Chapter 2

"Then," continued Hal, "that splendid-looking chap on father's right was his guide and personal cook--the one in the blanket coat and sash. He was part French but mostly Indian, I fancy--Why, what's the matter, Larocque?" for Shag had suddenly made some inarticulate exclamation, and had carried the photograph nearer the light.

"That is my father," he said quietly. As he spoke the words he was well aware that they might tell against him some time or other. He knew enough of the civilization of the white people to understand that when two boys attend the same school, one with a titled father and the other with a father who had cooked for the titled one, that things are apt to become strained; but never for one second did he hesitate about claiming the Red River trapper as his sire. He would have despised himself far more than any boy in the school could possibly do now, had he failed to say the words, "That is my father." The attitude of his three listeners was certainly a study. Cop Billings stood staring at him for a moment, then said, "Well, if your dad did cook he gets you far better shirts and socks than mine does me." Shorty Magee uttered the four words, "Cooked for Sir George!" and with an ugly sneer turned again to his letter-writing.

Hal Bennington had sprung forward, tossing his arms about the Indian's shoulders and exclaiming, "Your father! Is French Pete your father? Oh, I'm so glad! Father will be delighted when I tell him. I have heard him say a hundred times that he would never have lived to be 'Sir' George if it hadn't been for French Pete."

"Yes, they call my father French Pete because, although he is nearly all Indian, he speaks French so well," announced Shag.

Then followed a narration of two occasions when Shag's father had saved Sir George's life, once from drowning in the Assiniboine and once from freezing to death on the plains. The recreation interval was all too short for the boys to have their talk out, and when the "good-nights" came Hal wrung Shag's hand with a sincerity and heartiness that brought a responsive thrill into the fingers of the lonely boy who was spending his first night fifteen hundred miles away from home.

"Well," snorted Shorty, as the two boys left for the night, "going to chum around with the son of your father's cook, are you?"

Hal whirled on his heel, his hand clenched, his knuckles standing out white and bony; then he checked the torrent of words that sprang to his lips and answered quietly, "Yes, I am."

"Going to take him to Sir George and Lady Bennington's city residence for the Easter Vac?" sneered Shorty.

The answer came again quietly, "Yes, I am"; then, after a brief interval, "if he will pay me the compliment of coming."

Shorty subsided; he had not expected this, and, truth to tell, he felt at that moment that his sneers had accomplished precisely the opposite effect to what he had intended; but Hal made no comment until just before they got into their beds; then he said evenly:

"Shorty, you and I are room-mates, we have been pals for over a year; we won't discuss Shag Larocque, for I see that we shall never agree about him."

"I hate a mongrel," sniffed Shorty; "this fellow is neither Indian nor white."

"He's more Indian than white, and better for it, too," said Hal; "but, I say, Shorty--what nationality was your father?"

"Irish," said Shorty, with some pride.

"And your mother?" persisted Hal relentlessly.

"Oh, mother's parents were English; she was born here in Canada," replied Shorty a little weakly.

"Oh!" was all Hal said, but it held a world of meaning.

"Now, see here, Hal," began Shorty apologetically, "I know what you are thinking, but I'm British right through and my skin's white, no matter how you take it. I'm white on both sides of the family; I'm not splashed with tinted blood like this fellow from the North-West that's strayed in here; his skin's almost yellow."

"Yes," acquiesced Hal, "his skin is tinted--it is tinted, not tainted. There's a big difference, Shorty. Do you know, I'd give the world if I had as much of a copper-colored tint to my skin as Shag has."

"Rot!" ejaculated Shorty.

"No rot at all," cut in Hal; "I love the Indian people. You call this chap a 'mongrel,' but I tell you he is Indian--anyone can see it, and I know it. His father may have cooked in camp for my father, and did so, but from what my father told me, he, French Pete, was an honest man, and a brave one, too, and his son's good enough for me, and I'm his friend until the last dog's hung."

That ended things for the time, for the college bells clanged out "lights out," and the inmates, both white and Indian, slept.

* * * * * * * *

"Yes, my dear boy," wrote Sir George, some weeks later, "by all means bring young Larocque home for the Easter vacation; I shall welcome the son of my old friend and guide with the greatest delight. I have frequently told you of French Pete's heroism and unselfishness, and if by a little hospitality I can show the son what I think of the father, I shall regard it as a privilege. Your dear mother will write you to-night, and will enclose a little note of invitation from us both to your friend 'Shagganappi'--how that good old North-West word brings back my youth! I think I like your friend, even before I see him, just because he has adopted that name."

So it was all arranged that Shag should spend the Easter vacation at the palatial home of the Benningtons in Montreal. As Hal was so popular, this holiday invitation was always regarded as the greatest compliment by any boy who was fortunate enough to receive it, but never before had Lady Bennington written personally to invite one of Hal's friends.

It was such a dear little note, too; Hal never admired his mother quite so much as when Shag handed him the invitation to read. Lady Bennington was famous as one of the few women who always say and do the right thing at the right moment. The note ran:

"Dear Shagganappi,-- "Do come with my boy at Eastertide; we want you--come. "Your friend, Hal's mother, "CONSTANCE BENNINGTON."

So Easter found the boys at Montreal, Shag a little shy at first amidst all the grandeur and wealth of Hal's home, but covering that shyness with a quiet dignity that sat very well on his young shoulders. With a wonderful knack of delicacy, Hal would smooth out any threatened difficulty for the Indian boy--little table entanglements, such as new dishes or unaccustomed foods. But Shag was at times surprisingly outspoken, and the first night at dinner seemingly won Sir George's heart by remarking when the fruit plates and finger-glasses were served, "Now, Hal, don't be afraid that I won't understand this; fortunately I dined on the dining-cars on the way East." Everyone laughed then, including Shag, and Sir George said, "Then you are better up in things than I was at your age, my boy. I never saw a finger-glass until I was twenty." So this little confidence put them all on a kind of family footing; and during the rest of his visit Shag was not afraid to ask and learn any of the usages of wealthy city houses and manners that might puzzle him. When he left he had endeared himself to Hal's parents as no other boy had done before. Lady Bennington especially seemed to have become attached to him. Once when Hal was taking some snapshots of the grounds, she called Shag to her side, and, placing one hand on his shoulder, asked Hal to photograph them together. Shag almost trembled with pleasure, but his delight knew no bounds when a week after their return to school he received a little copy of the photograph framed in silver and inscribed on the back with "To Shagganappi Larocque, with love from Hal's mother."

"I don't know why you and your people are so good to me," he declared to Hal, when they both had duly admired the little picture. Hal stared at him rather oddly, but did not reply, and it was many months before Shag understood what that look meant; but when it was explained the Indian recalled many things that had once perplexed him.

* * * * * * * *

It was late in May when Sir George and Lady Bennington left on their yearly visit to England, leaving Hal with the enviable holiday ahead of him of playing host at their summer residence in the Thousand Islands. He was privileged to ask what boys he liked; he could have his own canoe and sailboat, any of the servants from the city residence that he wished, and just put in one long, golden summer, swimming, boating, rollicking around, getting tanned and healthy. The only stipulation his parents made was that in addition to the crowd of boys asked he must invite one of the masters. It did not matter which one, so what did Hal do but "cheek it up" to the Head, who had no family to summer with, and who usually wandered off to some lonely mountain resort by himself for the entire vacation. Professor Warwick was amazed.

"Why, Bennington," he exclaimed, "what ever do you want an old codger like me for? There's young Graham, almost a boy himself, and Lewes, the science man, a funny chap. I always think Mr. Lewes is more fun than a cage of cats. I'm a dried-up old fellow that most of the boys are afraid of. You won't enjoy yourself with me around all the time."

"We're only afraid of you in classes, sir," laughed Hal; "no one is afraid of you outside. I've heard the boys josh you on the ball grounds and at the sports no end of times. You've just got to come, Professor!" And the old gentleman did go, to the delight of Hal's parents, who left for England perfectly satisfied that the boys would be well looked after if the Professor was an inmate of their island home.

The party was just about the right size; two of the little boys who lived at the Pacific coast were asked, then Shorty and Cop and little chunky Johnny Miller and Shag Larocque--seven all told, including Hal, and eight, counting the Professor, who, on the first night in camp said, a little gravely, "Hal, my boy, it is a great privilege to be the son of a wealthy man. I have never cared for money, but I would like to be in a position where I could have the pleasure of entertaining my friends in this delightful way."

"I hope I appreciate it, Professor," replied the boy. "Dad is always reminding me of the stacks of people not so well fixed as we are. He frequently tells me of the times when he went hungry--really hungry, without twenty-five cents with which to buy a meal, and he says if ever I forget it and try to put on 'side' that he will thrash me within an inch of my life, even after I am twenty-one."

The Professor roared, a regular boyish shout. "And he'd do it, too, I believe," he chuckled. "That is what makes Sir George so wonderful; with all his wealth he is the same dear old chap he always was. I knew him when he was your age almost--and the only thing about him that has changed is his hair; it is a little thinner now--and grey."

"Yes, dad's a boy yet," smiled Hal, "but I won't give him a chance to lick me on the money score; it's too good fun having you all here, and a royal holiday ahead of us, without hunting for a trimming from dad because I play the la-de-da or think I'm the whole thing."

Shag was thinking hard, but he said nothing; yet, little as he knew of the world, he was quite aware how few boys in Hal's position would act as he had done. Had it not been for Sir George's son what would his life at college have been? He knew Locke never liked him, he knew that Shorty positively disliked him, he knew there was a strong element of prejudice in the school against him, and he knew positively that, were it not for Lord Mortimer's influence and recommendation, he would never have been accepted in this exclusive college as a student. What then did he owe to Hal? Everything, as far as making life in the East bearable, as far as being received on an equality with the other boys went. It was a tremendous debt that he owed this handsome boy who was his host for the summer. But before the holiday was ended Shag paid that debt with all his heart, and almost with his life.

It happened one day from the simple cause that the camp had run short of bread, and one of the youngsters from the Pacific coast, Freddy by name, had volunteered to paddle over to the mainland for it. The sailboat being laid up for repairs, Freddy ran out the light little Peterborough, and was just getting away from the island when Hal descried him and shouted to him to wait. "Think I'd let you go alone in that canoe, kiddie?" he asked. "There's too much wind to-day; look at her sweep down the north channel. Why, she'd turn you round and round like 'Willie waltzing.' Hold on, I'm coming with you." With that he sprang into the canoe and they were away.

It was rather a cold wind for early September, and the two boys were glad to paddle hard to keep their circulation up. Both were in shirt sleeves and both somewhat chilled; but by the time they had reached the mainland they were all tingling with rioting blood and with appetites ready to attack their cargo of bread, even minus the butter. They started back in good shape, although Hal's weather eye observed that the wind was picking up and that they would have to work for it to make the island in good time for supper. All went well for some distance, although sometimes the waves galloped up and slipped over the bow where Freddy knelt, plying his paddle in good form. Out in mid-stream, with both wind and current against him, Hal had considerable difficulty in steering; his strong, muscular arms pulled little Freddy's stroke around, and he bent to the work of "digging potatoes" with a vengeance. The bow with its light boyish ballast would rise and rise again, slapping down on the surface or taking the waves like a cork. Then came a line of combers, one on top of another. The taut little Peterborough rode the first like a shell, the second she dipped, the third she shipped a whole bucketful of water. As it poured over the deck, little Freddy flung himself backward to escape the drenching, the canoe dipped, Freddy landed full weight on the leeward gunwale--and they were over. For the first instant, Hal was conscious of but one thing, that he was being struck through with the chill of the water on top of being in a heat of perspiration with battling the canoe through the waves. Then he came to the surface to see the canoe, turned turtle, floating bottom up three yards away. Then a limp mass of brown clothes and brown curls cannoned into him, and reaching out, he grasped Freddy.

"Don't get scared, kid," he gasped, spluttering the water out of his throat; "keep cool and don't clutch me too tight." He might as well have spoken to the winds, for little Freddy, chilled through and terror-stricken, was clinging to him like an octopus, impeding his arm and leg action, and almost choking the breath out of his lungs. "Oh, Hal, we're in mid-stream!" gulped the child; "we'll be drowned!"

"Not on your life, kiddie!" spluttered Hal. "I'll get that bally canoe. Only don't hold on around my neck, that's a good kiddie. There, that's better," as Freddy loosened his fingers from Hal's shirt collar, and the boy struck out with one arm around the child and the other working for all the grit and muscle there was in it. His magnificent stroke, helped by the wind and current, soon overhauled the canoe. By a supreme effort he clutched the immersed gunwale. With one arm around Freddy he could never hope to right the boat, but even bottom up she was a salvation. "Grip her, kiddie, grip her as I shove you up," he gasped, "and don't let go; straddle her and hang on! Promise me you will hang on,--promise me!" he cried.

"I'll promise," gulped the child. Then Hal's powerful arm flung itself upwards, his two hands "boosted," and Freddy landed on the upturned canoe, gripping it with all fours and coughing the water from his mouth.

Hal made an attempt to climb up, his fingers slipped; then two terrible little demons seemed to grasp the calves of his legs; their fingers ripped the muscles out and tied them into knots, knots that extended to his knees, his hips, his stomach; his fingers weakened with the agony of it--Hal Bennington knew he was going down with cramps.

Away off to the right he thought he heard a voice; it was saying, "Keep up, Hal, keep up, I'm coming!" but he could not answer. With a last effort he literally screamed, "Hang on, Freddy, hang on!" Then he felt numb, very numb, and all was dark.

Professor Warwick had gone out to furl the awnings against the rising wind. His kindly little eyes were peering through their spectacles at sea and sky when suddenly they rested on a frail canoe that was taking an erratic course toward the island. Instantly he was around at the other side of the cottage. "Boys, boys," he shouted frantically, "Quick, get out the sailboat, Hal's canoe is in danger!"

"Sailboat!" gasped Cop Billings, springing to his feet; "she's no good; bottom's out, a whole patch of her. She's being repaired." But while he talked he was running wildly to the boathouse followed by all the others. As they reached the little wharf they were just in time to see the combers strike the canoe, to see Freddy start, then to see it capsize. For a moment they were horror-stricken, speechless, then Cop yelled, "He's got Freddy! See, he's got him!" It seemed an eternity before they saw Hal grasp the child, then with more horror they saw the upturned canoe floating away, away, away.

"Boys, boys, can nothing be done to help them?" choked the Professor. "Oh, boys, this is terrible!"

"Who swims?" yelled Shorty, "--swims well, I mean."

"You do," jerked Shag at his elbow, with a face bloodless and drawn. "You're the best swimmer in the school. Will you come with me?"

"Come with you?" yelled Shorty. "Out there? Why, you know as well as I do that I can't swim that far, not nearly that far; neither can you."

"I can, and I will," announced Shag in a strangely quiet voice, while with rapid fingers he stripped off his coat and boots.

"You shan't go alone," shouted Cop, beginning to undress; "I'm with you!"

"No, you don't," said the Indian, gripping him by the wrist. "You can't swim twenty yards--you know you can't; and if you get played out, Cop, I tell you right here that I can't stop to help you; I'm going to help Hal."

"Why can't you try it, Shorty?" roared Cop "Anything rather than let him go alone!"

But Shorty stood resolute. "I tell you I can't swim that far and back, and I ain't going to try it only to get drowned," he snarled; but even as he spoke there flashed past him a lithe, tan-colored body in skintight silken underwear; there followed a splash, and Shag's clean, dark face rose to the surface as he struck out towards the unfortunates.

The Professor was beside himself with horror. "Boys, boys!" he cried aloud, "Hal's going down! Something is wrong; he's sinking!" The words reached Shag's ears and he seemed to leap ahead like a giant fish.

"Heaven help them!" moaned poor Cop. "Oh, what an idiot I was never to practise more!"

"It's awful!" began Shorty.

"Don't you open your head!" shouted Cop; "if I could swim like you nothing would keep me ashore."

"Never mind, boys," moaned Professor Warwick; "don't quarrel with this tragedy before us. Look, Shag's simply leaping ahead. There goes Hal again--that's the second time he's gone under! Oh, my boy!--my poor Hal!" and the little old man rushed wildly up to the servants' quarters for the cook and the pantry-boy and ropes--anything, everything that would hold out a hope of rescue.

And on against wind and current Shag battled his way; inch by inch, foot by foot, yard by yard he forged forward, until he saw Hal loose his grip and sink, and then rise and fight to reach the canoe again. It was then that Shag raised his chin and shouted hoarsely, "Keep up, Hal, keep up! I'm coming!" the words that faintly reached Hal's ears before the silence and the dark came. Then as he rose from the depths, an unconscious, helpless hulk, a strong tan-colored arm wound around him like a lifebelt, and a well-nigh breathless boy, with almost superhuman strength, flung him, limp and nearly lifeless, across the canoe. The impact almost hurled Freddy from his slender hold, but for a few seconds the two boys were safe. Above the slippery bow poor Shag clasped his arms, allowing his body to drift.

With but this frail anchorage, he well knew that the canoe would never float them all. There was but little of her above the water. The waves were beating hard now; any moment weak little Freddy and unconscious Hal might be swept off. Once, as the fear of losing life gripped him, he began to struggle on to the canoe; then he remembered, and slipped back to float, to cling, to slowly--slowly--await the horrors of the unknown.

For five terrible minutes they drifted, minutes that were an eternity to those on shore, and to those fighting for life in mid-stream. Then around the bend of the island came the thin, shrill whistle of a steam launch as it headed directly for the upturned canoe, the skipper signalling to those on the island that he was hot on the way to the rescue.

Old Professor Warwick wept like a woman when he saw it fly past, and the boys gulped back their breath. They dared not even try to cheer; their voices were strangled in their throats.

"Just in time, and that's all, captain," said the engineer as he brought the launch about. "Better reach for the chap in the water first."

"No," Shag managed to say, "take the kiddie; he's slipping off. I'm good for a minute longer." So they lifted Freddy into the launch, then poor unconscious Hal, and lastly Shag, exhausted but gritty and game to the last.

Hal had been in his own bed for two hours before he spoke, and the first word he said was "Freddy?"

"Freddy's here," trembled Professor Warwick, "here safe and sound, and you're safe, too."

"I dreamt I heard Shag call, call that he was coming to me," said Hal feebly.

"It was no dream, Hal," answered the Professor; "he did call and went to you, saved you, swam out like the prince he is--saved you, Hal, saved you!" Hal started up, his eyes wild with fear.

"Where is he? Where's Shag?" he demanded.

"Here, Hal," said the Indian from the opposite side of the room.

Hal stretched out his hand; Shag walked very shakily across and clasped it within his own.

"If you hadn't been here, Shag, I could never have looked dad and mother in the face again," he sighed.

"But I am here," smiled Shag, "and, what is better, you're here and Freddy, too."

"Yes, but I know the reason that I'm here is that you somehow pulled me out," said Hal. "I had an idea once that Shorty might come, he swims so well; but you came, Shag!" Then he fell asleep; but Shag did not remove his hand, although the boy slept for hours.

* * * * * * * *

Not long after this college opened for the autumn term, and Professor Warwick and his charges were well settled in residence before the old gentleman was obliged to acknowledge that Hal seemed unable to throw off the shock of the accident, or the chill that seemed to cling to him in spite of all care; but he tucked in bravely at his studies, and only the Professor knew that the boy was not his own self.