“We will hold on with the redskins,” said Ian Macdonald, while sitting in council with his companions after this discovery. “The chief tells me that buffaloes have been reported in a spot which lies in the direction we must follow to recover the trail. This advantage we now possess, however: we know where Petawanaquat is going—thanks to his so-called friends here, who don’t seem to care much about him—and as he believes he has distanced all pursuers, he will now journey slower than before. Besides, we must help to kill a buffalo or two, our meat being nearly done. What say you, Vic?”
“I say what you say, of course, though I’d rather set off ahead of the band, and push on as fast as we can.”
“Vich means dat youth bees impetoous toujours,” said Rollin.
In pursuance of this plan they journeyed with the Indians for three days, when an event occurred which modified their plans considerably. This was the discovery one afternoon of a broad trail, made by the passage of numerous carts and horsemen over the prairie.
“Buffalo-runners!” exclaimed Rollin, when they came upon the track.
“From Red River!” cried Victor.
“Even so, boys,” said Ian.
The Indian chief, who led the party, held the same opinion, and added that they were evidently journeying in the same direction with themselves. This rendered it necessary that they should make a forced march during the night, it being otherwise impossible for men on foot to overtake a party of horsemen. Towards midnight of the same day they had the satisfaction of seeing their campfires in the distance. Soon afterwards they were within the circle of the camp, where men were still smoking and eating round the fires, and women and children were moving busily about.
“Why, there are John Flett and David Mowat,” exclaimed Victor, as several of the men came forward to meet the party.
“An’ Hayes, an’ Vinklemann,” cried Rollin.