "' SMOKY DAYS. 89 He threw in a piece of driftwood. It stood on end and was out of sight in an instant. "Should I get tore up?" thought Peter. " Or shouUl I fall far enough to get sniaslied on the bottom? There's plenty of room — it's fif- teen feet acrost at the funnel. But I guess I'd better explore all around before I risk my life in such a whirling hole." He returned along the high tunnel to the main cave. Again he stopped at the fissure. Blackness, merely punctuated by his fire, was behind him and in tliat great darkness was no sound save the hoarse voice of the cascade. Standing at the fissure his sense of imprison- ment deepened as he turned from the vastness, gloom, and roar of the huge vault behind him to gaze at the free and flying clouds. Inward draughts of air brought liira the smell of freshly wet earth. Heavy rain slanted along, scurry- ing into mist on a rocky hillside opposite his jail. Poplar-trees bent and thrashed there under mighty gusts of wind. As the boy thought of the burning woods and the parched country and his father's clearing, he blessed the Lord for the swift rain that his ^1 ■;,S'| ti-: 00 S.VOAT DAYS. inothor had prayed for so ofton. IIo could hear her, ho faiieied, as l»o fell into the reverie that such rain commonly gives — he could hear his mother's piteous prayei-, as if tho woe of it were compelling the rain to descend. Then he ^xnlted in the fresh breeze and tho droi)s that were blown to his face. That joy vanished as ho turned to the pouring eeho of his prison. Now he could not see, but only hear the cascade, so dim liad tho cave become l)y tho ces- sation of lightning and tlio darkening of tho hole in tho roof. Night was closing in upon tho outer world, and uttermost darkness succeeded. But Peter's fire soon burned luigely. After he had busied himself at tho water's edge for half an hour he heaped u[) piles of driftwood by the light of tho flame. Between tho throwino- down and going forth for more wood he stood listening and looking into the high portal of the south, or old channel ravine. Peter thought as the night went on that he heard again tho sounds of wild animals that he had fancied before. Were fierce eyes glaring at him from the great pile of fallen rocks that had barred him from escape? Were soft feet w 8M0Ky DAYS. 91 sheathing cruel claws coining sllontly toward him ? Tho night drew on toward dawn, and intenser darkness ir\.vailetl in the cave. At longer intervals thunder lattled through the cavern. The lightning that had preceded mii,Mit have revealed, to any eye looking down from the hole in the cave's gal)le, the figure of a boy sleeping in the space between four guardian fires tliat slowlv waned to smouldering l)rands. The eye looking down would also have seen tho water of a rapidly rising creek lapping on the coals of the most northerly fire, and si/zling as it extinguished them. Still Peter Armstrong slept profoundly. lie had iu)t reckoned that the rain now pouring down outside, would raise the water in the cave. Inch by inch its level ascended. Soon the brands of the extinguished fire were afloat and drifting toward the whirlpool. Even when tho water had encroached upon the two fires further in, the boy still slept. His cowhide boots were lapped by the rising Hood, and yet he lay quiet as a log. Down from the cascade poured a larger vol- h Ill I a- I 92 SMOKY DAYS. ume. Driftwood came tumbling with it. Lost Creek was in half flood with the steady and great rain. No longer could the chop — chop have been heard by any one in the cave, for the funnel was gorged too full. By morning neither flame nor coal of Peter's fires could have been seen from above. Nor was there any sign of Peter Armstrong near the dis- persed ashes of those inner fires that had not been overflowed by the rising stream. The cave's floor was nearly covered by a tumult of whirling water, and no sign of Peter's tenancy remained except the relics of his trout supper and the ashes and dead brands of the most inward of the fires that he had built to guard his life from the wild beasts of the cavern. CHAPTER VI. VINCENT DOWN THE CHUTE. At noon on the third day, long before Mrs. Armstrong had received Vincent Bracy's letter, Vincent stood, with one man, at the place where Peter had disappeared. Both carried camp lan- terns with reflectors. "Grosbois," said Vincent, "the creek has risen a good deal here since yesterday." " Yesseh ! Baptcme — it's de rain." "Do you hear that pouring sound?" "Yesseh — dass a fall down dere, 'way far. Can't be ver' high — no sir, not ver' big fall." "No. I dare say the chute runs into deep water. That would account for the sound, eh ? " "Mebby. I don't know, sir, for sure." "How would you like to go down'!*" " Sapree ! Not for all de money in de Banque du Peuple.^^ Vincent had brought ten men with him from 93 94 SMOKY DAYS. I i: I] i i .'I ■ ^1 i camp. Eight were now at the Brazeau end of the cave looking for the longest tree they conld hope to carry into the curved ravine. Early in the morning they liad found the channel by which Lost Creek discharged from the cave to the Brazeau. Looking into an ii regularly -walled, tunnel -like passage about twenty feet high, they saw how the water came whirling down straigJit from the doopintj funnel that Peter had seen from inside tlie cave. After dropping into a deep, narrow basin it spread wide and shallow over the level rock where the search party were, gathered again into a narrow brook, and prattled on gently to the Big Brazeau lliver, a quarter of a mile distant. It seemed clear to them that Peter's body, if he had been carried down the funnel, would have been found on the shallows, where sticks that had descended were widely strown. Between and under these sticks the water ran. Vin- cent's inference that Petcn- had not been car- ried down but was alive within the cave looked reasonable. He took his men into the passage whence • he had escaped, and soon found the south side " ft ' 81- "Viiii/seBmsr^:vf?f*mrmm SMOKY DAYS. 95 IM of the enormous barrier of fallen rocks whose north side had blocked Peter's way out the day before. They stood opposite where Peter had stood, and found that end as impracticable as he had found the other. Vincent sent one man to camp with a note to the chief engineer. With himself he kept old Grosbois. He ordered the eight others to ascend the Hump, cut down one of the tallest pines growing there, and wait for the chief engineer to arrive with ropes and the rest of the men, twenty-two in number. Then he and Grosbois walked away through the cave to the upper entrance with the two camp lanterns. An hour passed. The men had felled a great tree, and it lay stripped on the upper plateau. After clearing away the branches the gang found they could not stir the trunk. They went below to the cave that they might gain shelter from the incessant rain. There they lighted a fire and waited. Another hour passed. Grosbois now sat with his comrades by the fire. He had returned to the party without Vincent Bracy. Sometimes the superstitious men turned their heads and w, \i f.i I i;;- m :■* ■! "i 06 SMOKY DAYS. peered into the blackness of the cave. They half-expected to see Vincent's ghost coming toward them. Another hour had nearly passed when the chief engineer and his twenty-two men came into the cave from the Brazeau side. "Where's Mr. Bracy?" cried the chief. " Ah, M'sieu, Mr. Bracy's gone," said Gros- bois, almost crying. "Gone?" "Yesseh — gone for sure." "Gone where?" "Down de chute." "What chute?" "Down where he see dat boy go yesterday — de boy what he's tell us about last night." " You are out of your senses, Grosbois." " No, sir, I hain't out of no senses — for sure, I wish I was. But I'll toll de trut'. Mr. Bracy he's say to me, ' Mebby Peter is starved before we find him.' He say, ' Mebby we don't get up in dere all day, mebby not all to- morrow.' He's say, ' Mebby dere hain't no way to get to de boy except only one way.' " "Go on — what did he do?" *tois««»rta«iii8fi;i>*««v m SMOKY DAYS. 97 " He make me help Inm for cut off a big chunk off one hollow cedar. He put his hax in de hol- low, an' he put in a piece of rope, and some pork and biscuit, and he put in his pistol, and his lantern. Den he plug up de two end. An' he say to me, 'Grosbois, you tell 'em to keep climbing up de ole channel back dere. Good- bye, Grosbois,' — and dat's all." "But where did he go?" "M'sieu, in two seconds he's away down de black chute ! " "In the water?" "Yesseh, in de water — straddle on de log." "Vincent must have gone crazy." " He hain't look crazy," said Grosbois. " He's look like he's see something bad what hain't scare him one bit. He's say, ' Good-bye, Gros- bois,' an' he's make me a bow same as he's always polite, and he's smile, easy, easy. Den's he's roll his log in before I b'leeve he's goin' to be so wild, and I don't see him no more »> "Up with you — up for the tree I" cried the chief. "Not you, Grosbois — all the rest. Grosbois, you go down to the outlet and watch ill m I 98 SMOKY DAYS. U". 1 m n .vVS for the body. Little Vincent Bracy 1 My life and soul — what will his father say!" The party were climbing the hill by various paths to get the long tree when one of them stopped, held up his hand, and looked round fearfully at those nearest him." "I hear Mr. Bracy's ghost," he said. The startled men stood still, listening. All now hearl the faint call. As from the bowels of the earth the cry floated up: — " Hello ! Hello ! Hello ! " " He's alive, wherever he is," cried the chief, arriving. "He's shouting in the hope he'll be heard. Hello! Bracy! Vincent! Hello!" Still Vincent's voice ascended monotonously. ''Hello! Hello! Hello!'' at intervals of some seconds. "Yell all together!" cried the chief to the men, who were coming from all directions. They shouted and listened again. And again the far voice cried, ''Hello! Hello!'' with the same tones and intervals as before. "It's from over there. And there's smoke coming up," said one. They approached the edge of the plateau and m m m SMOKY DAYS. 99 AM looked down — down the hole that Peter had seen high up — the hole in which the tall fis- sure ended. " Why, here is smoke. And here's a hole," cried the chief, getting down on his hands and knees. " He must be down here. Yes I Vin- cent! Hello!" " Hello yourself, chief ! " " You're alive then ? " " Yes, sir. All alive." "Hurt?" " No — as sound as a nut." " Had a rough passage ? " " Pretty rough, sir. But I'm not hurt." Down by a bright fire they saw Vincent Bracy standing alone. He looked up at the faces crowding round the hole in which the fis- sure terminated. " Have you the ropes there ? " he shouted. "Go down for the ropes," cried the chief engineer, and away went four men. " Rope is coming, Vincent. Keep your heart up." " Oh, I'm all right, sir." " Where's the Armstrong boy ? " m & U '' 7. 1 vmm m PI m mi 100 SMOKY DAYS. W- m If- f ■ i: i " Gone. He was here this morning." " How do you know 'i " "The rock under his dead fire was quite warm." "Where's he gone? Have the bears got him?" " No sign of it." " What's become of him, then ? " " I fancy he went down the creek before the water rose in here." " But you saw no sign of him down there ? " "Better send Grosbois to look for his trail, sir. Perhaps he got out alive." " Grosbois is down there now." "Hey, Grosbois! Grosbois!" shouted the chief. But no answer came. Grosbois had gone out of hearing. "Is the water rising, Vincent?" "Yes. It's risen three inches since I got here.'' The pond within the cave now presented the aspect of a stream incessantly returning on itself by an eddy up one bank and a current down the other. Vincent could not reach the fissure without SMOKY DAYS. 101 wading. From that crack flowed a rivulet a foot deep. No sound except tlie surging of a whirlpool came from the corridor wliere Peter had heard the cloup — clooping sound. "Young Armstrong must have been starv- ing ! " shouted the chief. " No, sir. He seems to have lived on the fat of the water." "Fat of the water?" "Yes; trout. Look here!" Vincent held up two fish. "How could ho catch them?" "I'm sure I don't know. But he certainly did. The place is all heads and tails. I shouldn't have supposed any fellow could eat so many trout in the time. He was here only a day altogether." "Can you get straight under tiiis hole, Vincent?" " Yes. I waded down to the crack a while ago." " Well, the ropes are coming." Vincent waded down the Assure and stood. In the course of half an hour the rope had descended, Vincent had placed the loop under m i \ A %h m m m i ; :i| ll< 102 SMOKY DAYS. liis sliouklers, and tlio cxultin*,' men had drawn him safely up. Ttieu the whole party walked down to the whirling outlet. " It's impossible young Armstrong could have come through hero alive," said the chief, look- ing into the tunnel out of which the rising water rushed. " There wasn't so big a volume this morning early wlicn we were here before," said Vincent. ''And Peter must have comedown before that."' " You seem very sure he did come down." " Well, sir, so I am. It's what I should have done myself in the circumstances. I was begin- ning to think of it when you answered my call." " Lucky you didn't. Perhaps you are right. l)Ut it's surprising that he took the risk when he had j^lenty to eat." "You forget how alarmed he was about his mother. Besides, he probably thought I had been lost, and he had no hope of a rescue." " But what can have become of him if he got out here ? " " He would make for home up the river." " Well, I hope your theory is sound," said the ^Ai SMOKY DAYS. lo;j chief. " What's bccomo of Grosbois, I wonder? Grosbois ! (iioHbois 1 " ho shouted. But Grosbois was far away, following what ho thought a trail through the woods. It took him up the river. Meantime another voyageur had pieked up the trail of Grosbois and brought tlie news back to the cliief. "lie must have found Peter or his track," said Vincent. "I'll follow, too, sir, if you'll allow me. I have to go to Kelly's Crossing, anyway, and I may as well try to get to the Armstrongs' to-night." About three o'clock that afternoon Mary Armstrong was giving Eliza Jane and Ann Susan a " piece." She stood with her back to the cabin door, when Ann Susan suddenly cried, " Peter ! Peter ! " and held out her hands. "Peter's here!" cried Eliza Jane, coolly. Uiivy turned. Peter, indeed, staggai'cd up the path. His face was covered with dry blood from many scratches, his shirt and trousei-s were in strips, his feet bare and bleeding. " Mother ! It is Peter ! Peter's come back I He's not dead at all," cried Mary, running out into her brother's arms. II ;:i c-aHitiH^sadlUllr ) 104 SMOIiV DAY'S. Mrs. Armstrong tottered to her feet. "Is moUier duaJ? Where is slie?" cried Petor, as ho caught siglit of Mary. " Why, mother ! Ain't you ghid to see mo ? " he said, liohling her in his arms a minute Liter. She was weeping as she clung to him. "Oh Peter, Peter, Peter, 1 thuuglit you was burned to death I " was all she could say. "There, mothorl there, mother! Pm all right. Only turc up a little, running through the woods. Pve been travellin' since daylight, and I lost my boots out of my hand coming down a wliirlpool out of a cave, and I couldn't find them amongst the driftwood below. I was in too big a hurry. I was most scared to death for fear you wouldn't be here. My! it was good to see the barn and house standin'. I come up along the river till about two hours ago. Then I worked up top of the Hump for easier walkin'. Where's father?" " A boy came for him. He went down river two hours ago to look for you." " I'd have met him, then, if I'd kept straight on. Maybe he'd miss my track up the Hump." But the father liad not missed it, for he had *K 8^(0KY DAYS. 105 r met GroHw.is, who huld to Peter's trail like a hound lo the slot of a deer. Scarcely had the boy entennl the cabin when David Armstrong and the voyageur came down the Hump's side. The father, swept b} lus emotion beyond self- control, caught Peter in h\s arms. uOod — God — oh God" cried Dave Arm- strong, "you've give me ick my bov. Oh God, just see if I ain i better man f >m this out." Eliza Jane and Ann Susan i^arcd, weeping at the top of their lungs becarse mother and Mary were crying, and father t ig so loudly. Ann Susan, stopping su nly, said decidedly, " I yant Pete ! " •' Peter's dead, and he's cc oe back," said Eliza Jane. '• Take them, Peter," said *> mother ; " take them. They've been hanke. g after you most as bad as me." He lifted the little ones in 1 is arms. They drew back from his dirty and bh ly face. Peter laugled. " Mother," said he, "I didn't fetch you your tea." I H v ■? . 106 SMOKY DAYS. " That young Mr. Bracy sent some up by the messenger, Peter." " Mr. Bracy ? oh, Vincent," said Peter. " He got out of the cave, then ? I was planning to start back and find him ! " " Guess what tliis man says he did this morn- ing, Peter," said the pioneer, turning to Grosbois. " lie went down that clmte in the cave after you." " Yesseh, I see him myse'f," said Grosbois. "Well, ain't he a good one !" said Peter. " Why, I wouldn't have gone down there this morning for the price of the hay. The creek was beginning to rise before I Avent out. But say ! Is Vincent lost like I was ? " " No. Just as T started on your trail I heard them yellin' they found liim safe," said Grosbois. Peter had hardly eaten his supper that even- ing when Vincent arrived. " Peter ! " " Vincent ! " The boys shook hands. " You went into the chute after me," saitl Peter, choking. " If it hadn't been for you keepin' me goin', I'd 'a' died in the fire by the creek — so I would, and — " " Oh, please don't," interrupted Vincent. SMOKY DAYS. 107 « And I'd been abusin' you," said Peter. " I'd said you was a dood ! " "Deuce you did! Well, I dare say I am. But what matter ? It's not really a crime, don't you know. There's just one thing I want you to tell me, Peter. How did you catch those trout in the cave?" Peter pulled a fish-line with a hook on it from his pocket. " Forgot I had it for a long time in there," he said. " Don't you mind I said I had a hook and line that time we was kickiu' the trout out of the creek ? " " But what bait did you use ? " "Bait? They didn't want no better than a bare hook." You may be glad to learn that David Arm- strong's hay sold for ninety dollars a ton that winter. The comfortable situation into whicli this put the pioneer family gave Mrs. Armstrong a new lease of life, and Peter three winters' schooling in the settlements. There he learned so much that he is able to transact the business of the large lumbering interest which he has long since acquired. a '% iai >■ ' 'TiiMii»i«ttii.iiil>rii>hfiti>itii>>#Tr-J«SjK,i»SMI' 108 SMOKY DATS. P i w^ W: m Peter Armstrong is worth ten thousand dol- lars to Vincent Bracy's one, but they are fast iriends, and agree that Mr. Bracy's comparative lack of fortune is due to his having practised a profession instead of going into business. is. ;■: ii -I '^mmu,tmmv--w'r'^m^''''''''^''*'''^'^'-- /^ m. > \Mr ;l ,* lEDWAFlD •WILLI/' J ItlunsON ^>' I I I " ! ii' M i Tr -' ill I .•■ ■'■■-• ■ •-■ • -'■ -'II •■ • -• ■■ NLC BNC 3286 07964393 4 V.J>