# Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders/The Bonnechère Affair

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THE BONNECHÈRE AFFAIR
THE Blackfeet had camped on the upper Ottawa, near one of the Hudson Bay Company posts, in the first half of the present century, and among them was Big Moose, famed for his size and power. As he had looked love on Little Fawn, and she had declared her willingness to be his wife, it is surprising that her parents did not give the girl to somebody else. Some time before the marriage occurred, Big Moose entered the camp bearing in his arms a fair-haired stranger, a Scotchman in the employ of the Hudson Bay Company, who had fallen while traversing the wood and wrenched his ankle. As the fort was some miles distant, no attempt was made for several days to move the injured man, and much of the care of him fell to Little Fawn. He was a handsome, heartless fellow, who struck up a desperate flirtation with his nurse, after the manner of his kind, while Big Moose vainly played his bone pipe in the twilight before her lodge. The Indian was not sorry when the stranger was able to ​go back to his own people, carrying with him—though Big Moose did not know it—the heart and honor of the girl who was shortly to be his wife. The wedding was celebrated with the usual rejoicings, and, in spite of White Fawn's thoughtfulness and silence, the couple were apparently happy.
The supply of food grew short that winter, and the more stalwart of the tribe had to bestir themselves to get meat, Big Moose being happy in the assurance that when he returned from the long hunt a child would greet him. True enough, the child was there, but it did not greet him, for it was dead—dead on its mother's breast, and she, too, was dead. The babe had yellow hair. The Indian swore an oath against the white betrayer.
Five years passed. John Rigby had become a prosperous smith in the village that had grown up about the second shoot of the Bonnechère, a few miles above its meeting with the Ottawa. His daughter Jessie was his idol, and he had taken a pride and pleasure in ministering to her tastes, sending as far as to Boston for the books she wished to read. Her favorite place of study was an island in the stream, near the fall. It was summer, and she sat there poring on a favorite volume, oblivious to all about her. The path to this island was across the dry bed of the stream, for the water had been dammed above, in order to shoot down the logs that made the chief industry of the place ​and region. So absorbed was she in her book that she did not see the slow rise nor hear the lapping of the water as it overflowed its channel near the left bank and began to fill the dry space which she had crossed an hour before. She was roused by a crash. Her escape was cut off. Down came the logs, and with them the "river drivers," a swearing, quarrelling lot, coarsely dressed, smelling of liquor, with Dan McDonald in the lead, a fair, fearless fellow, a bold fighter, a bit of a thief, and a mystery, for it was thought he had once been a gentleman. A mass of timber came against the upper end of the islet with a shock, and the girl shrank with a scream. Dan saw her. Jumping, swimming, scrambling, he gained the patch of ground, caught her as a swirl of water swept her from her feet, and, bidding her rest her hands on his shoulders and trust in him, he swam down the stream to safety. He took her home, then, and returned to work. A trifle like a ducking did not worry him.
Yet his life changed from that day, for in that brief service he had met her look of appeal and gratitude, and he loved her. No more gaming, drinking, ruffling, and late hours. He confessed the sins and follies of his past life and asked her help to keep him a better man. He must soon leave the village to raft the lumber down to Bytown, the Ottawa of a later time, and could not see her for some weeks. Would she say good-by to him? Certainly, and would wish him a safe and ​prosperous journey. Would she—could she—care a little bit that he was going away? Yes, she had enjoyed his calls, and would be glad to see him again. Then—could she love him? Whatever her answer was, it is certain that within an hour they went out for a walk in the moonlight, and instinctively turned toward the cascade where they could see the island on which they had met; certain, too, that they stood there for a long time, with clasped hands. As they looked into the water, a drunken Indian lurched by and growled a curse. It was Big Moose. A vague fear came upon them both.
The next night Dan is on board the raft, drifting down the dark river,—drifting toward a darker river than he sees. He is watching the stars in the water and dreaming of happy days to come. A dark form steals from behind the little cabin of the raft, and in a minute Dan is roused from his meditations by a clutch of hands at his throat. He succeeds in turning, and strikes wildly at Big Moose, whose glaring eyes he can distinguish in the star-light, as well as the glint of a knife that the Indian is holding in his teeth, awaiting the chance to stab. In their struggle both fall into the water. Some days go by before Jessie hears that two bodies have been found on the Ottawa, a white man's with fair hair, and that of an Indian who bit upon a knife and clutched the other's throat.