planks, was only charred. It stood ajar, and Louis pulled it wide open
and went in, Walter following. There was no snow within, but the hard
earth floor was strewn with the fallen remains of the roof. Had there
been a plank floor to catch fire, the inside of the house would certainly
have been burned out, and the walls would probably have gone too. As it
was, the logs were merely blackened, the top ones charred a little. Two
bed frames, a stool made of unbarked sticks, and the stone and clay
fireplace and chimney were unharmed.
“We will make a fire, warm ourselves and unload the _tabagane_. Then we
must build a new roof.”
Louis was not satisfied with the appearance of Walter’s frozen cheek. As
soon as the fire was kindled, he melted some snow, removed the warm water
from the blaze and added more snow until it was like ice water. He bade
Walter bathe his cheek with the cold water and keep on bathing it until
the frost was drawn out. Noticing the stiffness of his friend’s movements
and the signs of suffering in his face, Louis guessed his other trouble.
“You have a pain in the legs?” he inquired. “It is the _mal de raquette_.
Everyone not used to snowshoeing has it if he travels long. It is very
painful. Take off your moccasins. Warm your feet and legs and rub them.
That will help.”
Walter was glad to obey. He expected to do his share in unloading the
sled and roofing the cabin, but when Louis saw how inflamed and swollen
the Swiss boy’s ankles and insteps were, he refused to let him help.
Walter must remain quiet. His work would be to sit on a buffalo robe
before the fire and keep the blaze going.
The roof the others constructed was only a temporary affair. It was
almost flat, slanting a little towards the rear, as the back wall was
slightly lower than the front. Poles and bark were the materials,
weighted with stones to keep them from blowing away. Such a covering
would not stand a strong wind, but the cabin was well sheltered. In a
hard rain the roof would probably leak, and heavy snow might sag it or
break it. But it would serve for a while at least, and it was the best
the boys could do in haste and with the materials at hand. By nightfall
they had a cover over their heads, flimsy though it was.
As they were eating their evening meal before a warm blaze, Neil said
thoughtfully, “I wonder how this cabin caught fire. The fellows who
camped here can’t have been gone long, yet when we came the fire was out
and everything cold.”
“Yes,” agreed Louis. “Even the ashes on the hearth were cold.”
“Probably it broke out in the night,” Neil suggested. “Sparks from the
chimney started it. But how _could_ they, with the roof covered with
snow?”
“If there had been snow on it, it would not have burned so easily,” Louis
returned.
“This place is too sheltered for the wind to blow the snow off the roof.
Someone must have cleaned it off. Perhaps the weight was breaking it
down.”
“Well, it burned anyway,” Walter put in. “All we know is that there was a
fire, and that some other party was here before we came. Do you remember
those men we saw in the mirage, Louis?”
“Yes, we thought they were coming to the mountain. Whoever it was who
camped here, we owe him a grudge. He burned our roof and stole our beds.
Antoine and I made those beds last winter.” One of the first things Louis
had noticed on entering the house was that the stretched hides, which had
taken the place of springs and mattress, were gone from the rustic cots.
The hides had been cut off with a knife.
The bed frames being of no use, the boys lay down on the buffalo robe
before the fire. Louis and Neil slept soundly, but the pain in Walter’s
feet and legs and frosted cheek made him wakeful and restless.
His lameness and his sore face kept him at home the next day when the
others went out to seek for game and signs of fur animals. That was a
long day for Walter. Enough wood had been cut to last until evening, and
he kept the fire going. He cleaned out the remains of the burned roof
which cluttered the floor, arranged the scanty supplies and equipment
more neatly, drove some wooden pegs between the logs to hang clothes and
snowshoes on, mended a break in the dog harness, and did everything he
could find to do. The cabin had one window covered with oiled deerskin
that let in a little light, and the open fire helped to illuminate the
dim interior.
Dusk had come when the hunters returned, bringing two big white hares.
Rabbit stew would be a welcome change from pemmican. They had set traps
and snares, had seen elk tracks, and had found, among rocks at the base
of a tree, a partly snow-blocked hole Louis thought might be a bear’s
winter den.
XXII
THE PAINTED BUFFALO SKULL
The life of the three boys in their lonely cabin in the hills settled
down to a regular routine. Louis and Neil were out every day hunting and
visiting their traps, but it was nearly a week before Walter’s lameness
wore off so that he could tramp and climb with his comrades. The skin
peeled from his frosted cheek, leaving it so tender that he had to keep
it covered with his capote hood when out in the cold.
The cabin was in need of furniture. Besides the bed frames, Louis and his
companion of the winter before had made two rough stools, but one had
been burned. Before he was able to hunt, the Swiss boy, who was handy at
wood working, fashioned two more stools. His only tools were an ax, a
small saw, and a knife, but the stools were strong and solid, if not
ornamental. A table the lads did not miss. At meal times they sat before
the fire, their plates on their knees, their cups on the earth floor
beside them, the cooking utensils on the hearth.
The first day that Walter went any distance from camp, he and Louis,
entering a partly wooded hollow among the hills, came suddenly upon a
herd of six or eight large, handsome deer. It was the first time Walter
had ever seen wapiti or elk. He was surprised and excited, the trigger of
his flintlock trade gun pulled hard, and his shot went wide. Louis,
cooler and more experienced, fired just as the herd took fright at the
report of Walter’s gun. A yearling buck fell, and he was jubilant at his
happy shot. The pemmican was almost gone, and the boys had been living on
hares and squirrels. Frozen and hung in a tree out of reach of the dogs,
the elk meat would keep until every eatable scrap had been consumed.
It proved lucky for the lads that they had such a good supply of fresh
meat. That night a storm commenced that lasted more than three days. It
was worse than the blizzard they had encountered on their way to the
hills. Even in the sheltered spot where the cabin stood the wind howled
and shrieked through the trees, bending them low and beating and crashing
the leafless limbs against one another. It threatened to blow the roof
off, and whirled the snow in among the trees, to drift it high against
the windward side of the house.
Any attempt to reach the trap lines would have been the wildest folly.
Neil tried once to go to the near-by creek for water, but the storm drove
him back. He decided that snow water was quite good enough for him. When
the supply of fuel ran low, a tree close to the lee side of the house was
felled. Cutting it up was a troublesome and strenuous task even in the
shelter of the cabin.
While the wood pile was being replenished, the elk carcass was blown from
the tree where it hung. It was brought inside. The corner farthest from
the fire proved quite cold enough to keep the meat fresh. The dogs whined
and scratched at the door, but Louis let in Askimé only. He knew it would
be almost impossible to prevent the beasts from getting at the venison,
if all three were admitted. On the sheltered side of the house, buried
deep in the snow, the thick-haired dogs would not freeze.
Preparing the pelts occupied part of the boys’ time. At this task Louis
was expert and Neil not unskilled. The work did not appeal to Walter,
though he was ready to lend a hand when necessary. He had not been
brought up to the fur trade, and he had already concluded that he had no
wish to be a trapper. He was willing enough to hunt, especially when food
was needed, but traps seemed to him mere instruments of torture. He said
nothing to his comrades of this feeling. Their training and way of
looking at life were in many ways different from his. But he was resolved
to find some other way of making a living in this new land. He was
willing to do farming, tinkering, repair work, even to act as a voyageur
for the Company.
When time began to hang heavy on the boys’ hands, Walter suggested that
Neil give him some lessons in English. They had no paper, pens, or
pencils. With a charred stick Neil wrote on the flat hearth stone such
common English words as he knew, explaining the meaning. His father had
taught him to read and write a little English,—as much as he knew
himself,—but Neil’s education was very limited, his spelling erratic, and
his pronunciation that of the Highland Scot. Louis watched and listened
with keen interest. He had even less education than the Scotch boy. Louis
could read only enough to make out the markings on bales of goods and
pelts. His writing consisted in copying those marks and signing his name.
When Walter had written his letters to the Periers and had read theirs
aloud, Louis had admired and envied his knowledge. Noticing the Canadian
boy’s interest in the lessons, Walter offered to teach him to read his
native tongue, French. Among the Swiss lad’s few possessions was a small
Bible that had belonged to his mother, the only thing he owned that had
been hers. He had always carried it about with him, and now he used it as
a text-book. Louis entered into the new task with enthusiasm and
surprised Walter by learning rapidly. In fact Louis proved quicker than
Neil, whose restless nature disinclined him to study of any kind. In
physical activity the Highland boy delighted, but working his mind bored
and wearied him. Louis, however, grew so interested that even after the
storm was over, he spent a part of every evening in a reading lesson by
firelight.
A period of clear, cold weather followed the blizzard. There was little
wind, but more than once the stillness of the night was shattered by a
sharp crack, almost like the report of a musket, when, in the intense
cold, some near-by tree split from freezing. In hunting and visiting the
traps the boys felt the cold far less than at a higher temperature with
wind. Fingers and faces became frost-bitten quickly though, and Walter
had to be careful of his frosted cheek.
Following the trap lines necessitated long tramps, sometimes of twelve or
fifteen miles, through the hills. Accompanying his comrades, Walter
learned something of the lay of the land. He found that the cabin was
located on what Louis called “the first mountain,” a rough and partly
wooded plateau that rises rather abruptly from the prairie of the Red
River valley; which is really not a valley but a plain. This hilly
plateau is about eight miles across its widest part, and reaches its
greatest height a mile south of where the Pembina River cuts a deep
valley through it. On the west of the plateau is the “second mountain,”
an irregular ridge. Though the second mountain rises nowhere more than
five hundred feet above the first, it is wild and rugged. Walter was
forced to admit that in some places, especially where the streams that
crossed it had eroded steep-walled ravines, three or four hundred feet
deep, it was almost mountain-like on a small scale. To a mountain-bred
boy this was mere hill country, but he felt more at home in it than he
had felt anywhere since coming to the strange new world. Climbing was a
real joy to him, and he loved to choose the steepest rather than the
easiest routes.
As game grew scarce in the vicinity of the cabin, the boys pushed their
trap lines farther and farther into the hills, until whoever made the
rounds was forced to be away at least two, and sometimes three, nights.
They built two overnight shelters, one a lean-to against an abrupt cliff,
the other a roof of poles over a snug hollow in the rocks. In one of
these lodges Louis or Neil, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by
Walter, would spend the night; with a blazing fire at the entrance to
keep away wolves and wildcats.
For several weeks a thievish wolverine annoyed the trappers. The clever,
bloodthirsty beast followed the trails, broke into deadfalls, and
skilfully extracted the catch from traps and snares. What it could not
devour it carried away and hid, after mangling the creature until the
pelt was ruined. Louis swore vengeance on the thief, and tried in every
way to trap it. At last, by going out at night to follow the wolverine’s
fresh track against the wind, he came upon the greedy beast in the act of
breaking into a deadfall from the rear. A quick and lucky shot, and Louis
triumphantly carried home the robber. Walter had never seen a wolverine,
and Neil knew it from its tracks and skin only. With its long body,
short, strong legs, and big feet armed with sharp, curved claws, it
looked a most formidable creature for its size.
February was a stormy month, until near the close, when there came
another period of clear, calm cold. In this fine weather Louis laid a new
trap line extending seven miles or more north to _Tête de Boeuf_, Buffalo
Head, one of the highest points in the range. After accompanying his
friend over the new trail, Walter climbed Buffalo Head for the first time
one bright, windless noonday. He found the view from the top impressive,
but the name puzzled him.
“Why do you call this hill Tête de Boeuf?” he asked his companion. “I
can’t see that it is shaped like a bull’s head, looked at from below or
from up here.”
“No,” Louis replied. “I think the name does not come from the shape of
the hill, but from a curious custom of the Indians. Do you see those red
things over there?”
He pointed to an irregular line of objects in an exposed, wind-blown spot
at the very rim of an escarpment.
“Those queer looking stones? They look as if someone had laid them there
in a row, and then daubed them with red paint. Did the Indians put them
there? What for?”
“You think they are stones? Go and look at them,” returned Louis with a
smile.
Walter walked to the edge of the bluff, looked down at the objects, and
exclaimed in astonishment, “They’re skulls; skulls of some big animal.”
“Buffalo,” said Louis. “To the Assiniboins and the Sioux this mountain is
sacred. They bring buffalo skulls, daub them with red earth, and place
them as you see, noses pointing to the east. The skulls are offerings to
some heathen god. There is another spot up here where the Indians burn
tobacco as a sacrifice.” He stooped to examine one of the skulls. “This
one has not been here long. See how fresh the paint is. It is trader’s
vermilion mixed with grease.”
“That skull was put there since the last storm,” Walter agreed. “There
are little drifts of snow against the others, but hardly any around that
one.”
Louis had turned his attention to a shallow, snow-filled hollow in the
rock. “Here are tracks. Truly someone has been here since the last
snowfall.”
Although the weather had been unusually calm for several days, every
breath of breeze swept the exposed spot. The prints in the snow were
partly obliterated. If the boys had not found the freshly painted skull,
they would scarcely have guessed that the tracks were those of men. With
some difficulty they traced the footprints to the edge of a steep, bare,
rock slope. There they lost the trail. They were out after game and did
not care to waste time tracing a couple of wandering Indians, so they
gave up the search.
Nevertheless the recent offering of a buffalo skull on _Tête de Boeuf_
aroused the lads’ curiosity, and set them wondering if there might be
Indians camped somewhere in the neighborhood. In all their wanderings
heretofore the three had seen no recent sign of human beings.
“We must keep a better watch of our things,” Louis decided, as he sat by
the fire that evening preparing the pelt of a red fox. “The Assiniboins
are great thieves. Stealing horses is a feat they are proud of. We have
no horses, but we do not want to lose our dogs.”
“Or our sled and blankets and all our furs,” Neil added. “One of us must
stay home after this to look after things.”
“Yes.” Louis was silent for a moment considering. “I think,” he said at
last, “that you and I, Walter, will try to follow that trail to-morrow.
It may lead to some camp. Neil will stay here to guard the cabin.”
“Why not let Walter stay?” demanded the Scotch boy, who preferred a more
active part.
“Because he cannot talk to the savages or understand them, if any come
this way. He knows no Assiniboin.”
“I don’t know much myself,” Neil protested.
“But you know a little, and you have dealt with Indians. He has not. He
does not even understand their sign language.”
Neil could find no answer to that argument. He was forced to consent to
the arrangement, though he was far from pleased.
XXIII
UNWELCOME VISITORS
The period of bright, calm weather seemed to be over. The next morning
was dark and cloudy, with a raw wind. In accordance with Louis’ plan, he
and Walter climbed Buffalo Head again. At the foot of the bare rock
slope, they succeeded in picking up the trail from the painted skull. Two
men, Louis concluded, had come and gone that way. He traced the trail
easily enough for a short distance, but in the woods it became confused
with that of several wolves. Probably the beasts had followed the men at
a safe distance. Where the snow lay deep the men had taken to snowshoes.
By the time the lads had reached a puzzling spot, where the tracks seemed
to branch into two trails, the threat of the morning had been fulfilled.
Snow was falling. Selecting the more distinct trail, Louis led on, but
the thick-falling flakes were rapidly obliterating the tracks. He grew
more and more doubtful of them, until at last he was sure that he had
lost the trail entirely. After circling about, attempting in vain to pick
it up, he gave up the chase.
“It is of no use to go on,” he said to his companion. “If this snow had
waited a few hours,—but no, it comes at just the wrong time.” With a
resigned shrug of his shoulders, he turned back.
For a time the snow came thick and fast, but before the boys were
half-way home, it had almost ceased. When they reached the cabin, the
wind had changed and the sun was shining. The storm had lasted just long
enough to defeat their purpose. Their hard tramp had been for nothing.
The stay-at-home, however, had news; news he was impatient to tell.
“I have had a visitor,” he burst out the moment Louis opened the door.
“A visitor!”
“A visitor?” echoed Walter, entering close behind his comrade.
“Yes, and I have found out about the new skull on Buffalo Head.”
“That is more than we have done,” Louis admitted, shaking the snow from
his capote. “There have been Indians here?”
“No, a white man.”
Louis and Walter were too amazed even to exclaim. They stared
unbelievingly at Neil.
“A white man,” the Scotch boy repeated. “He came a little while after you
left. I didn’t know he was anywhere around till he knocked on the door. I
_was_ surprised, I can tell you, when I heard that knock. An Indian would
have walked right in, so, even before I opened the door, I knew there
must be a white man there. And there was,—a broad-shouldered fellow with
a shaggy beard. He said ‘_Bo jou_’ and I said ‘_Bo jou_, come in.’ Then
we stood and looked at each other. Just as I opened my mouth to ask him
where he came from, he began asking me questions.”
“What kind of questions?” Louis interrupted.
“Who I was, and what I was doing here, if I was trapping or trading with
the Indians. He could see the pelts all around the room. He was so sharp
about it, I thought he might be a Hudson Bay man out on the track of free
traders. I told him we hadn’t seen an Indian since we came and didn’t
expect to see one. Then he wanted to know what we were going to do with
our furs. Of course I said we were going to take them to the Company at
Pembina.”
“Did that satisfy him?”
“It seemed to. He isn’t a Company man, it appears.”
“A free trader?” questioned Louis.
“He didn’t say. He is on his way from _Portage la Prairie_ to Pembina.”
“_Portage la Prairie_ is on the Assiniboine. Why did he come this way?”
“He said it was shorter and he wanted to make speed.”
Louis shook his head doubtfully. “Shorter? No, I think not. He must be
off his course. How many are in his party?”
“No one but himself. He didn’t even have a sled, only a pack and his
snowshoes.”
“But that is strange. You are sure he had no comrades?”
“I asked him if he had come all the way alone,” Neil explained, “and he
said that at first he had traveled with two others. Yesterday or last
night, he left them. He had quarreled with them I think. When he went
away, he warned me to look out for them and not to trust them. I asked if
they were coming this way. He didn’t know where they were going, he said,
but they were somewhere around here in the hills.”
“What about the painted skull?” inquired Walter.
“I told him about our finding it and the tracks. He said the other
fellows put the skull there. One of them is an Assiniboin.”
Walter was puzzled. “If that is true,—if those men really did that, they
must have reached the hills two or three days ago. We found the skull
yesterday.”
“That’s so.” Neil rubbed his red head thoughtfully. “That rather spoils
his story of making speed straight through from _Portage la Prairie_,
doesn’t it?”
“He lied,” concluded Louis emphatically. “Somewhere he lied, either about
himself or about the placing of the skull on the _Tête de Boeuf_. What
was he like, that fellow, and who is he? What is his name? Where does he
belong?”
“He didn’t tell me his name, but he is a DeMeuron from St. Boniface. He
asked so many questions that I didn’t think till afterwards that he
hadn’t mentioned his name. He asked mine and yours.”
“He knew you were not here alone then?”
“Oh yes, I told him I expected you two back any moment. He kept looking
at our furs, and I thought he had better know we were three to one.”
“Three to three perhaps,” said Louis thoughtfully, “if the others are
still near here. They may not have parted at all.”
“I’m sure they have quarreled. He was telling the truth about that. You
should have seen his face when he spoke of those other fellows, and he
warned me against them, you know.”
“That is true,” Louis conceded, “but his stories do not agree and we had
best not trust them too far.”
One of the trap lines had not been visited for two days, so Neil went out
to examine the nearer traps while daylight lasted. Doubt of the white
traveler’s story made Louis decide to remain at the cabin. The boys had a
fairly good catch of furs, and Louis knew that wandering trappers and
free traders were not always above robbing weaker parties. If the
stranger returned or his former companions happened along, Louis wanted
to be at home.
The sun was sinking behind the hills as Walter, accompanied by Askimé,
went down to the creek. He found the water hole frozen and was chopping
it out when the dog began to growl uneasily. The boy paid little
attention, thinking Askimé had scented some wild animal. Suddenly Askimé
threw back his head and howled. His fellows replied from near the cabin.
Then, as all three were silent for a moment, there came other answers
from farther away; up the creek somewhere. In doubt whether the answering
voices were those of dogs or wolves, Walter filled his kettle and
hastened back to the cabin.
Outside the house, Louis was trying to quiet his beasts. “We shall have
visitors soon,” he announced. “You heard?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t sure whether they were dogs or wolves.”
“Dogs,” Louis asserted confidently. “Those men have heard ours. They will
come this way.”
Louis and Walter tied their dogs at the rear of the cabin, and lingered
outside, watching for the strangers. It was not long before a howl from
the opposite direction, together with the voice of a man shouting, as he
belabored some unfortunate beast, announced the arrival of the visitors.
Through an opening in the woods, into the cleared space before the cabin,
came a tall fellow in buckskin leggings and blue capote, the hood pulled
low over his face. He was followed by two lean, shaggy dogs drawing a
toboggan. It flashed into Walter’s mind that these were the very men and
sled he had seen upside down against the sky during the mirage.
“_Bo jou_,” called Louis in a friendly tone, as a second man appeared and
the sled came to a halt.
“_Bo jou_,” returned the tall fellow in a deep voice.
At the sound of that voice Walter started with surprise. The newcomer
pushed back his hood, and the boy found himself gazing into the face of
the half-breed voyageur Murray. The sun was down behind the mountain, but
even in the waning light, there was no mistaking that face; that dark,
aquiline, beardless, hard, cruel face, that he had seen day after day
during the long journey from Fort York to Fort Douglas.
If Murray recognized the two lads, and he must recognize them Walter
knew, he made no sign. He merely stood impassive, looking at them, until
Louis recovered his wits sufficiently to act the host. Under the
circumstances he could do no less, even though the guest was an unwelcome
one. After all there had been no open breach between Murray and the boys,
and what had happened at Pembina was not their business. It would be
better to show no knowledge of that affair.
At Louis’ invitation, the newcomers entered the cabin and were given the
stools by the fire. They had unhitched their dogs from the sled and tied
them to a tree to keep them from Louis’ beasts, but Murray was hardly
seated when the noise of battle sounded from without. Louis ran out and
Murray followed to find that one of his dogs had broken or gnawed off his
rawhide rope and was engaged in a fight with Askimé who had broken his
rope also. The beasts were separated, Murray’s dog, after being well
beaten by his far from merciful master, was tied more securely, and
Askimé was taken into the cabin.
Walter was already getting the evening meal, which, as a matter of
course, the visitors would share. The second man, it was evident, was not
the one who had been with Murray at Pembina. This fellow was an Indian, a
young man, slender, well built, but insignificant beside the Black
Murray. He understood scarcely a word of French or English, and spoke
only when addressed in his native Assiniboin. It seemed to Walter, as he
covertly watched the two, that the young Indian was completely under
Murray’s domination, and stood in fear or awe of him.
Before the meal was ready, Neil returned. He had heard unfamiliar dog
voices, as he approached the cabin, and had seen the loaded sled before
the door, so he was not surprised to find strangers sitting by the fire.
He it was who first mentioned the visitor that had come earlier in the
day.
“I suppose,” he said, “you two are the ones that fellow was traveling
with.”
Murray grunted an assent. After a moment he asked, “How long ago he
here?” He grunted again at Neil’s reply.
The warm meal, eaten for the most part in silence, seemed to thaw
Murray’s sullenness somewhat. Suddenly he began to talk; his usual
mixture of bad English, worse French, Cree, and Dakota. Like the
DeMeuron, he asked questions about the boys’ trapping, and inquired if
they had seen any Indians and had done any trading. Questioned in return,
his replies were brief and evasive. He and Kolbach had been to the west.
They had come back to the hills expecting to meet a band of Assiniboins.
“We waited,” he said, “but the Assiniboins not come.”
Walter and Louis were not surprised to learn that Murray’s former
companion was Fritz Kolbach. They had guessed that already.
“It was here at the mountain you expected to meet the Assiniboins?” Louis
inquired.
Murray shot a keen glance at him, and nodded.
“Then you camped near here for several days?” persisted Louis.
“To the north, other side _Tête de Boeuf_.”
“You left the fresh buffalo skull on the mountain?” put in Neil.
Murray silently pointed to his Assiniboin companion, who apparently
understood nothing of the conversation. Then the half-breed asked
abruptly, “Who told you that? Kolbach?”
“We found the newly painted skull and your tracks,” said Neil. “I spoke
to him this morning about them and he said you put the skull there.”
_Le Murrai Noir’s_ face had darkened at every mention of the DeMeuron. He
demanded savagely, “What else he tell you?” And, before Neil could
answer, added a string of violent abuse of his former companion.
“Kolbach told me nothing,” the boy hastened to reply, “nothing except
that he had been traveling with you, but had left you and was going on
alone. He seemed to be in a hurry.”
Murray’s eyes were fastened on Neil’s honest, freckled face. His only
reply was an abrupt grunt, he turned to Louis. “You stay here long? I
sell you bag pemmican, good pemmican, for furs.”
Louis ignored the question. “We thank you for your offer,” he said, “but
we have no need of pemmican. We have plenty of food.” This was not
strictly true, but he wanted no dealings with Murray.
Murray cast a look about the cabin, dimly lighted by the fire on the
hearth. “We go now,” he said abruptly.
“You’re not going on to-night?” Neil asked in surprise.
“You are welcome to spread your blankets here by the fire,” Louis added,
he would not break the rules of hospitality even though he felt the guest
to be an enemy.
Murray did not even thank him. “The moon is bright. We go on.”
The Indian had risen and moved towards the door. Murray pulled on his
capote and looked up at the bark and pole roof. An evil smile showed his
strong, yellow-white teeth. “It burn?” he inquired.
“You set it on fire,” accused Louis.
Murray grinned mockingly. “Not me,—Kolbach.”
“But why did he want to burn the roof off?” cried Walter.
“Why leave a cabin for other traders?” Murray spoke contemptuously.
Undoubtedly he felt contempt for Walter’s innocence. “Only the roof burn
well,” he added. His left hand on the door latch, he turned and held out
the right to Walter.
The Swiss boy, surprised at this courtesy from the man he had believed an
enemy, could not refuse his own hand. Murray’s sinewy fingers clasped it
firmly for an instant. A scratch in the palm,—a deep scratch made by a
rough splinter of wood when Walter was renewing the fire before
supper,—tingled sharply with the pressure.
“_Bo jou!_” said Murray, and opened the door and went out.
The Assiniboin repeated the words and followed. In a moment both were
arousing and harnessing their dogs. The men’s shouts, the whines and
howls of the tired beasts, lashed and beaten to force them to speed,
could be heard long after men and sled had disappeared into the woods and
the night.
XXIV
A SORE HAND
“Now we know it was Murray and Kolbach who camped here the night before
we came,” said Louis, after the guests were gone. “Then they tried to
burn this old cabin so no one else could use it. That is a trick of rival
traders to make each other as much trouble as they can.”
“The Northwest Company used to destroy Hudson Bay houses whenever they
got a chance,” put in Neil.
“Yes, and the Hudson Bay men did the same to the Northwesters.”
“That was a queer way to try to burn a house though,” Neil remarked, “to
begin at the top. Kolbach must have had to clean off the snow before he
could set the fire.”
“Perhaps it was Kolbach who cleaned away the snow, but I think the plan
to burn the cabin was as much _le Murrai’s_ as Kolbach’s,” Louis
asserted. “I believe they tried to start fire in other places as well as
the roof. At the back there is a place where a fire has burned close to
the wall. The logs are charred and black. They started several fires, I
think, but they did not stay to watch them. As _le Murrai_ said, only the
roof burned well. What do you think, Walter?”
Walter had scarcely been listening. He was examining his right hand,
which still smarted. Raising his head at the question, he replied
carelessly, “About the fire? They set it, of course. Lucky for us it
didn’t burn better.” He looked again at his stinging palm. “I wonder if
Murray ever washes his hands. The dirt came off on mine. It makes this
scratch sting.”
“Let me see.” Louis seized his friend’s hand, turned the palm to the
firelight and bent over it. “That is no dirt,” he exclaimed. “It is
sticky, a gum of some sort. You say it was not there before Murray shook
hands with you? And now it hurts?”
“My hands were clean. I washed them before we began to get supper. That
scratch certainly does hurt; much more than it did at first.”
“Put some water on the fire, Neil, just a little, to heat quickly. We
must do something for this hand.” Louis spoke anxiously. “_Le Murrai_ has
tried to poison you, Walter. Perhaps I can suck it out like snake venom.”
Without hesitation he put his lips to the scratch and sucked. He spat in
the fire, and wiped his mouth with the end of his neck handkerchief. “The
gum is too sticky, and we have nothing to draw the poison out, no salt
pork for a poultice.”
“Make the scratch bleed,” suggested Neil. “Open it with your knife.”
“This black stuff must be cleaned off first,” objected Walter.
Cold water made no impression on the sticky substance that smeared
Walter’s palm. Louis tried to scrape away the gum, then he sucked the
scratch again. But he had to wait for hot water to really dissolve the
gummy stuff and cleanse the hand. When every trace of black had been
washed off, Louis drew the sharp point of his knife along the scratch,
making a clean cut, deep enough to bleed freely.
In those days little was known about antiseptics. All three boys,
however, were familiar enough with the treatment of snake bites to
understand that poison must be drawn out as speedily as possible, either
by sucking the wound or letting it bleed freely. They knew also that a
clean wound was apt to heal more readily than a dirty one. Even the
Indians recognized that fact, though their ideas of cleanliness were not
much like ours. Louis would have torn a strip from his handkerchief to
bandage the injury, but Walter felt that a colored and not too clean
cloth was not the best dressing. He decided to leave his hand unbandaged,
letting it bleed as much as it would and the blood clot naturally.
At first Walter could scarcely believe that Murray had deliberately tried
to poison his hand, but Louis had no doubts. “I have heard of such things
among the Indians,” he said, “and _le Murrai Noir_ is more Indian than
white. He would not be above revenging himself that way or any other. If
he is really friendly to us, why did he act as if he had never seen us
before? He knew us certainly, though our names were not spoken. As he
went towards the door, he put his fingers in his fire bag. I saw him do
it, but thought nothing of it. He had seen you get that scratch. You know
it is not like Murray to shake anyone by the hand.”
“That surprised me, I admit,” conceded Walter.
“Truly he had a reason. He hated you always after that affair of poor
M’sieu Matthieu.”
“Do you suppose he has learned that we reported the loss of the pemmican
and told about his bundle of trade goods?” Walter asked thoughtfully.
“That may be. He did not go up the Assiniboin, he was at Pembina too
soon. At Fort Douglas or at the Forks they may have asked him about that
pemmican. Even if they did not say we told them, he might lay it to us.
He never was fond of either of us. The Black Murray is an evil man. He
likes to do evil I think. He takes pleasure in it.”
In spite of the prompt treatment, Walter’s hand pained him all night and
kept him restless. He was not the only one of the three that was wakeful.
Louis and Neil, too, were uneasy. They were uncertain of Murray’s
intentions. He and his companion had gone away, with sled and dogs, but
how far had they gone? Had they really set out for Pembina, or had they
made camp as soon as they were out of sight and hearing? The Black
Murray’s keen eyes had not failed to take note of every pelt in the
cabin. He had even offered to trade pemmican for the furs. Louis had
declined, but did that settle the matter? Would Murray try in some other
way to get possession of the catch? That he was not scrupulous in his
methods was proved by his assault and robbery of the Ojibwa at the Red
River.
The boys were sure that Murray would not have hesitated to take
everything, if they had been away from the cabin when he arrived. They
did not doubt that he would have been ready to use violence against any
one of them. But he had found Louis and Walter quite prepared for him.
Numbers had been equal and the boys’ guns within reach. Before Murray
could discover an opening for strategy, Neil had arrived. With three
alert lads watching him, the free trader had no chance. They were not at
all sure, however, that he might not return and attempt a surprise. So
Neil and Walter slept little, and Louis scarcely at all. Many times
during the night, the Canadian boy slipped out to look and listen. Though
he had turned the dogs loose, he did not dare to trust entirely to them.
The night passed without an alarm, but the boys were far from sure that
they had seen the last of the Black Murray. Before they dared go about
their ordinary work, they had to be certain that he was not anywhere in
the vicinity. Louis decided to follow his trail, while the others
remained at the cabin, alert and prepared for a second visit.
Walter’s hand worried both himself and his comrades. It was inflamed,
swollen, and very sore. No one knew what to do for it, except to open up
the cut and make it bleed again, a painful operation which Walter bore
without flinching.
Louis was away early. He returned late in the day with the encouraging
news that Murray had left the hills. His track, distinct and easy to
follow, ran straight across the prairie in the direction of the Red
River. “I followed several miles over the plain,” said Louis, “and could
see the trail going on in the distance. Yet I feared he might have turned
farther on somewhere, so I went north a long way, looking for a return
trail. Then I came back, crossed his track, and went on to the south. I
found nothing. Certainly _le Murrai_ has gone, unless he made a very wide
circle to return. I think he would not give himself the trouble to do
that. He had no reason to think we would doubt his story. Yes, I am as
sure he is gone as I can be without following him clear to the Red
River.”
Reassured, the boys took up their daily tasks of visiting the traps and
deadfalls, fishing through the ice, and hunting. One of them, however,
always remained at home, his gun loaded and within reach.
For several days Walter’s hand was very sore and painful. He was more
than a little anxious about it. He feared serious blood poisoning that
might mean the loss of hand, arm, and even life. But the inflammation did
not spread. The prompt sucking of the scratch, the cleansing and free
bleeding, and the healthy condition of Walter’s blood saved him. Within a
week the soreness was almost gone and the cut healing properly.
In the meantime another misfortune had befallen the boys. The dogs were
taken sick. Askimé was the first one to show the disease. One morning
Louis found the husky with a badly swollen neck. He took the dog into the
cabin and tended him anxiously, but the swelling increased until Askimé
could no longer eat. He was scarcely able to swallow a little water.
Walter proposed piercing the lumps, and performed the operation with an
awl used in sewing skins. The swellings discharged freely, and Askimé,
able to swallow, began to improve.
The other dogs had already shown signs of the same trouble. Gray Wolf had
only a slight attack, but the brown animal was very sick. Lancing the
lumps on his neck did no lasting good, and in spite of the boys’ efforts
to save him, the poor beast died. Luckily Askimé and Gray Wolf recovered
completely. How the dogs got the disease was a mystery. Murray had had no
opportunity to poison them. Possibly the wolf-like animal that had broken
loose and attacked Askimé had given the infection to him, or the husky
and his fellows might have caught it from some wild beast they had killed
and eaten.
XXV
THE TRAVELERS WITHOUT SNOWSHOES
After the wolverine was killed trapping had improved for a time. Then the
catches began to dwindle, growing smaller and smaller. Louis and Neil
agreed that they must either change their hunting grounds or go back to
Pembina. They had promised to return early in March. Now March had come,
with a thaw that suggested an early spring. The ducks and geese would
soon be flying north, spring fishing would begin, and food be plentiful
again in the settlement. And perhaps both boys were a bit homesick.
“We go back with less food than we came away with,” said Louis, “but we
have not been forced to eat wolf yet. Not once have we been near
starving, and we have a good catch of pelts. We will make the rounds of
our traps once more, spend the night in the hut near _Tête de Boeuf_, and
start from there.”
The morning was fine and the sun already high, when the boys left the
overnight shelter in the rolling hills below Buffalo Head. Neil went
ahead to break trail. The two dogs, fresh and eager, pulled willingly.
The sled was well loaded with a good store of skins: rabbit, squirrel,
raccoon, red fox, and mink, a few otter and beaver, two wildcats, three
wolves, a couple of marten, the elk hide, and a fine and valuable silver
fox pelt.
The weather was springlike, too springlike for good traveling. The soft,
sticky snow clung in sodden masses to the snowshoes, making them heavy
and unwieldy. It formed wet balls on the dogs’ feet. Moccasins, warm and
comfortable in colder weather, became soaked. The sun glare, reflected
from the white expanse, was almost unbearable. Before noon, Walter’s
eyes, squinted and screwed nearly shut to keep out the excess of light,
were smarting painfully. Neil’s were even worse. He was so snow blind
that he dropped behind, following his comrades by hearing instead of by
sight. Louis, less troubled by the glare, had to do all the trail
breaking.
They had hoped to reach the Red River by night, but the usual four miles
an hour were impossible in the sodden, soft snow. Having made a later
start than they intended, they permitted themselves no stop at noon. At
sundown they made a perilous crossing of a prairie stream on
water-covered, spongy ice, that threatened at every step to go down under
them, and reached a clump of willows.
“We stop here and have a cup of tea and dry our moccasins,” Louis
announced.
The others, tired, hungry, with chilled feet, aching legs, and smarting,
swollen eyes, were only too glad of a halt. A fire was soon burning and
the kettle steaming over it. The boys, seated on bales of furs, took off
their moccasins and held their feet to the blaze. The tired dogs lay in
the snow near by, tongues hanging out and eager eyes watching the supper
preparations.
The meal was a scanty one. For the boys there was tea and a very small
chunk of pemmican, saved for the return trip. One little fish each
remained for the dogs. Yet everyone felt better for the food, so much
better that Louis proposed going on.
“It will be easier by night,” he asserted. “The snow will freeze over the
top.”
“I’m for keeping on,” Neil agreed, “if I can see to find the way.” His
reddened eyelids were swollen almost shut. “How about you, Walter?”
When Walter had sunk down on the furs before the fire, he had not dreamed
of traveling farther that day. If the question had been put to him then
he would have answered no. But now that his feet were warm and he was
fortified with food and hot tea, going on did not seem so impossible. He
felt strangely anxious to reach Pembina. His thoughts, ever since
morning, had been turning to the Periers. It was more than two months
since he had heard from them. How had things been going with them? Surely
there were letters awaiting him at the settlement. “Let’s go on by all
means,” he replied to Neil’s question, “as far as we can. It won’t be so
bad when the snow hardens and there isn’t any sun glare.”
Louis nodded. “We will rest till darkness comes. The wind has changed. It
will soon be much colder, I think.”
There was no doubt that the weather was turning colder. Thawing had
ceased with the setting of the sun, and the wind came from the northwest.
By the time the journey was resumed, a crust had formed on the snow. The
going was much easier, but the dogs were tired and footsore. Gray Wolf
showed strong disinclination to pull. Askimé, however, did his best, and
dragged his reluctant comrade along. The average half-breed driver would
have lashed and beaten the weary beasts, but Louis used the whip
sparingly. He pulled with them or encouraged them by running ahead.
In spite of weariness the travelers made good progress. After midnight
they paused in a willow clump for another cup of hot tea, and then went
on again. The night had turned bitterly cold, and there was no sheltered
spot nearer than the banks of the Red River. The river was now only a few
miles away, so they forced themselves and the reluctant dogs forward.
There was no lack of light, for the moon was at the full in a clear sky.
The surface of the snow was frozen so hard that no obscuring drift was
carried before the wind. The waves of the prairie were motionless. The
three boys and two dogs might have been at the north pole so alone were
they. Except for their own voices and the slight noises of sled and
snowshoes, as they sped forward over the crust, there was not a sound of
living creature in a world of star-strewn sky and endless snow.
A brisk pace was necessary for warmth, and, in spite of their weariness,
they kept it up. Reaching the woods bordering the river, they made their
way among scattering, bare-limbed trees, creaking and clashing in the
wind. In search of a sheltered camping ground, they descended a stretch
of open slope to an almost level terrace about a third of the way down to
the stream. And there they came upon the trail of human beings.
Stooping to examine the tracks, Louis gave a low whistle of amazement.
“_Ma foi_, but this is strange! Those men had no snowshoes. Why should
anyone travel without them at this time of year?”
“Do you see any sled marks?” queried Neil. His own eyes were hardly in
condition to distinguish faint traces by moonlight.
“I find none. Even on the crust a _tabagane_ would leave some marks.
Those men without snowshoes broke through the crust.”
“Perhaps it is nothing but an animal trail,” Walter suggested.
“No, no. Men without snowshoes came this way.” Louis followed the tracks
a little distance, then returned to his companions and the dogs, who had
stopped for a rest. “There were three people,” he said positively, “two
men; or a man and a boy,—and a woman.”
“How can you tell it was a woman?” demanded Neil sceptically.
“Where she broke through into soft snow there are the marks of her
skirt.”
“Maybe it was a man wrapped in a blanket. They were probably Indians,”
the Scotch boy suggested.
Louis shook his head. “Why should Indians travel without snowshoes?”
“Well, it’s no affair of ours how they traveled or why. What we want is a
camping place. The wind strikes us here.”
“Yes,” Louis agreed, “we will go on and look for a better place.”
Along the terrace the dogs needed no guidance. Nose lowered, Askimé
followed the human tracks. Where the terrace dipped down a little, the
husky paused, raised his head, and howled. Louis ran forward and almost
stumbled over something lying in the snow in the shadow of the slope. He
uttered a sharp exclamation.
“What’s the matter?” called Neil.
“Have you found a good place?” asked Walter.
“I have found a man,” came the surprising reply.
“A man? Frozen?”
Neil hurried to join Louis, who was on his knees trying to unroll the
blanket that wrapped the motionless form lying in the snow. Neil stooped
to help.
“His heart beats. He still breathes,” Louis exclaimed. “But he is cold,
cold as ice. Make a fire, you and Walter. I will rub him and try to keep
the life in.”
Neil snatched the ax from the sled. Walter kicked off his snowshoes and
set to work digging and scraping away the snow. As soon as he had kindled
some fine shavings and added larger wood to make a good blaze, he helped
Louis to carry the unconscious man nearer the fire. As they laid him down
where the firelight shone on his face, Walter gave a cry of surprise and
horror.
“Monsieur Perier! It is Monsieur Perier, Louis!”
He recalled Louis’ certainty that the tracks were those of a man, a boy,
and a woman. “Where are the others?” he cried. “Where are Elise and Max?”
Without waiting for an answer, he sprang up and began to search. In a
hollow in the snow in the lee of a leafless bush, completely hidden in
deep shadow, he found another huddled heap wrapped in blankets; Elise and
Max clasped in each other’s arms. Between them and the place where their
father had lain were the ashes of a dead fire.
XXVI
ELISE’S STORY
Both children were alive. When Walter and Neil tried to separate them,
they aroused Max. The little fellow was stupid with cold and heavy sleep,
but seemed otherwise to be all right. Walter carried Elise nearer, but
not too near, to the fire. Kneeling beside her, he rubbed her ice-cold
feet, legs, and arms to restore circulation. The rubbing brought her back
to consciousness, dazed and wondering, to find her big brother—as she
called Walter—bending over her. As soon as the daze of her first
awakening passed, she asked for her father. Assuring her that Louis was
looking after him, Walter made her stay near the fire and drink some of
the strong, scalding tea.
Restoring Mr. Perier to consciousness was more difficult. Louis’
unceasing efforts aroused him at last, but his mind seemed confused and
bewildered. He struggled with Louis as if he thought the boy was trying
to do him some injury. He stared blankly at Walter and did not appear to
recognize him.
Throwing off the blanket Walter had wrapped around her, Elise went to her
father and put her arms about his neck. “Father, Father, it is all
right,” she cried. “Walter found us, and we are all safe.”
The wild look left Mr. Perier’s eyes and he ceased struggling. When
Walter brought him a cup of strong tea, he drank it obediently. The hot
drink seemed to clear his brain. After more rubbing, he was able to sit
up, nearer the fire. Elise and Max wrapped him in most of the blankets.
Attracted by the heat, the tired dogs snuggled close to the children and
added their animal warmth.
Louis was anxious to find a less exposed spot in which to spend the
night. “Stay here and keep the fire going,” he ordered his comrades. “I
will find a better camping place.”
In a few minutes he was back with word that he had found a much better
camping ground, a dry gully protected from the bitter wind. “You and I,
Neil,” he said, “will go over there and prepare a place, while Walter
keeps the fire burning here. Then we will come back and move our camp.”
Elise and Max were now wide awake and ready to talk, but Mr. Perier
seemed inert and drowsy. After Walter had cut more wood and fed the fire,
he crouched at Elise’s side and began to question her.
“How did you come to be here all alone?” he asked. “Why did you leave
Fort Douglas?”
“We were on the way to Pembina,” she replied. “A man with a sled was
taking us. It was warm when we started. Max and I rode on the sled, but
we didn’t like riding because the man abused the dogs and we were sorry
for them. Father tried to make him stop being so cruel, but he just
laughed. When Father tried to reason with him, the man grew so angry and
ugly that Father didn’t dare say anything more. We stopped once and had
pemmican and tea, then we came on again. It was hard for Father to keep
up, he had no snowshoes. He dropped behind. At sunset we stopped again,
and the man made a fire. Father caught up with us, and we had some more
tea.
“After that it turned cold. Max and I were very cold riding on the sled.
We wanted to walk a while to warm up, but the man wouldn’t let us. He
said we were too slow. We got so cold we were afraid we should freeze,
and Father told our guide we must stop and get warm. Father had promised
him his watch——”
“His watch?” interrupted Walter.
“Yes. We have very little money left, and the man didn’t want money
anyway. He said he would take us to Pembina for the watch.”
Walter grunted wrathfully, and Elise went on. “When Father said we must
stop and make a fire, we weren’t far from the woods. Our guide said we
could go down to the river bank and camp, but that would delay us. It
would take longer to reach Pembina, and he would have to have more pay.
He wanted the chain as well as the watch. Father agreed and we came into
the woods and stopped. Max and I ran around and tried to get warm. Our
eyes hurt and Father was almost blind. The man made Father give him the
watch and chain at once. He put them in the pouch where he carried his
tobacco and flint and steel. Then he whipped the dogs and jumped on the
sled, and they ran away and left us.”
“The miserable brute!” cried Walter.
“He ran away and left us,” Elise repeated, “without any food or
snowshoes. Everything we owned, except the blankets Max and I had been
wrapped in when we were riding, was on the sled. It was a cruel way to
treat us.”
“Cruel? Why even the meanest Indian——” Walter’s wrath choked him.
“He is an Indian. They call him a _bois brulé_, but he looks just like an
Indian. No one but a savage could be so cruel.”
“He’s worse than a savage. He must be a fiend. Why did Kolbach let you
come with such a fellow?”
“Monsieur Kolbach didn’t know we were coming,” Elise explained. “The
Indian said he was a friend of Monsieur Kolbach’s brother.”
“Fritz? That’s not much of a recommendation.”
“Do you know Monsieur Fritz? Has he been at Pembina? I have never seen
him.”
“I think I have seen him, and I have heard about him. He and his brother
aren’t very friendly, are they?” Walter questioned. “I have been told
that they weren’t.”
Elise shook her head. “I know nothing about that. Monsieur Kolbach has
never said. He is not a man who talks much anyway. Monsieur Fritz has
been away from Fort Douglas most of the winter. He has been trading with
the Indians.”
A sudden thought struck Walter, an unpleasant thought that made him
shudder. “What was that fellow’s name, the one who deserted you?” he
demanded.
“He has an English name,” Elise replied. “I’m not sure I understood it
right. Mauray or something like that.”
“Murray? Elise, he is the very man I wrote you about, the one who was
steersman of our boat when we came from Fort York. It was the Black
Murray himself, the fiend! If ever I——”
The voice of little Max interrupted. “I’m cold,” he complained.
Walter had forgotten the fire. He sprang up to replenish it. He found Mr.
Perier dozing, roused him, and warned him against dropping off to sleep.
Then he heaped on fuel until the blaze was so hot the others were forced
to move back from it. As for Walter himself, he was so boiling with anger
against the inhuman Murray that he gave no heed to cold. He wielded the
ax savagely, and sent the chips flying far and wide.
In a surprisingly short time Louis returned to guide the rest of the
party to the camping place. Mr. Perier was unable to walk, so he was
placed on the sled, warmly wrapped. The dogs protested piteously at being
aroused and harnessed. Even Askimé refused to pull until Louis took hold
also. Elise and Max bravely asserted that they were able to walk, and
Walter knew it would be better for them to do so if they could. He gave
his snowshoes to Elise,—she had learned during the winter to use
snowshoes,—and helped Max when the little fellow broke through the crust.
The gully was only a short distance away. They soon reached the camping
place, to find Neil tending a blazing fire. Between the fire and a steep,
bare, clay slope that reflected the heat, beds were made with bales of
pelts, blankets, and robes. The toboggan, turned on its side, furnished
additional shelter. There the Periers could sleep safely and comfortably.
The boys had no intention of sleeping at all. Their task was to keep the
fire going until daylight, which was not far away.
There was a little tea left, but no food. At dawn Neil went down to the
river, chopped a hole in the ice, and with a hook baited with a bit of
rawhide, caught two small fish. The little fish made a scanty breakfast
for Elise and Max. Mr. Perier and the boys refused to touch them. Their
meal consisted of tea alone, and they used the last of that.
Both of Mr. Perier’s feet had been badly frozen and were swollen and very
painful. He was placed on the sled again, and Elise and Max took turns
riding with him. To make room for the passengers, part of the furs were
taken off and made into packs, which the boys carried on their backs.
Even then, the load on the sled was a heavy one for two tired, hungry
dogs. One, and sometimes two, of the boys had to help pull.
By way of the gully they left the river bank and went up to the prairie.
There they found and followed a well defined trail, the usual route
between Pembina and Fort Douglas. More than one dog train had traveled
that way since the last fall of snow. The morning was cold and the crust
firm, but the party had to make the best possible speed before the sun
softened the surface. With one or the other of the children walking, it
was not possible to go very fast. Cold though the wind was, even the
beaten track grew soft under the direct rays of the sun, as the day
advanced.
With soaked moccasins, and red, swollen eyes, the tired, half-starved
travelers reached Pembina some time after noon. Mr. Perier was the only
one with dry feet. He was not suffering so much from snow blindness
either as the others, for he had been able to keep his eyes covered. But
his feet and right hand and arm were paining him severely.
The arrival caused much excitement in the little settlement, but the boys
did not linger to explain how it happened that they returned from their
hunting trip bringing three strangers. They went at once to Louis’ home.
His mother received the Periers with almost as warm a welcome as she gave
her own son. The little cabin would be crowded indeed, but that did not
disturb her in the least. There was always room for travelers in
distress, and Elise and Max, cold, weary, hungry, and motherless,
appealed to her motherly heart.
Mrs. Brabant and her younger children were thin, much thinner than when
Walter had seen them last. Food had been scarce in Pembina for weeks, but
they did not hesitate to share what little they had with the newcomers.
Kinder, more generous people never lived, thought the Swiss boy, as he
remembered all they had done for him and saw how eager they were to share
their last bite with his friends. He could never do enough to repay their
kindness. That they neither expected nor wanted repayment, he knew well.
Their hospitality was a matter of course with them.
XXVII
WHY THE PERIERS CAME TO PEMBINA
Before starting for the hills, Walter had written Elise that he expected
to be back by the first of March. So when Mr. Perier decided to leave
Fort Douglas, he felt very sure that he would find his apprentice at
Pembina. “I was anxious to get away,” he said when he told his story.
“The weather was mild and favorable for the journey, and—well, I had
other reasons. At St. Boniface I learned of a man with a dog team who was
coming this way.”
Walter interrupted to ask if the man was really Murray.
“Yes, that is his name,” Mr. Perier replied. “He said he knew you and
your friend Louis Brabant. Murray had not intended to leave for another
day or two. He was waiting to see Sergeant Kolbach’s brother, who had
gone to Norway House.”
At first the half-breed had refused to take the Periers to Pembina. While
he was arguing his case, Mr. Perier had taken out his watch and glanced
at it; a nervous habit of his when worried or distressed. Murray pointed
to the watch. He would go for that he said. As nothing else would satisfy
him, Mr. Perier agreed. Murray furnished toboggan and dogs, and they
started early the next morning.
Before they had been out an hour, the Swiss began to regret his bargain.
Murray’s brutality and his insolent, overbearing manner filled the quiet,
gentle-natured apothecary with apprehension. The trip proved far from
pleasant, but, knowing that the wild _bois brulés_ were apt to appear
more savage than they really were, he did not think his children and
himself in any real danger. What really happened Elise had already told.
Before the journey was over, Murray demanded his pay. Mr. Perier had been
forced to hand over his watch and chain. As soon as the coveted articles
were in the half-breed’s possession, he had whipped up his dogs, jumped
on the sled, and left the Periers to freeze or starve.
Mr. Perier knew that if they followed the river it would lead them to
Pembina. They tried to keep going but they had no snowshoes and were
continually breaking through the crust. All three were very cold and
tired. When they came to a spot a little sheltered from the wind, they
camped, intending to go on in the morning. With his pocket knife, the
father hacked off a few dead branches. He kindled a fire, and Elise and
Max lay down beside it, wrapped in one of the blankets. They insisted
that their father should use the other.
“I didn’t intend to go to sleep,” he confessed. “I was utterly exhausted
and had to rest a little. I lay down, meaning to get up in a few minutes
and cut more wood. What happened was all my fault. I should have kept
awake and moving.
“Even now I am at a loss to understand,” he concluded, “how Murray dared
to desert us. To have taken us on, as he promised, would have delayed him
but little. He must have known that, whether we ever reached here alive
or not, he was responsible for us. He would be charged with the crime of
deserting us and stealing our belongings. Surely the Company cannot
overlook such a crime. He must suffer for it.”
Louis shrugged. “It is not at all certain that he will suffer for it,
though Walter and I will do our best to see that he does. This is not _le
Murrai Noir’s_ first crime, and always, so far, he seems to have escaped
punishment. He thinks he will always escape. He stole the Company’s
property, he and Fritz Kolbach attacked and robbed one of the Company’s
hunters, yet he has not been punished, it seems, for either of those
crimes. He was bold to go to St. Boniface and stay there, after that last
affair.”
“Perhaps he lay low and did not let the Company at Fort Douglas know he
was there,” suggested Walter.
“Or he lied himself free of the charge,” Louis added, “with witnesses
bribed to say he spoke the truth. But this last crime is more serious.”
The boy rose from the hearth, where he had been sitting cross legged.
There were not stools enough to go around. “I go now,” he announced, “to
learn whether _le Murrai_ really came to Pembina, and if he is still
here.”
“I’ll go with you,” cried Walter springing up, tired though he was. “The
sooner we lay charges against Murray the better. Already he has had time
to take warning from our coming, and be gone.”
A little questioning of the people of Pembina brought the information
that Murray had arrived at the settlement before daybreak, had rested a
few hours, and had gone on, with a fresh team for which he had exchanged
his exhausted dogs. His only answer to the question whither he was bound
had been “Up river.”
At Fort Daer and Pembina House the boys learned that Murray had avoided
the posts. The clerks in charge did not even know that the half-breed had
been in the neighborhood until the lads brought the news. The man at the
Company post listened gravely to the story, but was inclined to blame Mr.
Perier for leaving Fort Douglas.
“Why didn’t the Swiss stay where he was?” he asked impatiently. “He was
better off there than he will be here. What did he want to come to
Pembina now for? He will only have to go back again with the rest of the
colonists in a few weeks. It will soon be time to break ground and sow
crops.”
To this Walter had no good answer, for he himself did not understand just
why Mr. Perier had decided so suddenly to make the change. Not until
night, after Madame Brabant and the girls were in bed in the main room
and Walter lay beside his master on a skin cot in the lean-to, did the
boy learn the real reason for the journey to Pembina.
“Sergeant Kolbach turned us out,” said Mr. Perier.
“What?” exclaimed Walter. “I thought he had been so kind to you.”
“He was until recently, but he and I had a disagreement. He asked me for
Elise’s hand in marriage.”
“Why she is a mere child!” Walter was both surprised and distressed.
“So I told him. I said she was far too young to marry. He replied that
she was old enough to cook his meals and keep his house, and that was
what he wanted a wife for.”
Walter grunted angrily.
“It is true,” Mr. Perier went on, “that some of our girls not much older
have married since coming to the Colony. You know the Company encouraged
young women to come over because wives were needed in the settlement,
especially by the DeMeurons. But Elise came to be with me, and I have
other plans for her. She shall not marry Kolbach or any other, now or ten
years from now, unless he is the right kind of a man and she wants him.”
“I hope she’ll never want a DeMeuron.” The thought of his little sister
married to one of that wild crew horrified Walter.
“I hope not indeed,” agreed the father. “I would prefer one of our own
people for her; when she is several years older of course.” He paused a
moment then went on. “Elise never liked Kolbach. Even though he was kind
to us and she felt she ought to be grateful, she disliked him and was a
little afraid of him. I could see it. If I had dreamed that he had any
such idea in his head, I would not have stayed in his house a day.”
“Does she know he wants to marry her?” Walter inquired.
“I think not. I told him I would not consent to his speaking to her. He
declared he would do as he thought best about that, but he has had no
chance. We left his house that very day.”
“Did he really turn you out?”
“It amounted to that. He was angry at my refusal to consider his suit. He
said he was willing to wait a year, if, at Easter, Elise was formally
betrothed to him. When I would consent to no betrothal, he said that we
could not stay in his house longer unless she was promised to him. I have
been working at the buffalo cloth mill, and have been paying him what I
could for our lodging, and Elise has done all the housework. Yet he spoke
as if we were beggars. I answered that we had no wish to remain in his
house. We went to a neighbor,—Marianne Scheidecker she was before she
married. I told her, as I told Elise, that Kolbach and I had quarreled.
The next day I found Murray and hired him to bring us here.”
“Do you suppose Kolbach could have put him up to deserting you?” Walter
questioned suspiciously.
“Oh no. I doubt if Kolbach knew we were going. The Sergeant would not do
such a thing, however angry he might be. He is a rough, domineering man,
but not bad at heart. No, no, he wouldn’t be capable of anything like
that. In his way he is really fond of Elise. I think he would be as kind
to her as he knows how to be, but he is not good enough for her, and she
is far too young.”
“She certainly is,” Walter agreed emphatically.
It would be years yet before little Elise need think of such things, the
boy decided. Then perhaps he would have something to say about the
matter. The idea had never occurred to him before, but why should he not
marry Elise himself some day? What other girl was there in the new land
or the old to equal her? Of course it would be years from now, but in the
meantime he must keep guard over her and see that no DeMeuron, or
Scotchman, or French _bois brulé_ tried to take her away. None of them
should bother Elise if he could help it, and he thought he could. It was
with a new and not unpleasing sense of responsibility that, the boy fell
asleep that night.
XXVIII
THE LAND TO THE SOUTH
Pembina seethed with indignation when the Periers’ story was told. The
Swiss, who were all undergoing their share of suffering, sympathized
warmly with their country folk. Though still prejudiced against the new
colonists, the Scotch and Irish settlers had nothing but condemnation for
the rascally half-breed Murray. Many of the _bois brulés_ of Pembina had
bitterly opposed the Selkirk settlement, and some had joined with the
Northwesters in driving out the colonists. Since the union of the two
companies, however, most of the enmity had evaporated. Walter had
received only the kindest treatment from the French mixed bloods. Now
there was not one to defend Murray in his heartless desertion of helpless
travelers. So strong was the feeling against the treacherous voyageur
that if he had been in Pembina when the Periers arrived, he would
scarcely have escaped with his life. Though he had been gone several
hours, a party of armed men went out to search for him. Uncertain whether
he had told the truth when he had said he was going up river, they
scoured the country for miles to the east and west as well as to the
south. They did not overtake him. He had too long a start.
Murray was not well known in Pembina. He had never lived there nor at St.
Boniface. No one in either settlement knew much about him. The spring
after the killing of Governor Semple, the tall voyageur had come down the
Assiniboine from the west with a brigade transporting furs to York
Factory, and had remained in Hudson Bay service. It was said at that time
that he was the son of a free trader of mixed Scotch and Cree blood. The
elder Murray had wandered far,—so it was said,—and had taken a wife from
among the western Sioux. If this story was true, Murray could not be more
than one quarter white and was at least half Sioux. The Indian blood in
the Pembina half-breeds was chiefly Ojibwa and Cree. The Sioux were the
traditional enemies of the Ojibwas and the Crees. To the people of
Pembina Murray’s Sioux blood did not endear him. There was not a man to
find excuse for behavior of which few full-blooded Sioux would have been
guilty.
It was some time before the Perier family recovered from their terrible
experience. The frost bites Elise and Max had suffered were so severe
that the outer skin of their cheeks, noses, hands, and feet peeled off in
patches, leaving sore, tender spots. Their father was in a far worse
condition. His feet and ankles, his right hand and arm, were badly
swollen and inflamed and very painful. It was weeks before he was able to
walk or to use his right hand. Had the boys failed to give him prompt
treatment when they first found him he would have frozen to death.
Realizing what might have happened if they had camped on the prairie that
night, instead of pushing on to the river, Walter felt that he and his
companions had indeed been guided to the rescue.
The little settlement had passed through hard days while the three boys
were in the hills. Food had been very scanty. The buffalo had been far
away, and following them in the deep snow next to impossible. Other game
had been exceedingly scarce. Even the nets set under the ice of the two
rivers had yielded little. The _bois brulés_ and the older settlers had
fared better than the Swiss. Though the rations had been slender, neither
the Brabants nor the MacKays had been entirely without food. The Swiss
had suffered severely. Johan Scheidecker told Walter that at one time his
family had not had a morsel to eat for three days. At Fort Douglas
conditions had been even worse than at Pembina. By February most of the
settlers were on an allowance of a pint of wheat or barley a day, which
they ground in hand mills or mortars. Soup made from the grain and an
occasional fish were all they had for weeks at a time. Though their fare
had been meager enough, the Periers, in Sergeant Kolbach’s care, had
fared better than many of their country folk. They had never been quite
without food.
With the coming of spring matters improved at Pembina. When the ice in
the rivers began to break up, wild fowl arrived in great flocks. Almost
every night they could be heard passing over. By day they alighted to
feed along the rivers and in the marshes. Every man able to walk, every
boy large enough to carry a gun, shoot an arrow, or set a snare, and many
of the women and girls, hunted from daylight till dark for ducks, geese,
swans, pelicans, cranes, pigeons, any and every bird, large or small,
that could be eaten. The buffalo also were drawing nearer the settlement.
Following the herds over the wet, sodden prairie was difficult, even on
horseback, but a skilful hunter brought down a cow or calf now and then.
The lucky men shared generously with their neighbors.
Louis and Walter had no time for long hunting trips. Both had obtained
temporary employment at the Company post. Indian and half-breed hunters
were bringing in the winter’s catch, and the two boys were engaged to
help with the cleaning, sorting, and packing of the pelts.
The post was a busy and a merry place those spring days. The men worked
rapidly and well, but found plenty of time for joking, laughing, singing,
and challenging one another to feats of strength and agility. After the
cold and hardships of the winter, the spring fur-packing was a season of
jollity for the voyageurs. Walter and Louis enjoyed the bustle and
merriment, while they worked with a will.
The skins were thoroughly shaken and beaten to free them from dust and
dried mud. Then they were sorted, folded to convenient size, and pressed
into packs by means of a wooden lever press that stood in the post
courtyard. Each bundle,—about ninety pounds weight,—of assorted furs was
wrapped in a strong hide. In every package was a slip of paper with a
list of the contents. To the outside was attached a wooden stave, with
the number and weight of the pack, and the name of the post. The numbers
and lettering were burned into the wood. Because he wrote a good hand,
Walter was able to help the overworked clerk with these invoices and
labels. He did a share of the harder physical work as well.
The Swiss boy was heartily glad of employment. His wages, in Hudson Bay
Company paper money, were exchanged for food and ammunition, and clothes
for Elise, Max and himself. The Periers needed his help sorely. They had
reached Pembina destitute. When they had left Switzerland, they had been
well supplied with clothing. They had also brought with them the
apothecary’s herbs and powders and such household goods as they were
permitted to take aboard ship. In the crowded open boat in which they had
come from Fort York, there had not been room for all their belongings, so
some had been left behind. Nearly everything else had been lost in the
wreck on Lake Winnipeg. The little that remained had been on the toboggan
that Murray had run away with. Every cent of Mr. Perier’s money, as well
as the Hudson Bay paper he had received for his work at the buffalo wool
factory, had gone for food and other expenses during the winter. Even his
silver watch and chain he had turned over to Murray. Father and children
had nothing left but the worn clothes they were wearing, two blankets,
and the few packets of medicinal plant seeds the apothecary carried in
his pockets. He must begin all over again, and on credit at that.
Mrs. Brabant’s sympathy for the unfortunate family was genuine and warm.
They crowded her house to overflowing, but she would not hear of their
going elsewhere. Indeed there was no other place for them to go but Fort
Daer, and the fort was too well filled for comfort. It was hardly worth
while to attempt building a new cabin, if they were to return to the
Selkirk settlement in a few weeks.
Were they going to return to the settlement? That was the question that
troubled Mr. Perier and Walter. It led to many debates, as the two
families sat around the fire after the evening meal. There was that
hundred acres of land to be considered. A vast estate it seemed to the
Swiss apothecary. The promise of that great tract of land had dazzled him
when he first talked with Captain Mai in Geneva. Since his coming to the
new country, however, the hundred acres of unbroken prairie had grown
less alluring. He had learned that not one of the older colonists had
been able to cultivate more than a few acres. He had no farming tools and
he could obtain nothing but hoe and spade at the Colony store. There was
not a plough to be bought for credit or cash. Breaking tough prairie sod
with hoe and spade would be slow and painful toil for Walter and himself.
Because of the depredations of the locusts, seed grain was very scarce.
The little Mr. Perier might buy would be high in price. From his first
crop he would have to pay for seed as well as rent for the land. If he
did not succeed in raising a crop, if the grasshoppers came again and
destroyed it, he would be far in debt to the Colony, with no immediate
hope of getting out. Already he had learned to his cost that prices were
high at the Colony store, and that bills were sometimes rendered for
things that had not been bought. In the end he might easily lose his land
and have nothing to show for his labor. The prospect was not bright.
Hopeful though he was by nature, he doubted his ability to make a success
of farming under such discouraging conditions.
Walter was strongly against returning to Fort Douglas. It would be better
to remain where they were, he argued, and trust to making a living, as
the _bois brulés_ did, by hunting, fishing, and planting a small garden.
Perhaps the Company would let Mr. Perier have his hundred acres in the
neighborhood of Pembina. Both Louis and Jean Lajimonière,—who was
consulted,—shook their heads at the latter suggestion. Pembina was
included in Lord Selkirk’s grant, but the real Colony was established at
and near Fort Douglas. It was there that the land was allotted. They
thought it unlikely that Mr. Perier could obtain his anywhere else. In
any case there would be the same difficulty about tools, seed, supplies,
and rent. And so the argument went on.
In the meantime spring had come in earnest. The ice was gone from the
rivers. Birds were nesting in the woods, in the marshes, and on the
prairie, according to their habit. As the rivers subsided from flood
stage, fishing was resumed and yielded good results. The snow had melted
from the prairie, though it still lingered in shaded places in the woods
and along the river banks. The burned stretches showed new green. The sun
was drying up the excess of moisture that had turned the prairie into
ponds and spongy expanses and had converted the rambling paths and cart
tracks of Pembina into sticky mud.
In May the old colonists and most of the new began to prepare for the
return to Fort Douglas. Still Mr. Perier and Walter were undecided. At
last they came to a decision suddenly and almost by accident. Through
Lajimonière, Mr. Perier met a man named St. Antoine who had traveled more
widely than most of the Pembina mixed bloods. Two years before, he had
been far to the south and east with Laidlaw, the Colony superintendent of
farming, when the latter had gone to Prairie du Chien on the Mississippi
River for seed grain. St. Antoine had many tales to tell of the country
along the Mississippi and the St. Peter rivers.
“That is a fine land,” he told Mr. Perier, “a land with hills and
forests,—not flat and bare like this, though there is open country there
too, good land for farming. At Prairie du Chien now, there the soil is
rich and the crops grow well and ripen. It is not so cold as here. The
spring comes earlier and the frost later.”
“Are there grasshoppers there?” Mr. Perier inquired.
“The kind that eat up everything? No, no. Those grasshoppers have never
been seen in that country, the people say. And where the two rivers come
together, where the Americans are building a fort, it is beautiful there,
with high hills and bluffs like mountains, and woods and waterfalls.”
Mr. Perier’s brown eyes were wistful. St. Antoine’s description sounded
good to a Swiss homesick for his mountains. “How does one go to that
country?” he asked. “Can land be bought or rented?”
“Oh,” replied St. Antoine confidently, “you do not have to buy or rent
it, that land. There is no Hudson Bay Company to say where you shall live
and where you shall not, and to charge you so many bushels of wheat a
year. You find a place that you like and you build a house and plant your
crops and it is yours. That is the way folk do on the east side of the
Rivière Mississippi. On the west side the American government does not
want people to settle. That is Indian country. You may live there if you
are a trader. But there is plenty of land on the east side, fine land
too. Some time I am going back there to stay,—when I get old and want to
settle down.”
St. Antoine’s tales took hold of Mr. Perier’s imagination. The more he
thought of that country to the south and east, the more he wanted to go
there, and the less he wanted to return to Fort Douglas. He told Walter
and Louis, and they too talked to St. Antoine, who fired their
imaginations as he had fired the older man’s. It did not take Walter long
to decide what he wanted to do. The question was how were they to get to
the Mississippi. It would be a long journey, hundreds of miles, by cart
and horseback through the country of the Sioux. But it could be done of
course. It had been done a number of times. The previous summer’s threats
of trouble with the Sioux had come to nothing. Yet the trip might be a
dangerous one for a small party. At this point Louis had a suggestion to
offer.
“The summer buffalo hunt will start in June,” he said. “It will go far to
the south, perhaps near to the Lake Traverse. We can travel with the
hunters at first. When we are near Lake Traverse,—or if the hunters go
too far to the west,—we can leave them and make haste to the lake. There
is a trading post there, so St. Antoine says, and another at the Lake Big
Stone. Traders go back and forth along the Rivière St. Pierre to the
Mississippi. There will surely be some party we can travel with.”
“You will go too, Louis?” Walter asked eagerly.
“But _certainment_. Do you think I would let you and M’sieu Perier and
Ma’amselle Elise and the little Max go alone? No, no, I want to see that
country too. And I think Neil MacKay will go also.”
“His people would never let him.”
“I am not so sure of that. M’sieu MacKay is not well pleased with the
Selkirk Colony. He says if the grasshoppers come again, he will go
somewhere else. I think he would not object to Neil’s going to see that
country to the south.”
So, gradually, the plan took shape. It was Mrs. Brabant who made the
strongest objections at first. But when Mr. Perier and Walter finally
decided to go, and Louis insisted on going with them, she suddenly made
up her mind, much to Raoul’s delight, that she and the children would go
along. “And if we like that country, Louis,” she said, “we will stay. It
may be there will be a better chance for you there. If we do not like it,
we can come back when some party comes this way.”
Neil proved eager to go. After some argument, he got his father’s
consent, with the provision that he was to return to the Red River colony
at the first opportunity, before winter if possible. He must learn all he
could about that Mississippi country, his father said. If the crops
should fail again, it might be that the MacKay family would have to leave
the Red River for good. The Northwesters could not drive the stubborn
Scot to give up his land, but against the locusts he could not contend
forever.
XXIX
THE COMING OF THE SIOUX
Early in May the Perier family said good-bye to their countryfolk who
were returning to Fort Douglas. Some of the Swiss tried to dissuade Mr.
Perier from going farther into the interior. Others talked of following
later if things did not turn out well in the Colony.
A short time after the Swiss left, something happened that threatened to
upset all Mr. Perier’s plans. A party of men returning from a buffalo
hunt brought disquieting news. They had met an Ojibwa scout who had told
them that a large body of Sioux were on the march towards the settlement.
Remembering the unfortunate affair at Fort Douglas the summer before, the
people of Pembina feared the worst. Scouts were sent out to watch for the
Sioux, guns were overhauled, and bullets moulded.
In the midst of the preparations for defence, two boats arrived from down
river, bringing reenforcements. Rumors of the approach of the Sioux had
reached the Governor, and he had sent a detachment of DeMeurons and
voyageurs to meet the Indians and prevent them from going on to Fort
Douglas. The Sioux were to be stopped by diplomatic methods if possible.
Force was to be used only in case of necessity. With the party were
Sergeant Kolbach and the Rev. Mr. West, the man who had befriended the
Periers when their boat was wrecked on Lake Winnipeg. The clergyman
greeted Mr. Perier cordially, but Kolbach favored his former guest with
the stiffest and slightest of nods. Walter looked in vain for the
red-faced DeMeuron with the sandy beard. Inquiry brought the information
that Fritz Kolbach was not among the soldiers. Fritz was not in favor
with the Company just then, having been accused of free trading with the
Assiniboins, one DeMeuron told Walter.
The relief force arrived on Friday, and Saturday passed without alarm.
Sunday morning Mr. West held service at Fort Daer, and the Periers and
Walter attended. Just at the close of the service scouts came hurrying in
with word that the Sioux were approaching. Armed men began to gather at
the fort, the plan being to make so strong a showing that the Indians
would not dare attack. The women and children were to stay north of the
Pembina, where carts and boats were in readiness to carry them to Fort
Douglas if there should be trouble.
Walter took Elise and Max across the river to join Mrs. Brabant. Then he
returned to Fort Daer where he found Louis just arrived. The MacKays had
gone to Kildonan with other colonists who had wintered at Pembina. In
June Neil was to return to go south with his friends.
“They are in sight,” shouted a man who was watching from the roof of one
of the buildings.
The fort gates stood open, for the Company officers intended to maintain
a friendly attitude as long as possible. With others, Louis and Walter
ran out to watch the coming of the Indians. There they were, a band of
mounted men approaching across the prairie from the south. Walter’s heart
beat fast, but he was surprised to find that he was excited and eager
rather than frightened.
“There are no _travois_, only mounted men, no women,” St. Antoine
remarked. “That looks bad. Yet they come openly, in the daytime. They
raise no war cry. But we cannot tell. The Dakota are treacherous.” He
used the name by which the Indians of the prairies called
themselves—Dakota. It was their enemies, the Ojibwa, who named them
Sioux.
The Indians came on at an easy pace until they were a few hundred yards
from the fort. There they halted, as if waiting to see how they were to
be received. A small group of white men, among them Mr. West, went out on
foot to meet the strangers. Suddenly, out from the fort gate darted a
slender, bronze figure, a young Indian stripped naked and without
weapons. Straight towards the Sioux he ran full speed.
“He has gone crazy,” gasped Walter. “They will kill him.” He knew the
fellow, an Ojibwa hunter who had recently brought his furs to the post.
“He does it to prove his courage, to show that he is not afraid of the
Sioux,” explained Louis. “But what use is it to a man to be called brave,
after he is dead?”
As the young Indian drew near the enemies of his people, Walter held his
breath, expecting every moment that a shower of musket balls or a cloud
of arrows would put an end to the rash Ojibwa. But nothing happened.
Whether from admiration for his reckless bravery or because they scorned
to kill an enemy so easily, the Sioux let him come on uninjured. When he
was almost up to them he paused, stood still for a moment, then turned
and walked back towards the white men.
How would the party from Fort Daer be received? Was it to be peace or
war? In silence, every nerve tense, the watchers waited to learn. The
white men drew closer and closer, without pause or hesitation. The
Indians were dismounting. The two parties were mingling. They were coming
towards the fort, together. Only a few of the Sioux remained behind to
watch the horses. Walter drew a long breath.
The Sioux were conducted straight to the open gates. They were to be
treated as guests. This was Walter’s first glimpse of Sioux. He looked on
with keen interest as they were ushered into the fort. They were manly
looking fellows, these Dakotas. Most of them were rather tall, taller
than the majority of the _bois brulés_. They were straight and slender,
lithe and wiry rather than muscular in appearance. Their faces were
intelligent for the most part, strong featured, and with a look of pride
and fierceness very different from the stupid expression of the Crees he
had seen at Fort York. All wore fringed leggings and moccasins. The
bodies of some were bare to the waist, while others were clothed in
shirts of deerskin or calico, or wrapped in blankets or buffalo robes.
Their black hair, adorned with feathers, hung in braids over their
shoulders. Every face and bare body was hideous with paint, in streaks,
patches, spots, circles, and zigzags, the favorite colors being red,
yellow, and black. They were all tricked out in their best finery,
beadwork, quill embroidery, necklaces of animals’ teeth or birds’ claws,
and trinkets bought from the traders.
The Sioux proved restless and uncomfortable visitors. They pried into
every corner of the fort. They appeared to be suspicious and acted as if
they were looking for trouble. The Company officers fed them and treated
them to tea, tobacco, and some liquor. That was a dangerous thing to do,
Walter thought, to give them liquor, for all were armed with guns, bows,
knives, or tomahawks. But the refusal to give them drink might have been
taken as an insult. The Chief insisted on crossing the river to the
Company fort, and the trader in charge thought it best to let him go. But
he managed things so that only a few of Chief Waneta’s followers
accompanied him. As soon as possible they were conducted back to Fort
Daer.
All the rest of that day the Sioux lingered at Fort Daer. When night came
they showed no intention of leaving. They had brought nothing to trade,
but they expected all sorts of gifts. Most of the _bois brulés_ had gone
back to their families, but Mr. Perier and Walter were allowed to remain
at the fort with Mr. West. It was a night of anxiety and alarms. Drink
had made the savage guests touchy and quarrelsome. Several times shots
were fired in threat or sport, but luckily no one was hurt. The arrival
of three Assiniboins, who said they had come to smoke the peace pipe with
their ancient enemies, did not help matters any.
About eleven o’clock shouts and war whoops from outside the walls roused
everyone. Thinking that the attack had begun, Mr. Perier and Walter
rushed out of the house where they had withdrawn to keep out of the way
of quarrelsome Indians. They found that the Sioux, instead of attacking,
were leaving the fort in haste. There had been a fight between a Dakota
and an Assiniboin. The Dakota had shot the Assiniboin and scalped him,
the fallen man’s two companions had fled, and some of the Sioux had
started in pursuit.
Chief Waneta had been overbearing and truculent enough himself, but he
apparently did not want a general fight. Waneta was no fool. He probably
realized that the white men and _bois brulés_ of Pembina were too strong
for him in numbers and too well prepared for trouble. With unexpected
promptness he gathered his followers together, and started for home.
Before midnight the whole band had disappeared in the darkness, riding
south.
XXX
WITH THE BUFFALO HUNTERS
If the visit of the Sioux had resulted in hostilities, Mr. Perier would
have been forced to give up the trip to the Mississippi. As it was, the
fact that the only hostile act committed had been against the
Assiniboins, and that Waneta and his braves had departed at peace with
the white men, went far to convince the Swiss that his little party would
have no trouble with the Indians unless they sought it. Louis did not
wholly agree with that idea, but he was young, eager for travel and
adventure, and willing to take what seemed a rather remote risk. His
mother was more doubtful, but if the others were going, she did not
intend to stay behind. At first Elise had dreaded a new journey into
strange country, but when Mrs. Brabant decided to go, she no longer felt
afraid. She did not want to return to Fort Douglas, and she had grown
very fond of Mrs. Brabant.
Already the _bois brulés_ of Pembina were growing restless. The coming of
spring had stirred the wild blood in them. They were eager to be up and
away. Those who had not taken service with the Company to go as voyageurs
to Fort York, neglected their primitive gardening to prepare for the
great buffalo hunt. They mended harness, repaired old carts by binding
the broken parts with rawhide, patched hide and canvas tents, cleaned
guns, moulded bullets, made stout new moccasins, packed their wooden
chests, and overhauled gear of all kinds. The ground around every cabin
was strewn with odds and ends.
On the first day of June Neil arrived full of enthusiasm, and the little
party was complete. A spot on the open prairie to the southwest of the
junction of the two rivers had been chosen as a gathering place for the
hunters. Early in the morning of the appointed day, the people began to
leave the settlement. Most of the hunters were taking their entire
families along. The clumsy, squeaking, two-wheeled carts, drawn by wiry
ponies, were crowded with black-haired, dark-skinned women and children
or piled high with household gear and equipment. Louis’ one horse and
cart were not enough for the Brabant-Perier party, so he and Walter had
built another vehicle. Neil furnished two ponies, and Louis had traded
his toboggan and Gray Wolf for a fourth. Askimé was to go with him. He
would not part with the husky dog.
At the women’s suggestion, the Brabant, Perier, and Lajimonière families
selected a spot a little distance from the main camp. There they
unhitched their ponies, and stretched their tent covers from cart to
cart.
“There will be much drinking in the camp to-night,” Louis explained to
Mr. Perier, “to celebrate the beginning of the hunt, and much noise and
gaming, and probably fighting. Since we do not wish to take part in all
that, we will camp by ourselves. This is a better place for the women and
children.”
The wisdom of this plan soon became evident. Long before midnight the big
camp had grown uproarious. When an unusually loud outburst of noise was
followed by the sound of shots and frantic yelling, Mr. Perier raised
himself on his elbow to listen. He was sleeping on the ground underneath
one of the carts.
“I’m afraid we have made a mistake,” he said anxiously to Walter lying
next him. “We cannot travel with that wild crew. It will not be safe for
the children.”
Louis, on the other side, overheard the words, and hastened to reassure
the Swiss. “You need not fear, M’sieu Perier. They will be all right
after the liquor is gone. I think they will finish it to-night. They
cannot get more till they return. Our people are seldom quarrelsome
except when they have liquor. Once the hunt makes a start, the leaders
will keep good order. The rules are very strict. They are rough and wild,
my people, but they are not unkind. Ma’amselle Elise and my little
sisters will be quite safe.”
The hilarity continued through most of the night, but before sunrise
quiet had descended on the circle of carts and tents. Flasks and kegs
were empty, and most of the roisterers were sleeping. They remained in
camp all that day. By the time the caravan was in motion the following
morning, all were sober and more than ordinarily quiet. Some had good
reason to be morose, having gambled away their guns, horses, and carts
while under the influence of liquor. Several had received knife or
gunshot wounds in the quarrels that resulted.
“It is always so that the hunt begins,” said the Canadian Lajimonière,
with a shake of his head. “Liquor and gambling, they are the twin curses
of the _bois brulé_. Those two things are the cause of most of his
troubles.”
It was surprising how quickly camp was broken and the long train got
under way at the cries of “_Marche donc!_” The guide rode ahead. His
household cart, following close behind, bore a flag made of a red
handkerchief attached to a pole. The lowering of that flag was the signal
to stop and make camp.
In single file the long line of creaking, jouncing carts stretched far
across the prairie. Where a man had to drive two or more vehicles, he
tied one horse to the tail of the cart ahead. Loose ponies for buffalo
hunting or to replace those in the shafts, ran alongside. Most of the men
and some of the women rode horseback or went afoot, while the children
were now in, now out of the carts, according to their inclination. The
bright colors of the _bois brulés’_ dress, and the red and yellow ochre
with which many of the carts were painted, gave a gay appearance to the
cavalcade, but the screeching and groaning of the ungreased axles was
anything but a merry sound. The discordant rasping and squawking tortured
Elise’s ears and set her teeth on edge.
Because they had camped separately, the Brabant-Perier party was at the
very end of the train. Mr. Perier was mounted on one of the four horses,
while Walter, Neil, and the two Brabant boys took turns riding another.
Most of the time Louis walked beside the front cart or sat on the shafts,
one of the other boys accompanying the second. Mrs. Brabant, her two
daughters, Elise, and Max rode in the carts, getting down now and then to
walk for a while. The rate of travel was slow, less than twelve miles
being made the first day. Thereafter the day’s march averaged nearly
twenty.
It was with some apprehension that Mr. Perier watched Louis and Neil
wheel the two carts into the place assigned them in the circle that
night. Walter, who had lived longer among the _bois brulés_, was less
troubled. Louis had assured him that everything would be all right, and
Walter did not doubt his friend’s judgment. Everything, but the
mosquitoes, was all right, that night and every night that the Brabants
and Periers camped with the hunt. Rough and noisy the hunters and their
families were, but good natured and kindly enough. They shouted, laughed,
and sang, fiddled and danced, told stories, played cards and other games
by the light of their fires, but there was little quarreling and no
fighting. Within two hours after sunset, all had settled down for the
night, and the camp lay quiet and sleeping.
The sun rose early those June mornings, but before it appeared above the
horizon, the camp was astir. In an astonishingly short time the train was
in motion again. The route was to the west of the Red River in what is
now North Dakota. There were swampy stretches to cross, still wet enough
to make traveling difficult, then drier ground and better going. On every
side lay flat, open country, broken here and there by small groves or
thin lines of trees along the streams. The prairie was green with new
grass, and dotted everywhere with the pink and white and yellow and blue
of wild flowers growing singly or in masses. Elise and the Brabant and
Lajimonière girls delighted in picking the sweet, pale pink wild roses
and decorating themselves and the carts. Mrs. Brabant warned them to look
out for snakes and Louis armed each with a stout stick. At the warning
rattle, Marie Brabant and Reine Lajimonière would search for the snake
and kill it. But little Jeanne and Elise, who had not grown used to
prairie rattlesnakes, ran back to the carts in fright.
Snakes were not plentiful, however. Far more troublesome were the
mosquitoes that rose in clouds after the sun went down. On still nights
the buzzing, stinging insects were a continual torment. Smudges were
kindled everywhere within the circle of carts, but Elise and Max could
find little choice between the stinging pests and the choking smoke.
Mr. Perier and Walter marveled at the control the leaders of the hunt
exercised over the wild crew. The hunters had chosen a chief and several
captains, who formed a governing council, and each captain had a number
of men under him to act as guards and police. When the guide lowered his
flag, every cart took the place assigned it in the circle, shafts
outward. The captain and men on duty were responsible for the order and
good behavior, as well as the safety, of the camp.
The rules adopted by the council were much the same on all the hunts.
Scouts were sent out each day to look for buffalo, but must not frighten
them. No one was allowed to separate from, or lag behind the main party
without permission, or to hunt buffalo independently. The most serious
offences were thievery and fighting with guns or knives. Punishments
ranged from cutting up a man’s bridle or saddle, if he had one, to
driving the guilty person from camp. Knowing that the penalty would be
swift and severe, even the boldest seldom ventured to break the laws.
For several days no buffalo but a few scattered individuals were seen.
When the beasts caught scent or sound of the caravan, they were off at an
awkward gallop. They seemed to move slowly, but really made good speed.
It was Elise’s first sight of live buffalo, and she thought them very
ugly creatures, with their great shaggy heads and clumsy movements.
Late one afternoon the line of carts wound down the bank of the Turtle
River to a ford. Long before the rear of the caravan reached the stream,
exciting news had been carried back from mouth to mouth.
“There are buffalo ahead,” one of the Lajimonière boys called to Neil,
who was driving the first of the Brabant-Perier carts. “A great band has
been across the ford, and not long ago, they say.”
A great band it must have been. The hunting party had left a plain and
well-trodden trail down the bank, and roiled, muddy water at the
crossing. But no cart-train running wild could have so ravaged the
country. Far on either side of the ford, the willows and bushes were torn
and trampled. From many of the trees the bark was rubbed off or hanging
in shreds. The grass was worn away. The mud along the margin was trodden
hard by thousands of hoofs. The devastation was fresh.
Would the hunters chase the buffalo that night? Walter hoped so, though
the sun was setting when the last cart crossed the ford. The chief of the
hunt said no, however. Any attempt to pursue buffalo in the darkness
would probably result merely in frightening them away. Moreover the
horses, even those that had been running loose, were weary from a
twenty-mile march. Real buffalo country had been reached. If the hunters
missed this particular band, there would be others.
So camp was made as usual, but the horses were picketed within the
circle, instead of being hobbled and turned loose to feed. Time would be
saved by having the mounts handy in the morning. There was another reason
for keeping close watch of the ponies that night. Where there were
buffalo there were likely to be Indians. South of the Turtle River was
debatable ground between Sioux and Ojibwa, and the Sioux were notorious
horse thieves.
It was plain that the buffalo were not many miles away. All that night
their lowing and bellowing could be heard almost continuously.
“The country must be full of them,” Walter whispered to Neil, as they lay
side by side.
“Aye, it’s a big band. There’ll be grand sport in the morning,” was the
sleepy reply.
XXXI
THE CHARGING BUFFALO
Scouts went out at dawn, and were back again before the camp had finished
breakfasting. Their report made the hunters hasten preparations. Already
the question as to which ones of the Brabant-Perier party should take
part in the hunt had been settled. Only two horses were available. Louis’
new one had gone lame, and one of Neil’s was not a good buffalo pony,
being gun shy and easily frightened. Neither Mr. Perier nor Walter had
ever hunted buffalo, while Louis and Neil were skilled in the sport. So
it was right that the latter two should go. Walter was disappointed of
course. He would have liked to take part in the hunt. But he comforted
himself with the thought that there would be other opportunities.
The caravan was just south of the Turtle River, a tributary of the Red,
and a number of miles west of the latter stream, in slightly rolling,
though open country. A low, irregular ridge shut off the view to the
south and hid the buffalo. After the hunters got away, the women,
children, and few men who had remained behind, started on, with the
carts. They wanted to be in readiness to collect the meat before the hot
sun spoiled it, and they were eager to watch the sport. This time the
carts did not move single file, but jounced over the prairie in any order
their drivers saw fit.
Walter and Raoul were as anxious as anyone for a view of the hunt. They
hitched up Neil’s pony and got away as quickly as possible, leaving Mr.
Perier and Mrs. Brabant to follow slowly with the other cart and lame
horse. Elise, Marie, and Max went with the two boys, while Jeanne
remained with her mother.
The boys’ cart was among the first to top the rise. The sight revealed
almost took Walter’s breath away. The prairie beyond the ridge was
covered with buffalo in a dense, dark mass. They were feeding peacefully,
moving slowly along towards the southeast.
“Where are the hunters?” asked Walter.
Raoul pointed to the southwest. “Behind those little hills,” he said
confidently. “The wind is east. They have gone around to approach from
that way, so the beasts will not get their scent. There they come!”
Figures of horsemen were appearing over the top of one of the low hills.
On they came, a long, irregular line, riding easily down hill at a lope.
As they reached level ground they broke into a gallop. The buffalo
nearest the hunters were taking alarm. They were crowding forward, the
bulls on the outskirts of the herd pawing the ground and tossing their
great heads. The horsemen broke into a run. They charged recklessly
across the prairie, regardless of gopher holes. Those _bois brulés_ could
certainly ride, thought Walter in admiration. He wondered whether Louis
and Neil were among the foremost. At that distance he could not tell.
Suddenly the buffalo everywhere took fright. At a clumsy, galloping gait
they were away. They crowded, wheeled, milled, stampeded, hoofs flying,
shaggy heads tossing. In a few moments the foremost of the hunters were
among them, shouting, yelling, firing, horses plunging and shying. The
whole mass was in wild commotion, sweeping on towards the low ridge where
the carts waited and the excited spectators looked on. With the
thundering of hoofs, the bellowing of the beasts, the shouts and yells of
the hunters, the continuous popping of guns, the clouds of smoke and dust
lit up by the flashes of firing, the prairie had become pandemonium.
Never had Walter dreamed of such a sight. His blood was tingling. He
breathed fast and excitedly. Elise stood beside him, her hands clasped
tightly together, frightened yet fascinated. Marie and Raoul danced up
and down, and little Max sat on the edge of the cart and shrieked at the
top of his voice in his excitement.
The great band was breaking up into smaller droves and groups. In every
direction they wheeled and fled. The hunters, riding recklessly, swaying
in their saddles, loading and firing at full speed, pursued them.
One group of six or eight frightened beasts was close by, just at the
foot of the low ridge. A horseman dashed towards them. Walter had just
time to recognize that blue-bonneted red head, and then, as Neil fired,
the little band broke and scattered. One big bull was pounding up the
slope, straight towards the cart.
Walter was standing on one side, Raoul on the other of the nervous,
excited pony, which was pawing, snorting, twisting about in the shafts,
alarmed and uneasy at the sight below. It had not occurred to either boy
that he would have a chance to do any shooting. Both of the guns were in
the cart.
When the buffalo charged up the slope, Walter sprang back. As he seized
his gun, the panic-stricken pony jumped to one side, sending Raoul
sprawling, wheeled, overturned the cart, and was off. Walter saw Max
hurtle through the air, and land right in the path of the oncoming
buffalo. As the child struck the ground, Elise darted towards him.
With shaking fingers Walter slipped a charge of powder and ball into the
muzzle of his gun and primed it. His whole body was trembling. He must
not miss. A story Lajimonière had told of a fight with an infuriated
buffalo flashed through his mind. “I aimed behind the ear,” the Canadian
had said. Where was the ear in that shaggy mass of hair?
The bull, at the crest of the ridge, paused for an instant to paw the
ground, shake its huge, ugly head, and bellow defiance at the little
group in its pathway. Forcing himself to be steady, deliberate, Walter
pulled the trigger. It pulled hard. The flint struck the steel. Sparks
flew in every direction. There was a flash, a roar, a bellow. The buffalo
plunged forward, and went down.
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.