The warning we had received of a projected attack on the farm by the Indians compelled us to be on our guard. We kept a strict watch at night, and two or three of us were constantly employed in scouting in the neighbourhood, so as in good time to discover any red-skins who might be approaching with hostile intent. Cunning as they may fancy themselves, they are in reality easily outwitted by the superior intelligence of white men.
We had got so accustomed to this state of things that we took them as a matter of course. Even my mother, Kathleen, and Lily, were not in the slightest degree alarmed, though they became somewhat anxious when my father and uncle, or Dan and I did not return at the hour they expected. We were annoyed chiefly by the interruption to our usual avocations, as, when we had been out all day, neither our worthy Dominie, Dan, nor I were much inclined for lessons. We, however, managed to hunt as usual, as we could at the same time act as scouts, though we ran, it must be confessed, some risk of being caught by any hostile Indians who might be in the neighbourhood. Impunity, however, made us bold, and we were inclined to think that the threatened attack would never take place. The men continued cutting down trees, putting up fences, ploughing, and sowing, as regularly as before, though, by my father’s orders, they always carried their arms with them, and piled them close at hand, so as to be ready for instant use.
Mr Tidey, Dan, and I had started on horseback one morning just before daybreak, agreeing to meet at noon at a certain spot about ten miles from the farm, by the side of a stream near a wood, where we could light our fire and cook any game we might have shot. I had had a successful morning’s sport, having shot a fawn, a couple of turkeys, and several small birds; and at the hour agreed on I arrived with my horse well loaded at our proposed camp. Finding that the Dominie and my brother had not yet reached it, I collected sticks and lighted a fire, so that I might have dinner ready for them.
While I was so employed, occasionally taking a look round in the expectation of seeing either the Dominie or Dan approaching, I was startled by discovering an Indian who had suddenly emerged from the wood about twenty paces off. My first impulse was to seize my rifle which lay on the ground near me, but a second glance showed me that although he had a bow in his hand, there was no arrow in the string.
“You are not as cautious as you should be, young pale-face,” he observed, as he came up to me. “This is the second time I have caught you off your guard; an enemy approaching as I did might have shot you before you had discovered him.”
As he spoke I recognised our friend Kluko. We shook hands, and he seated himself by the fire, when I offered him some of the food I was cooking, which would, I knew, suit his taste, though not sufficiently roasted to please our palates.
“I heard the sound of your rifle several times, and I tracked you here, as I wanted to bring you good news,” he said.
“I thank you, pray speak on,” I answered; “I know that it will give Kluko as much pleasure to tell good news as it will afford me to hear it.”
“When I saw you last, I warned you that a party of Blackfeet, instigated by a white man, had undertaken the destruction of your farm: I have now to tell you that they quarrelled with their white friend, and, following his trail as he journeyed westward, they have attacked his camp, and cut him and his people to pieces, carrying off their scalps as trophies.”
“Do you speak of Silas Bracher?” I asked.