When Walter recovered from the shock of firing—his primitive, flintlock musket kicked like a mule—the great, dark, hairy bulk lay almost at his feet. Had he hit behind the ear? He would take no chances. The muscles of the big body were twitching. Hurriedly reloading, he fired again, the gun muzzle almost against the buffalo’s head. An instant later there came another report. Raoul had picked himself up, seized his gun, that had been thrown out of the cart, and fired at the fallen beast. He missed it in his excitement, by a wider margin than he missed Walter.
Walter took no heed of the wild shot. His only thought was of Elise and Max. He turned to find Elise stooped over her little brother, her arms around him. When she realized that the danger was over, she sank down in a heap in the grass. Max wriggled from her arms and sat up.
“Elise,” cried Walter, “what were you trying to do?”
“Drag Max out of the way,” she answered simply. “Didn’t you see? That terrible beast was coming straight towards him!”
“And straight towards you, too. Didn’t you think of that?”
“She is the bravest girl I ever saw,” exclaimed Marie Brabant. Marie, who had been on the other side of Raoul, had fled to safety, and had not returned until the danger was over.
“No, no,” Elise protested. “I was terribly frightened when I saw that huge, ugly beast coming up the hill. But when Max fell out of the cart, I thought he was going to be killed. I have looked after him ever since Mother died you know, Walter,” she added, as if in excuse for her own bravery.
“You are the bravest girl I ever knew,” Marie repeated emphatically, “even if you are afraid of snakes.”
But Elise had turned to her little brother. “You aren’t hurt, are you, Max?” she asked anxiously.
“Just my shoulder where I fell on it,” the lad replied bravely. “I think——”
He was interrupted by Neil’s shout. Unnoticed by the others, the Scotch boy had ridden up the hill. He dismounted beside the dead buffalo.
“It was all my fault,” he said contritely. “I ought not to have driven the beasts this way. I saw you, but I was after a cow and didn’t notice that bull turning towards you. I never thought of his charging up hill. I didn’t know you were in any danger, till I heard the shot and looked up here. You’ve made a good kill, Walter. He’s a big fellow. And you certainly kept your head. I’m not sure I wouldn’t have lost mine, if I had been in your place.” This was a generous admission from anyone as proud of his courage and prowess as Neil MacKay was. At that moment, however, Neil was not in the least proud of himself. His carelessness had brought peril to his friends.
When Neil went in pursuit of the frightened pony, he found it feeding on the prairie grass on the other side of the ridge. Hindered by the cart, it had not run far. He had righted the badly wrecked vehicle, and was examining the breaks, when the rest of his party, with the other cart and the lame pony, came up. Mr. Perier was appalled when he heard of his children’s peril, and Mrs. Brabant was warm in her praise of the courage and coolness of Elise and Walter.
The hunt had swept away towards the Red River, leaving the trampled prairie dotted with the dark bodies of the fallen buffalo. Here and there a wounded beast struggled to its feet and made off painfully. The sight of the injured and slain was not a pleasant one for the tender-hearted Elise, and she turned her back upon it.
“I wish,” she confided to Mrs. Brabant, “people didn’t have to kill things for food. I hate buffalo. They are ugly beasts. But I don’t like to see them killed, except the one that would have killed Max. Of course Walter had to shoot that one.”
The Canadian woman put an arm around her and comforted her. “It is necessary, my dear, for people to have meat to live, especially in this wild country where we raise so little from the ground. I have always told my boys not to be wasteful in their hunting, not to kill for the sake of killing. If no one killed more than could be eaten or kept for food, there would always be plenty of animals in the world.”
As the carts descended the slope to the hunting ground, the hunters began to straggle back from the chase. By the place where the animal lay, the spot where the bullet had entered, and sometimes by the bullet itself, they identified the game they had slain. Many of the hunters had marked their bullets so they would know them.
Neil had killed two buffalo and Louis four. Their party was well supplied with meat. The bull Walter had shot was too old and tough for food. At that season of the year the skin was not fit for a robe. The summer coat of hair was short, and in many places ragged and rubbed off. But Louis said that the tough hide was just the thing for new harness. With Walter’s permission the Canadian boy set to work. With sure and skilful strokes of his sharp knife, he marked out the harness on the body of the buffalo, and stripped off the pieces. When dry,—with a thong or two in place of buckles,—the harness would be ready for use.
One by one the carts returned to camp loaded with meat and hides. Though of no use for robes, the short haired summer skins were in the very best condition for tanning. Buffalo leather was used by thebois brulésfor tents, cart covers, and other purposes.
The choicest cuts were soon broiling over the coals. At the same time the rest of the meat was being prepared for pemmican making. It was cut into large lumps, then into thin slices, which were hung on lines in the hot sun or placed on scaffolds over slow fires. For the meat drying and pemmican making, the hunters prepared to remain in camp three days. It was a very busy time, yet a rest from traveling.
The Brabant family and Neil knew just how to go about the work, but the Periers and Walter, though willing and ready to help, had to be taught. After the buffalo strips were well dried, they were placed on hides and pounded with wooden flails or stones until the meat was a thick, flaky pulp. In the meantime the fat and suet were melting to liquid in huge kettles. Hide bags were half filled with the flaked meat, the melted fat poured in, the whole stirred with a long stick until thoroughly mixed, and the bags sewed up tight while still hot. So prepared, the pemmican would keep for months, even years, if not subjected to dampness or too high a temperature.
The skins selected for tanning were stretched and staked down, and the flesh scraped off with an iron scraper or a piece of sharp-edged bone. When the hides had been well cleaned and partially cured by the sun, they were folded and packed away in the carts to receive a final dressing later.
On the second day in camp a small body of Indians passed about a mile away in pursuit of a herd of buffalo. A half dozen of the hunters, who were out scouting, encountered some of the band. They reported that the Indians were Sioux, Yankton Dakota from farther west. They appeared friendly enough. The hunting party felt no concern about them, except as possible horse thieves. The men were especially careful that night to see that every pony was safe within the circle of carts. The camp guards were even more alert than usual.
There was feasting and jollity, as well as busy work, in the hunting camp. Thebois brulésalways had time to fiddle and dance, to play games and race their ponies over the prairie. Their capacity for fresh meat was enormous. Walter marveled at the quantity of buffalo tongues, humps, and ribs consumed. From dawn to dark, it seemed to him, there was never a moment when cooking and eating were not going on somewhere in the camp. Even the lean dogs grew fat on what was thrown away and what they managed to steal. The wild creatures profited, too. The scene of the hunt beyond the low ridge was frequented, night and day, by birds of prey and wolves.
With high expectations of further sport, the hunters resumed their march to the south. They were not disappointed, for they were in true buffalo country. The first time Walter joined in the chase, he was so excited and confused by the wild ride across the prairie and the charge into the band of stampeding beasts, that he could do nothing but cling to his horse and try to avoid being thrown or trampled. It was not until the herd had scattered and the worst of the wild confusion was over, that he managed to get a shot at one of the animals, and missed it. Mortified by his failure, he tried a different plan next time. He kept to the outskirts of the herd, singled out a young bull, pursued it, and brought it down.
Though some of the hunters, like Louis, killed only what they could use and saved as much of the meat as possible, the majority of thebois bruléswere wasteful and improvident. They ran buffalo for the mere excitement of the chase, killed for sport, and frequently took nothing but the tongue, leaving the rest for the wolves and crows. Like white hunters of a later period, they believed the herds of buffalo inexhaustible. Yet it did not take many years of unwise slaughter almost to exterminate the animals that, during the first half of the nineteenth century, roamed the prairies in hundreds of thousands.
Sometimes the hunters had accidents. Men thrown from their horses suffered severe sprains and broken bones. Occasionally too heavy a charge of powder burst a gun. Raoul’s old musket was ruined in this manner. He carried his left hand bandaged for weeks, and was lucky to lose no more than the tip of his forefinger. There were many maimed hands among the hunters. Fortunately none of the injuries was fatal, though one man was so badly hurt when he was thrown and trampled that he would never hunt again. Thebois bruléswere skilled in the rough and ready treatment of wounds, sprains, and broken bones, but not over particular about cleanliness. Their open air life, however, helped most of the hurts to heal rapidly.
Day after day the caravan made its slow and creaking way to the south. Now and then bands of Sioux, out on the summer hunt, were seen. Sometimes Indians visited the camp, with no apparent unfriendly intentions. The savage blood in the Pembina half-breeds was mostly Cree and Ojibwa. But the hunting party was too large and well armed to fear hostility from small, wandering bands of Sioux.
Nevertheless the Pembina men had no intention of penetrating too far into Sioux country. They did not wish to provoke the tribes to unite against them. When camp was made one night on the bank of the Sheyenne River, the chief of the hunt announced that they would go south no farther. July had come. They had been out nearly four weeks. The carts were well loaded with fresh and dried meat, fat, pemmican, and hides. On the morrow they would turn, circling to the west a little, and, hunting as they went, make their way back to Pembina. They should reach the settlement early in August.
This decision meant that if the Brabants and Periers were to go on to the St. Peter and Mississippi rivers, they must part company with the hunters. That night Mr. Perier and the boys consulted with Lajimonière, St. Antoine, and others who knew something of the country to the south and east. Lake Traverse, they were told, was only three or four days’ march away. At the lake were traders who would doubtless help them on their journey.
Some of the hunters shook their heads at the idea of such a small party traveling alone sixty or seventy miles across Dakota country. There would be grave danger in the attempt, they said, and advised against it. But Mr. Perier, Walter, and Louis had not come so far merely to turn back to Pembina. They were bound for the Mississippi and intended to reach it somehow. They might have hesitated to travel alone farther to the southwest, but everyone said that the route to the southeast was less dangerous. The Indians who visited Lake Traverse were in the habit of dealing with traders.
In truth the hunters had neither seen nor heard sign of trouble anywhere. The Indians they had encountered had seemed inoffensive enough. The boys had rather lost their awe of the dread Sioux. They were beginning to believe that the tales of the fierceness and cruelty of those savages were greatly exaggerated. As Neil expressed it, “Most of that sort of talk is just an excuse for Saulteur and half-breed cowardice. They have made bogies of the Sioux. I can’t see that they are different from any other Indians. I don’t believe they dare molest white men.”
The always hopeful Mr. Perier was quite sure there would be no difficulty in reaching Traverse. “We are not enemy Indians raiding the Sioux country,” he argued. “We are peaceable white settlers going about our own affairs. Probably we shall meet no Indians at all. If we do, we will treat them in a polite and friendly manner. They are reasonable human beings just like ourselves. They have no reason to harm us and I don’t believe they will try to.”
“We will take care to avoid them anyway,” added Louis, not quite so sure of Sioux reasonableness, but eager to go on.
Louis had hoped to persuade some of the hunters to go to Lake Traverse with the little party. In fact St. Antoine and another man had half promised. But both suddenly changed their minds. The boys could find no one else willing to leave the hunt for the trip to the trading post. There was nothing to do but go on alone. Before they rolled themselves in their blankets, they had decided to part with the hunters on the following day.
The Sheyenne River, where the night’s camp was pitched, should not be confused with the Cheyenne, which is a tributary of the Missouri. Both were named after the same tribe of Indians, who once lived along their banks. To distinguish the two, different spellings of the name have been adopted. The Sheyenne is a much smaller stream than the Cheyenne, and one of the principal rivers that go to form the Red. After a general course to the east, the Sheyenne turns north, and runs almost parallel with the Red, to fall into it at last. The spot where the hunters were camped was only about ten miles from the Red, but another stream, the Wild Rice, lay between.
St. Antoine advised against going directly east. “If you go east,” he said, “you will reach the Rivière Rouge many miles below the Lac Traverse. It is more difficult to cross there. I cannot tell you whether there is a ford or not. But if you keep to the southeast, reaching the river where it is narrow and shallow, you can cross easily. There it is not called Rivière Rouge, but Bois des Sioux. A few miles above where the Bois des Sioux joins the Ottertail, which comes from the east to form the real Rivière Rouge, there is a good crossing place. When you are across, turn south and follow the river to the Lac Traverse.”
The caravan was slow in getting away that morning. The good-naturedbois bruléslingered to help the Brabant-Perier party across the Sheyenne. At some time hunters or traders had built a rude log bridge over the deep, muddy stream. Part of the old bridge had been carried away by flood waters, but skilled axmen soon repaired it, so that the two carts could be taken across.
By the time good-byes were said, last words of advice and warning spoken, the river crossed, and the steep bank climbed, the sun had passed its highest point. St. Antoine, Lajimonière, and several others rode with the little party through the thick woods that fringed the stream bank. The woods passed, St. Antoine carefully pointed out the route. The day was clear, and the travelers could see far across the flat, open country.
“You see thatîle des bois?” questioned St. Antoine, pointing to a tiny dark dot far away on the prairie. “That is the onlyîle des boisfor many miles around. Make straight for it. You can camp there to-night. There is a spring, and wood to boil your kettle. To-morrow go on in the same direction, and you will come to the river the Sioux callPse, the white menFolle Avoine, from the wild rice that grows in its marshes. If you keep a straight course you will reach that river near a fording place. From there the Bois des Sioux is less than a day’s journey. But do not try to take your carts across either river until you are sure that the water is not too deep or the current too strong. The Bois des Sioux is a small stream and has many shallow places. Go then, and the good God go with you.”
The hunters turned back, waved a last farewell, and disappeared among the trees. Louis set his face towards the dark dot far across the prairie. “Marche donc!” he cried, and slapped his pony’s flank, he was riding ahead as guide, while Neil and Walter walked beside the carts.
The stretch of flat prairie between the Sheyenne and the Wild Rice looked easy to cross. The party expected to make good time, but the very flatness of the land proved a hindrance. The poorly drained plain was marshy. The grass grew tall and coarse, the soil it sprang from was spongy and frequently soft and wet. Stretches of standing water or very soft ground, grown thick with marsh grass and cattails, had to be skirted. In spite of the travelers’ care in picking their way, the cart wheels often sank far into the mud and water, and the faithful ponies had to pull hard to haul them through. In such places Mrs. Brabant and the children got out and walked or rode the two saddle ponies. Most of the time Louis or Neil rode ahead to select the route.
The difficult going lengthened the ten or twelve miles to that dark spot of woods. Sunset found the party still a mile or more from theîle des bois. It would be better to go on, they decided, than to camp on the wet, open ground, with no wood for a fire, and only stagnant marsh water to drink.
Louis and Mr. Perier, with Max in front of him on the saddle, were riding in advance. Then came the carts with Mrs. Brabant and the girls, Neil beside the first cart, Raoul accompanying the second. Walter plodded along in the rear. Turning to look back at the sunset sky, where the reds and golds were already fading away, he noticed several dark forms loping along the trail through the tall grass. They were prairie wolves.
Walter had often seen wolves following the cart train, cleverly keeping just out of musket range, but ready to close in on the remains of any game that might be killed. He did not fear the cowardly scavengers. Yet now they gave him a strange feeling he had never had when with the long caravan. The sight of those wild creatures, shadowy in the twilight, following so boldly in the wake of the tiny party, brought to him a sudden sense of loneliness and peril such as he had not known before. He shivered, though the evening was warm. Then he raised his gun, intending to frighten the beasts, even if he could not hit them.
Before he had time to fire, an exclamation from Mrs. Brabant caused him to lower his gun and turn towards the cart. Both carts had stopped. A hundred feet ahead Louis and Mr. Perier had reined in. Louis jumped from his horse and stooped to examine the ground.
“What is it? Why are we stopping?” Walter asked Raoul.
“Louis signaled for a halt. I don’t know why.”
Moved by curiosity, Walter followed Neil and Raoul to the spot where the horsemen had reined in. It did not need the Scotch boy’s exclamation or Louis’ sober face to make Walter understand the seriousness of what they had found. They had come upon a trail, a clear, distinct trail. It was not the wide, trampled track of a buffalo herd, but the clearly defined, narrow trail of horses single file.
“Indians?” asked Walter, though he knew well enough that the question was unnecessary.
Neil answered with a grunt of assent. Louis, leading his horse, had gone on a little farther. In a moment he turned and summoned the others. He had come upon a parallel trail, somewhat wider and more irregular than the first and marked with lines resembling wheel tracks, but not so wide as those made by the broad-rimmed cart wheels.
“Travois,” he said briefly. “Heavily loaded.”
Walter had heard the wordtravoisbefore in the sense in which Louis used it. It was the name the French Canadians had given to a primitive Indian conveyance, two poles lashed to the sides of a horse or dog, the front ends resting on the animal’s shoulders, the rear ends trailing on the ground. Cross pieces were tied on, and a hide or blanket stretched between the poles. Travois were loaded with household goods, or carried women too old and children too young to walk or ride horseback. The crude vehicles were used everywhere by the prairie Indians.
A little farther on was another similar trail, and beyond it a fourth, a narrow horse track like the first.
“A whole band,” Louis concluded, “women and children and all. When I saw that first trail I feared it was a war party of mounted men only.”
“They are traveling as if in enemy country,” Neil commented, “in four lines, instead of single file.”
“With the travois and women in the middle, and the braves on the outside,” added Louis. “Yes, they must be uneasy about something.”
“How long ago do you think they passed?” asked Mr. Perier.
“Not many hours. Since last night. It must have been before noon though. We could have seen them a long way across the prairie.”
“They are far away by now.”
“Yes. It is good that we did not make an earlier start.”
“And that our trail crosses theirs instead of going the same way,” said Neil. “We’d better go on as fast as we can to that clump of trees. Our camp will be hidden there.” Somehow he did not feel quite so sure now that Dakotas would not dare to attack white men, especially when the white men had horses to be stolen.
Louis climbed on his pony again, and the other boys turned back to bring up the carts. They made the best speed they could through the tall grass and over the marshy ground, but darkness had settled down before they reached theîle des bois.
Finding a camping place among the trees, Louis and Walter unhitched and unsaddled the horses. Instead of hobbling them and turning them loose to feed, they tied the four ponies to trees close to the camp fire, where they could browse on tufts of grass, leaves, and twigs. Louis was taking no risk of losing them. In the meantime Neil was cutting wood, Raoul had kindled a fire, Mr. Perier had brought water from a rather brackish pool, and Mrs. Brabant and the girls were preparing supper.
To Walter the seclusion and shelter of the grove came as a relief from the open prairie. The cheerful flames of the camp fire lighting up the surrounding tree trunks and the cottonwood leaves overhead, the appetizing smell of pemmican heating in an iron pan, raised his spirits. He forgot the following wolves and the Indian trail. The rest of the party also seemed to have forgotten the unpleasant things of the day’s journey. Elise hummed to herself as she helped Mrs. Brabant with the simple meal. Max ran about to find sticks for the fire. Raoul teased Marie, as he often did, and she retorted in her usual lively manner. Little Jeanne, with the dog Askimé beside her, had fallen sound asleep on a blanket bed between the carts. She had to be waked when supper was ready.
The meal was as cheerful as if the little group had still been part of the big hunting party. Yet the loneliness of their situation had its effect upon them. Unconsciously they lowered their voices. At the slightest sound from beyond the circle of firelight, the stirring of a horse, the breaking of a twig, the rustling of a bush, the cry of a night bird, everyone glanced quickly around. When a screech owl in a near-by tree wailed, they were all startled, then, shamefaced, laughed at themselves.
After supper Mr. Perier drew Louis aside. “Do you think we ought to stand guard to-night?” he asked in a low voice.
“I think it most wise,” Louis replied promptly. “We do not wish our horses stolen, if any Indians have seen the smoke of our fire.”
Including Raoul, who was quite old enough to do guard duty and would have been insulted if anyone had suggested that he was not, there were five men in the party. To make up an even number, Mrs. Brabant insisted on taking her turn. It was arranged that Walter and Raoul should keep first watch, Mr. Perier and Neil second, and Louis and his mother the hours just before dawn. Both the latter knew, though they said nothing about it, that before dawn was the time danger was most likely to come, if it came at all. Mrs. Brabant confessed to Louis that she would not be sleeping then anyway, and might just as well be standing guard.
Though they had seen no sign of Indians except the track across the prairie, and seemed to be in no real danger, everyone but the two younger children slept lightly and uneasily. The beasts seemed to catch their masters’ uneasiness. Askimé, as if personally responsible for the safety of the camp, padded back and forth and round about through the grove, growling low in his throat sometimes, but never making a loud sound. The night was windy, and the mosquitoes were not troublesome, but the ponies were restless. They crowded as close to the carts as their lariats would permit. Now and then one or another would jump and snort as if in terror. Yet the guards could find nothing wrong, no cause of disturbance except the howling of a wolf on the prairie or the hooting of a hunting owl.
The camp was stirring early, and the sheltering grove was soon left behind. On every side the prairie, empty and peaceful, stretched away into misty distance. The fears and alarms of the night had been imaginary.
As on the day before, the route lay over flat, poorly drained, often marshy country, where the grass grew tall and rank. By going directly east, the travelers might have reached the Wild Rice River in a few hours, but far from the place where St. Antoine had advised them to cross. Even if they succeeded in crossing, they knew they would lose rather than gain time by going that way. If they went straight east they would come to the Red River a number of miles below the Ottertail, where the Red was much larger and more difficult to ford. St. Antoine had explained all that, showing them how, by going southeast, instead of east and then south, they would find better fording places as well as save actual distance. So they continued to the southeast.
By the position of the sun and the little grove behind him, Louis strove to keep a straight course, a difficult feat for anyone less experienced in prairie travel. Louis himself found it far from easy, especially when he had to make detours around impassable ground. Many times that day he wished for St. Antoine or some other older and more prairie-wise man.
As the sun rose higher, the day grew very hot. Even the ponies felt the effect of the heat, as they plodded steadily on. At noon the party halted for an hour on the open prairie, to let the horses rest and feed. There was not a stick of fuel anywhere, so the pemmican was eaten cold, and washed down with a sip of the warm, brackish water they had brought from theîle des bois.
In mid afternoon, hot and tired, the little caravan reached the bank of a stream Louis knew must be the Wild Rice. A narrow, crooked, muddy stream it proved to be, like a deep ditch between high and scantily wooded banks. At the top of the bank the carts halted, while Louis and Neil scrambled down, leading their horses, to look for a ford. After a half hour’s search for a place that appeared safe, the two boys came upon a trail. The slope was a little less steep in this spot, and, winding down to the water’s edge, was the well-worn track of men and animals. There was no mistaking it.
“Here is a ford,” Louis announced confidently. “It is here that the Indians cross.”
“It looks like it,” Neil agreed. “We might as well go back for the carts. This is the easiest place we’ve seen to bring them down.”
Louis shook his head. “Wait a bit,” he commanded. “I must see if the crossing is safe. The trail is old. There are no signs that anyone has crossed recently, and the river is yet far from its lowest point. You stay here, and I will try to trace the ford and make sure it is not too deep.”
“All right,” consented Neil. “I’ll keep an eye on you. If you get into trouble, I’ll go to your help.”
The water was so thick and muddy, Louis could scarcely see whether it was deep or shallow. His pony was sure footed, and picked its way carefully. So he left the finding of the ford to the animal’s instinct and intelligence. Slowly they made their way across. The water rose to the horse’s sides, but did not carry it off its feet, as the current was sluggish. There was one deep place, however, where the pony was forced to swim a few yards.
Neil, mounted and ready to go to the rescue, watched anxiously. His help was not needed. The pony found foothold, and was soon scrambling up the farther bank to dry land. Dismounting, Louis patted the animal and rubbed its nose. Unlike thebois brulés, he treated his beasts kindly. He had brought this horse up from colthood, and it had no fear of him. After resting a few minutes, boy and pony made their way back again.
“Can we get the carts across?” asked Neil, as Louis, wet to the waist, reached shore.
“Yes, if we pull them over with ropes. We can take my mother and the children on the horses. There is only the one deep place, and the current is not strong. César knew the way. He took me out where the trail goes up from the water. This is an old fording place.”
“St. Antoine said nothing about a trail.”
“No, I think this is not the place where he crossed. We may be miles from that spot.”
“If we can get across here, that is all we care about,” returned Neil.
The old trail was steep but not impossible for vehicles. With the boys acting as brakes by hanging on to the rear, the carts made their screeching, groaning way down. The horses were unhitched, and rawhide ropes attached to one of the carts. Then Louis and Walter rode over the ford, wound the ropes around a willow tree for greater security, and began to pull. The others steadied the cart into the water. Neil, mounting hastily, rode behind it to prevent disaster.
Part way across, the wheels stuck in the muddy bottom and would not turn. Neil jumped off his horse, and Raoul waded out to help him. They pushed and heaved vigorously, while Louis and Walter pulled, and got the cart moving again. In the deep place the box body floated, and the boys succeeded in pulling it to shore before it took in much water. Knowing that the dry box would leak more or less, they had lined it with hides. The load came through uninjured.
The same process was repeated with the second cart, which was not so lucky and took in more water. Then Mrs. Brabant and the girls, their skirts gathered up under them on the horses’ backs, were brought across, wetting no more than their feet and ankles. Max, sitting cross legged in front of his father, did not even get his feet wet. The older boys and Mr. Perier were well soaked. The day was so warm they did not mind a wetting.
The search for the ford and the crossing had taken a long time. The sun was low when the weary little party started up the old trail to seek a camping place. It happened that Walter, leading one of the horses along the steep track, was ahead. As he reached the top, picking his way, he turned to look back at the pony. After the horse was up, he continued to stand looking down, watching the carts making their slow way up, the ponies pulling steadily, the boys pushing. He ought to be down there helping, he thought.
The neighing of a horse startled him. He swung around, gave one gasp, and fairly tumbled down the bank, dragging the surprised pony after him.
“Indians!” he gasped.
“Where?” Louis let go his hold on the first cart, and scrambled up to join Walter.
“Coming across the prairie. A whole band of them.”
“How far away? Did they see you?”
“They must have seen me. There are no trees. I stood right in the open.”
Louis dropped flat and wormed his way up the slope. He raised his head cautiously, lowered it quickly, and slid back.
“They certainly saw you. They are too close to have missed you. We can’t avoid them. They come straight to the ford. We have no time to get out of the way. There is not enough cover to hide in. And they must have seen you and the horse. We must put on a bold front and not act afraid. That is the only thing we can do.”
The rest of the party, alarmed by the two boys’ actions, had stopped in their tracks. Not many seconds were spent in telling them what was happening. All realized that Louis was right when he said there was nothing to do but put on a bold front. In a few moments the tiny caravan was moving again. Raoul held Askimé by the collar to keep him from running ahead.
Louis and Walter went first, side by side, leading their horses. When he came in view of the prairie, Walter’s heart beat fast. He struggled to control his trembling knees, and to appear cool and unconcerned.
A very short distance away, coming straight towards the two lads, was a little group of mounted men, with bare, black heads and feathers in their hair. Some wore loose buckskin shirts. The bronze bodies of others were bare. Beyond them more mounted men, men, women, and children on foot, pack animals, and travois covered the prairie in a wide, irregular, disorderly procession.
“A whole band out on the hunt,” said Louis. “Well, that is less to be feared than a war party of braves only.”
The advance group let out a yell, a wild, menacing sound it seemed to the Swiss boy, hammered their horses’ sides with their heels, and came on at a gallop. Louis swung himself into the saddle, and advanced to meet them, one arm raised in the friendship sign. Walter mounted and followed, imitating the gesture.
The leading Indian responded with upraised arm, and the group came on. Surrounding the lads, they reined in their ponies. Walter’s heart was thumping against his ribs, but the trembling had passed. He sat straight and steady in the saddle, and kept a calm exterior.
“Bo jou,” said Louis pleasantly.
“How,” stolidly returned the leader of the advance party. He was a well-built, broad-shouldered fellow in the prime of life. A piece of buffalo robe was his only saddle. He guided his horse with a cord of twisted hair around the jaw, and rode with free and easy grace.
As Louis knew only four or five words of Dakota, communication had to be carried on principally in sign language. Recognizing the word for trader when the Indian spoke again, Louis replied with a shake of his head, then pointed to the carts just appearing over the top of the bank. He interpreted the Indian’s next gesture as a question about the size of the party, and held up ten fingers in answer. Wishing to convey the idea that the ten were only part of a much larger party, he pointed across the river, and spread out his fingers, closing and opening them several times.
The Indian nodded, stared fixedly at the carts, and inquired, “Minnewakan?”
That was one of the few words Louis knew. “Nominnewakan, no liquor,” he replied. His questioner looked disappointed, so Louis hastened to add, “We can give you a little tobacco.Tabac,” he repeated with emphasis.
Evidently the Indian had heard the wordtabacin intercourse with the traders. He repeated it with a nod and held out his hand.
Louis pointed towards the carts, and said quickly to Walter, “Go get some tobacco. It will be all right. We’re safe enough for the present.”
The Indians made no move to hinder Walter’s return to the carts. He was back in a few moments with the tobacco, which Louis divided among the group of braves, taking care to give the largest portion to the leader.
The first of the main body of Indians had come on almost to the river bank, a little way beyond where the carts were standing, and had halted there. The boys’ new acquaintance pointed to the spot, then brought the tips of his forefingers together to indicate the pointed shape of a tipi. Walter guessed the man’s meaning to be that the band would camp there for the night. His heart sank. He had been hoping that the Indians would go on across the river.
If Louis was troubled, he did not show it. He pointed the other way,—up river,—and made the same sign. Then he said “Bo jou” again and turned his horse in that direction.
The Indian gave a little grunt which might have meant either assent or protest. Neither he nor his companions showed any wish to hinder the boys’ freedom of movement. They remained motionless for a few moments, then turned towards the camping place of their own band.
“What are we going to do?” asked Walter, when he and Louis had put a few yards between themselves and the Indians.
“We will have to make camp,” Louis replied slowly. “We will not be any safer if we go on. If they wish to steal our horses or interfere with us in any way, they will only follow. They can overtake us easily. Those fellows’ horses are fresher than ours. I saw that at once. We will camp farther up the river, as far as we can without seeming to run away. I tried to make them believe that we are an advance party. If we camp here it will look as if we waited for the others to join us. It is a bad situation, but I do not see what else we can do.”
“If they want to take our horses, though, and everything else we have, we are helpless. We are too few to fight a whole band. I suppose you are right about going on now. If they wished to harm us, some of them would follow. But when they think we are all settled for the night, can’t we steal away in the darkness?”
“I have thought of that,” Louis returned quietly. “That is one reason I want to camp as far away as we can, without making them suspicious. If they seem perfectly friendly, it may be best to remain in camp till morning. We can decide that later. The important thing now is to keep our heads and act as if we had no fear.”
The others of the party realized that Louis knew more than they about Indians, so his view of what was best to do prevailed. He chose a spot back from the river bank on the brink of a narrow, steep sided ravine. Acouleesuch a rift in the prairie was commonly called. There, in the open, nearly a half mile up river from the Indian encampment, camp was pitched.
The dangers of the situation were carefully concealed from the younger children. Elise and Marie were old enough to realize the peril, but they understood as well as their elders that they must not appear afraid. Both girls were frightened, but they tried pluckily not to give way to their fears. Mrs. Brabant set them a good example, going about the camp work in a cheerful, matter-of-fact way. Not even Louis guessed how she was suffering with anxiety and dread. While her lips smiled bravely, she was repeating over and over in her mind passionate prayers for her children’s safety. Though he understood less of the danger, and was by nature always hopeful that things would turn out all right, Mr. Perier too was far from easy in his mind. He regretted sincerely that he had brought Elise and Max on this dangerous journey. Still, as always, he hoped for the best. Of the four older boys, Raoul, the youngest and most reckless, was the least frightened and the most thrilled by the adventure. The feelings of the others were of mingled fear, excitement, and manly pride in the responsibility laid upon them. The red-headed Highland lad, cleaning his gun carefully, was almost hoping for a fight. Louis and Walter, though determined to protect their camp at any cost to themselves if that should be necessary, were racking their brains for ways to avoid conflict of any kind. They must avoid it or their little party would be wiped out.
At first the Indians left the white men to themselves. Before the evening meal was over, however, visitors arrived, announced by a warning growl from Askimé. Into the firelight stalked the sturdy, strong-faced brave who had led the advance party. He was followed by two younger men. Both were slender, wiry fellows, and one was distinctly handsome in a Roman-nosed, high-cheeked, hawk-eyed style. The other was disfigured by a broken and crooked nose.
The young men stood impassive, while the elder made a sign of greeting and said “How” in his deep voice.
Louis, who had risen, returned the “How” and motioned the visitors to seats by the fire, the others moving closer together to make room. Foreseeing that there might be guests, Mrs. Brabant had made more tea and heated more pemmican than usual. She helped the guests liberally, and they ate in silence. When each was satisfied, he carefully placed his cup and plate upside down on the ground.
“Minnewakan?” the elder warrior inquired, as if he had not asked the question before.
Louis shook his head and passed out some tobacco. There was silence, while each Indian gravely smelled of his portion, and stowed it away in his beaded buckskin fire bag.
Then the man with the crooked nose pointed to Askimé, who lay at Louis’ feet, keeping a watchful eye on the strangers. “Nitshunka?” he asked, looking at Louis.
The boy had never heard the word before. He did not know whether the fellow was inquiring if the dog was his, or offering to buy it. In answer he laid one hand on Askimé’s head, and touched his own breast with the other. The young Indian promptly took off the necklace of beasts’ and birds’ claws he wore, and held it out. But Louis shook his head emphatically, saying “Non, non.”
The broken-nosed man nodded gravely, and replaced the necklace, but he continued to gaze at the dog. It was plain that he was anxious to get Askimé by some means or other.
The elder brave soon brought the call to a close. Rising to his feet, he pointed first in the direction of the Indian camp, and then to Louis and Walter in turn. He said something in his own language, drew his forefinger across his forehead, and pointed again towards the camp. The drawing of the forefinger across the forehead was the common sign for a hat-wearer or white man.
Louis’ curiosity was aroused. He drew his finger across his own head, then pointed to his breast.