“That may be. He did not go up the Assiniboin, he was at Pembina too soon. At Fort Douglas or at the Forks they may have asked him about that pemmican. Even if they did not say we told them, he might lay it to us. He never was fond of either of us. The Black Murray is an evil man. He likes to do evil I think. He takes pleasure in it.”
In spite of the prompt treatment, Walter’s hand pained him all night and kept him restless. He was not the only one of the three that was wakeful. Louis and Neil, too, were uneasy. They were uncertain of Murray’s intentions. He and his companion had gone away, with sled and dogs, but how far had they gone? Had they really set out for Pembina, or had they made camp as soon as they were out of sight and hearing? The Black Murray’s keen eyes had not failed to take note of every pelt in the cabin. He had even offered to trade pemmican for the furs. Louis had declined, but did that settle the matter? Would Murray try in some other way to get possession of the catch? That he was not scrupulous in his methods was proved by his assault and robbery of the Ojibwa at the Red River.
The boys were sure that Murray would not have hesitated to take everything, if they had been away from the cabin when he arrived. They did not doubt that he would have been ready to use violence against any one of them. But he had found Louis and Walter quite prepared for him. Numbers had been equal and the boys’ guns within reach. Before Murray could discover an opening for strategy, Neil had arrived. With three alert lads watching him, the free trader had no chance. They were not at all sure, however, that he might not return and attempt a surprise. So Neil and Walter slept little, and Louis scarcely at all. Many times during the night, the Canadian boy slipped out to look and listen. Though he had turned the dogs loose, he did not dare to trust entirely to them.
The night passed without an alarm, but the boys were far from sure that they had seen the last of the Black Murray. Before they dared go about their ordinary work, they had to be certain that he was not anywhere in the vicinity. Louis decided to follow his trail, while the others remained at the cabin, alert and prepared for a second visit.
Walter’s hand worried both himself and his comrades. It was inflamed, swollen, and very sore. No one knew what to do for it, except to open up the cut and make it bleed again, a painful operation which Walter bore without flinching.
Louis was away early. He returned late in the day with the encouraging news that Murray had left the hills. His track, distinct and easy to follow, ran straight across the prairie in the direction of the Red River. “I followed several miles over the plain,” said Louis, “and could see the trail going on in the distance. Yet I feared he might have turned farther on somewhere, so I went north a long way, looking for a return trail. Then I came back, crossed his track, and went on to the south. I found nothing. Certainly le Murrai has gone, unless he made a very wide circle to return. I think he would not give himself the trouble to do that. He had no reason to think we would doubt his story. Yes, I am as sure he is gone as I can be without following him clear to the Red River.”
Reassured, the boys took up their daily tasks of visiting the traps and deadfalls, fishing through the ice, and hunting. One of them, however, always remained at home, his gun loaded and within reach.
For several days Walter’s hand was very sore and painful. He was more than a little anxious about it. He feared serious blood poisoning that might mean the loss of hand, arm, and even life. But the inflammation did not spread. The prompt sucking of the scratch, the cleansing and free bleeding, and the healthy condition of Walter’s blood saved him. Within a week the soreness was almost gone and the cut healing properly.
In the meantime another misfortune had befallen the boys. The dogs were taken sick. Askimé was the first one to show the disease. One morning Louis found the husky with a badly swollen neck. He took the dog into the cabin and tended him anxiously, but the swelling increased until Askimé could no longer eat. He was scarcely able to swallow a little water. Walter proposed piercing the lumps, and performed the operation with an awl used in sewing skins. The swellings discharged freely, and Askimé, able to swallow, began to improve.
The other dogs had already shown signs of the same trouble. Gray Wolf had only a slight attack, but the brown animal was very sick. Lancing the lumps on his neck did no lasting good, and in spite of the boys’ efforts to save him, the poor beast died. Luckily Askimé and Gray Wolf recovered completely. How the dogs got the disease was a mystery. Murray had had no opportunity to poison them. Possibly the wolf-like animal that had broken loose and attacked Askimé had given the infection to him, or the husky and his fellows might have caught it from some wild beast they had killed and eaten.