South from Hudson Bay: An Adventure and Mystery Story for Boys

“We will take care to avoid them anyway,” added Louis, not quite so sure of Sioux reasonableness, but eager to go on.

Louis had hoped to persuade some of the hunters to go to Lake Traverse with the little party. In fact St. Antoine and another man had half promised. But both suddenly changed their minds. The boys could find no one else willing to leave the hunt for the trip to the trading post. There was nothing to do but go on alone. Before they rolled themselves in their blankets, they had decided to part with the hunters on the following day.

XXXIII

A LONELY CAMP

The Sheyenne River, where the night’s camp was pitched, should not be confused with the Cheyenne, which is a tributary of the Missouri. Both were named after the same tribe of Indians, who once lived along their banks. To distinguish the two, different spellings of the name have been adopted. The Sheyenne is a much smaller stream than the Cheyenne, and one of the principal rivers that go to form the Red. After a general course to the east, the Sheyenne turns north, and runs almost parallel with the Red, to fall into it at last. The spot where the hunters were camped was only about ten miles from the Red, but another stream, the Wild Rice, lay between.

St. Antoine advised against going directly east. “If you go east,” he said, “you will reach the Rivière Rouge many miles below the Lac Traverse. It is more difficult to cross there. I cannot tell you whether there is a ford or not. But if you keep to the southeast, reaching the river where it is narrow and shallow, you can cross easily. There it is not called Rivière Rouge, but Bois des Sioux. A few miles above where the Bois des Sioux joins the Ottertail, which comes from the east to form the real Rivière Rouge, there is a good crossing place. When you are across, turn south and follow the river to the Lac Traverse.”

The caravan was slow in getting away that morning. The good-natured bois brulés lingered to help the Brabant-Perier party across the Sheyenne. At some time hunters or traders had built a rude log bridge over the deep, muddy stream. Part of the old bridge had been carried away by flood waters, but skilled axmen soon repaired it, so that the two carts could be taken across.

By the time good-byes were said, last words of advice and warning spoken, the river crossed, and the steep bank climbed, the sun had passed its highest point. St. Antoine, Lajimonière, and several others rode with the little party through the thick woods that fringed the stream bank. The woods passed, St. Antoine carefully pointed out the route. The day was clear, and the travelers could see far across the flat, open country.

“You see that île des bois?” questioned St. Antoine, pointing to a tiny dark dot far away on the prairie. “That is the only île des bois for many miles around. Make straight for it. You can camp there to-night. There is a spring, and wood to boil your kettle. To-morrow go on in the same direction, and you will come to the river the Sioux call Pse, the white men Folle Avoine, from the wild rice that grows in its marshes. If you keep a straight course you will reach that river near a fording place. From there the Bois des Sioux is less than a day’s journey. But do not try to take your carts across either river until you are sure that the water is not too deep or the current too strong. The Bois des Sioux is a small stream and has many shallow places. Go then, and the good God go with you.”

The hunters turned back, waved a last farewell, and disappeared among the trees. Louis set his face towards the dark dot far across the prairie. “Marche donc!” he cried, and slapped his pony’s flank, he was riding ahead as guide, while Neil and Walter walked beside the carts.

The stretch of flat prairie between the Sheyenne and the Wild Rice looked easy to cross. The party expected to make good time, but the very flatness of the land proved a hindrance. The poorly drained plain was marshy. The grass grew tall and coarse, the soil it sprang from was spongy and frequently soft and wet. Stretches of standing water or very soft ground, grown thick with marsh grass and cattails, had to be skirted. In spite of the travelers’ care in picking their way, the cart wheels often sank far into the mud and water, and the faithful ponies had to pull hard to haul them through. In such places Mrs. Brabant and the children got out and walked or rode the two saddle ponies. Most of the time Louis or Neil rode ahead to select the route.

The difficult going lengthened the ten or twelve miles to that dark spot of woods. Sunset found the party still a mile or more from the île des bois. It would be better to go on, they decided, than to camp on the wet, open ground, with no wood for a fire, and only stagnant marsh water to drink.

Louis and Mr. Perier, with Max in front of him on the saddle, were riding in advance. Then came the carts with Mrs. Brabant and the girls, Neil beside the first cart, Raoul accompanying the second. Walter plodded along in the rear. Turning to look back at the sunset sky, where the reds and golds were already fading away, he noticed several dark forms loping along the trail through the tall grass. They were prairie wolves.

Walter had often seen wolves following the cart train, cleverly keeping just out of musket range, but ready to close in on the remains of any game that might be killed. He did not fear the cowardly scavengers. Yet now they gave him a strange feeling he had never had when with the long caravan. The sight of those wild creatures, shadowy in the twilight, following so boldly in the wake of the tiny party, brought to him a sudden sense of loneliness and peril such as he had not known before. He shivered, though the evening was warm. Then he raised his gun, intending to frighten the beasts, even if he could not hit them.

Before he had time to fire, an exclamation from Mrs. Brabant caused him to lower his gun and turn towards the cart. Both carts had stopped. A hundred feet ahead Louis and Mr. Perier had reined in. Louis jumped from his horse and stooped to examine the ground.

“What is it? Why are we stopping?” Walter asked Raoul.

“Louis signaled for a halt. I don’t know why.”

Moved by curiosity, Walter followed Neil and Raoul to the spot where the horsemen had reined in. It did not need the Scotch boy’s exclamation or Louis’ sober face to make Walter understand the seriousness of what they had found. They had come upon a trail, a clear, distinct trail. It was not the wide, trampled track of a buffalo herd, but the clearly defined, narrow trail of horses single file.

“Indians?” asked Walter, though he knew well enough that the question was unnecessary.

Neil answered with a grunt of assent. Louis, leading his horse, had gone on a little farther. In a moment he turned and summoned the others. He had come upon a parallel trail, somewhat wider and more irregular than the first and marked with lines resembling wheel tracks, but not so wide as those made by the broad-rimmed cart wheels.

“Travois,” he said briefly. “Heavily loaded.”

Walter had heard the word travois before in the sense in which Louis used it. It was the name the French Canadians had given to a primitive Indian conveyance, two poles lashed to the sides of a horse or dog, the front ends resting on the animal’s shoulders, the rear ends trailing on the ground. Cross pieces were tied on, and a hide or blanket stretched between the poles. Travois were loaded with household goods, or carried women too old and children too young to walk or ride horseback. The crude vehicles were used everywhere by the prairie Indians.

A little farther on was another similar trail, and beyond it a fourth, a narrow horse track like the first.

“A whole band,” Louis concluded, “women and children and all. When I saw that first trail I feared it was a war party of mounted men only.”

“They are traveling as if in enemy country,” Neil commented, “in four lines, instead of single file.”

“With the travois and women in the middle, and the braves on the outside,” added Louis. “Yes, they must be uneasy about something.”

“How long ago do you think they passed?” asked Mr. Perier.

“Not many hours. Since last night. It must have been before noon though. We could have seen them a long way across the prairie.”

“They are far away by now.”

“Yes. It is good that we did not make an earlier start.”

“And that our trail crosses theirs instead of going the same way,” said Neil. “We’d better go on as fast as we can to that clump of trees. Our camp will be hidden there.” Somehow he did not feel quite so sure now that Dakotas would not dare to attack white men, especially when the white men had horses to be stolen.

Louis climbed on his pony again, and the other boys turned back to bring up the carts. They made the best speed they could through the tall grass and over the marshy ground, but darkness had settled down before they reached the île des bois.

Finding a camping place among the trees, Louis and Walter unhitched and unsaddled the horses. Instead of hobbling them and turning them loose to feed, they tied the four ponies to trees close to the camp fire, where they could browse on tufts of grass, leaves, and twigs. Louis was taking no risk of losing them. In the meantime Neil was cutting wood, Raoul had kindled a fire, Mr. Perier had brought water from a rather brackish pool, and Mrs. Brabant and the girls were preparing supper.

To Walter the seclusion and shelter of the grove came as a relief from the open prairie. The cheerful flames of the camp fire lighting up the surrounding tree trunks and the cottonwood leaves overhead, the appetizing smell of pemmican heating in an iron pan, raised his spirits. He forgot the following wolves and the Indian trail. The rest of the party also seemed to have forgotten the unpleasant things of the day’s journey. Elise hummed to herself as she helped Mrs. Brabant with the simple meal. Max ran about to find sticks for the fire. Raoul teased Marie, as he often did, and she retorted in her usual lively manner. Little Jeanne, with the dog Askimé beside her, had fallen sound asleep on a blanket bed between the carts. She had to be waked when supper was ready.

The meal was as cheerful as if the little group had still been part of the big hunting party. Yet the loneliness of their situation had its effect upon them. Unconsciously they lowered their voices. At the slightest sound from beyond the circle of firelight, the stirring of a horse, the breaking of a twig, the rustling of a bush, the cry of a night bird, everyone glanced quickly around. When a screech owl in a near-by tree wailed, they were all startled, then, shamefaced, laughed at themselves.

After supper Mr. Perier drew Louis aside. “Do you think we ought to stand guard to-night?” he asked in a low voice.

“I think it most wise,” Louis replied promptly. “We do not wish our horses stolen, if any Indians have seen the smoke of our fire.”

Including Raoul, who was quite old enough to do guard duty and would have been insulted if anyone had suggested that he was not, there were five men in the party. To make up an even number, Mrs. Brabant insisted on taking her turn. It was arranged that Walter and Raoul should keep first watch, Mr. Perier and Neil second, and Louis and his mother the hours just before dawn. Both the latter knew, though they said nothing about it, that before dawn was the time danger was most likely to come, if it came at all. Mrs. Brabant confessed to Louis that she would not be sleeping then anyway, and might just as well be standing guard.

Though they had seen no sign of Indians except the track across the prairie, and seemed to be in no real danger, everyone but the two younger children slept lightly and uneasily. The beasts seemed to catch their masters’ uneasiness. Askimé, as if personally responsible for the safety of the camp, padded back and forth and round about through the grove, growling low in his throat sometimes, but never making a loud sound. The night was windy, and the mosquitoes were not troublesome, but the ponies were restless. They crowded as close to the carts as their lariats would permit. Now and then one or another would jump and snort as if in terror. Yet the guards could find nothing wrong, no cause of disturbance except the howling of a wolf on the prairie or the hooting of a hunting owl.

XXIV

DANGER

The camp was stirring early, and the sheltering grove was soon left behind. On every side the prairie, empty and peaceful, stretched away into misty distance. The fears and alarms of the night had been imaginary.

As on the day before, the route lay over flat, poorly drained, often marshy country, where the grass grew tall and rank. By going directly east, the travelers might have reached the Wild Rice River in a few hours, but far from the place where St. Antoine had advised them to cross. Even if they succeeded in crossing, they knew they would lose rather than gain time by going that way. If they went straight east they would come to the Red River a number of miles below the Ottertail, where the Red was much larger and more difficult to ford. St. Antoine had explained all that, showing them how, by going southeast, instead of east and then south, they would find better fording places as well as save actual distance. So they continued to the southeast.

By the position of the sun and the little grove behind him, Louis strove to keep a straight course, a difficult feat for anyone less experienced in prairie travel. Louis himself found it far from easy, especially when he had to make detours around impassable ground. Many times that day he wished for St. Antoine or some other older and more prairie-wise man.

As the sun rose higher, the day grew very hot. Even the ponies felt the effect of the heat, as they plodded steadily on. At noon the party halted for an hour on the open prairie, to let the horses rest and feed. There was not a stick of fuel anywhere, so the pemmican was eaten cold, and washed down with a sip of the warm, brackish water they had brought from the île des bois.

In mid afternoon, hot and tired, the little caravan reached the bank of a stream Louis knew must be the Wild Rice. A narrow, crooked, muddy stream it proved to be, like a deep ditch between high and scantily wooded banks. At the top of the bank the carts halted, while Louis and Neil scrambled down, leading their horses, to look for a ford. After a half hour’s search for a place that appeared safe, the two boys came upon a trail. The slope was a little less steep in this spot, and, winding down to the water’s edge, was the well-worn track of men and animals. There was no mistaking it.

“Here is a ford,” Louis announced confidently. “It is here that the Indians cross.”

“It looks like it,” Neil agreed. “We might as well go back for the carts. This is the easiest place we’ve seen to bring them down.”

Louis shook his head. “Wait a bit,” he commanded. “I must see if the crossing is safe. The trail is old. There are no signs that anyone has crossed recently, and the river is yet far from its lowest point. You stay here, and I will try to trace the ford and make sure it is not too deep.”

“All right,” consented Neil. “I’ll keep an eye on you. If you get into trouble, I’ll go to your help.”

The water was so thick and muddy, Louis could scarcely see whether it was deep or shallow. His pony was sure footed, and picked its way carefully. So he left the finding of the ford to the animal’s instinct and intelligence. Slowly they made their way across. The water rose to the horse’s sides, but did not carry it off its feet, as the current was sluggish. There was one deep place, however, where the pony was forced to swim a few yards.

Neil, mounted and ready to go to the rescue, watched anxiously. His help was not needed. The pony found foothold, and was soon scrambling up the farther bank to dry land. Dismounting, Louis patted the animal and rubbed its nose. Unlike the bois brulés, he treated his beasts kindly. He had brought this horse up from colthood, and it had no fear of him. After resting a few minutes, boy and pony made their way back again.

“Can we get the carts across?” asked Neil, as Louis, wet to the waist, reached shore.

“Yes, if we pull them over with ropes. We can take my mother and the children on the horses. There is only the one deep place, and the current is not strong. César knew the way. He took me out where the trail goes up from the water. This is an old fording place.”

“St. Antoine said nothing about a trail.”

“No, I think this is not the place where he crossed. We may be miles from that spot.”

“If we can get across here, that is all we care about,” returned Neil.

The old trail was steep but not impossible for vehicles. With the boys acting as brakes by hanging on to the rear, the carts made their screeching, groaning way down. The horses were unhitched, and rawhide ropes attached to one of the carts. Then Louis and Walter rode over the ford, wound the ropes around a willow tree for greater security, and began to pull. The others steadied the cart into the water. Neil, mounting hastily, rode behind it to prevent disaster.

Part way across, the wheels stuck in the muddy bottom and would not turn. Neil jumped off his horse, and Raoul waded out to help him. They pushed and heaved vigorously, while Louis and Walter pulled, and got the cart moving again. In the deep place the box body floated, and the boys succeeded in pulling it to shore before it took in much water. Knowing that the dry box would leak more or less, they had lined it with hides. The load came through uninjured.

The same process was repeated with the second cart, which was not so lucky and took in more water. Then Mrs. Brabant and the girls, their skirts gathered up under them on the horses’ backs, were brought across, wetting no more than their feet and ankles. Max, sitting cross legged in front of his father, did not even get his feet wet. The older boys and Mr. Perier were well soaked. The day was so warm they did not mind a wetting.

The search for the ford and the crossing had taken a long time. The sun was low when the weary little party started up the old trail to seek a camping place. It happened that Walter, leading one of the horses along the steep track, was ahead. As he reached the top, picking his way, he turned to look back at the pony. After the horse was up, he continued to stand looking down, watching the carts making their slow way up, the ponies pulling steadily, the boys pushing. He ought to be down there helping, he thought.

The neighing of a horse startled him. He swung around, gave one gasp, and fairly tumbled down the bank, dragging the surprised pony after him.

“Indians!” he gasped.

“Where?” Louis let go his hold on the first cart, and scrambled up to join Walter.

“Coming across the prairie. A whole band of them.”

“How far away? Did they see you?”

“They must have seen me. There are no trees. I stood right in the open.”

Louis dropped flat and wormed his way up the slope. He raised his head cautiously, lowered it quickly, and slid back.

“They certainly saw you. They are too close to have missed you. We can’t avoid them. They come straight to the ford. We have no time to get out of the way. There is not enough cover to hide in. And they must have seen you and the horse. We must put on a bold front and not act afraid. That is the only thing we can do.”

The rest of the party, alarmed by the two boys’ actions, had stopped in their tracks. Not many seconds were spent in telling them what was happening. All realized that Louis was right when he said there was nothing to do but put on a bold front. In a few moments the tiny caravan was moving again. Raoul held Askimé by the collar to keep him from running ahead.

Louis and Walter went first, side by side, leading their horses. When he came in view of the prairie, Walter’s heart beat fast. He struggled to control his trembling knees, and to appear cool and unconcerned.

A very short distance away, coming straight towards the two lads, was a little group of mounted men, with bare, black heads and feathers in their hair. Some wore loose buckskin shirts. The bronze bodies of others were bare. Beyond them more mounted men, men, women, and children on foot, pack animals, and travois covered the prairie in a wide, irregular, disorderly procession.

“A whole band out on the hunt,” said Louis. “Well, that is less to be feared than a war party of braves only.”

The advance group let out a yell, a wild, menacing sound it seemed to the Swiss boy, hammered their horses’ sides with their heels, and came on at a gallop. Louis swung himself into the saddle, and advanced to meet them, one arm raised in the friendship sign. Walter mounted and followed, imitating the gesture.

The leading Indian responded with upraised arm, and the group came on. Surrounding the lads, they reined in their ponies. Walter’s heart was thumping against his ribs, but the trembling had passed. He sat straight and steady in the saddle, and kept a calm exterior.

“Bo jou,” said Louis pleasantly.

“How,” stolidly returned the leader of the advance party. He was a well-built, broad-shouldered fellow in the prime of life. A piece of buffalo robe was his only saddle. He guided his horse with a cord of twisted hair around the jaw, and rode with free and easy grace.

As Louis knew only four or five words of Dakota, communication had to be carried on principally in sign language. Recognizing the word for trader when the Indian spoke again, Louis replied with a shake of his head, then pointed to the carts just appearing over the top of the bank. He interpreted the Indian’s next gesture as a question about the size of the party, and held up ten fingers in answer. Wishing to convey the idea that the ten were only part of a much larger party, he pointed across the river, and spread out his fingers, closing and opening them several times.

The Indian nodded, stared fixedly at the carts, and inquired, “Minnewakan?”

That was one of the few words Louis knew. “No minnewakan, no liquor,” he replied. His questioner looked disappointed, so Louis hastened to add, “We can give you a little tobacco. Tabac,” he repeated with emphasis.

Evidently the Indian had heard the word tabac in intercourse with the traders. He repeated it with a nod and held out his hand.

Louis pointed towards the carts, and said quickly to Walter, “Go get some tobacco. It will be all right. We’re safe enough for the present.”

The Indians made no move to hinder Walter’s return to the carts. He was back in a few moments with the tobacco, which Louis divided among the group of braves, taking care to give the largest portion to the leader.

The first of the main body of Indians had come on almost to the river bank, a little way beyond where the carts were standing, and had halted there. The boys’ new acquaintance pointed to the spot, then brought the tips of his forefingers together to indicate the pointed shape of a tipi. Walter guessed the man’s meaning to be that the band would camp there for the night. His heart sank. He had been hoping that the Indians would go on across the river.

If Louis was troubled, he did not show it. He pointed the other way, – up river, – and made the same sign. Then he said “Bo jou” again and turned his horse in that direction.

The Indian gave a little grunt which might have meant either assent or protest. Neither he nor his companions showed any wish to hinder the boys’ freedom of movement. They remained motionless for a few moments, then turned towards the camping place of their own band.

“What are we going to do?” asked Walter, when he and Louis had put a few yards between themselves and the Indians.

“We will have to make camp,” Louis replied slowly. “We will not be any safer if we go on. If they wish to steal our horses or interfere with us in any way, they will only follow. They can overtake us easily. Those fellows’ horses are fresher than ours. I saw that at once. We will camp farther up the river, as far as we can without seeming to run away. I tried to make them believe that we are an advance party. If we camp here it will look as if we waited for the others to join us. It is a bad situation, but I do not see what else we can do.”