Chapter Fourteen.
An Old Friend.
The Blackfeet meet a Warm Reception—and Retreat—A Wounded Indian—Proves to be Ponoko, who tells of a White Man in the Indian Camp—A Friendly Conference.
The moment the war-whoop of the Blackfeet had ceased Uncle Donald’s voice was heard, ordering us to fire.
We obeyed with right good will, and must have greatly astonished the savages, who, not aware of the increased number of our garrison, had probably expected to gain quite an easy victory. Many of them had muskets, but the larger number could only have been armed with bows and arrows. After they had shot five or six showers of arrows and fired their guns—fortunately, without hitting any of us, though we could hear their missiles pinging against the thick palisades—they suddenly ceased, and began to retreat, when Uncle Donald shouted to them in their own language, inquiring why they had attacked people who had done them no harm, but were anxious to benefit them.
No reply came. Our men uttered a shout of triumph. Uncle Donald stopped them.
“The Blackfeet have retired, but I know their cunning ways, and I deem it more than likely that they will be down upon us again when they think to catch us off our guard or maybe they have devised some treacherous plot to entrap us.”
We waited, but, as far as we could judge by the sounds which reached our ears, the savages had really retreated, and did not intend to attack us again that night. That they would give up their object was not to be expected, and my father proposed, should we find they had gone to a distance, that, rather than cause more bloodshed, we should abandon the station and retreat to one of the company’s forts to the northward, “We have sleighs sufficient to convey the women and children,” he added; “and when the anger of the misguided people has subsided, I will return by myself, and endeavour to win them over by gentle means, for such only should be employed to spread the Gospel among the heathen.”