since you’ll ride with me and two of our hunters while the rest of the company takes to the canoes.”
As Peter wondered if he was expected to thank the man or be truthful and say he would prefer to go in the canoe with Boulard, Thompson solved his quandary by turning to Henry and continuing their conversation. “When last I came from across the mountains, the Peigans showed me no unfriendliness. Why do you think we might have trouble this time as we go up the river?”
Henry shrugged. “You said yourself that Finan McDonald wasn’t the man to care for business at Kootenay House, and from what I hear, you were right. He went hunting with some of the Flatheads and, not knowing their enemies now have guns, the Peigans tried to ambush them. Five of their own were killed in the battle, and they blame McDonald for two of those. It’s certain the Peigans will take exception to our people arming the Kootenays or any other of their adversaries.”
“You might,” Thompson said, “have no trouble from the Peigans when you reopen Rocky Mountain House if you make it clear you’re there to trade with them only. They have need of the goods you’ll be bringing.”
With a heavy heart Peter left the trade room to think about what he had just heard. Travelling on snow and ice and crossing mountains were enough to make anyone figure they ought not to be here, but shooting at people and having them shoot back … He shook his head and shivered.
CHAPTER 4
It was early September by the time the brigade of four wide-bottomed canoes pushed off carrying trade goods and more than twenty men — three of them with their Cree wives. Peter turned his horse to follow Thompson and the two Iroquois hunters the explorer had hired — Red Blanket and Young Joseph. Sitting tall astride his dancing mount, Peter was terrified he might sniffle. It hadn’t been easy to wave goodbye to Boulard, who had said in parting, “Perhaps as you ride through the forests you will find that which you do not recall.”
Hearing those words had made Peter’s heart beat a little faster, even though his head had reminded him that most likely such a thing wouldn’t happen.
The riders followed a trail away from the North Saskatchewan into the deep woods. Thompson had instructed Boulard to meet them three days hence, at which time the brigade would be supplied with the meat his hunters had shot. The riders spread out. Red Blanket and Young Joseph took separate trails, while Peter remained with the explorer and led the two packhorses. Peter had been told that Thompson usually preferred to hunt by himself, but he realized now that their leader spent more time on his journals than he did hunting. A dozen times before the day was over he paused to instruct Peter to quickly sketch a berry-laden bush or the dying leaves on a thicket of trees. Neither he nor Thompson spotted so much as a rabbit, nor did the other men.
When the four hunters camped on the second night, Thompson expressed concern to the Iroquois. “This forest had red deer aplenty only a year past. Why are they scarce now?”
“Peigans good hunters,” Red Blanket said. “They are many.”
Peter spoke to Young Joseph in a hushed tone. “If they see us, will they be friendly?”
“They won’t trouble us if they find us hunting,” Thompson said from across the fire, “because they’ll see we carry no guns to trade with their enemies.”
“Tomorrow we will find game,” Young Joseph said confidently.
Thompson rose and reached for his bedroll. “Men who are hungry can’t paddle far upstream. We must find meat tomorrow.”
That night Peter felt pangs of hunger himself. Certain they would kill their meat along the way, they hadn’t packed enough for three days, and he had to be content with a small slice of the salt pork sent from England, which he detested, and two potatoes. Thompson took even less, giving his share of the meat to the two Indians. Without knowing how or when he had learned to set snares, Peter did so before crawling into his bedroll. In the morning they dined on three rabbits caught in the traps.
Red Blanket only grunted his approval, but Thompson said, “Well done, Peter.”
Although he tried to appear nonchalant, Peter couldn’t help grinning after the unaccustomed praise.
Later in the day Young Joseph and Red Blanket followed the sounds of a battle between two heavily antlered red deer and shot both unsuspecting animals. Thompson shot a doe cleanly behind the ear and could have killed a medium-sized black bear that was upwind munching on red berries. Instead he gestured to Peter to dismount and secure his horse. Then they crept closer to the bear and hid themselves behind a stout spruce tree.
“I’d like to have a drawing of this one,” Thompson whispered, “but be as quiet as you can.”
Swiftly, Peter made a rough sketch while Thompson explained. “A creature such as this would supply us with much meat, but the bear is an important part of the religion of the Iroquois and I don’t want to offend our companions.”
Peter listened with satisfaction. Helping Thompson clean the deer he had shot had been bad enough. He tried not to think of what gutting a bear would be like.
The two Iroquois had a crackling fire going at their camp beside the river when Peter and Thompson arrived at almost the same moment as the brigade did.
“Ho!” Boulard shouted from the bow of the first canoe. “I see you have done well. We have meat still for a feast tonight, and it appears you have enough for three, maybe four days more.”
“Bien!” Vallade cried as he followed Boulard from the canoe. “Enough for a fete when next we meet at Rocky Mountain House.”
The mapmaker shook his head. “The House has been closed for some time. Mr. Henry hasn’t arrived yet to open it again for trade. We’ll swing wide into the forest tomorrow to avoid the deep gullies along the river, and we won’t see you again until we meet where Porcupine Creek empties into our river.”
If Vallade was disappointed, he didn’t show it, but Peter couldn’t help thinking it would have been good to sleep under a roof for one night. The sudden, short bursts of light rain that had soaked their tents on two of the nights they had camped were icy cold.
The women went into the forest to gather more wood while the men unloaded the packhorses. After trying to help and discovering he wasn’t needed, Peter perched on a flat rock and prepared to add to his sketches. With the setting sun at his back and the smell of roasting meat wafting from the fire, he heaved a sigh of contentment. For the first time in almost a year, finding his name and his past wasn’t foremost in his mind.
For the next three days they rode, scarcely searching for game. They wanted to be closer to their meeting with the brigade before making a kill so the meat would be fresh. On the third day Young Joseph shot a red deer and Thompson got a mule deer. While they stopped to dress the carcasses, Red Blanket continued to hunt and met them with another red deer and four rabbits. It took the rest of the day to transport the meat through the woods to a hill above the confluence of the Porcupine River and the North Saskatchewan. That night they ate well, and once more Peter went to sleep with a feeling of wellbeing.This is a good journey, he told himself,better even than in the canoe, for then I was almost a child and now I’m one of the men.
Some of Peter’s good cheer evaporated the next night when they rolled into their blankets, knowing the brigade should have arrived by now and wondering why it hadn’t. When he awoke in the morning, he had a sense of uneasiness strong enough for him to want little of the roasted
