Los Angeles herald., 1892-04-19

r1ly and marching homeward, saying
over his shoulder: "Oh, don't you bother
yourself! Olier will be down on his
marrow bones tomorrow-see if he isn't.
| Besides, owe him half dollar"
Tomorrow came, unfruitful with the
half breeds submission. The story got
abroad among the huts, and the old set
tiers, who knew their man, shook their
heads ominously and BODIED no good to
my impulsive brother. However, two
days passed harmlessly, during which
Jack and | fished and shot together.
Olier had not reappeared, and began
to breathe more freely. Doubtless he
had left the district. He was an unset
tied fellow at any rate, and had no prop
erty or tie in the village to tempt his
stay.
Twenty miles below the village the
dark Scugog whitens into rapids, and is
hurled with gigantic power over lofty
precipice. had often wished to see the
falls, but it had been hitherto impossible
to accomplish the distance by my single
arm. At last my wish was to be graft
fed. A shooting party was made up by
some of the villagers, and at my urgent
request l was included. The arrange
ment was to spend night at the falls,
camping ont on the bank and return the
following day. Instead of canoes, we
were to sail down in large flat bot
toned boat, termed in Canadian par
lance scow. Strange to say, Jack did
not care about going, saying that he
would enjoy himself more in his own
canoe; and as we were already crowded
for room we did not press him to change
his resolution.
Our expedition had little in it note
worthy. The river for over twenty
miles sail remained the same monoto-
nous, melancholy Scugog, never vary
ing for the space Of hand. Not a ves-
tige of clearance was there between our
village and the falls, not glimpse Of
bank The trees lined the waters like {.
wall, and save the wild game no one
ever tried to force way through their
close knit ranks, woofed at the base by
a tangle of unwholesome verdure. This
aspect had stern reason for remember
ing. The only bright thing was the
patch of cloudless blue sky seen at the
extremity of this long reach of wood
and water. Over all brooded the in
tensest silence. No bird trilled us a
single song; all was still, save for the
lugubrious woodpecker, which, perched
on a rotting tree, hammered its hollow
sides with its beak. Tap, tap, tap!-it
was a most unearthly sound.
We had seen the stupendous falls in
their lonely majesty and were steering
homeward in our scow. AS we neared
the village again, distant only some five
or six miles, the sun was sinking behind
the tree horizon. A slight blue haze
bathed the long reaches of the river
with ineffable softness and beauty. We
voyaged on a liquid field of cloth of
gold. But ever and again, marring my
intense perception of it's loveliness, came
the CHASTITY tap, tap, tap of the wood
pecker.
could not resist a chilly sensation of
horror as l listened to the measured ca
dence echoing through the solitude. 1t
sounded like coffin maker hammering
at his dismal task. A relief suggested
French Canadians, and the evening be-
fore had cheered our bivouac with some
gay refrains of sunny France. 1 asked
them stave, but said nothing about
the woodpecker, whose note l wished
them to drown. A strong chorus soon
vanquished the bird of i'll omen and
rang up the vaulted river. Irecollect
the strain well; it was favorite voy-
ageur's ditty, sung to the dash of the
oar.
Suddenly the song lulled, and again
shuddered as heard the reverberating
tap, tap of the ominous bird aloft on a
spectral fir. My companions had ceased
rowing, too, and called my attention to
a canoe which was floating down the
river few yards ahead of us. They
thought it was breakloose, and stood
by to strike boathook into it, with the
prospect of a reward from the owner up
at the village. 1t soon dropped down to
us, and came, like the note of the ghost
ly woodpecker, tapping against our scow.
There was stifled cry of horror from
the settler at the bow, and as we crowd
ed forward to see what was the matter,
another cried out the awful tale of
blood, "Here, young fellow, see your
brother-stalked by Olier, as sure's
there's death in rife bulleti"
It was an awful endl My poor brother
lay bent over his idle paddle in the
canoe, weltering in his hearts blood.
An avenging bullet had passed through
his heart. Stalked by Olier! Fiendish
Indian, that was thy work, and my
brothers blood rested on thy head! I
shall not now detail the agonies of that
Indian summer. Through all my grief
ran the thought of an exterminating
vengeance. Vengeance?-nay, scant JUS
tice. sought what has been law since
the world began-blood for blood. 1t
was vain in those early times of a ju-
dicial system in Canada to seek for
rigorous pursuit from the dispensers of
legal justice. The criminal executive
might be willing, but their arm was
weak. Retribution, in the trackless wild
of wood and water where dwelt, could
proceed only from my own steady pur-
pose and solitary endeavor.
I could depend for but small aid on
the settlers. Some of them, indeed,
cursed the foul murder in no stinted
speech, but others again imputed little
crime to the blood stained redskin, and
even went so far as to justify his sneak
;po coda of venpeance Olier had left