“I’ve travelled before now on short allowance,” said Warder, with a pitiful smile. “We’re sure to come across something before long. If not, we can travel empty for a bit.”
“Goot; it vill make us lighter,” said Winklemann, with a grave nod.
They parted from the woman, and soon left her out of sight behind. She never reached the settlement. She and the child were afterwards found dead within a quarter of a mile of Pembina. From the report of the party she had left, this poor creature must have travelled upwards of a hundred miles in three days and nights before sinking in that terrible struggle for life.
Warder and his companion did not require to diverge in order to follow these tracks. They all ran one way, straight for Red River—for home! But there were many, very many, who never saw that home again.
One exception they overtook on their fourth day. She was a middle-aged woman, but her visage was so wrinkled by wigwam smoke, and she had such a stoop, that she seemed very old indeed.
“Why, I know that figure,” exclaimed Warder, on sighting her; “it’s old Liz, Michel Rollin’s Scotch mother!”
So it turned out. She was an eccentric creature, full of life, fire, and fun, excessively short and plain, but remarkably strong. She had been forsaken by her nephew, she said. Michel, dear Michel, would not have left her in the lurch if he had been there. But she would be at home to receive Michel on his return. That she would! And she was right. She reached the settlement alive, though terribly exhausted.
Warder and Winklemann did not “come across” anything except one raven, but they shot that and devoured it, bones and all. Then they travelled a day without food and without halt. Next day they might reach the settlement if strength did not fail, but when they lay down that night Warder said he felt like going to die, and Winklemann said that his “lecks” were now useless, and his “lunks” were entirely gone!