MR. ANGUS McLEOD:—
We are near the hollow rock on the Mouse River. The
buffalo went away across the Missouri, and our powder and
shot are gone. We are starving. Good-bye, if I don’t see
you again.
MAGASKAWEE.
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.