“Yes, but he had to promise something to get rid of the fellows. If they stayed around, he was afraid of trouble with the Saulteux. The Sioux seemed satisfied when they left the fort. But several Saulteux were hiding in ambush in the fort garden. They fired on the Sioux, killed two, and wounded another, then escaped by swimming the river and dodging through the willows. Of course the Sioux were furious. They said the white men had given the Saulteux powder and shot to kill friendly visitors. One of them boasted to a bois brulé from St. Boniface,—who is part Sioux himself and speaks their language,—that they were going back to the fort to scalp the clerk. The half-breed went right to the fort with the story. Things looked serious. If the party of Sioux had been larger they might have attacked the fort or massacred all of us, but they knew they were far outnumbered. Somehow they learned that the men in the fort had been warned of their plot. They decamped suddenly, and nothing more has been seen of them. Probably they have gone back to their own country, but no one knows. They may be hiding somewhere waiting for a chance to attack any Saulteur or bois brulé or white man who comes along.”
Louis nodded soberly. “When an Indian seeks revenge he is not always careful what man he strikes. Lajimonière does well to camp in the open.”
Neil’s story had sent a chill up Walter’s spine. Hardship he had become used to during the journey from Fort York, hardship and danger from the forces of Nature; water and wind, cold and storm. But this was the first time in his life that real peril from enemy human beings had ever confronted him. He had known of course that there might be danger from Indians in this wild land to which he had come, but he had never actually sensed that danger before. He glanced towards the woods, and saw, in imagination, half naked, copper colored savages concealed in the shadows and watching with fierce eyes the approaching carts.
Although camp was pitched out of musket range from that belt of trees, the woods nevertheless must be penetrated. The beasts must be taken to the river. Water and fuel must be brought back. After listening to Neil’s story, Walter was surprised at the apparent light-hearted carelessness of the men and boys who started riverward with the horses and cattle. Neil had a cow and three ponies to water, and he offered one of the latter to Walter.
“Ride the roan,” he advised, “if you’re not used to our ponies. He is older and better broken.”
Neil took for granted that Walter wanted to go with Louis and himself, and the Swiss boy, who was far from being a coward, did not think of declining. He had not been on a horse for several years, but before his apprenticeship to Mr. Perier, he had been used to riding. The roan was unusually well broken and sedate for a prairie pony. Though obliged to ride bareback and with only a halter instead of bridle and bit, Walter had no trouble with the animal. The horse knew it was being taken to water and needed no guidance to keep with the other beasts.
The boy could not help a feeling of uneasiness as he approached the woods, and he noticed that Louis, though he seemed to ride carelessly, kept one hand on his gun. The irregular cavalcade of mounted men and boys and loose animals passed in among the trees,—sturdy oaks, broad topped elms, great basswoods, which Louis called bois blanc,—white wood,—and Walter lindens. All were nearly leafless now, except the oaks, which retained part of their dry, brown foliage, but the trunks stood close enough together to furnish cover for any lurking enemy. Without alarm, however, the animals threaded their way through the belt of larger growth to the river bank. The steep slopes and narrow bottom were covered with smaller trees and bushes, aspen poplar, wild plum and cherry, highbush cranberry, saskatoon or service berry, prickly raspberry canes, and, especially along the river margin, thick willows.
Following a track where wild animals had broken a way through the bushes and undergrowth, dogs, cattle, horses, and men made their way down the first slope, along a shelf or terrace, and on down a yet steeper incline to the river bottom. The sure-footed, thirsty beasts made the descent in quick time, and crashed eagerly through the willows to the water. The Red River ran sluggishly here. It was smooth and deep, with muddy shores. In the dried mud along the margin were the old tracks of the animals that had broken the trail down the slope.
When the boys had dismounted to water their horses, Louis pointed out the prints, which resembled those of naked feet. “Somewhere near here,” he said, “the bears must cross. They have regular fords. Once in the fall I watched a band of bears cross the Pembina. I was up in a tree and I counted nineteen, old and young, but I was too far away for a good shot.”
The bear tracks led up stream. Leaving the horses to bathe and splash, Louis and Walter, who preferred to drink at a less muddy spot, pushed their way among the willows. A hundred yards up stream, they came to a bend and shallows, caused by a limestone cliff.