“I’ll be glad of that, White Buffalo.”
“If Bevoir and his curs have slain Dave’s father and his friends they must suffer for it,” went on the aged chief. “And the trading post belongs to Dave and his people,” he added, firmly. “Neither the French nor the red men can have it.”
A talk lasting an hour followed, and White Buffalo said again that sooner or later he would aid Dave. How he kept his word we shall see in a later chapter.
The Indians went on their way, and once again Dave and the others turned their faces eastward. Nothing more happened to alarm them, and thus they went on for two days more.
“We’ll soon be there,” said Dave. “We ought to strike one of the settlements in a day or two.” They had certainly pushed ahead with rapidity, as their strained and tired legs testified.
That night they encamped among some trees, and in the morning found everything covered with snow. The snow was still coming down steadily.
“We are not going to do so well to-day,” said Henry. “We must take care, or we’ll get off the trail.”
“Trust me to keep to the trail,” said Lawson. “I know the ground too well to get lost.”
It was indeed hard to go on, and by noon they were glad enough to stop for a long rest. The wind was biting cold and the temperature was going down rapidly.
“Unless I miss my guess we’re going to have an awful night,” remarked Devine. “The best thing we can do is to find some good shelter before it gets too dark.”