THE BRIGADE AND AN OLD FRIEND.
After bidding Imogene good-by, I started on a rapid pace to the
northward. At night I kindled a fire by which I slept in safety, and
at an early hour resumed my journey. The character of the country
continued much the same--broad belts of prairie relieved by groves of
trees and streams of considerable magnitude. Birds of all kinds
whirred through the air and sang within the wood, and the dark forms
of wild animals were more than once seen gamboling in the distance.
At noon I reached the banks of a river, so large that I was pretty
certain it was the Yellowstone, and hence was able to judge pretty
correctly of my locality. The river was very broad, and it was quite a
serious undertaking to cross it; but, nevertheless, it had to be done,
and I commenced making my preparations.
As I was stepping in, a sound of voices struck me. I paused and
listened, and soon could hear the loud, regular swelling song
gradually approaching nearer and nearer, and at stated intervals the
powerful chorus. There was something in the sound of this song, at
such a time, that was indescribably stirring and inspiriting; and, as
it came nigher and nigher, and grew louder, its power increased.
Hardly satisfied of the nature of the approaching body, I withdrew a
short distance, and waited its appearance. Soon a large canoe, nearly
full of men, came to view around a bend some hundred yards distant,
and it was instantly followed by another and another, all keeping time
to the words of the song:
We are going with the tide,
Yoho! yoho!
Free as the mountain-winds we glide,
Yoho! yoho!
Oh! ours is a merry life,
Yoho! yoho!
And full of danger, toil, and strife,
Yoho! yoho!
Then join your voices
In the glad refrain,
And let the mountains
Echo back the strain.
As over a score of majestic voices joined in the deep swelling chorus,
the echoes were awakened for miles around. I watched them in wonder
and admiration. Soon, to my surprise, they made toward the shore
where I stood. As it was noon, they were probably putting in for their
dinner. In a moment the boats were hauled up on the bank, and as rough
and hardy a set of fellows as ever met, sprang upon the shore. A half
dozen scattered along the bank, and in a moment returned bearing
armfuls of sticks and fuel. A huge fire was soon blazing and roaring,
an enormous quantity of meat steaming and spitting, and the men,
excepting the cook, were lolling about on the grass, each one smoking
and chatting, and making a scene of pleasant confusion and enjoyment.
I now stepped forth from my concealment. Several turned their faces
toward me as I passed them, but no unusual amount of astonishment was
manifested. I made my way to a group of three, and seated myself
beside them.
“Whar’d you come from?” asked a short, gruff-looking man.
“No place in particular, at present,” I replied, pleasantly.
“One of them Nor’west chaps, I s’pose?”
“No, sir; I am no trapper at all, but a mere adventurer in these
parts.”
“Pooty story to tell them as will believe it,” he retorted, angrily.
“I am sure it is immaterial with me whether you believe it or not.
If I were a member of the Northwest Fur Company, I should not be
ashamed or afraid to own it, as I believe that is as respectable and
honorable as the one in whose service you are.”
[Illustration: “A fight! a fight! make a ring for them.”]
“Boys! do you hear that?” called out a fellow beside me. “Yer’s one of
them sneaking chaps--a Nor’wester, and he’s insulted us--”
“Beg your pardon, sir,” I interrupted; “I did no such thing.”
“Do you hear that, I say?” he called out, without regarding my words.
“Here’s a sneaking Nor’wester cracking up his party afore us.”
I was so provoked that I made no reply or noticed him. His words
attracted their attention, and, anxious to see the trouble, they
gathered round.
“What’s up?” demanded a stumpy fellow, pushing his head in between the
others.
“A fight! a fight!”
“Make a ring for ’em.”
“Blow me, if he don’t look like one o’ them Nor’westers as sent
Governor Semple out the world.[6] Go in, Tom!”
[6] In an affray between two parties, belonging respectively to
the Hudson Bay and Northwest Fur Companies, the leader of the
former, Mr. Semple, was shot by a member of the latter. This
happened some years before the date of our story, but for a long
time there was ill-feeling and frequent encounters between the
members of the companies.
“I’ll maul him as soon as I get in fightin’ order,” said Tom--he of my
first acquaintance.
Matters were now getting serious. A collision between the redoubtable
Tom and myself seemed unavoidable. His impudent bravado and insults
had roused me somewhat, and I made up my mind that I should withdraw
nothing I had uttered, and bear none of his insolence.
“What’s the row?” demanded another; “I don’t understand it.”
“Why, here’s a sneakin’ Nor’wester,” answered Tom, “blowin’ ’bout
things, and I’ve made up my mind I won’t stand it;” and he continued
his war-like preparations.
“That’s right, Tom, go in and win,” added several voices.
“Gentlemen,” said I, “all I ask is that you shall understand this
matter and show fair play--”
“We’ll do that, you!” interrupted several.
“In the first place,” I continued, “I have said nothing against the
company in whose service you are. This man, whom you call Tom, accused
me of being a member of a rival company; I replied I was not, although
I should not be ashamed if such were the case, as I considered the
latter as respectable as yours. He avers, however, I have insulted
you, and seems determined to avenge it, and I am perfectly willing to
gratify him. As I told him, I am not in the service of any company,
but am a mere adventurer in these parts. With this explanation I am
now ready for any proceeding he may wish.”
“Smash me to nuthin’, ram me down and shoot me, if thar ain’t Jarsey,
or I’m a sinner!” exclaimed a familiar voice, and the same instant
Bill Biddon stepped into the ring before me. “Give us your paw,
Jarsey.”
He grasped my hand and gave a vigorous gripe, while his scarred
countenance was dissolved in one great broad smile. It is needless to
say I was delighted beyond measure at this unexpected meeting.
“Why, Bill, I little thought to meet you here.”
“And yer’s as what thinks Bill didn’t think so himself.”
During this passage of words between us, the others stood wondering
and perplexed. The honest old trapper turned, and seeing Tom standing
with his fists still clinched, shouted:
“Ef you say another word to that gentleman thar, as is worth forty
like you, there’ll be only a grease-spot left of you. Do you hear,
eh?” and he shook his ponderous fist beneath his nose.
The fellow did hear, and with a muttering, “It’s cu’rous, I allow,”
donned his coat with the most perfect meekness.
“Now,” said Biddon facing the rest, “if thar are any ’bout yer as
wants to take up this fout, why jist step forward and get lammed.”
“Is he a Nor’wester?” asked one, breaking the perfect silence.
“What you want to know fur?”
“’Cause if he is, he can’t pass this crowd without swallerin’ them
words.”
“What words?” demanded Biddon, fiercely.
“What Tom said he said.”
“Have I not explained--” I commenced.
“Now jist hold on, Jarsey,” interrupted the trapper, turning toward me
with a backward wave of his hand. “Now, hold on, you, fur ef you take
back anything you’ve said, shoot me, ef _I_ don’t lick you. Ogh!” Then
turning to the others he continued, “He ain’t goin’ to take back
nothin’ he’s said yerabouts; and ef Tom Wilson thar don’t swaller what
_he_ said, yer’s as will make him do it.”
“I mought’ve be mistaken,” said the now thoroughly-frightened Tom.
“That won’t do.”
“Wal, he didn’t say so,” he jerked out.
“That’ll answer. S’posen I say he is a Nor’-wester, how ’bout that?”
demanded Biddon, glaring about on the rest.
There was no response. All was still as death.
“Wal, boys,” added Bill, returning to his good nature, “he _ain’t_ a
trapper; never took a skin in his born days; is a parfect gentleman,
and I’ll make you ’quainted with Bill Relmond, from the States, or, as
I call him, Jarsey, as fine a chap as ever tramped these parts.”
The scene that followed was singular and amusing. All crowded around
me, smiling and talking and shaking hands; and the first hand I
grasped was Tom Wilson’s.
“Hope you won’t mind what I said;” he spoke in a lower tone, “I orter
been lammed for it, sure.”
“Don’t refer to it,” I laughed; “I suppose you were only anxious for a
little amusement to pass away time.”
“That’s it ’zactly, Jarsey, you’re a trump.”
“It’s my private opine,” called out Biddon, “that this coon is goin’
inter these eatables, and ef you wants a bite, Jarsey, you’d better
jine.”
All now crowded around the meal-pot, and commenced devouring its
contents with the avidity of wild animals. It consisted mainly of
pemmican (dried buffalo flesh), a food much in vogue in the northwest,
with several biscuits and some scalding tea. The meal finished, the
men instantly produced their pipes, which they indulged in for ten or
fifteen minutes. The boats were then shoved into the water, the
cooking-utensils placed on board, and preparations made for starting.
“Whar you bound to?” asked Biddon, just as they were ready.
“The Blackfeet-Sioux,” I answered, unable to repress a smile.
“The Blackfeet-Sioux?” he repeated.
“Yes; do you know their grounds?”
“I’s ’bout twenty miles down-stream--that is the village. We cac’late
to camp thereabouts to-night. What, in the name of beavers, do you
want with them?”
“I’ll explain matters when we have a better opportunity,” I answered.
“Jump in with me then, an’ I’ll git Tom Wilson to rest a while, and
we’ll talk over matters and things.”
I sprang into the boat, and the brigade was soon under way. The
Yellowstone, being broad and deep and the current quite powerful, the
work was comparatively light. The song was again taken up by the
_voyageurs_, all joining in the chorus and keeping time with the
measured dip of their paddles. I seated myself in the stern, beside
the steersman, who I found to be a clerk in the Hudson Bay Company,
and a gentleman.
“How long will you remain with us, Mr. Relmond?” he asked.
“Only until night.”
“I was in hopes you would accompany us to the settlement.”
“I should be glad to do so, but circumstances forbid.”
“It was quite fortunate,” he smiled, “that you and Biddon were
acquainted. He is a noble fellow.”
“Most assuredly he is. I accompanied him, as a seeker of adventures,
last summer from Independence, and we separated in the autumn, while
in the wilderness. I was considerably surprised to find him in your
service.”
“He had a misunderstanding with his employers, I believe. He had a
dispute with one of their agents, and gave him a severe pounding. He
was reproved rather sharply for this and left the company in disgust.
This was during the winter. Shortly after he visited Red River
settlement, and volunteered his services, and they were gladly
accepted, as his skill was known to many.”
“He has been then but a short time with you.”
“Only a few weeks--but long enough to let us know the value of his
services. This brigade is all owing to him.”
“How so?”
“You are aware we are now in the United States territory. It is not
often that we extend our work into it, except in Oregon, which has
lately fallen into the hands of the Americans. Biddon had engaged a
large quantity of furs of the Indians in the neighborhood, intending
them for one of their fur companies, but after his dispute he offered
them to us, and this brigade was dispatched for the purpose of
collecting them. He will find there is quite a pile of money due him
at York fort when he arrives there.”
Further time was spent in conversation with the clerks when I noticed
a person had taken Biddon’s place at the oars. The trapper motioned me
beside him, and seating ourselves in the opposite end of the boat he
said:
“Now we’ll have a talk, Jarsey, ogh!”
“The first thing to be knowed,” said Biddon, “is how in the name of
human natur you come in these parts. How war it, Jarsey?”
“You must remember, Biddon, I’ve been a prisoner for the last six
months.”
“Did you ever hear nothin’ of Greeny?”
“Yes; a rumor reached me that he was living with a tribe of Indians to
the east of us.”
“Altogether onpossible,” answered the trapper, with a shake of his
head.
“Why is it impossible?”
“He’s had his ha’r raised sure, and never seed the next day arter we
seed the last on him.”
“I am more hopeful than you are. Recollect _I_ have been a captive and
am now here without bodily harm.”
“It’s qua’r, I allow, how you come out, as you did. The reds down in
them parts are ramparageous, and if it hadn’t been for that Jim, you
spoke about, and that gal, you’d a gone under sure. I’s tuck once by
them same chaps one time. Me an’ Snapper Jack was sat on one dark
night in an awful snowstorm by a hundred on ’em. They blazed right
into us, and Jack rolled over with a pound of lead in him and never
said a word. I’s purty well riddled in my lower story, but I tuk
through and got off with my ha’r, while Jack never knowed who tuk his.
They cac’lated on toastin’ you up brown, and would ef it want fur that
gal, as I’s sayin’ while he’s had it all.”
“I cannot yet see, Biddon, why there is not a probability of Nat’s
being alive. The Indians in these parts are on friendly intercourse
with the traders, and it is in this region, if anywhere, that he will
be found.”
“I don’t b’lieve he’s about. They got him down thar, and he got it
down thar, _sure_.”
These words of the trapper dampened my expectations greatly. Much of
the joy of my hope was that I expected to again grasp the hand of my
old friend, and the thought that he had long been dead made me sad and
gloomy. However, I was not ready to give up all hope, and determined
that I should be satisfied of his fate before I returned to the
States.
The brigade proceeded regularly and rapidly down the Yellowstone,
until the sun sinking in the west, warned them that night was at hand.
The steersman informed me they should not be able to reach the Indian
village that night, but would early the next day. Just as the shadows
were blending with the darkness on the river banks, the brigade ran
into shore for the night’s encampment. There was a dense forest on
either side of us, which rendered our situation dark and gloomy; but
this was soon dispelled by the jolly _voyageurs_. Fuel was collected,
and a great roaring fire crackled and blazed cheerily around us; and
the men passing to and fro, chatting and joking, the confusion of
preparations for supper, made a scene well calculated to dispel all
gloomy reveries. The three boats were hauled up on the banks, turned
over, and their contents scattered among the owners, and all gathered
around the hearty evening meal. These hardy fellows after the
laborious day’s work, their appetites sharpened, and healthy truly,
“Ate like horses, when you hear them eat.”
The meal finished, the indispensable pipes were in requisition. Three
or four huge fires were kindled, around which the men lazily stretched
themselves, to while away the hour that must elapse ere they “turned
in” for the night. The brigade included men in it, who had trapped and
hunted the shores of the Frozen Sea to the plains of the Kansas, and
from Labrador to the mouth of the Columbia, beyond the Rocky
Mountains. They had encountered every imaginable foe: the intense cold
and the polar bear of the far North, and the innumerable hordes of
savages of the more temperate regions; and now they recounted their
thrilling reminiscences to each other, and speculated upon the fate
still in store for them. The hour passed rapidly, and ere I was aware,
the _voyageurs_ were gathering their blankets around them for the
night’s rest.
“Come, bundle up, Jarsey,” said Biddon, “for thar’ll be no time to
snooze in the daylight.”
The men were stretched at every point around the fire, their feet
being toward it, their heads radiating outward, so that the three
groups resembled the same number of immense wheels. As most of the
places were occupied, I lay a little beyond the circle, within a foot
or two of Biddon. The fires now smoldered, and the heavy darkness
again settled over wood and river. Nothing disturbed the deep silence
save the faint flow of the Yellowstone, or the dull noise of an ember
as it broke apart, and now and then the distant wail of some wild
animal. But a short time elapsed ere I joined the rest in the land of
dreams.
The night passed away without any event worthy of note; and the first
apprisal I had of the approach of day, was by hearing loud cries of
“Léve! léve! léve!”[7] uttered by numerous voices.
[7] Arouse, or get up.
Starting up, I saw the _voyageurs_ were all astir, and making ready to
embark. The boats were launched, and being too early for breakfast,
the men sprang in and seized the oars.
“When we halt for breakfast,” said the steersman, “it will be at the
Indian village, which I understand is your destination.”
With the same inspiring song of yesterday, the men bent to their oars,
and the boats shot rapidly through the foaming water. In the course of
an hour or more, the brigade put in for breakfast, and the same
bustling scene that had taken place the night before was re-enacted.
The place chosen was a broad, open plot of grass, reaching down to the
water’s edge, and extending some hundred feet back, when the edge of
the forest was reached. No signs of Indians were seen, and I was
somewhat puzzled to know how it was known they were in the vicinity.
The clerk mentioned before, explained to me that Biddon had described
the halting spot, and the distance so accurately, that there could be
no mistake, and the savages would soon make their appearance.
We had scarcely spoken, when a movement was heard in the forest, and
several Indians made their appearance. They seemed to understand the
meaning of the brigade; for, directly behind them came numbers of
others bearing loads of peltries--the furs of beavers, foxes, badgers,
lynxes, martens, otters, and wolverines. A barter at once commenced,
and in less than half an hour the whole array was deposited in the
boats, and the Indians were proudly parading in the gaudy trinkets and
dresses which had just fallen to their lot.
“Where is their village?” I asked of Biddon.
“A mile or so back in the woods; you can’t miss it.”
“I can remain here without danger, can I not?”
“Yas, I guess so--hold on, I’ll fix it for you.”
With this he strode rapidly toward a man who appeared to be the chief,
and commenced a conversation. He understood the Sioux tongue well
enough to hold quite an intelligible conversation. The talk lasted but
a moment, when he returned.
“You needn’t be skeerish,” said he; “I’ve made it all right. I told
that old chap you wanted to take a look at the country hereabouts, to
skeer up some furs fur us agin. He was a little s’pishus at fust,
shoot me ef he warn’t! and he axed ef you wanted to run off with that
gal o’ theirs, ’cause ef you war, you’d better leave yer ha’r behind
you. There’s been two or three round these parts after her, and he
won’t stand it no longer. You’ve got to be mighty shy, Jarsey, I kin
tell yer; but I hope you’ll git her fur all that, ogh!”
“I am grateful to you for this kindness, Biddon----”
“Never mind ’bout that; come to the pint ef you’ve got anything to
say.”
“I had nothing except to express my thanks, which you seem averse to
receiving.”
“It does go again my stummick, I allow, Jarsey; when you come the
squaw over me, I can’t stand it. Yer’s as likes to talk fair and
squar, and leave the rest. Shoot me ef I doesn’t! Wal I does, ogh!”
“I suppose the time has come for us to separate, then, Biddon?”
“Leastways it’s close at hand. Think you’d better go up to Selkirk
settlement with us; don’t s’pose you will; think you’re a fool, shoot
me ef I don’t, ogh!”
“It seems our separation is to be something like it was before,” I
laughed. “I believe you had a small opinion of my abilities at that
time.”
“Wal, yer’s as hopes you’ll come out right side up this time. In
course I’ll have a glimpse of that ugly face of your’n agin. In
course.”
“I don’t know about that. As you have gone into the service of the
Hudson Bay Company, your sphere of action will be far removed from
mine, and it will be an occurrence which I cannot imagine at this time
that will bring us together.”
“That ain’t so sartin,” said the trapper, in a low, confidential tone.
“I rather opine I’ll be down in Westport or Independence this fall,
and ef these fellows cac’lates on keepin’ me around, they’ve got to
step round ’emselves. Shoot me if they hain’t, ogh!”
“I hope you will not spend your life in the dreary region north of
this, for it will indeed be a dreary, lonely life for you.”
“Wal, you see, Jarsey,” he continued, with a shade of feeling, “it
don’t make much difference whar I traps. Yer’s as s’pects to go under
somewhar in the mountains, and leave my topknot fur the buzzards and
reds, and it mought as well be in one part as t’other of this
country.”
“Fudge, Biddon, don’t talk that way. Why I am sure I shall see you
settled down in the States with a wife and a dozen children--”
I paused as I noticed the trapper’s face. Some strange emotion was
gaining the mastery over him; but he conquered in a minute.
“Never talk that way agin, Jarsey; I can’t stand it.”
“Pardon me; you will soon be under way,” I spoke, wishing to pass from
the allusion which had been so painful to him. He turned, and looking
at the brigade, which was making preparations to start, answered:
“Yas; the boys are near ready, and they won’t wait. What yer goin’ to
do, Jarsey, when we leave you ’mong the reds?”
“I have told you, Biddon, that my sole purpose is to seek out Nat
Todd. I have given you an account of my meeting and partial flight
with Imogene, the captive, who has told me of his whereabouts. She is
now waiting at Death Rock for me, and is as confident as I am that I
shall bring Nat with me. These Indians, believing Imogene to be with
the other tribe, will not suspect her flight unless a runner arrives
here and acquaints them with it; but I have little fear of that, as I
have no expectation of remaining any length of time.”
“Wal, as that little gal has _seed_ Nat, of course he’s kickin’. Bless
her soul! I’d like to see her sweet face, but I s’pose the brigade
can’t spare me just now. Jarsey, I’ve my s’picions that that other
sperit is somewhere out toward Oregon, ’mong a tribe of redskins. I’ve
had my s’picions I say, but I’ll say nothin’ more now ’cept to kind of
hint I may take a tramp out in them parts some day to see ef thar be
signs of her.”
“I sincerely hope that such may be the case, although I cannot be as
sanguine as you are. Should you rescue her, the debt of gratitude--”
“There! that’ll do, ogh!” interrupted Biddon, imperatively. “Such
things go agin my stummick, and I don’t want to hear ’em. As you’re
on the track of Nat, _go_, fur he may be somewhar yit, in spite of the
fears I have that he isn’t, arter all.”
“Rest assured I shall leave no stone unturned. I shall seek him at
once.”
“And when you finds him, jest tell him old Bill Biddon is about, and
ready to hunt savages with him any time, ef he don’t git behind me
when shootin’ time comes. Ogh! ogh!” and the trapper enjoyed his joke
merrily. He stopped suddenly and looked at the brigade. A few moments
more and they would be under way.
“Wal, Jarsey, talkin’ time’s gittin’ mighty short. I’d like to talk
longer, but can’t do it this time. Hope we’ll have a time down in the
States ’fore long.”
“I sincerely trust we shall,” I answered, unwilling to turn away from
the hopeful picture which he was drawing for himself.
“And we’ll have Nat ’long with us,” he added.
“Of course, for I am sure he would not willingly miss an opportunity
of seeing his old friend again. Of course, Biddon, we shall meet, if
not in this world, I hope in the next.”
“P’r’aps so, though I can’t tell till we gits there. Don’t know much
’bout them matters, ogh!”
At this moment the voice of the steersman was heard, ordering the men
to their places. Biddon turned, took a step, then halted and faced me.
“Good-by, Jarsey.”
He extended his hand, but ere I could take it it was hastily
withdrawn. He mumbled something, dashed his hand across his face, and
strode rapidly toward the boat.
“Good-by, Biddon. God bless you!” I called after him.
The _voyageurs_ seized their oars, and in a few moments they were in
the stream, their same cheery song echoing as loudly and as joyously
as before. I stood upon the bank, watching them as the current bore
them onward. In a few moments they reached a bend in the river--Biddon
made a signal to me, and the next minute they had all vanished.
As the brigade vanished down the river, and the song of the
_voyageurs_ grew fainter and fainter, until it died away in the
distant windings of the Yellowstone, I awoke from the mournful reverie
into which I had fallen, and turned to the work before me. There was a
dozen Indians around, all busy with their new possessions. Some were
parading pompously in their new blankets, some examining their
glitterng knives, and others wrenching off great mouthfuls from huge
twists of tobacco, and all evidently in the highest spirits. The chief
had been presented with a fine, polished rifle, and he was standing
apart, trying its lock, and “drawing bead” on different objects in the
distance.
I waited till he appeared satisfied, and then approached and made a
complimentary remark; I saw at once it was not comprehended, and there
was not probably a savage who could speak a word of English in the
tribe. However, as they spoke the same tongue as the tribe in which I
spent my captivity, my situation in this respect was not as bad as it
might have been.
In the course of half an hour, the chief started toward his village,
the others sauntering along behind him, and myself at his side. His
rifle was now thrown over his shoulder, and he seemed to have lost all
interest in it as he walked thoughtfully forward, his dark eyes bent
upon the ground. A few minutes’ walk through the forest brought us to
the Indian village. It was so similar to the one before described,
that it needs no mention here.
The Blackfeet-Sioux are one of the many divisions of the Dacotah or
Sioux tribe, whose hunting-grounds include the greater part of the
vast territory of Nebraska. These subdivisions of this numerous people
are tribes within themselves. Although speaking the same tongue, they
are separate and literally independent of each other. Each has its
village and chief, whose authority is absolute. Like all North
American Indians, their life is a migratory one; and the traveler who
to-day finds them located on the Yellowstone or Little Missouri, may,
a year after, find them as far westward as the Great Falls of the
Missouri.
My advent among these savages excited no unusual attention, as they
are often visited by traders and hunters. The chief took me to his own
lodge, where all the attention I could wish was given. I was gladly
surprised to find upon the next day, that there was a half-breed among
them who could speak the English tongue. His acquaintance I soon made.
He was a middle-aged man, who had spent most of his life in trapping,
sometimes as far northward as the Saskatchewan, and who often acted as
interpreter for his tribe. He possessed the daring hardihood of the
French trapper, and the low, ferocious cunning of the savage. He had
ever considered this tribe as his people, having a squaw and several
children.
From this half-breed I learned that the flight of Imogene was not yet
discovered, and that the tribe which held Nat was about a dozen miles
to the eastward I informed the chief, through the interpreter, that I
should make several days’ ramble through the woods, in order to get a
better idea of the face of the country and of its resources. He
seemed to believe I really was an agent of one of the fur companies,
and offered me an escort. I declined, however, and the next morning
started on foot in the direction of the tribe alluded to.