The Canadians, however, began to apprehend an ambush in every thicket,
and to regard the broad, tranquil plain as a sailor eyes some shallow
and perfidious sea, which, though smooth and safe to the eye, conceals
the lurking rock or treacherous shoal. The very name of a Sioux became
a watchword of terror. Not an elk, a wolf, or any other animal, could
appear on the hills, but the boats resounded with exclamations from stem
to stern, "voila les Sioux! voila les Sioux!" (there are the Sioux! there
are the Sioux!) Whenever it was practicable, the night encampment was on
some island in the center of the stream.
On the morning of the 31st of May, as the travellers were breakfasting
on the right bank of the river, the usual alarm was given, but with more
reason, as two Indians actually made their appearance on a bluff on the
opposite or northern side, and harangued them in a loud voice. As it
was impossible at that distance to distinguish what they said, Mr. Hunt,
after breakfast, crossed the river with Pierre Dorion, the interpreter,
and advanced boldly to converse with them, while the rest remained
watching in mute suspense the movements of the parties. As soon as Mr.
Hunt landed, one of the Indians disappeared behind the hill, but shortly
reappeared on horseback, and went scouring off across the heights.
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