"Little Fellow!" I cried, exasperated with myself, "Where's Fort Gibraltar? I see where it ought to be, where the towers ought to be higher than that brush, but where's the fort?"
The Indian screened his eyes and gazed forward. Then he came down with a thud, abruptly re-straddling his horse, and uttered one explosive word—"Smoke."
"Smoke? I don't see smoke! Where's the fort?"
"No fort," said he.
"You're daft!" I informed him, with the engaging frankness of a master for a servant. "There—is—a fort, and you know it—we're both lost—that's more! A fine Indian you are, to get lost!"
Little Fellow scrambled with alacrity to the ground. Picking up two small switches, he propped them against each other.
"Fort!" he said, laconically, pointing to the switches.
"L'anglais!" he cried, thrusting out his foot, which signified Hudson's Bay.
"No fort!" he shouted, kicking the switches into the air. "No fort!" and he looked with speechless disgust at the vacancy.
Now I knew what he meant. Fort Gibraltar had been destroyed by Hudson's Bay men. We had no alternative but to strike west along the Assiniboine, on the chance of meeting some Nor'-Westers before reaching the company's quarters at the Portage. That post, too, might be destroyed; but where were Hamilton and Father Holland? Danger, or no danger, I must learn more of the doings in Red River. Also, there were reasons why I wished to visit the settlers of Fort Douglas. We camped on the south side of the Assiniboine a few miles from the Red, and Little Fellow went to some neighboring half-breeds for a canoe.