The girl entrusted this little note to her grandmother, and she in turn
gave it to the messenger. But he, as we know, was unable to deliver it.
“Angus, tell the boys to bury the poor fellow to-morrow. I dare say
he brought us some news from White Lodge, but we have got to go to the
happy hunting-grounds to get it, or wait till the exile band returns in
the spring. Evidently,” continued McLeod, “he fell sick on the way: or
else he was starving!”
This last suggestion horrified Angus. “I believe, father,” he exclaimed,
“that we ought to examine his bundle.”
A small oblong packet was brought forth from the dead man’s belt and
carefully unrolled.
There were several pairs of moccasins, and within one of these Angus
found something wrapped up nicely. He proceeded to unwind the long
strings of deerskin with which it was securely tied, and brought forth a
thin sheet of birch-bark. At first, there seemed to be nothing more,
but a closer scrutiny revealed the impression of the awl, and the bit
of nature’s parchment was brought nearer to his face, and scanned with a
zeal equal to that of any student of ancient hieroglyphics.
“This tells the whole story, father!” exclaimed the young man at last.
“Magaskawee’s note--just listen!” and he read it aloud. “I shall start
to-morrow. We can take enough provision and ammunition on two sleds,
with six dogs to each. I shall want three good men to go with me.” Angus
spoke with decision.
“Well, we can’t afford to lose our best hunters; and you might also
bring home with you what furs and robes they have on hand,” was his
father’s prudent reply.
“I don’t care particularly for the skins,” Angus declared; but he at
once began hurried preparations for departure.
In the meantime affairs grew daily more desperate in the exile village
on the far-away Mouse River, and a sort of Indian hopelessness and
resignation settled down upon the little community. There were few who
really expected their messenger to reach the fort, or believed that even
if he did so, relief would be sent in time to save them. White Lodge,
the father of his people, was determined to share with them the last
mouthful of food, and every morning Winona and Magaskawee went with
scanty portions in their hands to those whose supply had entirely
failed.
On the outskirts of the camp there dwelt an old woman with an orphan
grandchild, who had been denying herself for some time in order that the
child might live longer. This poor teepee the girls visited often, and
one on each side they raised the exhausted woman and poured into her
mouth the warm broth they had brought with them.
It was on the very day Face-the-Wind reached Fort Ellis that a young
hunter who had ventured further from the camp than any one else had
the luck to bring down a solitary deer with his bow and arrow. In his
weakness he had reached camp very late, bearing the deer with the utmost
difficulty upon his shoulders. It was instantly separated into as many
pieces as there were lodges of the famishing Sioux. These delicious
morsels were hastily cooked and eagerly devoured, but among so many
there was scarcely more than a mouthful to the share of each, and the
brave youth himself did not receive enough to appease in the least his
craving!
On the eve of Angus’ departure for the exile village, Three Stars, a
devoted suitor of Winona’s, accompanied by another Assiniboine brave,
appeared unexpectedly at the fort. He at once asked permission to join
the relief party, and they set out at daybreak.
The lead-dog was the old reliable Mack, who had been in service for
several seasons on winter trips. All of the white men were clad in
buckskin shirts and pantaloons, with long fringes down the sides, fur
caps and fur-lined moccasins. Their guns were fastened to the long,
toboggan-like sleds.
The snow had thawed a little and formed an icy crust, and over this
fresh snow had fallen, which a northwest wind swept over the surface
like ashes after a prairie fire. The sun appeared for a little time in
the morning, but it seemed as if he were cutting short his course on
account of the bleak day, and had protected himself with pale rings of
fire.
The dogs laid back their ears, drew in their tails, and struck into
their customary trot, but even old Mack looked back frequently, as if
reluctant to face such a pricking and scarifying wind. The men felt the
cold still more keenly, although they had taken care to cover every bit
of the face except one eye, and that was completely blinded at times by
the granulated snow.
The sun early retreated behind a wall of cloud, and the wind moaned and
wailed like a living creature in anguish. At last they approached the
creek where they had planned to camp for the night. There was nothing
to be seen but a few stunted willows half buried in the drifts, but the
banks of the little stream afforded some protection from the wind.
“Whoa!” shouted the leader, and the dogs all stopped, sitting down on
their haunches. “Come, Mack!” (with a wave of the hand), “lead your
fellows down to the creek!”
The old dog started down at the word, and all the rest followed. A
space was quickly cleared of snow, while one man scoured the thickets
in search of brush for fuel. In a few minutes the tent was up and a fire
kindled in the center, while the floor was thickly strewn with twigs of
willow, over which buffalo robes were spread. Three Stars attended to
supper, and soon in the midst of the snapping willow fire a kettle was
boiling. All partook of strong tea, dried meat of buffalo, and pemmican,
a mixture of pounded dried meat with wild cherries and melted fat. The
dogs, to whom one-half the tent was assigned, enjoyed a hearty meal and
fell into a deep sleep, lying one against another.
After supper Jerry drove two sticks into the ground, one on each side of
the fire, and connected the two by a third one over the blaze. Upon
this all hung their socks to dry--most of them merely square pieces of
blanket cut to serve that purpose. Soon each man rolled himself in his
own buffalo robe and fell asleep.
All night the wind raged. The lonely teepee now and then shuddered
violently, as a stronger blast than usual almost lifted it from the
ground. No one stirred except from time to time one of the dogs, who
got up snarling and sniffing the cold air, turned himself round several
times as if on a pivot, and finally lay down for another nap.
In the morning the travelers one by one raised their heads and looked
through the smoke-hole, then fell back again with a grunt. All the world
appeared without form and void. Presently, however, the light of the sun
was seen as if through a painted window, and by afternoon they were able
to go on, the wind having partially subsided. This was only a taste of
the weather encountered by the party on their unseasonable trip; but had
it been ten times harder, it would never have occurred to Angus to turn
back.
On the third day the rescuers approached the camp of the exiles. There
was an ominous quiet; no creature was to be seen; but the smoke which
ascended into the air in perpendicular columns assured them that some,
at least, were still alive. The party happened to reach first the teepee
of the poor old woman who had been so faithfully ministered to by the
twin sisters. They had no longer any food to give, but they had come to
build her fire, if she should have survived the night. At the very door
of the lodge they heard the jingle of dog-bells, but they had not time
to announce the joyful news before the men were in sight.
In another minute Angus and Three Stars were beside them, holding their
wasted hands.