Beaver and otter seemed to be plentiful, so the men set their traps. At night they slept with arms at their sides, ready for instant action, and a close guard was stationed beyond camp, as it was almost certain that the Indians would discover them and would run off with their stock. This was the most dangerous country on the plains and was constantly invaded by war-parties of Blackfeet, Bloods, Piegans, and Crows. All had to be constantly upon the alert to avoid losing their horses and their scalps.
About four o’clock one morning two rifle reports brought every man to his feet. Yell after yell sounded from the darkness, and shot after shot came whistling into the camp. In an instant the trappers were up and about—their rifles replying to this fusillade. Evans and Russell (two of the most experienced scouts) killed a couple of the Indians with their first shots, for dawn was just coming, and two black bodies were seen to leap into the air and then roll down a hill upon which they had been crouching. The savages were shooting arrows and old Hudson Bay flintlocks which made a big flash when discharged. As the scouts aimed at these flaming jets, they must have done considerable damage, for the Indians fell back. They continued to send shots into camp until day dawned.
“Let’s charge the critters!” shouted young Bill Hamilton.
“Not on your life, boy!” shouted trapper Williams. “It’s most dangerous to run into such a number of unknown redskins at night.”
So the young man desisted.
Just before daylight the Indians attempted to recover their slain comrades, by crawling up to them in the grass. The scouts, however, were up to such tactics and added one more to keep company with two of the red men already sent to the Happy Hunting Grounds. At this, the redskins gave a yell of deep despair. Then they filed slowly away, sending a few parting shots at the trappers, just to show that they were still in good fighting order.
Five of the trappers’ ponies had been badly wounded, and Williams was so enraged at the injury which had been done that he was determined to punish the Indians still further. Leaving two men in camp, he ordered the rest to follow him on the fresh trail of the early morning marauders, which led up a small stream. The scouts galloped eagerly forward, and, coming to a rise, were soon within plain view of the red men, who were hurrying along, trying to get two of their wounded comrades to the protection of a grove.
“Dash on to the right!” shouted Williams. “Head the redskins off from that bunch of trees!”
The red men saw in a moment that they would be cut off from the grove, and they made for a patch of willows and stunted box-elders just below them. There were eleven of them in all and the trappers certainly had them cornered.
It was about a hundred yards to the Indians, and a scout named Dockett tried a shot at them. The red men returned fire, wounding him in the thigh. There were a quantity of boulders near by, and Williams ordered his men to roll them up to the brow of the hill, in order to form breastworks. Four of the trappers were left behind this, while Williams told Noble and young Bill Hamilton to follow him to the grove without letting the Indians notice that they had decamped.