The York boat, with its brave little band, reached Battleford in
safety, and the two handsome Indian boys pitched their tents aloof
upon the prairie, about, a mile distant from the Fort, selecting a
little cup shaped hollow, rimmed around with scrubby white oak. The
horses fed in the centre, and at the edge of the bushes gleamed the
white sides of the tent.
That evening, as the two entered the town, they perceived a tall
Indian standing by the gate.
"It is Little Poplar," whispered Julie; and seeing the two maidens
about the same time, the chief stepped forward.
"Cruel work," he said, "reported from Frog Lake. Captain Stephens
and two others were sent an hour ago with fast horses to enquire if
the story is true. But he had not long passed this gate when I
noticed Jean, the great chief's man, and a dozen of the Stoney Crees
ride after him. I am sure that they are plotting him harm."
"What route did they take?" asked Annette, while her eyes grew large
and bright.
"They went upon the muskeg trail. It leads directly to Frog Lake."
"Thank you again, chief; I go immediately." Julie likewise turned
about.
"Nay, you must not encounter this peril with me; already you have
ventured more than I should have permitted;" but a look of sorrowful
reproach came into the little maiden's eye.
"Is Julie of no use, that her mistress will not consent for her to
come? Did the faithful follower not say in the beginning that
wherever her mistress went, there she would go? that the dangers of
the mistress should be borne also by the maid?"
"Well, since you wish to come, dear girl, I will not gainsay you.
But what thinks your chief about his darling courting all these
dangers?"
"Little Poplar," the Indian replied, "is proud to see his sweetheart
brave; and if she were not so brave, he could not love her half so
much." And stooping, the noble chief kissed and kissed the maiden's
forehead; and then, once, and very tenderly, her two red lips.
The pair now swiftly returned to the hollow, once again folded the
tent, closed their hamper, saddled the horses, and struck out swiftly
for the trail. They had practised eyes, and were soon convinced that
both parties had gone by this route. Their horses were fairly fresh
and they pushed on at high speed.
Their course lay over a long stretch of sodden marshes, brown with
the russet of Indian pipes and the bronze of their leafage. Here and
there a dry ridge lifted itself lazily out of the spongy flat, and
afforded solid, buoyant footing. But a dull gray began to fall upon
the plains. It was fog and they knew that less than half an hour of
clear skies, and the sight of landscape, remained to them. So they
sped on, now sinking deep in a mass of sodden liverwort, glistening
in the most exquisite of green, again treading down a tangle of
luscious, pale-yellow "bake-apples." The huge, noiseless mass soon
reached the swampy plain; and it rolled as if upon wheels of floss,
shutting out the sun and smothering the bluffs. The gloom was now so
great that they could not see more than twenty paces on any hand, and
every object in view seemed many times greater than its natural size,
and distorted in shape. Miles and miles they went through swamp and
tangle, till they heard the far-off, sullen roar of water. The land
now also began to dip, and fifteen minutes' ride brought them to a
low-lying region of swamp, sentinelled with dismal larches. Close at
hand they heard the moaning of a slow stream; beyond was the muffled
thunder of some tremendous waterfall. They were soon convinced that
they were on the confines of the Styx River, a dreary, forbidding
stream of ink-black water which wallowed through a larch swamp for
many miles till it reached the face of a bold cliff down which its
flood went booming with the sound of thunder. At every step now the
horses sank almost to the knee; but as the trail was yet visible they
pushed on, keeping close to the banks of the stream.