It is strange that men should frequently be so blind to the potent influence of kindness. Independently of the Divine authority, which assures us that "a soft answer turneth away wrath," and that "love is the fulfilling of the law," who has not, in the course of his experience, felt the overwhelming power of a truly affectionate word; not a word which possesses merely an affectionate signification, but a word spoken with a gush of tenderness, where love rolls in the tone, and beams in the eye, and revels in every wrinkle of the face? And how much more powerfully does such a word or look or tone strike home to the heart if uttered by one whose lips are not much accustomed to the formation of honeyed words or sweet sentences! Had Mr. Kennedy, senior, known more of this power, and put it more frequently to the proof, we venture to affirm that Mr. Kennedy, junior, would have allowed his "flint to be fixed" (as his father pithily expressed it) long ago.
Ere Charley could reply to the question, Mr. Grant's voice, pitched in an elevated key, interrupted them.
"Eh! what?" said that gentleman to Tom Whyte. "No horse for Charley!
How's that?"
"No, sir," said Tom.
"Where's the brown pony?" said Mr. Grant, abruptly.
"Cut 'is fetlock, sir," said Tom, slowly.
"And the new horse?"
"'Tan't 'alf broke yet, sir."
"Ah! that's bad.—It wouldn't do to take an unbroken charger, Charley; for although you are a pretty good rider, you couldn't manage him, I fear. Let me see."
"Please, sir," said the groom, touching his hat, "I've borrowed the miller's pony for 'im, and 'e's sure to be 'ere in 'alf-a-hour at farthest."
"Oh, that'll do," said Mr. Grant; "you can soon overtake us. We shall ride slowly out, straight into the prairie, and Harry will remain behind to keep you company."
So saying, Mr. Grant mounted his horse and rode out at the back gate, followed by the whole cavalcade.
"Now this is too bad!" said Charley, looking with a very perplexed air at his companion. "What's to be done?"
Harry evidently did not know what was to be done, and made no difficulty of saying so in a very sympathising tone. Moreover, he begged Charley very earnestly to take his pony, but this the other would not hear of; so they came to the conclusion that there was nothing for it but to wait as patiently as possible for the arrival of the expected horse. In the meantime Harry proposed a saunter in the field adjoining the fort. Charley assented, and the two friends walked away, leading the gray pony along with them.
To the right of Fort Garry was a small enclosure, at the extreme end of which commences a growth of willows and underwood, which gradually increases in size till it becomes a pretty thick belt of woodland, skirting up the river for many miles. Here stood the stable belonging to the establishment; and as the boys passed it, Charley suddenly conceived a strong desire to see the renowned "noo 'oss," which Tom Whyte had said was only "'alf broke;" so he turned the key, opened the door, and went in.
There was nothing very peculiar about this horse, excepting that his legs seemed rather long for his body, and upon a closer examination, there was a noticeable breadth of nostril and a latent fire in his eye, indicating a good deal of spirit, which, like Charley's own, required taming.
"Oh" said Charley, "what a splendid fellow! I say, Harry, I'll go out with him."
"You'd better not."
"Why not?"
"Why? just because if you do Mr. Grant will be down upon you, and your father won't be very well pleased."
"Nonsense," cried Charley. "Father didn't say I wasn't to take him. I don't think he'd care much. He's not afraid of my breaking my neck. And then, Mr. Grant seemed to be only afraid of my being run off with—not of his horse being hurt. Here goes for it!" In another moment Charley had him saddled and bridled, and led him out into the yard.
"Why, I declare, he's quite quiet; just like a lamb," said Harry, in surprise.
"So he is," replied Charley. "He's a capital charger; and even if he does bolt, he can't run five hundred miles at a stretch. If I turn his head to the prairies, the Rocky Mountains are the first things that will bring him up. So let him run if he likes, I don't care a fig." And springing lightly into the saddle, he cantered out of the yard, followed by his friend.
The young horse was a well-formed, showy animal, with a good deal of bone—perhaps too much for elegance. He was of a beautiful dark brown, and carried a high head and tail, with a high-stepping gait, that gave him a noble appearance. As Charley cantered along at a steady pace, he could discover no symptoms of the refractory spirit which had been ascribed to him.
"Let us strike out straight for the horizon now," said Harry, after they had galloped half-a-mile or so along the beaten track. "See, here are the tracks of our friends." Turning sharp round as he spoke, he leaped his pony over the heap that lined the road, and galloped away through the soft snow.
At this point the young horse began to show his evil spirit. Instead of following the other, he suddenly halted and began to back.
"Hollo, Harry!" exclaimed Charley; "hold on a bit. Here's this monster begun his tricks."
"Hit him a crack with the whip," shouted Harry.
Charley acted upon the advice, which had the effect of making the horse shake his head with a sharp snort, and back more vigorously than ever.
"There, my fine fellow, quiet now," said Charley, in a soothing tone, patting the horse's neck. "It's a comfort to know you can't go far in that direction, anyhow!" he added, as he glanced over his shoulder, and saw an immense drift behind.
He was right. In a few minutes the horse backed into the snow-drift. Finding his hind-quarters imprisoned by a power that was too much even for his obstinacy to overcome, he gave another snort and a heavy plunge, which almost unseated his young rider.
"Hold on fast," cried Harry, who had now come up.
"No fear," cried Charley, as he clinched his teeth and gathered the reins more firmly.—"Now for it, you young villain!" and raising his whip, he brought it down with a heavy slash on the horse's flank.
Had the snow-drift been a cannon, and the horse a bombshell, he could scarcely have sprung from it with greater velocity. One bound landed him on the road; another cleared it; and, in a second more, he stretched out at full speed—his ears flat on his neck, mane and tail flying in the wind, and the bit tight between his teeth.
"Well done," cried Harry, as he passed. "You're off now, old fellow; good-bye."
"Hurrah!" shouted Charley, in reply, leaving his cap in the snow as a parting souvenir; while, seeing that it was useless to endeavour to check his steed, he became quite wild with excitement; gave him the rein; flourished his whip; and flew over the white plains, casting up the snow in clouds behind him like a hurricane.
While this little escapade was being enacted by the boys, the hunters were riding leisurely out upon the snowy sea in search of a wolf.
Words cannot convey to you, dear reader, an adequate conception of the peculiar fascination, the exhilarating splendour of the scene by which our hunters were surrounded. Its beauty lay not in variety of feature in the landscape, for there was none. One vast sheet of white alone met the view, bounded all round by the blue circle of the sky, and broken, in one or two places, by a patch or two of willows, which, rising on the plain, appeared like little islands in a frozen sea. It was the glittering sparkle of the snow in the bright sunshine; the dreamy haziness of the atmosphere, mingling earth and sky as in a halo of gold; the first taste, the first smell of spring after a long winter, bursting suddenly upon the senses, like the unexpected visit of a long-absent, much-loved, and almost-forgotten friend; the soft, warm feeling of the south wind, bearing on its wings the balmy influences of sunny climes, and recalling vividly the scenes, the pleasures, the bustling occupations of summer. It was this that caused the hunters' hearts to leap within them as they rode along—that induced old Mr. Kennedy