"Well, yes, I was gone a good bit, an' I don't exactly know where I'll turn up before I'm done. Ye see, I have not had good luck with my trapping."
"Which way have you been that you have been so unfortunate? Surely the game is not scarce at this time of the year."
"Wall, no, I guess there's lots o' furs, but the Indians haven't been very civil this year, an' when I get ahead some o' the rascals steal my cache, an' then I have to begin all over again. I've been along the foot o' the mountains an' followed an old Stoney trail for a while, but ye see I'm gettin' old an' I guess some o' these days I'll have to pass in my checks, and then it'll be all over with Jim Carrafell."
The old trapper's appearance did not belie his words, and Donald had not much difficulty in persuading him to join his party.
They sat for some time around the fire, smoking and talking, Donald and Jim Carrafell exchanging experiences, Baptiste and Bearspaw talking in the monologues peculiar to the Indian. When the night fell thick about the camp the men rolled themselves in their blankets, turned their feet to the fire, and with their saddles for pillows were soon asleep. They knew that during the early part of the night no Indian would venture to attack them, yet they slept with hands on their revolvers and guns within reach, so that if molested they were ready to meet the foe.
The sleepers, however, were not disturbed, and at the first break of dawn the Stoney was up and looking to see that the horses were safe. To cook and eat their breakfast, gather the stuff together and set out occupied little time. Nothing eventful occurred during the day, they met no Indians, saw but few buffalo. An odd timber wolf cast sinister glances at them as they rode past, or occasional coyotes slunk away with drooping tail at their approach, but nothing of more importance broke the monotony of the day's ride. The evening was but a repetition of the night before.
When they reached the halting place and camped one evening about sixty miles from their destination, Donald learned with consternation that the provisions were exhausted. He had brought what he considered abundance for the trip, even when allowance was made for the addition to their number by the arrival of Jim Carrafell, and he was surprised that the supply should so soon be gone. It was a new experience to Donald, though not an uncommon one in the lives of many travellers with such parties. The half-breed had feasted, eating enough for three men, as if he believed that he should lay in a stock of food that would sustain him for a week.
The Indian, with the instinct of his race, started ahead of the party the next morning to levy supplies from the prairies with his gun, and was successful in shooting enough duck, geese and rabbits to keep them from starving.
It was dark when they rode into the village of Brisbane, but the half-breeds and Indians who formed the principal part of the population were abroad to welcome them.
Donald paid his men and dismissed them, having decided to remain over a few days in the town.