“Do you suppose those men will come back, White Bull?” asked Joe.
“No,” said Hugh, “I don’t reckon they will. They’ll go down to the head of the lower lake and then they’ll go ashore there somewhere, and build a fire and lie down and sleep their liquor off. If we start in to-morrow, we’ll likely see them across the lake when we stop to get the wagon. I think they’ll camp on this side, and to-morrow morning they’ll be feeling mighty mean and mighty cross with each other, and about the time we get down to the wagon and hitch up, they’ll be waking up and quarreling with each other about whose fault it was that they got sent away from camp the night before.”
“You think there’s no danger, then?” said Jack, “that we’ll have trouble with them?”
“Not a particle,” said Hugh. “In the first place John Williamson hasn’t got the sand of a cotton-tail rabbit, Louis Legros is a good fellow, but foolish. Who that big man Tony is, I don’t know, but I reckon he may be Tony Beaulieu. He has a kind of a look of that Beaulieu gang. They’re good enough fellows when they’re sober, but mighty troublesome when they’re drunk.
“We’ll never have any further trouble with them; in fact, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they were to come up to us, the next time we see any of them, and say that they were sorry for what happened.”
It was early next morning when Hugh had the boys up and the start was made. The sun was little more than an hour high when they stopped at the wagon, gathered their property together and loaded it, and set out for the lower end of the lower lake, intending to follow the wagon road up to the Duck Lake Hill, for this would be easier on the horses than the steep pull up the hill they had come down in approaching the lake.
As they started down the lake, Joe pointed across to the other side, where a spot of white was seen, with two or three small moving objects about it, and looking with the glasses, Jack saw three men engaged in the work of putting up a tent. Before they passed over a low hill which cut off the view across the lake the boys saw several horsemen ride up to the distant tent. The glasses showed that these horsemen were Indians.
The drive down the lake was slow, for they crossed many ravines and little streams, and in some places the road was very muddy. At length, however, they came out on the flat near where the river leaves the lake, and looking across the stream saw a camp of thirty or forty lodges.
“Do you know who these people are, Joe?” inquired Hugh.
“No,” replied Joe, “I don’t; I don’t think they are our people. Maybe they’re Bloods; often they come down to this side after they’ve got their payment from the Government up North. They like to buy things on this side of the line.”