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Updated: June 16, 2025
Petawanaquat is there, seated with a book on his knee, and a dignified, yet slightly perplexed expression on his face. His friend Sinclair is there too, teaching him to read the Word of God. Meekeye, faithful partner and sympathiser with the red man, is also there; and beside them reclines our friend Tony. That child's taste for hunting is strong.
It was found, too, that the trail of Petawanaquat entered this camp, and was there utterly lost in the confusion of tracks made everywhere by many feet, both large and small. Here, then, was sufficient ground for anxiety.
He is a man now, and understands a little more. When the Great Spirit takes him up yonder, no doubt his mind shall be made bigger, and it shall be filled. The book that the Great Spirit has sent is very big. Some things in it are hard to understand, but the greatest thing of all is not hard. There is but one thing needful. Is not Jesus the one thing? Petawanaquat wishes to live for ever.
He frequently gazed at his captive as if about to speak to him seriously, but as often seemed to abandon the idea with something like a sigh. One evening, however, Petawanaquat seemed more troubled than usual, and held frequent earnest consultations with Meekeye in an undertone, in the midst of which Tony could distinguish a few words, such as "tracks," "white strangers," "encampment," etcetera.
Tony was most emphatic in his denial of entertaining any such desire, and declared with his wonted candour that he loved Petawanaquat and Meekeye next to his own father and mother. "If this be so," returned the Indian, "Tonyquat must be dumb when the white men speak to him. He must know nothing. His voice must be more silent than the waters of a lake when the wind is dead."
Words cannot describe the state of mind into which this information threw poor Michel Rollin. He insisted on seizing one of the canoes and setting off at once. As his companions were equally anxious to reach their flooded homes an arrangement was soon come to. Petawanaquat put Tony into the middle of his canoe with Victor, while Ian took the bow paddle.
"Some tribes of Indians, I have been told, are encamped not far from this spot," said the missionary through his interpreter. Petawanaquat admitted that such was the case, and that some lodges of Indians were pitched in the mountains not two days' march from his tent. The missionary entered the wigwam and sat down.
On the way he unfortunately met Petawanaquat in one of his fields, leaning composedly over a gate. That intelligent redskin had not yet finished his inquiries at the missionary village. He had appeared more than once at Willow Creek, and seemed to hover round the old trader like a moth round a candle.
She had arrived that autumn in company with a piano, on which she was expected to exercise Elsie and Cora. Petawanaquat, being the first "really wild and painted savage" she had seen, made a deep impression on her.
"Dat is troo, an' vat I has obsarve oftin," said Rollin, looking earnestly into a kettle which rested on the fire. "Never mind, Vic," said Ian heartily, "we'll be at it again to-morrow, bright and early. We're sure to succeed in the long-run. Petawanaquat can't travel at night in the woods any more than we can." Old Peegwish glared at the fire as though he were pondering these sayings deeply.
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