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Updated: May 4, 2025
He was about thirty years of age; had a tall, thin, but wiry and powerful frame; and was of a mild, retiring disposition. Redfeather, however, was by no means morose; and when seated along with his Canadian comrades round the camp fire, he listened with evidently genuine interest to their stories, and entered into the spirit of their jests.
"Yes, I do," replied Charley; "and, by the way, one of them the ringleader is a man with whom you are acquainted, at least by name. You've heard of an Indian called Misconna?" "What!" exclaimed Harry, with a look of surprise; "you don't mean the blackguard mentioned by Redfeather, long ago, when he told us his story on the shores of Lake Winnipeg the man who killed poor Jacques's young wife?"
Perhaps many moons will come and go, many snows may fall and melt away, before he sees his people again; and it is this that makes him full of sorrow, it is this that makes his head to droop like the branches of the weeping willow." Redfeather paused at this point, but not a sound escaped from the listening circle: the Indians were evidently taken by surprise at this abrupt announcement.
While they were thus engaged, Redfeather, the Indian who had cut the ropes so opportunely during the storm, walked down to the shore, and sitting down on a rock not far distant, fell apparently into a reverie. "I like that fellow," said Harry, pointing to the Indian. "So do I. He's a sharp, active man. Had it not been for him we should have had to swim for it."
A miscellaneous collection of fishing apparatus lay scattered about in front of the buildings, and two men and an Indian woman were the inhabitants of the place; the king himself, when present, and his prime minister, Redfeather, being the remainder of the population. "Pleasant little kingdom that of yours, Charley," remarked Harry Somerville, as they passed the station.
Several times during the course of these proceedings Charley's eyes wandered among the faces of his entertainers, in the hope of seeing Redfeather among them, but without success; and he began to fear that his friend was not with the tribe. "I say, Jacques," he said, as they left the tent, "ask whether a chief called Redfeather is here.
You tell me that you have met with my friend Redfeather." "Yes, sir; I spent a week or two with him last fall I found him stayin' with his tribe, and we started to come down here together." "Ah, that is the very point," exclaimed the pastor, that I wish to inquire about.
Redfeather was one of the very few Indians who had acquired the power of speaking the English language. Having been, while a youth, brought much into contact with the fur-traders, and having been induced by them to enter their service for a time, he had picked up enough of English to make himself easily understood.
"Now, Redfeather," said Charley, while Jacques rose and went down to the luggage to get more tobacco, "tell Jacques about the way in which you got your name. I am sure he will feel deeply interested in that story at least I am certain that Harry Somerville and I did when you told it to us the day we were wind-bound on Lake Winnipeg." Redfeather made no reply for a few seconds. "Will Mr.
So saying, Mr Whyte thrust the packet into his pocket, and without further remark strode towards his dwelling; while Charley, as instructed, led his friends to their new residence not forgetting, however, to charge Redfeather to see to the comfortable lodgment of Jacques Caradoc.
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