Two years before this, father and I had ridden up this hill on our first trip to the plains. No change had taken place since then. Here were the thousands of homesteads and countless acres of rich grass and soil, verily homes for the millions; but as yet the units of men were not here, doubtless because there was a Providence in all this, and the time had not come for settlement.
The same afternoon that we left the north side of the river, I came across an Indian who took a strong fancy to the horse I was riding, the one I had broken in in the lake, and which, though a fine animal, had caused me a deal of trouble, and had no doubt taken the lead in going so far a few days before. As the Indian had a stout grey horse which he said was good in the harness, we agreed to "swap even;" so, dismounting, we changed our saddles from one horse to the other, and each went his own way satisfied. My grey pony proved himself first-class in the cart.
Early and late we rolled westward, across wide valleys and over great ranges of hills, from whose summits we looked out upon magnificent stretches of country, which made my companions, beholding it for the first time, open their eyes and exclaim in wonder at the wealth of soil and great variety of scenery on every hand.
Travelling for days we reached and passed the rendezvous of the threatening Jackfish Lake Indians, and I was glad to note that there were no fresh tracks in the vicinity. They were either out on the plains after buffalo or in the north hunting moose. As we had a very small party I had felt anxious about these people and was thankful for their absence. However, the next day our number was strengthened by unexpectedly meeting father and Peter. Father had come to Fort Pitt on missionary work, and in doing so had met Ka-kake, who had told him that I could not be very many days behind; so he had come on, and thus we met, which was a source of profound satisfaction to me. Father and Peter were a host in themselves, and as we were now getting farther into the country where tribal war was rife and war parties from the south frequent, to have our little party so handsomely reinforced was a comfort and joy to us. Father was pleased with my purchases of cattle, and complimented me on the condition of the stock all round. He thought we could now afford to push them, as they would have plenty of time to fatten for winter after we reached the mission. From daylight until dark, therefore, stopping only to feed, we kept at it and made good time. The old landmarks of the bridle-path across the continent—Red Deer Hill, Frenchman's Butte, Fort Pitt, Two Hills, Moose Creek, the Dog Rump, Egg Lake—each in turn was left behind.
Camping on the home side of the latter one evening, father said to me, "John, you may gallop on to the mission in the morning and see your mother and sisters; and if you can find them, bring us some fresh horses." We were now about fifty miles or more from the new mission, and had reached the limit of wheel-tracks on the north side of the Saskatchewan, so that our party would have to make the trail the rest of the way through a new country with more or less bush.
Early the next morning found me astride of my little sorrel—the one the Indians had named "The Scarred Thigh," because he had once been tossed by a mad buffalo—and away we went on the steady jump. After a time, thinking I might be riding my horse too fast, looking at my watch I said to the sorrel, "We will trot for half an hour, and canter the other half;" but though I tried this several times, we would invariably be on the dead canter before the thirty minutes for trotting had nearly expired. So finally, as the little sorrel seemed ready for it and eager to go, I let him out. What a gallop we had that day! Soon we were past Saddle Lake, and had reached the summit of the Snake Hill. Every spot near the trail was now familiar to me, for I had walked and ran, and pulled and pushed, and frozen and starved between Saddle Lake and Victoria; but on this occasion my whole being was thrilled with the pleasant anticipation of seeing my loved ones. Possessed of a profound sense of gratitude for the mercies of the long trip now so nearly over; with a strong, springy, willing horse under me, a clear sky above, lovely landscapes on every hand, every foot of soil under my horse's feet full of great possibilities, an exhilarating atmosphere striking my face, filling my nostrils, inflating my lungs at every jump, it is no wonder that morning's ride is indelibly impressed on my memory. I thoroughly enjoyed it; and so far as I knew this was righteous joy, which methinks will live forever. I had a bit of dried meat with me, which I ate as I rode. About ten o'clock I stopped to grass my horse. Throwing the saddle down I turned him loose at the end of my lariat, and tying the end of this to my arm, flung myself on the grass and slept.
If I had not been so much of a tenderfoot as I still was, I would not have fastened my horse to myself, for in doing so I was running great risks of being killed. Of this, however, I did not then think, but slept on, and presently waking with a start, saddled up and started into a lope once more. When fairly under way, looking at my watch, I saw we had not spent a full half hour at our resting and feeding-place. Then I apologized to the sorrel, but he kept on the steady canter all the same, and before noon we were at the mission, joyfully welcomed by mother and friends. Fifty miles before dinner, and both horse and rider as ready for work as ever, and I may be pardoned in saying "that was a horse, and this was a man."
CHAPTER XVII.
Improvements about home—Mr. Woolsey's departure—A zealous and self-sacrificing missionary—A travelling college—I feel a twinge of melancholy—A lesson in the luxury of happiness—Forest and prairie fire—Father's visit to the Mountain Stoneys—Indians gathering about our mission—Complications feared.