“This is the bears’ fording place,” said Louis, “and a good one too. Not only bears but men have been here,” he added quickly, “and not long ago. Look.”

On the bit of beach at the base of the cliff lay a little heap of charred wood and ashes. Near by, clearly imprinted in the damp sand, were foot tracks and marks that must have been made by the bow of a boat.

“Indians?” questioned Walter, the chill creeping up his spine again.

“Or white men,” Louis returned. “These are moccasin prints, but the color of the feet inside those moccasins I know no way to tell. There were two men, that is plain, and one is tall, I think, for his feet are long. They were voyaging, those two, and stopped here to boil their tea. They have not been gone many hours. That fire was burning since last night’s frost.” The Canadian boy’s tone was careless. His curiosity had in it no suggestion of fear.

Walter was more concerned. “Those Sioux,” he ventured. “Do you suppose——”

“No, no,” came the prompt reply. “The Sioux had horses. They didn’t come by river. Sioux seldom travel by water. These men were white, or bois brulés, or Saulteux, or other Ojibwas. They had a birch canoe. No clumsy wooden boat or dugout made that mark.” Louis examined the footprints again. “That one man is a big fellow truly. See how long his track is.” The boy placed his own left foot in the most distinct of the prints. “He must be as tall as le Murrai Noir.”

XIV
PEMBINA

Without alarm or hint of lurking enemy, men and beasts made their way slowly up the steep river bank and through the woods to the prairie. The carts, shafts out, had been arranged in a circle, and within this defensive barricade camp had been pitched. Families fortunate enough to have tents had set them up. Others had devised shelters by stretching a buffalo skin, a blanket, or a square of canvas over the box and one wheel of a cart. The ponies, hobbled around the fore legs or staked out with long rawhide ropes, were left to feed on the short, dry prairie grass, and to take care of themselves, but the few precious oxen and cows were carefully watched and guarded against straying.

With the fuel brought from the woods fires were kindled within the circle. Kettles were swung on tripods of sticks or on stakes driven into the hard ground and slanted over the blaze. Pemmican and tea had been supplied to the Swiss. The older settlers had, in addition, a little barley meal for porridge and a few potatoes which they roasted in the ashes. Louis and Walter eked out their scanty supper with a handful of hazelnuts that had escaped the notice of the squirrels in the woods. The autumn was too far advanced for berries of any kind.

After the meal, Walter made the acquaintance of the MacKay family, Neil’s burly, red-bearded father, his mother, his two sisters, and next younger brother. The eldest brother, who was married, had gone to Pembina nearly a month earlier. Mrs. MacKay, a tall, thin woman with a rather stern face, spoke little French, but with true Highland hospitality she made Walter and Louis welcome to the family fire. Wrapped in a blanket and knitting a stocking, she sat on a three-legged stool close to the blaze. At her right was her older daughter patching, by firelight, the sleeve of a blue cloth capote. On the other side, the father was mending a piece of harness, cutting the ends of the rawhide straps into fine strips and braiding them as if he were splicing a rope. Neil too was busy cleaning and oiling his gun, and his younger brother, a sandy-haired lad of ten, was whittling a wooden arrow. The two little children had been put to bed in a snug nest of blankets and robes underneath the cart. The sight of this family gathering around the fire gave Walter a feeling of homesickness and loneliness that brought a lump to his throat. The feeling deepened as he and his companion strolled from cart to cart and fire to fire. Everyone in the camp but Louis and himself had his own family circle, and Louis was on the way to home and mother.