We will not trouble the reader with the details of what was said on this occasion. The party of Indians was a small one, and no chief of any importance was attached to it. Suffice it to say that the pacific overtures made by Joe were well received, the trifling gifts made thereafter were still better received, and they separated with mutual expressions of good will.
Several other bands which were afterwards met with were equally friendly, and only one war-party was seen. Joe’s quick eye observed it in time to enable them to retire unseen behind the shelter of some trees, where they remained until the Indian warriors were out of sight.
The next party they met with, however, were more difficult to manage, and, unfortunately, blood was shed on both sides before our travellers escaped.
It was at the close of a beautiful day that a war-party of Blackfeet were seen riding along a ridge on the horizon. It chanced that the prairie at this place was almost destitute of trees or shrubs large enough to conceal the horses. By dashing down the grassy wave into the hollow between the two undulations, and dismounting, Joe hoped to elude the savages, so he gave the word,—but at the same moment a shout from the Indians told that they were discovered.
“Look sharp, lads, throw down the packs on the highest point of the ridge,” cried Joe, undoing the lashings, seizing one of the bales of goods, and hurrying to the top of the undulation with it; “we must keep them at arm’s length, boys—be alive. War-parties are not to be trusted.”
Dick and Henri seconded Joe’s efforts so ably, that in the course of two minutes the horses were unloaded, the packs piled in the form of a wall in front of a broken piece of ground, the horses picketted close beside them, and our three travellers peeping over the edge, with their rifles cocked, while the savages—about thirty in number—came sweeping down towards them.
“I’ll try to git them to palaver,” said Joe Blunt, “but keep yer eye on ’em, Dick, an’ if they behave ill, shoot the horse o’ the leadin’ chief. I’ll throw up my left hand as a signal. Mind, lad, don’t hit human flesh till my second signal is given, and see that Henri don’t draw till I git back to ye.”
So saying, Joe sprang lightly over the slight parapet of their little fortress, and ran swiftly out, unarmed, towards the Indians. In a few seconds he was close up with them, and in another moment was surrounded. At first the savages brandished their spears and rode round the solitary man, yelling like fiends, as if they wished to intimidate him; but as Joe stood like a statue, with his arms crossed, and a grave expression of contempt on his countenance, they quickly desisted, and, drawing near, asked him where he came from, and what he was doing there.
Joe’s story was soon told; but instead of replying, they began to shout vociferously, and evidently meant mischief.
“If the Blackfeet are afraid to speak to the Pale-face, he will go back to his braves,” said Joe, passing suddenly between two of the warriors and taking a few steps towards the camp.