The activity of the North Americans is prodigious; they have a peculiar way of handling the axe which is marvellous. Their mode of procedure is almost incomprehensible, and goes beyond anything the imagination can conceive.

Fifty American woodmen will in a month clear the whole of a vast forest tract.

They always begin with the idea, a very logical one, though a proud one, that the modest plantation they commence may in time become an important town, and they act accordingly. The land is divided into lots, paths traced by the axe stand for streets, large open spaces represent squares, while notched trees indicate where the houses, shops, workshops, and other buildings are to be.

As soon as this is all settled they go to work with feverish haste, and trees of vast dimensions fall with a rapidity which is simply amazing.

Then they build the stables and sheds, then the blacksmith's forge, the carpenter's shop, and the water sawmill, of which the workmen at once take possession.

The earth, still encumbered by the roots of trees, is dug up and sown at once. Everything goes on at the same time with the utmost regularity and industry.

In a few days the landscape is completely changed, and there, where had existed a virgin forest, with all its deep and impenetrable mysteries, suddenly arises, as if by means of the enchanted wand, the embryo of a town, which ten years later will be a rich flourishing emporium of commerce, and of which the population, coming from all parts of the world, will perhaps be fifty or sixty thousand.

But the squatter, the founder of the new city, will have disappeared, without leaving a trace behind. Nobody knows anything about him, not even his name. His work done, he will have taken his melancholy departure, frightened to see the desert so populated, and that civilisation from which he had fled so near; he probably has fled out West in search of a new virgin land, which he will transform like the first, without deriving any more advantage from it, finally to end his days, shot in some miserable Indian ambuscade, or killed by the claws of a grizzly, or perhaps dies of misery and hunger in some unknown corner of the prairie.

Joshua Dickson did not act differently from his fellows; after dividing the valley into two, and handing over half to his brother, he fixed his residence near the fork of the two rivers. Samuel Dickson fixed his residence at the other end of the valley, near the river called the Deer River.

Everybody then set to work, and with such rapidity that before three weeks were over the principal buildings were finished. The houses, built with trees from the trunks of which the bark had not been removed, piled one upon the other, and fastened together by iron clamps and long wooden nails, looked comfortable with their glass windows furnished inside with strong shutters, and their mud and brick chimneys from which the smoke already escaped in a bluish cloud.

All the servants and hired men had erected themselves, not exactly houses, but bark huts. They were, however, only temporary residences, soon to be replaced by more solid and eligible residences.

The ordinary means of defence so necessary in an Indian country had not been neglected; a solid double stockade of young trees surrounded the camp; the centre of this rampart was occupied by a ditch ten feet wide and fifteen deep.

There were several drawbridges, which were raised every night, by means of which only could the settlement be reached; near every one of these was a redoubt of stone, surmounted by stakes, behind which, in case of attack, the garrison could place themselves. All the houses were moreover loopholed.

Every night some twenty formidable dogs of the race formerly used by the Spaniards to hunt down the Indians, and until lately kept to track Negro slaves by the Americans, that is to say, bloodhounds, were let loose.

One morning, shortly after sunrise, Miss Diana, accompanied by her own enormous and favourite dog, quitted the Point, her father's habitation, for the residence of Samuel Dickson.

Very busy each about their own affairs, the brothers were often two days without seeing each other, the more so that their respective residences were quite three miles apart.

Joshua Dickson, whose activity was immense, struck with amazement at sight of the magnificent waterpower at his door, and which he little suspected was the Missouri, had asked himself one day where these waters flowed to. He came at last to the conclusion that on its way to the sea it must run through some state of the Union.

Then, imbued with that commercial spirit which is innate in the Americans, he at once saw the value of the river as available for the carriage of his produce, as well as to obtain supplies for the colony. He therefore resolved to make a journey down the river, and reach the first settlement, and this as soon as the heavier labours were over.

Now with the squatter to resolve was to act, and even before anything else was finished he had set to work to construct a canoe sufficiently large to carry four persons, with victuals for a long journey, and strong enough to bear a voyage of some hundreds of miles.

The boat had been finished the night before, and Joshua Dickson, eager to begin his journey, had sent his daughter over to Dickson Point, to confer with his brother as to what was to be done in his absence. But neither Samuel nor Diana knew anything of Joshua's projects.

Joshua was one of those men who, without being deceitful, was very reticent, and never told his thoughts.

Diana, like a true heroine, traversed the faintly traced paths which led to her uncle's house, a hunting knife in her belt, and light gun in her hand. For further safety she was accompanied by Dardar, a large black and white dog, something between a wolf and a Newfoundland, terribly ferocious, and of mighty strength, as tall as a good-sized donkey, and who would have tackled a bear in defence of his mistress, whom he obeyed with the docility of a child.

With such a guardian Diana had nothing to fear from man or beast; moreover, the country was too little known to the squatters to allow a young girl to go out quite unprotected in the country, however short the distance.

Contrary to her usual mood, the young girl was quite joyous; her freedom, which allowed her to give free vent to her thoughts, had driven away the tinge of sadness which generally clouded her beautiful face.

She went along careless and dreaming through the fields, playing with Dardar, who, proud of the charge he was set to guard, ran wildly before her, dashing into the bushes and thickets with an intelligent glance that was almost human.

The young girl soon reached the river, where a kind of ferryboat had been provided by means of which to cross the river, here neither broad nor deep. In a few minutes Diana was across and within sight of her uncle's residence.

Inside the log hut, which was extensive, were seated two men, with a bottle of whisky before them. These were Samuel Dickson himself and George.

Two horses, still saddled and smoking, were fastened in the court. They must have been on a long journey.

"You are a pretty fellow to make me gallop about in this way in search of you. I am not very handsome, but I am not ugly enough to frighten you."

"I simply did not see you."

"No nonsense. Do you think to keep me in ignorance of your motive in coming this way?"

The young man blushed deeply.

"Do you know my brother Joshua?" asked Samuel.

"I met him once or twice in Boston, but I do not think he ever noticed me," said George Clinton.

"Shall I introduce you to him?" said Samuel. "He has his faults, but he is a very worthy man."

"I don't think it would be wise just now."

"I don't think," continued the American, "that you have waited to be introduced to my niece."

"Sir," cried the young man, dropping his glass.

"Ah, ah!" cried the American, laughing, "That is the way you break my crockery. These lovers, these lovers. Do you think to cheat an old opossum like me? You love my pretty niece, which is very natural; you are a good fellow, and together will make an excellent couple."

"I regret to say it cannot be so," sighed George.

"Why so?" cried Samuel.

"I see you are so good, I can no longer refuse to enlighten you."

"That is right. Confess, for I am your true friend."

"What I have to say," began George, "is not much. I met Miss Diana at Boston at Mrs. Marshall's, where your niece stayed for some months last year. I was on very good terms with your relative."

"Yes, yes; my cousin," said Samuel.

"Need I say that from the first moment I saw her I loved your niece? My visits to Mrs. Marshall, once only occasional, became so frequent that the lady began to have suspicion of my intentions. She at once called me on one side, and while giving me every credit for loyalty and worth, she told me not to prosecute my attentions, as Diana's father would never consent to our marriage. Despite all my entreaties, however, she would give me no reason, until at last, yielding to my earnest entreaties, she explained that many years before there had been such a quarrel between my father and Joshua Dickson that any alliance between our families must ever prove impossible."

Samuel listened with extreme anxiety.

"You see yourself that I am right," said the young man.

"You are mistaken," cried the other; "the matter is rather serious, I allow. I really had forgotten that old affair. But don't ask me any questions; all I say is, have courage. Circumstances will probably alter, and believe me that in Samuel Dickson you will have a sincere friend."

"I should be only too glad to help."

"When I am on your side nothing is difficult. Now to breakfast. But how did you know of my brother's coming out here?" suddenly cried Samuel.

"Miss Diana told me herself."

"Oh, oh! Then I wonder no longer. To breakfast."

"I hope, Master Samuel, you will excuse me," began the other, taking up his hunter's cap.

"Sit down; if my niece were here you would not go."

"Can I come in?" suddenly said a soft voice at the door, a voice that made George start.

This sudden coincidence utterly overcame the old man's gravity, and, throwing himself back in his chair, he screamed with laughter, while Diana stood transfixed in the doorway, and George Clinton simply turned his cap round in his hand without being able to articulate a word.

It was Dardar who ended the scene.

The dog had remained outside for a moment or two, and then, seeing the door open, had rushed right into the middle of the room; seeing George Clinton he rushed at him, wagging his tail first, and then, leaping up, his paws on either shoulder, he licked his face with a joyous whine.

"By heavens!" cried the squatter, "The fellow is lucky. Everyone likes him, even that precious Dardar, and yet he despairs. Come in, Sly Boots, and kiss your uncle."

She did not require twice asking.

"You are welcome, mademoiselle," he said, with mock politeness. "I suppose I need not introduce you to yonder tall young fellow?"

"I have known the gentleman some time," replied the young girl, holding out her hand, which George took and kissed.

"That's right," cried Samuel, rubbing his hands; "all goes well. And now once more I say, to breakfast. I am dying with hunger. We can talk while we eat, and you, Diana, can explain your early visit. I suppose you have not come three miles in the dew to kiss your old uncle?"

"Why not?" she said, with a smile.

"And you expected to meet nobody," he answered. But seeing that Diana blushed, he continued, "But no more delay," and seated himself.

The beginning of the meal was rather constrained, from the peculiar position of the young people. But the ice was soon broken; the squatter was merry and humorous; he avoided any pointed allusions, and the conversation, at first very meagre, soon became very pleasant.

When Samuel heard the object of Diana's visit, he promised to go over in the evening, and then questioned George as to his travels.

George at once proceeded to tell his story with so much wit and humour as to amuse uncle and niece.

"Now," said Samuel, when breakfast was over, "listen to me. You are two charming young people, whom I love, and whose happiness I desire. But you must let me act in my own way. I know my brother well, and can do as I like with him. Look upon me as an ally, but commit no imprudence. Instead now of going with my niece, you must stop here. If you were seen together, we cannot say what might happen. At all times my house is open to you. Come as often as you like, but remember, courage and prudence, Diana, kiss me again, and then farewell."

"My darling uncle," she cried, embracing him.

"Oh, yes, very dear, because I do what you like."

"Au revoir, George," she continued.

"But when shall I see you again? Time appears so long."

"Already he grumbles," cried Samuel.

"Pardon me, but I love her so much."

"And do I not love you?" she said, naively.

"I am mad," he answered, tenderly, kissing her hand a second time as he spoke.

Then Diana went out, guarded by Dardar.

"Now," said Samuel, as soon as they were alone, "you must enter into fuller explanations, and explain where you have pitched your tent. I hope you are in no difficulty."

"Be easy on that point. I have a hut in a charming situation about twelve miles off. Will you come and see it?" added George Clinton.

"At once, if you like," cried Samuel.

"At once let it be, I am not alone; I have two faithful servants and a Canadian hunter, whom I engaged in Boston. I have books, arms, horses, dogs – everything that a man can wish for."

"Delighted to hear it. Let us start."

Five minutes later they were galloping through the forest.

CHAPTER IX.
THEY MAKE AN ACQUAINTANCE

That part of the valley towards which they were going had undergone no change. The squatters had had no time to visit it, and it retained all its original beauty and primitive majesty. George Clinton appeared fully to know his way, entering at full gallop on the most out-of-the-way and rugged paths, followed by Samuel Dickson, who was in a charming humour, and appeared delighted to explore this part of his domains, for all on that side of the valley was his present from his brother.

"You ride as if you had known the country ten years at least," he said.

"I came here about a month before you, but I have been everywhere with Charbonneau."

"Who may Charbonneau be?"

"My hunter, a great big Canadian, as long as a fishing rod, as thin as a nail, and as honest as a Newfoundland dog. I got him out of a very great scrape, and he has been devoted to me ever since."

"Lucky for you."

"More than you think. This fellow was brought up in an Indian tribe; his life has been spent more or less in the desert. He has friends everywhere with trappers, with white and half-caste hunters; speaks all the most difficult redskin dialects, and despite his youth – he is not more than three-and-twenty – enjoys a great reputation on the prairie. He is called Keen-hand, because of his prodigious dexterity."

"An excellent servant," said Samuel.

"And a capital companion – always gay and contented; whichever way things go, he is always so philosophical I cannot but admire him. He is a perfect study. As an instance, he declared some time ago no squatter would ever see this place and go further."

"He was not far wrong. He is a sharp youth."

"You are right; but you shall judge for yourself."

"Then he has told you all about this country?" asked Samuel.

"In what way?" said George.

"I suppose he described the situation of the valley – its distance from all habitations?"

"Don't you know?" cried George.

"I know nothing. We have been travelling in the dark, and should all be glad of information."

"In the first place, two rivers cross the valley; that near you flows from the mountains of the Wind; the other, into which it discharges its waters, is the Missouri."

"Heavens! The Missouri! Then it runs through part of the United States. We are at home."

"Very nearly, though you are surrounded by red men, who, though very warlike, are generally friendly to the whites. Still, if you know the redskins you will not depend on them."

"Too true; and what nations are they?" he asked.

"Sioux and Dakotas, Piekanns, Crows, Hurons of the great lakes, with some Assiniboins and Mandans. A few others of no account are scattered about," he answered.

"A pretty lot; and no help near."

"Help is nearer than you think. About fifty miles distant is a fort belonging to one of the great fur companies. It has a garrison of fifty whites – Americans and Canadians, soldiers and hunters."

"Fifty miles is nothing," said Samuel.

"In a civilised country, yes; but in the desert it is as bad as fifty leagues," responded Clinton.

"I did not think of that," granted the squatter; "well, then, on the other side, what neighbours have we?"

"Some squatters, like yourselves, who have been two years on the Missouri. You are halfway between the two."

"Have these squatters much cultivated land?"

"They have been going ahead lately. It is already almost a village; soon it will be a town. But anyway, on one side or the other you are separated from men of your own colour by several Indian nations, whose villages it would be dangerous to visit, except in large numbers. In fact your only open route is the Missouri."

"That is something; but, if easy to go down, it is hard to ascend."

"Besides, both sides swarm with redskins."

"Hum! My dear George, that spoils all. What could put it into the mad head of my brother to bring us here? He is a lunatic; for the matter of that, so am I."

George could not help laughing.

"Laugh away, you young rascal," said the squatter; "but if we have to leave our bones here?"

"I hope it will not be so," replied George.

"Jehoshaphat! So do I. Your information is not pleasant; still I thank you. It is best to know the worst."

While speaking they kept on at as rapid a pace as the state of the ground allowed. They had left the forest, and had come out upon a green prairie, when suddenly they heard a gun fired.

"What is that?" cried the squatter.

"Charbonneau. I know the sound. Wait a minute."

And Clinton fired his rifle in the air.

Next instant there was a rush from out of a thicket, and two magnificent dogs of the same breed as Dardar came rushing out of a thicket, and, leaping at the young man to beg a caress, continued at the same time to growl at the squatter.

"Down, dogs, down!" cried the young man. "Down, I say, Nadeje, miss, and you the same, Drack; don't be mischievous. This gentleman, my fine fellows, is a friend; go and welcome him, to show what brave and intelligent beasts you are."

As if they had understood what their master said, the two dogs ceased to growl, and, going straight to Samuel Dickson, leaped up at him in the most friendly way. The squatter, a great dog fancier, was very much struck by their beauty, and at once caressed them with many a word of praise, which pleased both, but especially Miss Nadeje; she was a magnificent animal, with an almost pure white skin, spotted only here and there with black, and at once took the squatter under her guardianship.

Almost at the same moment a man appeared in the full costume of a hunter, a man with rather angular but very intelligent features; in his hand was the still-smoking gun. He bowed, and called off the dogs.

"Pardieu!" he cried, "That was a lucky shot of mine."

"Were you hunting?" asked the other, shaking hands.

"At this hour it were folly, and I am not yet mad. Sport is only good morning and evening, is it not?"

"That is my opinion," replied the squatter.

"Mr. Samuel Dickson, one of my best friends," said George, "and I hope soon one of yours."

"I hope so; I like his looks," laughed Charbonneau.

"Thank you," said the squatter.

"It is quite unnecessary, only I don't say the same to everybody. But I have known you some time."

"If not hunting, what were you doing?" asked George.

"Something has happened at the wigwam. Three travellers, two white hunters and an Indian chief, have reached your house, and demanded hospitality," he replied.

"Of course you did not refuse?"

"Of course I did not. Besides, two of the hunters are my friends, and the other is likely to become so."

"You know you are welcome to act; still, why look for me?"

"Well, I did not exactly look for you, but I wanted to give you warning; of course, I knew where you had gone."

The young man blushed, while the old man laughed.

"Now, then," cried Clinton, "let us go home."

"Wait one moment. About fifty yards in my rear the dogs opened cry. I ran and found – "

"A bear?" exclaimed the squatter.

"No, I would not have minded that. It was not a bear, but a man. He was lying insensible on the ground, his skull split open from a heavy fall, and a shot wound in his left arm. His horse was grazing close by. He appeared to be a traveller traitorously shot by an Indian. I thought I heard an explosion; at all events, the wretch fled before the dogs, just as he was about to rob the unfortunate."

"You assisted him?"

"How could I help it? I could not let him die like a skunk on the road; and yet it would have been wiser."

"Charbonneau!" cried the young man, "Is that really you?"

"You know me well, Master George. Well, despite myself, I don't like the look of this man, though he is handsome enough. He has a terrible expression, and you know it takes something to move me. Still, I feel an invincible repugnance for this man, whom I never saw before. The dogs were like myself; I had the greatest difficulty to prevent them tearing him to pieces. Nadeje was like a mad creature; she wanted to strangle him. Do you know, Master George, dogs never make a mistake?"

"A very good thing," said George Clinton; "but the man is wounded, likely to die. We are bound to succour him."

"I know it, and have done so. I have seen to him as I would to myself or one of my dogs. Still, Master George, mark my words, it is a bitter foe you shelter under your roof."

"It may be so, but we must do our duty."

"As you please. Still I shall watch him."

"Where is he?"

"Just under yonder cluster of oaks, which you see from here. It was after dressing his wound I fired a shot on chance."

"Did he say nothing?" asked George.

"He is still quite insensible."

"Let us join him, and if the dogs are so ill-disposed towards the stranger, watch them carefully."

"All right, Master George. Be quiet, dogs," said the hunter, turning back, followed by the two great dogs, the others making up the rear.

The cluster of oaks was soon reached; the wounded man still lay without life; the dogs howled, but, at a sign from Keen-hand, they stood back silent.

George and Samuel alighted, and examined the man.

He was a tall, well made, even elegant man of about thirty or thirty-five; he was deadly pale; his features were well chiselled and delicate; his long, jet black hair fell in waving curls on his shoulders; a black crisp beard hid the lower part of his face; his mouth, large and slightly open, showed magnificent teeth of dazzling whiteness; his strong and aquiline nose gave a terribly hard expression to his face, while his eyes, far too close together, and which were shut, were shaded by long lashes, and crowned by heavy eyebrows that almost touched.

The very sight of the man inspired instinctive repulsion, something like a chill, that sensation of terror and disgust which one feels at the sight of a reptile; still the man was handsome and elegant; he was well dressed, and his weapons were superior; his horse was extremely valuable.

He was, to all appearance, a prince among adventurers.

"Hum!" muttered Samuel Dickson, who was the first to speak; "I don't like his look at all."

"No more do I," said George; "still, we cannot let him die."

"Certainly not, since Providence has sent him here. Are we far from your hut?" replied Samuel.

"Not far off, are we, Charbonneau? But, then, how can we carry him?" continued George; "I don't see anything except a litter."

"Too long. Leave all to me. I will mount his horse; you can hand him up to me; I will then carry him in my arms to the wigwam – what say you?"

"Admirable!" cried George, as Charbonneau mounted and stood still, awaiting his burden.

George and Samuel then placed him before the guide. Charbonneau pressed his head against his chest, and started.

Going slowly, they were an hour on the journey.

The wigwam, as the hunter called it, was a charming habitation built of wood, upon the summit of an eminence, round which ran a silver stream, lined with well-constructed palisades.

"Your house is delicious," said Samuel Dickson, examining the residence. "You should be very comfortable."

"My good friend, I want for nothing except happiness."

"Are you going to have the blues again?" said Samuel.

"You know I hardly dare hope," replied George.

"You are very foolish. When you are rich, young, and loved, Master George, you ought to hope for the best."

"You are very cruel to joke with me."

"I do not joke, I only try to inspire you with courage. But, look, here are your guests coming to meet you, while your servants seem to me to be rather muddled and mixed," observed Samuel.

"It is the first time they have ever seen strangers."

"Then," said Samuel, laughing, "they will have a change today."

Three persons were advancing in the direction of the advancing troop. They were Bright-eye, Numank-Charake, the Huron chief, and Oliver.

They bowed ceremoniously to Clinton, who renewed the invitation given by Charbonneau; and then alighting, the wounded man was carried by Bright-eye and Oliver to the best bedroom, placed on the master's own couch, and at once attended to by one of the domestics, who knew something of medicine.

"What a disagreeable face!" murmured Oliver.

"He does not look pleasant," said Bright-eye.

"'Tis the face of a traitor," said the Indian chief, sententiously; "he should have been allowed to die."

"Hum!" cried Keen-hand; "There are others of my opinion."

"Let my brother watch carefully," remarked the Indian.

"Be not uneasy," smiled Charbonneau.

"In my opinion," said Bright-eye, "this man is one of the outlaws of the desert. I have seen him somewhere before. I must not only think over the matter, but put the master of the house on his guard."

Meanwhile the four men rejoined Clinton and Samuel Dickson in the drawing room, where copious refreshments awaited them.