Deerfoot on the Prairies

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

Victor was right. That was the question the Shawanoe was debating with himself, and more than once he was on the point of acting upon the impulse to undo what had just been done. Mul-tal-la suspected the truth. He believed the return would take place. So he also stopped paddling and waited for the word.

The cessation turned the question the other way. Deerfoot did not look around again, but dipped the paddle deep in the roiled current, making his sweeping strokes on one side and leaving to the Blackfoot to preserve the poise by doing the same on the other side of the boat.

It was fortunate, perhaps, that Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la were compelled to give attention to the management of the craft, for the river abounded with rapids, most of which were dangerous. Often a single false stroke would have sent the boat against the rocks which reared their heads in every part of the stream. Some protruded several feet above the surface, some only a few inches, while others were located by the peculiar eddying of the current as it whirled over and past them. These were the most to be feared, for they would rip out the bottom of the canoe like the sweep of a broadaxe. But you know the consummate skill of the young Shawanoe in handling a canoe. His quick eye, his unerring stroke, his great power, his instant decision and faultless judgment had been trained from early boyhood on the streams of the East, and, though he was now passing down a river he had never seen before, he read all its “signs” as you would read a printed page.

And the Blackfoot was hardly inferior, for he had passed through long and severe training, and he handled his paddle like an expert. Where both were so skilful they worked smoothly together. Sometimes the Blackfoot called out a warning to Deerfoot, but soon found it was unnecessary, for the youth was as quick, if not quicker than he, to detect the snags, rocks, eddies, bars and all manner of obstructions.

The shores were wooded and rocky at times, and now and then the explorers saw one or more Indians, who paused on the banks and surveyed them as they sped past. Generally one or both of the red men in the canoe saluted the others, and the same friendly spirit was shown by the strangers. George and Victor commented upon the experience which impressed them as singular, since it was so different from what they were accustomed to at home.

The explanation was the old one. These Indians knew too little about white civilization to fear the palefaces; that fear would come with greater knowledge. At intervals piles of planks were observed, these being the timber from which houses were built by the natives who came thither during the fishing season to catch salmon for the winter and for trading purposes.

Fuel was so scarce that it was often hard for our friends to find enough for a fire when they went ashore to camp for the night. Victor and George proposed to supply themselves from the piles that had been left by the fishermen, with the understanding that the owners should be repaid if they could be found; but Deerfoot would not permit it. He said they had no reason to believe they would ever meet the owners, and it was wrong to use their property without permission. So all had to shiver in their blankets and go to bed hungry.

Watchfulness generally prevented much suffering on account of this deprivation. Bits of driftwood were picked up at several points, so that at dusk the party had enough for cooking purposes, but on the fifth evening they found themselves without a stick of fuel, though encamped within a few rods of a pile of lumber. Deerfoot was inexorable, and all had settled themselves for the night when three Indians came down the bank for a social call. They had seen the canoe put into shore, but were timid at first, though they recognized two of the occupants as belonging to their race. One of the visitors had never seen a white man before. Their wondering scrutiny of the brothers made the latter laugh. Victor rolled up his sleeve to show the whiteness of the skin. The three grunted and seemed filled with amazement. He who met a Caucasian for the first time kept up a series of grunts, passed his hand gently over the faces of the lad, looked into his eyes, and then made Deerfoot, Mul-tal-la and George laugh by his attempts to pluck out the tiny, feathery hairs that were beginning to show on the boy’s upper lip, and which, if left to themselves, would in due time grow into an attractive mustache.

“A-o-uah! what are you trying to do?” called Victor, recoiling, the involuntary tears coming into his eyes because of the smarts made by the nails of the Indian’s thumb and forefinger.

“He never saw anything like that before,” said George. “I don’t wonder he is puzzled.”