“Yes,” said Hugh, “it always seemed to me pretty bad. Of course, when men go to war or try to steal horses or do anything of that kind they take all the chances that there are. It’s all right to kill them if you can, but how anybody that’s got any sense can shoot down women and children the way that man Baker did gets away with me.
“Well,” he went on, “after a while the news of this massacre drifted East, and I heard that the newspapers took it up and told the truth about it, and I reckon the army officers most concerned in it got called a good many names. I’ve heard that Colonel Baker lost his chance of ever getting very high up in the army on account of this fight, and yet he only did just what he was ordered to do.”
“That certainly was terribly cruel,” said Jack, “and I don’t see how it could be excused.”
“Joe,” said Hugh, turning to the Indian, who had said nothing, but still lay on the grass with his head resting on his hand, “were you in that camp, or were you somewhere else?”
“No,” said Joe, “I was not in that camp. My mother was and a little sister and my father, but I was at Three Sun’s Village, stopping with my aunt. I must have been about three or four years old at that time.”
“Of the people left alive out of that village,” Hugh went on, “there were nearly forty who were women and little bits of children. They were turned loose on the prairie—some of them being sick with the smallpox, you will remember—on the twenty-third of January. Anybody who knows what winter weather is up here in Montana can tell what that means. It’s a wonder that any of them lived to get to a camp where they were looked after.”
Hugh’s story had taken some time in the telling, and by the time he had finished it was quite dark. Jack and Joe got up and went out to where the horses were and changed them to fresh grass, and on their way back brought the beds from the wagon and threw them down close to the fire. Hugh meanwhile had put fresh wood on it and the cheerful blaze lit up the white trunks of the cottonwoods and was reflected on the leaves above. It was a beautiful night, and the three spread their beds near the fire and were soon asleep.
CHAPTER III
THE BLACKFOOT AGENCY
THE next morning they were early on their way, and by noon reached the home of a Canadian Frenchman, formerly in the service of the American Fur Company, but now living on his little ranch on the Teton with his Indian wife and a numerous brood of half-breed children.
From here they kept on up-stream, until just before night they came to another ranch, on the Pend d’Oreille coulée, where lived a man whom Hugh and Joe both addressed as Froggy, also married to an Indian woman.