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Having settled this important piece of business, Kenneth MacFearsome went off to make arrangements for the indispensable dance, and the clergyman, being fond of equestrian exercise, went out alone for an afternoon ride. That same afternoon a band of Indians belonging to the Blackfeet tribe encamped in a gloomy defile of the Rocky Mountains, not far from Mac's Fort.
"Your daughter is right," whispered Mr Tucker. "Whatever be the condition of Reuben, sleep is the best thing for him." "But you must start for your conference at four in the morning, and he may not awake before that," objected MacFearsome.
Indeed, it was effectually checked by the sudden appearance of The MacFearsome. "What, have ye not managed it yet, Reuben?" said the Highlander, as his daughter tripped quickly away. "Not yet," said the hunter despondingly.
Although useless as a protection from artillery, this building was found to be a sufficient defence against the bullets and arrows of the red men of North America, and its owner, Kenneth MacFearsome, a fiery Scotch Highlander, had, up to the date on which our story opens, esteemed it a convenient and safe place for trade with the warlike savages who roamed, fought, and hunted in the regions around it.
Jacob immediately dashed out of his ambush, lifted the reverend gentleman on his own horse, which he had left in a hollow close at hand, and brought him, as we have seen, safe back to the Fort. Now, if the white men had been satisfied with this, all would have been well, but The MacFearsome had been roused, as we have said, and set off needlessly in pursuit of the savages.
While the hunter's wound was being examined every one, save the pastor and the women, was sent from the hall to aid in extinguishing the fire, which had been nearly subdued. MacFearsome was somewhat expert as an amateur doctor, and so was the Reverend William Tucker. Their united opinion was that the hunter's case was a very grave one.
He won't stop another day, so you must have it settled right off to-day, for it shall never be said that a MacFearsome was married without the benefit of the clergy." "Well, I'll do it slick off;" said the hunter, shouldering his rifle, and striding away in the direction of a coppice into which he had observed Loo disappear, with the air of a man who meant to pursue and kill a dangerous creature.
The MacFearsome usually gave vent to his feelings in Gaelic when labouring under strong excitement. On this occasion his utterances were terrible in tone whatever their meaning might be. "Go after them?" he cried, in a blaze of wrath, "yes, we'll go after them. Saddle my horse and fetch my gun. Arm yourself, boys! Some of you will remain to guard the Fort, and see that you keep the gates shut.
About the same time The MacFearsome flung himself down on his half-burned bed, where in dreams to judge from his snorting, snoring, and stertorous breathing he waged war with the whole Blackfeet race single-handed! When the pastor bade farewell to Reuben he had done so with the sad feelings of one who expected never to see his face again, but the pastor's judgment was at fault.
Before he could utter another word, however, he was interrupted, to his great surprise, by Reuben. "Excuse me, Mr MacFearsome," said that bold though bashful hunter, "but my friend and comrade, Jacob Strang, has not yet arrived, and it would grieve me to the heart if he was absent at such a time as this. Couldn't we wait a bit?
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