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Discovering Diverse Content Through
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 There had existed, in days when his people, the Assineboines,
were one of the most formidable tribes on the northern prairies—
when Teltacka, or the Left-handed, ruled from the Souri to the South
Saskatchewan—there had been, he knew, a custom in the tribe for
young men to show unexpected clemency to a vanquished foe; but
never had he heard, amid the stories told over the camp fire of
deeds of bygone battle or of ancient prowess, such an example of
generosity and courage as that now before him. As a boy he had
heard his father tell how once, in a battle with the Gros Ventres near
the Knife river, he had spared the life of a young man whose horse
had plunged into a snow-drift, leaving its rider completely at his
mercy, and how years after the same Gros Ventre had repaid the gift
by saving his former benefactor from the fury of the victors, when
the might of the Assineboines was crushed by the same band on the
banks of the Missouri. These things now all flashed through the
mind of the Assineboine, in a tenth of the time it has taken me to
put into words the scene in which he found himself suddenly set at
liberty, and free to follow what course he pleased.
I did not wait to see what my late prisoner would decide upon, but
turning my horse quickly from the spot I rode in the direction of the
place where the Sioux had been last seen. I had not gone very far
before I was aware that my late prisoner was following in my wake.
An idea of treachery at once crossed my mind; but looking back I
saw the Assineboine making signs of friendship. I pulled up and
awaited his approach. As he came up he pointed to his defenceless
state; then to the bow and arrows which I had taken on the previous
day, and which I still carried slung over my shoulder; then the
Assineboine’s arm was directed towards the ridge, and placing his
hands in the attitude of those of a man drawing an arrow to full
stretch at the moment of firing, he indicated plainly enough his
meaning. He would help in the coming struggle if he had arms to do
so. I handed him his bow and quiver, and then we two, so lately
captor and captive, rode forward as comrades to the fight.
 CHAPTER VIII.
The fight—The Sioux and the swamp—The trader’s triumph—Red
Cloud fights on foot—The trader finds he has other foes to reckon
with—The Assineboine draws a straight arrow—The trader’s flight
—Our losses and gains—Winter supplies—Our party is completed
—“All’s well that ends well.”

There was no time now for reconnoitring the ground before the
attack began. There was in fact nothing for it but to ride straight
over the ridge, and lunge at once into the struggle, for, as we rode
briskly up the black incline towards the top of the hill the sharp
report of a shot already echoed through the hills, a signal that the
fray had begun. It was even so.
The Sioux, following the valley round the foot of the ridge, had
debouched close to his foe, and had put his horse straight for the
spot where the trader was still engaged, on the edge of the pool, in
loading the stores which he had just carried from the water, upon
the backs of his pack animals.
The presence of the Sioux became instantly known to his enemy.
Relinquishing his work, the trader seized his gun from the ground
where it was lying, and dropping upon one knee he took deliberate
aim at the advancing horseman. The Sioux bent low upon his horse’s
neck as the white smoke flashed from the muzzle, and the bullet
whistled over his lowered head, burying itself in the hill-side.
Meanwhile the trader’s two attendants had sprung to their
saddles, apparently more ready for flight than for fight. The
onslaught of the Sioux was so sudden and so unexpected that these
men had no time to realize the fact that there was only one
assailant; more than this, they had engaged with their master to
trade, not to fight; and, though neither of them was thoroughly
deficient in courage, the first impulse of both on this occasion, was
to fly; and had the Sioux been permitted to continue his onward
career full upon McDermott he would have found himself alone face
to face with his hated foe; but such was not to be.
Between the Sioux and the trader there lay a small swampy spot,
half stagnant water, half morass, not more than six paces across; it
ran inland from the pool for some distance. The blackened ground
lying on every side had completely hidden from the keen eye of the
Indian the dangerous nature of the spot. All at once he saw before
his horse, now at full gallop, this fatal obstacle. To have checked his
horse would have been no easy matter, so impetuous was his rate of
motion; but had it been possible to have stayed his own charger, he
would have presented such a sure mark for the keen eyes of the
men on the further side of the pond as to ensure the destruction of
both horse and rider. There was nothing for it then but to go full at
the dangerous spot, and trust to strength of horse and skill of rider
to come through.
Raising the horse a little in his pace, the Sioux held straight upon
his course; the soft ground broke beneath the horse’s feet, but so
rapid were the movements of his legs, and so strong were his efforts
to draw himself clear of the spongy soil, that for a second or two it
seemed as though he would pull through and win the other side. At
the far edge, however, a softer and deeper spot opened beneath the
vigorous hoof, and, despite all efforts, the brave little animal sank
helpless to his girths.
The Sioux sprang to his feet, and in another second he had gained
the dry, firm ground at the farther side; but the water of the swamp
had for a moment covered his gun, the priming had become
hopelessly clogged, and the weapon utterly useless to him. The
mishap had given his adversary time for reflection and preparation;
and the two retainers, realizing the fact that they were attacked by
only one assailant, and that even that one was already half engulfed
amid a swamp, took heart and came down to the assistance of their
employer; while the trader himself had profited by the delay to jump
into his saddle and to fall back out of reach of the Sioux in order to
reload his gun.
Long practice in following the herds of buffalo over the prairies at
headlong speed, had made him an expert hand at rapid loading and
firing on horseback. To throw from his powder-horn a charge of
powder loosely into the gun; to spit from his mouth a ball down the
muzzle, so that the action caused at the same instant the powder to
press out into the priming-pan and the bullet to fit against the
powder—these motions of the buffalo-hunter took him but a few
seconds, and wheeling his horse at the charge, he now came
thundering down full at the Sioux. But though little time had been
lost in these movements of loading, enough had passed to enable
Red Cloud to change his tactics and to secure himself from the first
furious onslaught which he saw impending. Springing across the
treacherous morass, he gained the side on which he had first
entered it, and with his bow at the “ready” he calmly awaited the
charge of his enemy.
While yet fully one hundred yards distant, McDermott saw and
realized the change on the part of the Sioux, and knowing the fatal
nature of the ground, he forbore not only to risk his horse across the
swamp, but to approach within fifty yards of its nearer side—a
distance which would have brought him within range of his enemy’s
fire; he however looked upon the fate of the Sioux as certain; and
well it might appear so to him.
All chance of escape was now cut off; the horse still lay helpless in
the morass, buried to the girths; his rider, active and expert though
he was on foot, could only hope to delay his fate when pitted in fight
against three horsemen, and with nothing but a bow and arrow to
oppose to their fire-arms. If the position could not be forced in front,
there was ample room to turn its flank and move round it on the hill
side. Thus menaced in front and attacked in rear, the position of the
Sioux might well seem desperate.
 Fully did Red Cloud in these few seconds of time realize the
dangers that encompassed him; nevertheless, he thought far less of
his own peril than of his inability to meet his deadly foe. Bitterly he
repented of his rash onslaught, and still more bitter were his regrets
that he should have left his trusty double-barrelled rifle—which he
usually carried slung upon his back—in the camp that morning, and
that he had no more effective weapon now than the bow and
arrows, which he could so dexterously handle, but which were only
of use at fifty or sixty yards, while his rifle would have enabled him
to cover his enemies at four times that distance. McDermott was, as
we have said, no novice in the art of prairie war or chase. He quickly
saw the strength or weakness of his adversary’s position.
Calling to his attendants to watch the side of the small swamp
nearest to where he stood, and thus prevent the Sioux from again
executing a movement across it, he wheeled his horse rapidly to one
side, and rode furiously towards the base of the hill, so as to pass
round upon the dry ground at the end of the swamp, and bear down
upon his foe from behind. As he passed his retainers, he shouted to
them to ride up and fire upon the Sioux, promising that the horse
and all that belonged to its rider should be the reward of him who
would bring the foe to the ground.
The French half-breed showed little inclination, however, to render
the already long odds against the Sioux still more desperate; but the
Salteaux belonged to a tribe long at deadly enmity with the Sioux
nation, and he also inherited much of the cowardly ferocity of his
own tribe, who, unable to cope in the open country with their
enemies, never scrupled to obtain trophies which they could not win
in war, by the aid of treacherous surprise or dastardly night attacks.
The present was a kind of warfare peculiarly suited to his instincts,
and he now rode forward to fire upon the Sioux across the swamp,
at the moment when he would be engaged with a more formidable
enemy on his own side.
These movements, quickly as they passed, were all noted by the
watchful eye of the Sioux. He cast one quick look at his horse, in the
hope that it might be possible to extricate him from the swamp ere
the trader had yet got round the northern side; but a glance was
enough to tell him that all hope in that quarter was gone, for the
ooze had risen higher upon the poor animal, and nothing but the
united labour of two or three hands, could now draw him from the
quicksand. His head was still free, however, and Red Cloud had time
to notice in his own moment of peril how the eye of his faithful
friend and long-tried servant turned upon him what seemed a look
of sympathy in his great extremity. But now the trader had gained
the end of the swamp and was already beginning to wheel his horse
towards where the Sioux stood. A natural impulse bid the latter
move forward to meet his foe. Short as was the space that
separated the two men, rapid as was the pace at which one was
momentarily lessening that distance, Red Cloud rushed forward to
meet the advancing horseman. The trader’s plan was to keep just
out of the range of the Sioux’ arrows, and to manœuvre his horse so
that he could get frequent shots at his enemy without exposing
himself to the slightest danger. He knew too well with what terrible
accuracy the red man can use his bow at any object within fifty
yards of his standpoint. McDermott was a true shot, whether on
horseback or on foot; he knew, too, all those shifts of body by which
the Indian manages to partially cover himself by his horse at
moments of attack; but on the present occasion he intended simply
to continue hovering round the Sioux, who was just in the angle
formed by the swamp and the lake, and to take his time in every
shot he would fire. Pulling up his horse at about eighty yards’
distance, he placed his gun to his shoulder and laid his head low
upon the stock, aiming right over the ears of his horse upon the
advancing figure of the Sioux. But while yet his finger paused ere
pressing the trigger, the sharp ring of a bullet smote his ear; his
horse gave a convulsive spring upwards, and the trader, retaining his
seat with difficulty, fired wildly and harmlessly into the air. Then, ere
he could sufficiently recover his suddenly startled senses, there
came loud shouts of advancing men from the ridge upon his left.
Turning his head in that direction, he beheld two horsemen riding at
a furious gallop down upon him. His life was dearer to him than the
hope of destroying his enemy. Fortunate at finding that his horse
had only received a flesh wound, and that he was still able to carry a
rider, McDermott wheeled quickly to the rear, to retire the way he
had come. As he did so, an arrow grazed his shoulder, and whistled
past into the ground; then, from the ridge another shot rang out,
this time fired in the direction of the Salteaux, who had advanced to
within sixty paces of the Sioux on the opposite side of the swamp.
The ball went sufficiently near its mark to cause that worthy to
abandon his attempt at murder, and to execute a rapid retrograde
movement; indeed, so thoroughly did he appear convinced that the
battle was irrevocably lost, that he ceased not to continue his flight,
quite unmindful of any fate which might overtake either his master
or fellow-servant.
 McDermott pulled up his horse.

McDermott seeing that the game was up, now made a final effort
to save his pack animals from capture; but my blood was now
thoroughly roused—the fever of fight was on me, and no power on
earth could stay my onward career.
Followed closely by the Assineboine, I swept round by the head of
the swamp, and made straight for the spot where the trader was
endeavouring to get his pack animals into motion. As I rode along at
full gallop, I passed the French half-breed at some distance; the
latter dropped his gun across his bridle arm and fired in front of my
horse. The ball struck the animal in the neck, and plunging forward,
horse and rider were instantly stretched upon the ground in one
confused mass. But the Assineboine was riding close in my wake.
Seeing the action of the half-breed, he turned his horse slightly to
the right, and with an arrow drawn to the fullest stretch of his stout
Indian bow, he bore full upon the flank of this new enemy.
Too late the half-breed saw his danger, and turned to fly. At thirty
paces’ distance the Assineboine let fly his shaft, with so true an aim
that the arrow pierced the half-breed’s leg and buried itself deeply in
his horse’s side. He did not await another shot; drawing a pistol, he
fired wildly at the Assineboine, and followed the Salteaux in his
flight.
Meantime the Sioux had crossed the swamp, and was approaching
swiftly on foot to this new scene of combat. The trader beheld with
rage the sudden turn which the fight had taken. His horse had
suffered little from his flesh wound, and now that the only two
steeds whose pace and mettle were matches for his own were
disposed of, he could still easily distance any attempt at pursuit; but
to delay longer in endeavouring to save his goods would soon have
cost him his life. Red Cloud was drawing rapidly near—the Salteaux
and the half-breed had fled. For a moment he thought of falling back
to continue the fight at longer range, using his horse to carry him
from ridge to ridge; but now another rider suddenly appeared upon
the sky-line on the side from which the first attack had been
delivered. It was Donogh riding down to the rescue. This fresh
accession to the strength of his enemies decided him.
Utterly beaten at all points, and flinging an impotent malediction
towards his enemies, McDermott hastened from the scene of the
disaster, leaving two pack-horses and all his stores in the hands of
the victors.
Donogh now joined us. He was wild with excitement, and his joy
at finding me safe knew no bounds. For some time after our
departure from camp he had sat quiet, but the Cree had told him by
signs that a fight was probable, and then he could stand inaction no
longer. He had followed our trail; as he neared the scene of action,
the report of fire-arms had told him the struggle had already begun;
and then he had galloped straight to the rescue. Seeing me on the
ground, his first idea was to charge the trader, and it was this new
and impetuous onset that finally decided McDermott’s flight.
The Sioux made it his first care to ascertain what damage had
befallen his friend. I had half risen from the ground; but the violence
of the shock had been so great that it was some little time before I
fully understood what was passing around. As soon as Red Cloud
had ascertained that I had sustained no greater injury than the
concussion the fall had given me, he turned his attention to the
Assineboine, whose aid, at the most critical moment, had completely
turned the fortunes of the day. It was in his own noble nature to
comprehend the change which had worked upon our late prisoner
and made him a staunch and firm friend; he took the hand of the
Assineboine, and shook it warmly. “I owe you much for this day,” he
said; “I shall begin to repay it from this moment. Help me to draw
my horse from yonder swamp, and then we shall see to our prizes.”
So saying, but first securing the pack animals, and giving the lariat
which held them into my hands, the Sioux, Donogh, and the
Assineboine turned to rescue the horse from the swamp where he
had lain, sinking gradually deeper, since that disastrous moment
when first breaking through the spongy soil he had so nearly ended
for ever the career of his rider.
By dint of great exertions, working with leather lines passed
around the neck and quarters of the horse, they at length succeeded
in drawing him from the morass. The Sioux was overjoyed at once
more recovering his long-tried horse; for a moment he half forgot
the bitterness of having lost his enemy, in the pleasure of finding
himself still the owner of this faithful friend.
But the full importance of the victory just gained only burst upon
our little party when we came to examine the goods that had fallen
to us as victors. The two pack-horses had only been partly loaded,
and many of the parcels and bags still lay in loose heaps upon the
ground; they were all dripping with water, having been only recently
brought from out of the lake, where they had lain since the alarm of
fire on the previous night; but a careful examination showed that
they had sustained little damage from the water. It is well known
that flour lying closely packed in a sack resists for a great time the
action of damp, the portion nearest to the sack becomes a soft sort
of cement, which prevents the water from penetrating more than a
couple of inches further in. Thus, the three sacks of fine Red River
flour formed a most precious treasure to men whose winter hut was
to be built still farther among the vast solitudes than the spot they
were now on. A small barrel of gunpowder, coppered on the inside,
was of course perfectly water-tight; a case of knives, with some axe-
heads and saws, only required to be dried and cleaned to be again
in perfect order; a few hours’ exposure to sun and wind would
suffice to dry the blankets and flour; the tea, most precious article,
was to a great extent saved by being made up in tin canisters—only
that portion of it which was in lead paper had suffered injury; and
the sugar, though the wet had quite penetrated through the bag,
could still be run down by the action of fire to the consistency of
hard cakes, which would be quite serviceable for use in that state.
Two bags of salt, though wet, were also serviceable.
Of course such things as shot, bullets, and a few hardware
articles, had suffered no injury whatever.
Thus as, one by one, all these things were unpacked and laid out
upon the ground, we realized how fortunate had been the chance
that had thrown so many valuable essentials of prairie life into the
possession of our party.
“We are now,” said the Sioux, “quite independent of every one.
We have here supplies which will last us for the entire winter and far
into next year. You, my friend,” he said to the Assineboine, “will
continue with us, and share all these things; they are as much yours
as they are ours. If you decide to join us, even for a while, you will
live as we do. We are on our way far west, to hunt and roam the
plains; we will winter many days’ journey from here. If it should be
your wish to go and rejoin your people, one of these horses and a
third of these things shall be yours to take away with you; but if you
remain with us, you will share our camp, our fire, our food.”
The Assineboine did not ponder long upon his decision; to return
to his people would have been to open many causes of quarrel with
them or with the trader or his agents. The new life offered
everything that an Indian could covet. Red Cloud was a chief of the
Sioux—a people who had ever been as cousins to his people—whose
language closely resembled his own. “Yes he would go west with
these men, even to where the sun set.”
The Assineboine—who in future shall bear the name by which he
was first known to us, of the scout—had possessed himself of the
half-breed’s gun, which that worthy had dropped at the moment he
received the arrow wound. His steed, a thoroughly serviceable
Indian pony, had both speed and endurance, and was therefore
suited for any emergency which war or the chase might call forth.
My horse had been the only loss in the affair; but in his place there
had been a gain of two good steeds, and there were spare goods in
the packs sufficient to purchase a dozen horses from any Indian
camp the party might reach.
While the Sioux and the scout were busily engaged in looking
through the trader’s captured stores, I sat revolving in my mind
every incident of the recent struggle. On the whole I felt well-
pleased; it was my first brush with an enemy, and I had not flinched
from fire or charge.
From the moment of my first shot from the ridge top—a shot fired
at two hundred yards’ range—to my last onslaught upon the
retreating trader, I had never lost my head; eye, hand, and brain
had worked together, and I had unconsciously timed every move to
the demand of the passing moment.
I fully realized the reasons why Red Cloud had decided not to
involve me in his struggle with the trader, but I could not help saying
to my friend when we were about to leave the spot, “We were to
have been brothers in war, as well as in peace. You have not kept
your word fairly with me.”
“All’s well that ends well,” said the Sioux. “Henceforth our fights
shall be shared evenly between us.”
Having stripped the dead horse of his saddle and trappings, I
mounted one of the captured animals, and his load divided between
the other animals, the whole party set out at a rapid pace for our
camp.
 CHAPTER IX.
We again go West—Hiding the trail—Red and white for once in
harmony—Peace and plenty—An autumn holiday—We select a
winter’s camp—The Forks—Hut-building—Our food supply—The
autumn hunt—The Great Prairie—Home thoughts—Indian instincts
—The Lake of the Winds—Buffalo—Good meat—A long stalk—The
monarch of the waste—A stampede—Wolves—The red man’s
tobacco.

As we rode back to camp, the Sioux learned from the scout all
that had happened in the camp of the Assineboines, from the time
that he had himself brought news of the presence in the hills of the
disabled Cree and his protectors, until the moment when he had
been captured by the united efforts of the dog and his masters.
The Sioux listened eagerly to the story of the trader’s having
literally set a price upon his head; and when he reflected that all the
precautions which he, Red Cloud, had taken had been done in
complete ignorance of the machinations of his enemy, and only from
casually learning from the Cree that a party of hostile Indians had
passed him on the previous night, he felt how true is that lesson in
war which enjoins never neglecting in times of danger to guard
against the worst even though the least may only be threatened.
But Red Cloud learned from the story of the scout information for
future guidance, as well as confirmation of the course he had
already followed. He realized the fact that though the fire had
already freed him from the presence of the Assineboines, yet, that it
could only be a short respite; the bribe offered by the trader was too
high to allow these men to relinquish all hope of taking prizes which
were to make them great Indians for the rest of their lives. The
necessity of quickly shifting his ground, and of leaving altogether
that part of the country, became so fully apparent to him that he lost
no time in communicating to us his plan of action.
It was, to march that evening about ten miles towards the north,
and then to strike from the hills due west into the great plain. Being
heavily loaded with stores, we could not hope by dint of hard
marching to outstrip our enemies; but by taking unusual precautions
to hide our trail, we might succeed in successfully eluding the
watchful eyes of the Assineboines.
A hasty dinner followed the return of the party to camp, and then
preparations for departure were at once made. The Cree had made,
in the rest and care of the last two days, more progress to recovery
than in the whole period of his former convalescence, and he was
now well able to take his share in the work of striking camp.
When men bivouac in the open it takes but little time to make a
camp or to quit it, and ere the sun had set the whole party had got
in motion, and, led by the Sioux, were threading their course
through the hills farther towards the north.
The rain had ceased, but the grass was still too wet to burn, so
that the simple expedient of setting fire to the prairie in order to
hide a trail, was in this instance impossible. As, however, the point of
departure from the hills for the west was the point most essential to
obliterate, the Sioux did not so much care that our trail while in the
hills could easily be followed.
Not until midnight did he give the word to camp, and the first
streak of dawn found us again in motion. While the morning was still
young we arrived at a small river which flowed out from the hills into
the plain, and pursued, far as the eye could determine to the west, a
course sunken in a narrow valley deep beneath the level of the
prairie. Here was the point of departure. The stream was shallow,
and the current ran over a bed of sand and pebbles. The Sioux,
Donogh, and I, led the pack-horses along the centre of this river
channel, while the scout and the Cree were directed to ride many
times to and fro up the farther bank, and then to continue their
course towards the north for some miles.
It was Red Cloud’s intention to camp about fifteen miles lower
down the stream; he would only keep his horses in the bed of the
channel for one hour, by that time he would have gained a
considerable distance down stream; then selecting a dry or rocky
place, we would have left the channel and continued our course
along the meadows on one side.
When the scout and the Cree had put some miles between them
and the stream they were to turn sharp to their left hand; first one,
and later on the other, and then rejoin us some time during the
following day. By these plans the Sioux hoped to foil any pursuers
who might be on his trail, and he would certainly succeed in delaying
a pursuit until the fine weather would again make the grass dry
enough to allow it to burn.
Down the centre of the stream we led the pack-horses in file, and
away to the north went the scout and the Cree. It was toilsome work
wading along the channel of the river, which in some places held
rocks and large loose stones; but by little and little progress was
made, and ere sunset the dry ground was once more under foot,
and our party was pursuing a rapid course along the meadows to
the west.
Red Cloud had told the scout that he would await him at the
Minitchinas, or Solitary Hill, a conical elevation in the plains some
twenty miles away to the west. At the north side of this hill our
whole party came again together about the middle of the following
day, and after a hearty meal we turned our faces towards that great
plain which stretches from the base of this solitary mound into what
seemed an endless west.
Everybody was in high spirits; even the dog had quite recovered
from the effects of his arrow-wound, and the scout and he had
become firm friends.
 It was a curious group this, that now held its course into the
western wilds.

It was a curious group this, that now held its

course into the western wilds.

There were representatives of three of those strange families of

the aboriginal race of North America—that race now rapidly
vanishing from the earth, and soon only to be known by those wild
names of soft sound and poetic meaning which, in the days of their
glory, they gave to ridge, lake, and river, over the wild wilderness of
their vast dominions; and two white men from a far-distant land,
alien in race, strange in language, but bound to them by a sympathy
of thought, by a soldier instinct which was strong enough to bridge
the wide gulf between caste and colour, and make red and white
unite in a real brotherhood—a friendship often pictured in the early
dreams of the red race when the white man first sought the wilds,
but never fully realized in all these long centuries of war and strife,
save when the pale-faced stranger whom they called the Black Robe,
came to dwell amongst them and to tell them of a world beyond the
grave, more blissful than their fabled happy hunting-grounds, where
red men and white were to dwell, the servants of One Great Master.
And now days began to pass of quiet travel over the autumn
prairies—days of real enjoyment to me, who hour by hour read
deeper into the great book which nature ever holds open to those
who care to be her students—that book whose pages are sunsets
and sunrises, twilights darkening over interminable space, dawns
breaking along distant horizons, shadows of inverted hill-top lying
mirrored in lonely lakes, sigh of west wind across measureless
meadow, long reach of silent river, stars, space, and solitude.
Ten days of such travel carried our little party far into the west.
We had reached that part of the northern plains which forms the
second of those sandy ridges or plateaux which mount in successive
steps from the basin of the great lake Winnipeg, to the plains lying
at the base of the Rocky Mountains.
In this great waste game was numerous. Buffalo roamed in small
bodies hither and thither; cabri could be seen dotting the brown
grass, or galloping in light bounds to some vantage hill, from whence
a better survey of the travellers could be had; wolves and foxes kept
skulking in the prairie depressions, and dodged along the edges of
ridges to scent or sight their prey. The days were still fine and
bright; but the nightly increasing cold told that winter was slowly but
surely coming on.
It was now the middle of September, early enough still for summer
travel, but it would soon be necessary to look out for some
wintering-ground, where wood for a hut and fuel could be easily
obtained, and where the grass promised food for the horses during
the long months of snow.
Almost every part of this vast ocean of grass had become
thoroughly known to Red Cloud. Land once crossed by a red man is
ever after a living memory to him. He can tell, years after he has
passed along a trail, some of the most trifling landmarks along it; a
bush, a rock, a sharply marked hill, will be all treasured in his
memory; and though years may have elapsed since his eye last
rested upon this particular portion of the great prairie, he will know
all its separate features, all the little hills, courses, or creeks which
lie hidden amid the immense spaces of this motionless ocean.
For some days the Sioux had been conning over in his mind the
country, seeking some spot lying within easy reach of where he was
now moving which yielded what our party required—timber, fuel,
and grass. A few years earlier he had camped at the point of
junction of two rivers, the Red Deer and the Medicine, not more
than four days’ journey to the north-west of where he now was. He
remembered that amid a deep thicket of birch, poplar, and cotton-
wood, there stood a large group of pine-trees. If fire had spared that
part of the prairie, he knew that the alluvial meadows along the
converging rivers, would yield rich store of winter food for the
horses. He knew, too, that in other respects the spot had many
recommendations in its favour; it lay almost in the centre of that
neutral zone between the Cree country and the sandy wastes of the
Blackfeet nation, and that it was therefore safe in winter from the
roving bands of these wild tribes, whose warfare is only carried on
during the months of spring, summer, and autumn. All these things
combined made him fix upon this spot for the winter camping-
ground, and he began to shape the course of the party more to the
north, to see if the place held still in its sheltered ridges all the
advantages it had possessed when he had seen it for the first and
last time.
Riding along one sunny mid-day, he explained to me the prospect
before us.
 “It is getting late in the season,” he said; “all the grass is yellow;
the wind has begun to rustle in the dry seeds and withered prairie
flowers; the frost of night gets harder and colder. At any moment we
may see a great change; that far off sky-line, now so clear cut
against the prairie, would become hidden; dense clouds would
sweep across the sky, and all the prairie would be wrapped in snow-
drift.
“The winter in this north land is long and severe; the snow lies for
months upon the plains, in many feet in thickness it will rest upon
yon creek, now so full of bird-life. The cold will then be intense; all
the birds, save the prairie-grouse, the magpie, and the whisky jack,
will seek southern lands; the buffalo will not, however, desert us,
they may move farther north into the Saskatchewan, and wolves,
foxes, and coyotes will follow in their wake. Neither horse nor man
can then brave for any time the treeless plains.
“We must prepare for the winter,” he went on, “and my plan is
this: some days’ march from this is a spot which, when I last saw it,
had around it all that we shall require for our winter comfort. Where
two rivers come together there stands, sheltered among hills, a
clump of pine-trees. The points of the rivers are well wooded, and
the marshes along the banks hold wild vetch, and the pea plant of
the prairie grows through the under-bush, high above the snow,
giving food to horses in the worst seasons of the year.
“I don’t know any fitter place for winter camp in all the hundreds
of miles that are around us. We are now bound for that spot, and if
things are as I last saw them, we shall make our hut in the pine
wood and settle into our winter-quarters ere the cold has come. We
have still much to do, and it is time we set to work.”
I heard with joy these plans for the winter. The life was still so
new to me—the sense of breathing this fresh bright atmosphere,
and of moving day by day through this great ocean of grass, was in
itself such pleasure, that I had latterly ceased almost altogether to
think much about the future, feeling unbounded confidence in my
Indian friend’s skill and forethought.
 Donogh and I had in fact been enjoying the utmost bliss of perfect
freedom—that only true freedom in life, the freedom of fording
streams, crossing prairies, galloping over breezy hill-tops, watching
wild herds in their daily habits of distance, seeing them trail along
slowly into golden sunsets, or file in long procession to some prairie
stream for the evening drink; or better still, marking some stray wolf
into a valley where he thought himself unseen, and dashing down
upon him with wild hulloo ready for the charge, while the silent
echoes wake to the clash of hoof and ring of cheer. All these things,
and many more, had filled the hours of our life in the past month to
such a degree, that our spirits seemed to have widened out to grasp
the sense of a freedom as boundless as the wilderness itself.
It was on the third day following the conversation above recorded,
that we came in sight of a low dark ridge, showing itself faintly
above the northern horizon.
Flowing in many serpentine bends, a small creek wound through
the prairie at our left hand, cotton-wood clusters fringed the “points”
of this stream, and long grass grew luxuriantly between the deep
bends, which sometimes formed almost a figure eight in the
roundness of their curves. Our party moved in a straight line, which
almost touched the outer points of these deep curves, and from the
higher ground along which we marched, the eye could at times
catch the glint of water amid the ends of grasses, and mark the wild
ducks sailing thickly on the rushy pools. I had used my gun
frequently during the morning, and when the mid-day hour had
come we had a plentiful supply of wild ducks hanging to our saddles.
In this life in the wilderness I had early learned the lesson of
killing only what was needed to supply the wants of the party. When
wild ducks were so plentiful, it would of course have been easy to
shoot any quantity of them; but that habit of civilized sport which
seeks only the “bag” had long since ceased to influence me, and I
had come to regard the wild creatures of the prairie, birds and
beasts, as far more worthy of study in life than in death. That
terrible misnomer “good sport” had for me a truer significance. It
meant watching the game by little and little, and killing only what
was actually required for the use of our fellow travellers and myself.
During the mid-day halt on this day Red Cloud held a long
conversation with the other Indians upon the place they were now
tending to. The Assineboine had never visited the spot, the Cree had
been there on a war-party two summers ago; but it was now, he
thought, so late in the season that there would be little danger of
meeting any roving bands of Blackfeet, and the Crees he knew to be
far away towards the eastern prairies.
It would have been difficult to have imagined a more perfect
scene of a mid-day camp than that in which our little party found
itself on this bright autumnal day. The camp fire was made at the
base of a round knoll, which ran from the higher plateau of the
prairie into one of the deep bends of the creek; upon three sides a
thick fringe of cotton-wood lined the edges of the stream; the
golden leaves of poplars and the bronzed foliage of the bastard
maple hung still and bright in the quiet September day. Immediately
around the camp grew small bushes of wild plum, covered thickly
with crimson and yellow fruits of delicious flavour.
Ah, what a desert that was! When the wild ducks and the flour
gelettes had been eaten, a single shake of the bush brought down
showers of wild sweet fruit, and when we had eaten all we could,
bags were filled for future use.
But even such prairie repasts must come to an end, and it was
soon time to saddle and be off. So the horses were driven in, and
resuming our course, the evening found us on the banks of the Red
Deer river, not far from its point of junction with the Medicine. We
camped that night upon the banks of the stream, and early next day
reached the point of junction. A ford was soon found, and to the
Sioux’ great joy no trace of fire was to be seen in the meadows
between the rivers, or on the range of hills that lay to the north and
east; all was still and peaceful as he had last seen it. The pine bluff
yet stood dark and solemn at the point where the rivers met, and
the meadows, as our party rode through them, were knee-deep in
grasses and long trailing plants.
And now began in earnest a period of hard work. First the small
lodge of dressed skins was pitched upon a knoll amid the pine-trees;
then the saddles and stores were all made safe, upon a rough stage
supported upon poles driven fast into the ground. Next began the
clearing of trees and brushwood on the site selected for the hut. It
was a spot close to the point formed by the meeting of the two
rivers, but raised about twenty feet above the water, and partly
hidden by trees and bushes. Tall pines grew on the site, but the axe
of the Sioux and the scout soon brought down these giants, and
made clear the space around where the hut was to stand.
It was wonderful to watch the ready manner in which the Indians
worked their hatchets; never a blow missed its mark, each falling
with unerring aim upon the spot where the preceding one had
struck; then a lower-struck cut would cause the huge splinters to fly
from the trunk, until, in a few moments the tree crashed to the earth
in the exact line the Indians wished it to fall.
Although a novice at woodman’s craft, I was no idle spectator of
the work. If a man has a quick eye, a ready hand, and a willing
heart, the difficulties that lie in things that are unknown to us are
soon overcome. Every hour’s toil made a sensible improvement in
my work. I soon learnt how to roughly square the logs, and to notch
the ends of them so that one log fitted closely to the other.
Donogh and the wounded Cree meantime looked after the horses,
gathered fuel for the fire, and cooked the daily meals of our party,
and often gave a hand at the lifting of log or labour of construction.
Thus the work went on without intermission, and day by day the
little hut grew in size. All day long the sound of wood-chopping
echoed through the pine wood at the point, over the silent rivers,
causing some passing wolf to pause in his gallop and listen to the
unwonted noise; but no human ear was there to catch it, or human
eye to mark the thin column of blue smoke that rose at eventime
above the dark pine-tops when the day’s work was over. There was
no lack of food either. With a few hooks and lines Donogh managed
to do good work among the fishes in the rivers. The creeks and
ponds still held large flocks of wild ducks, and many a fat black duck
fell to a steady stalk of the Cree, whose crawling powers were simply
unmatched. The black-tailed buck were numerous in the thickets
around, and with so many things the larder never wanted for game,
venison, wild fowl, or fish.
Thus the days went by, and at last the hut was finished and ready
for occupation. It was an oblong structure, measuring twenty-five
feet by twenty. A low door gave admission upon the south side; east
and west held windows of parchment-skin drawn over a wooden
frame that opened and shut on leather hinges. At the north side
stood the fireplace, a large hearth, and a chimney capable of holding
a quantity of pine logs. Half the wooden door frame was also bound
with parchment skins; thus plenty of light could be obtained in rough
weather, and when the days would be still and fine both door and
windows could be open.
“When the snow has fallen,” said Red Cloud to us, “the light from
the ground will be very great. The snow hanging on the pine boughs
will also light up the place, and the winter’s day will be brighter than
you can imagine. At night our logs will blaze brightly upon the
hearth.”
The fireplace and chimney were built of stones and mud. The
Indians had carefully mixed the latter so as to ensure its standing
the great heat of the winter fires. The logs composing the walls were
all of pines, or, more properly speaking, of white spruce; they had
been roughly squared and notched at the end, to allow of their
catching each other and fitting tightly together; mud and moss had
then been pressed into the interstices so as to make them perfectly
air-tight. The roof was composed of long reed-grass, cut from a
neighbouring swamp and dried in the sun. The floor was plastered
with a coating of mud, which, when fully dry, made a smooth and
firm surface. Altogether the interior presented an aspect of great
comfort—rude, it is true, but still clean, bright, and cheerful.
 It was a marvel to me how all this labour had been done, and this
result achieved, with only a few rude implements—a couple of axes,
a saw, a few gimlets and awls, and those wonderful knives which the
Indians themselves make from old files—those knives with which a
ready man can fashion a canoe, a dog-sled, or a snow-shoe, with a
beauty of design which no civilized art can excel.
But although shelter for the winter had been thus provided, an
equally important want had still to be attended to; a supply of meat
sufficient to last three months had to be obtained.
The Red Cloud had often spoken to me of the expedition which we
had still before us in the first month of the winter, and now that the
hut was finished the time had come for setting out in quest of
buffalo.
“Of all the winter food which the prairie can give,” said he to me,
“there is no food like the meat of the buffalo. The time has now
come when the frost is sufficiently keen all day to keep the meat
frozen, therefore all we kill can be brought in; none of it will be lost.
The last buffalo we saw,” he continued, “were on the plains south of
the Elk river; they were scattered herds of bulls. The cows were then
absent three days’ march south of that ground; the herds were
moving very slowly to the west. About a week’s journey from here
there is a small lake in the plains, called the Lake of the Wind, from
the ceaseless movement of its waters. Day and night, even when the
winds are still, the waters of that lake move and dash with noise
against the pebbles on the shore. It is a favourite haunt for buffalo.
To that lake we shall steer our course; for four days we shall have to
cross a bare plain, on which no tree or bush grows; but at the lake
there will be wood in the caverns around the shores, and we can get
shelter for our tent, and fuel for fire, there. The horses are now all
strong and fat, and they will be able to stand the cold, no matter
how severe it may come.”
The Sioux spoke truly; a prairie horse is all right if he be fat. It
matters little in winter what he may be in speed, or strength, or
activity; as long as he is thick fat there is always a month’s work in
him.
Early on the day following the completion of the hut, all the horses
were driven in from the meadows in which they had spent the last
three weeks. They all looked fat and strong.
During some days past the Cree had been busy preparing sleds,
for light snow had now fallen; and although it had not lain long upon
the ground, it was, nevertheless, likely that ere the time for the
return of our party had arrived the ground would be white with its
winter covering. These sleds would be carried crossways upon a
horse until the snow would allow of their being drawn along the
ground; they would each carry about 500 pounds of meat, and that
would form an ample supply for the winter, with the venison and
wild game that could be obtained in a ten-mile circle around the hut.
All preparations having been finished, Red Cloud, Donogh, the
scout, and myself started on the following morning, bound for the
south-west. We took with us a small tent, six horses, and plenty of
powder and ball. The Cree and the dog remained to take charge of
the hut. We expected to be absent about one month. It was the
20th of October, a bright, fair autumn day; hill and plain lay basking
in a quiet sunlight, the sky was clear and cloudless, the air had in it
that crisp of frost which made exercise a pleasure.
Winding along the meadows of the Red Deer, the pine bluff at the
Forks was soon lost to sight behind its circling hills.
The evening of the third day after quitting the hut at the Forks
found our little party camped on the edge of that treeless waste
which spreads in unbroken desolation from the banks of the Eagle
Creek near the North Saskatchewan to the Missouri. The spot where
the lodge was pitched bore among the half-breed hunters of the
plains the title of Les Trois Arbres.
It would have been difficult to have found a wilder scene than that
which spread itself to the south and west from this lonely group of
trees.
 “Beyond the farthest verge of sight,” said the Sioux, as he pointed
out the general direction he proposed to follow on the morrow, “lies
the lake which the Indians have named the Lake of the Wind. From
yonder group of trees to the shore of that lake, four long days’
journey, there does not grow one tree or bush upon the prairie. We
must halt here to-morrow, to bake bread and cut wood, to carry on
the sleds, sufficient to last us across this bare expanse. Once at the
lake we shall find wood in plenty, and I think the buffalo will not be
far distant.”
The sight upon which we now gazed was in truth almost sublime
in its vast desolation. The sun, just descended beneath the rim of
the western prairie, cast up into the sky one great shaft of light.
The intense rarity of the atmosphere made the landscape visible
to its most remote depths. A few aspen clumps, and the three trees
already mentioned, grew near the standpoint from which we looked;
but in front no speck of tree met the eye, and the unbroken west lay
waiting for the night in all the length and breadth of its lonely
distance.
Never before had I beheld so vast an extent of treeless ground.
The other prairies over which we had journeyed were dwarfed in my
mind by the one now before me. I seemed to be standing upon the
shore of a rigid sea—an ocean, whose motionless waves of short
brown grass appeared to lie in a vast torpor up to, and beyond, the
sunset itself; and this sense of enormous space was heightened by
the low but profound murmur of the wind, as it swept by our
standpoint, from vast distance, into distance still as vast.
The whole of the following day was spent in preparations for
crossing this great waste. A quantity of dry poplar sticks were cut
into lengths suitable for packing upon the sleds.
The fire in the leather tent was kept briskly going, and a good
supply of gelettes was baked before it.
“We will need all the wood we can carry with us,” said the Sioux,
“for the work of boiling the morning and evening kettle.”
 When the sunset hour had again come, I was out again upon the
hill top to watch the sun set over the immeasurable waste. My
wanderings had taught me that it was at this hour of sunset that the
wilderness put on its grandest aspect; and often was it my wont to
watch its varying shades, as, slowly sinking into twilight, the
vagueness of night stole over the prairie.
It was at these times of sunset, too, that I seemed to see again all
the well-remembered scenes of my early days in the old glen. Out of
the vast silent wilderness came the brown hill of Seefin, and the
gorse-covered sides of Knockmore. I could fancy that my ear caught
the murmur of the west wind through the heather. How far off it all
seemed—dreamlike in its vividness and its vast distance!
Very early next morning the tent was struck, the horses were
driven in, loads packed, and all made ready for the launch of the
little expedition upon the great prairie sea.
The Sioux led the advance. Long ere mid-day the last glimpse of
the Trois Arbres had vanished beneath the plain. In the afternoon a
snow-storm swept across the waste, wrapping earth and heaven in
its blinding drift. Still the Indian held his way at the same steady
pace.
“It is well,” he said to me as I rode close behind him. “If there are
any roving bands on the borders of this great prairie, they will not
see us in this storm.”
Before sunset the storm ceased, the clouds rolled away to the
south, and the boundless plain lay around us on all sides, one
dazzling expanse of snow.
Camp was pitched at sunset in the bottom of a deep coulee. A
night of intense cold followed the storm; but within the leather lodge
the fire soon gave light and warmth; and as soon as supper was
over we lay down on each side of the embers, wrapped in our robes.
Thus we journeyed on for some days, until, on the afternoon of
the fourth from quitting Les Trois Arbres, we drew near the Lake of
the Wind.
 The weather had again become fine, and, for the season, mild.
The snow had partly vanished, and the sun shone with a gentle
lustre, that made bright and golden the yellow grasses of the great
waste.
For several hours before the lake was reached, the trees that grew
near its shores had become visible. I had noticed that these clumps
had risen out of the blank horizon straight in front of us, showing
how accurate had been the steering of the Sioux across a waste that
had presented to the eye of the ordinary beholder apparently not
one landmark for guidance.
I asked the Indian by what marks he had directed his course.
“I could not tell you,” replied the Sioux. “It is an instinct born in
us; it comes as easy to us as it does to the birds, or to the buffalo.
Look up,” he went on; “see that long line of ‘wavies’ sailing to the
south. Night and day they keep that line; a week ago they were at
the North Sea; in a few days they will be where winter never comes.
Before man gave up this free life of the open air, while yet the forest
and the plain were his homes, he knew all these things better even
than did the birds or the beasts; he knew when the storm was
coming; the day and the night were alike to him when he travelled
his path through the forest; his course across the lake was clear to
him: but when he grew to be what you call civilized then he lost the
knowledge of the sky, and of the earth; he became helpless. It is so
with the red men; year by year, we lose something of the craft and
knowledge of wood, plain, and river. One hundred years ago, our
young men hunted the buffalo and the wapiti with the weapons they
had themselves made; now it is the gun or the rifle of the white man
that is used by them. Without these things, which they buy from the
traders, they would die, because they have mostly forgotten the old
methods of the chase. Before the horse came to us from the
Spaniard, we hunted the buffalo on foot, and our young men could
chase the herds from sunrise until dusk of evening; before the gun
came to us from the French we killed even the grizzly bears with our
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