St. Paul, now a fine city, was then a mere village.
CHAPTER VI.
Across the plains—Mississippi to the Red—Pemmican—Mosquitoes—Dogs—Hunting—Flat boat—Hostile Indians.
We had reached the prairie country, woodland and plain intermixed.
We were now at the end of our steam transport service for this trip.
We did hope to catch the only steamer on the Red River of the North, but in this were disappointed.
The next question was how to reach the Red River. Hundreds of miles intervened.
We found on inquiry that there were two means of crossing the country in sight—one by stage-coach, the other by Red River cart.
A brigade of these latter having just then come in from the north, father and I went out to the camp where these carts were, and the sight of them soon made father determine not to travel with them. Our first sight of these Red River chariots was not favorable. I climbed into one, but did so carefully, fearing it would collapse with my weight. All the iron on it was a thin hoop on the hub, the whole thing being bound together with rawhide. "No, gentlemen, we were as yet too much 'tender-feet' to risk such vehicles."