Chapter 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.