A PADDLE FOR LIFE.

New Zealand Mail, 3 December 1896, Page 69

A PADDLE FOR LIFE.

I had been bear-hunting, and there were with me two experienced Canadian voyagers, the one named Baptiste, the other Jacques. We had been canoeing all day, had had nothing to eat, and were consequently very hungry. “ Run the canoe in shore,” cried I, “ Baptiste ; this paddling is hard work ; let us stretch our legs a bit, and have a smoke ” —for I was a smoker in those days. No sooner said than done. We all three jumped out, and Jacques secured bur little frail birchen vessel to the branch of a cedar, with a throng made from the ropelike bark of the moose tree.

“ Ha !”cried I suddenly, “ what a savoury scent ! it smells like venison.” Baptiste stopped and gave a sniff. Jacques turned round and gave a sniff too. “ By the saints, monsieur,” said Baptiste, “it is vension, and it must be cooking somewhere very near us ; see the smolce !” “ Voild !” cried Jacques, pulling some bushes aside. There, sure enough, was a fire, and above it, several bent rods, each with a huge piece of deer’s meat frizzling juicily over the flames. _ “It would be almost a charity jto help ourselves to a slice or two,” remarked Baptiste. “ I don’t see any harm in the proposal, monsieur,” added Jacques tasting a morsel from the nearest cutlet, and rolling his eyes in ecstasy. We all three sat down, with a stealthy air, and helped ourselves sparingly at first; then we got bolder and cut deeper and wider; then we grew perfectly ravenous, and cleared off every atom of the venison, washing it down afterwards with some excellent sherry that I carried in my flask. “ If monsieur will be guided by me," said Baptiste, licking his lips, “ I think it would be prudent to move on a bit now.” “ The sooner the better,” said Jacques. “ Vite ! vite ! vile !—see ! there they come —down through the clearing !” “ What ? who ? where ?” cried I. I turned and saw three stalwart redskins approaching at a brisk trot. They guessed what had taken place, and the fusee of the first was already at his shoulder. Crack! —and a bullet whistled within a few inches of my head.’ “ To the canoe ! to the canoe !” cried Baptiste there is no time to lose’—and he made a desparate attempt to cut the moose rope that held it to the shore. Two quick gashes he gave, but the knife was blunt, and every moment was precious. Crack ! crack !—and two more bullets whizzed past us. Fortunately Indians are noc the best shots in the world. I whipped my own knife from my belt, and succeeded in severing the throng. A few vigorous sweeps from the paddles of the two moose hunters, and we were in the rapids, shooting downstream. Crack! another bullet, which knocked the pine blade out of Jacques’ hand into the water. He had it again, however, in an instant, for Baptiste dexterously tipped it back with his own into the canoe.

The Indians had now launched, and were in hot pursuit. Two of them were urging along their large “dug out,” and one stationed in tlie middle was blazing away at us with us with his fusee. A bullet went right through my cap, and I saw him loading again. I saw that it it was no tirno to trifle, and raising my piece, I took aim and pulled trigger. The Indians, all three, disappeared in the bottom of their canoe, and the ball whistled harmlessly over their heads.

« Cleverly done !” said I, “ but I want nothing better: by the time you have played that trick half a dozen times, we shall be out of your reach.” The Indians saw this, and sat bravely up. One of their bullets now struck Baptiste in the shoulder he neither cried out, nor winced but I saw the blood flowing. “ Monsieur will do his best,” pleaded Jacques earnestly, finding that his brother-in-law was wounded. “No fear or that, said said I. And the right arm of the centre redskin fell useless to his side. This success was hailed with a howd of rage from the enemy ; but one of the other Indians, laying down the paddle, levelled his matchlock and gave us the contents. Jacques’ side was “barked,” and there were two little pools of blood in tire bottom of the canoe. ■,

“ Cripple .that rascal, Monsieur ” said Baptiste, fiercely ; “you are a better shot than Jhcques or I; down with him!” I fired, and the leading warrior threw up his arms. He \yas not killed, but what is

politely termed “ winged.” The pursuing canoe now visibly dropped astern, but rve saw three more redskins breasting the current at a right angle with the line of its approach. They wore going to reinforce the vanquished party. The half-mile of ground we had gained, however, gave us the day, for though the chase was continued for an hour longer, the enemy had no chance of success, and we were able afterwards to take things as easily as we pleased.