After smoking for some time he spoke. “Does my brother know what he will meet on the path he is following?” he asked. I told him that I had only a very shadowy idea of what was before us; that I intended going on from day to day, and that when the winter season came I hoped to build a tent, and live in it until the snow went, and I could wander on again. I told him, too, that I was not going to seek for gold, or to trade for furs and peltries, but only to live on the prairies—to meet the red men, to breathe the open air of the wilderness, and roam the world. Then I asked some more questions about his own intentions. I asked him how it was that he was all alone on this long journey; for I knew that the Indians were in the habit of moving in parties, and that it was most unusual for them to be seen travelling alone. He replied that he travelled by himself partly from choice and partly from necessity.
“I am the last of my people,” he said, “the last of the Mandan branch of the Sioux race. It is true that I might find companions among the Ogahalla or Minatarree branches of my nation, but then I would have to dwell with them and live their lives. The work I have to do can only be done by myself; until it is finished I must follow a single trail. I have for companion this dog, an old and oft-tried friend.”
I then asked him if he had seen much of the prairie.
He replied that he knew it all; that from the Stony Mountains to the waters of the Lake Winnipeg, from the pine forest of the north to the sage-bush deserts of the Platte, he had travelled all the land. Shortly after this he rose to depart. We shook hands again; he sprang lightly into his saddle and rode off towards the east. When he was gone we rolled up our blankets and traps and departed on our western way. It was the morning after the second night from this time that we found ourselves camped at break of day in the valley of a small stream which flowed south toward the Souri river. So far, all had gone well with us. We had met with no difficulty, and had begun to think that our western course would continue to be marked by unchanging success. On this morning, however, we awoke to other thoughts.
Two of our horses had disappeared. At first we thought that they had strayed farther away than the others, but after searching far and near over the prairie we came to the conclusion that they had been stolen. It was a cruel blow. At first I felt stunned, but bit by bit I thought the matter out and determined to face the difficulty. After all it might have been worse, we had still two horses left; we would put all our supplies on one animal, and ride by turns on the other. We would camp early, let the horses feed while it was yet daylight, and keep them picketted by our camp at night. So, putting a good face upon the matter, we got our things together, and set out about mid-day on our western road. Donogh was on foot leading the pack-horse; I rode slowly on in front. It still wanted two full hours of sunset when we halted for the evening. We turned out the horses to graze. I took my gun and sat down on a ridge to watch them as they fed. It was then that the loss we had suffered seemed to come heaviest to me. As I sat there I thought over the length of time we must now take to reach the distant prairies of the west, and my heart sank at the prospect of slow and weary travel, with the chances of further losses that would leave us helpless upon the vast plains.
As I sat thus brooding upon our misfortunes I noticed one of the horses raise his head from feeding and gaze steadily back upon our trail. Looking in that direction I saw a solitary figure approaching upon horseback. A glance sufficed to tell me that it was the same man who had visited our camp two mornings earlier. For a moment I involuntarily connected his presence with our loss; but then it occurred to me that he would not seek our camp again if he had stolen our horses, and I remembered too that he had told me he was going west when he had visited the frontier settlement.
He came up to where I was, and shook hands with me without dismounting, his dog keeping close by his horse’s flank. I told him of our loss, and spoke freely of its serious nature to us. I said we were now reduced to only two horses, and asked him frankly if he could do anything to help me. He listened quietly, and when I had done speaking he said,—
“The prairie without horses is like a bird without wings. When I left you two days ago, I thought you would soon learn that life in the wilderness was not all so easy. Your horses have been taken by some Salteaux Indians. I saw their trail at mid-day to-day as I came hither. They are far away from here by this time. I am sorry for you,” he went on, “for you are the first white man I have ever met who came out to this land of ours with the right spirit. You do not come to make money out of us Indians: you do not come to sell or to buy, to cheat and to lie to us. White men think there is but one work in life, to get money. When you told me your story a couple of mornings since I thought it was my own life you were telling me of. Now you ask me if I can help you to get back the horses which have been taken from you. I could get them back, but it would take time and long travel. I can do better for you, my brother; I can get you new horses in place of the old ones.”
I scarcely believed the words I listened to, so good was the news they told me.
“If you like,” he went on, “to learn the life of the prairie, I will teach it to you. Do not sorrow any more for your loss; we will camp here to-night, and to-morrow we will see what can be done.”