Here lived the savages who had robbed and maltreated
Reed, when bearing his tin box of despatches. It was known that the
rifle of which he was despoiled was retained as a trophy at the village.
M'Kenzie offered to cross the river, and demand the rifle, if any one
would accompany him. It was a hare-brained project, for these villages
were noted for the ruffian character of their inhabitants; yet two
volunteers promptly stepped forward; Alfred Seton, the clerk, and Joe
de la Pierre, the cook. The trio soon reached the opposite side of the
river. On landing, they freshly primed their rifles and pistols. A path
winding for about a hundred yards among rocks and crags, led to the
village. No notice seemed to be taken of their approach. Not a solitary
being, man, woman, or child, greeted them.
The very dogs, those noisy pests of an Indian town, kept silence. On
entering the village, a boy made his appearance, and pointed to a house
of larger dimensions than the rest. They had to stoop to enter it; as
soon as they had passed the threshold, the narrow passage behind them
was filled up by a sudden rush of Indians, who had before kept out of
sight.
M'Kenzie and his companions found themselves in a rude chamber of about
twenty-five feet long and twenty wide.
Pages:
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605