“They disappeared the minute I spotted ’em,” said the pioneer, whose name was Pepperill Frost, generally shortened to Pep Frost.
“We must be on our guard against them,” said Ezra Winship, and that night a strict guard was kept, but no red men appeared.
But the next afternoon, about three o’clock, four Indians showed themselves at a spot where the trail crossed a shallow, rocky brook. They came up with their hands before them and with their bows and arrows and other weapons slung over their backs.
“To what place journey our white brothers?” questioned one of the Indians, after the usual greeting in his native tongue.
“To some place where they can live in peace with our red brethren,” answered Ezra Winship cautiously.
After this the Indians said little, but begged for some tobacco and some Indian meal, a small quantity of which was given to them. They then departed into the forest, disappearing as rapidly as they had come.
“I think we’ll see more of those Indians,” said Pep Frost.
“I believe you,” answered Ezra Winship. “And perhaps they’ll not be so friendly another time. But do not alarm the women folks, for it will do no good.”
Early the following morning an accident happened which came close to proving fatal to one of the boys, Chet Rockley by name. He was driving a pack horse loaded with provisions along the river bank when the horse slipped and fell into the stream, carrying the lad with him. In the struggle that followed the boy was kicked in the head by the animal. Chet Rockley was rescued by Ezra Winship, but the horse was carried away by the swift current and drowned, and the provisions were lost.
It was decided to rest for two days, to care for young Rockley, and to bring in some game to take the place of the provisions which had been lost. A temporary camp was established at the fork of two small streams, and as soon as this was done the men folks and the boys took turns in going out hunting and fishing.