I hope they swing eastward to
Winipigoos and thus miss that young hot-brain on the Saskatchewan."
"By the way, Ridgar, Pierre Garcon says that Bois DesCaut is at Seven
Isles on the Qui Appelle with Henderson. Since telling that wanton lie
to the Nor'wester he has not had enough to show his face here. A bad
lot Bois, and one to be watched for tricks."
"Aye, a bad lot, but salted with a prudence that savours of cowardice.
His tricks are all turncoats that slip danger like an old garment."
But for all Ridgar's hope, at that very moment the great tribe from the
far north country, even twelve leagues beyond the Oujuragatchousibi,
was swinging down through the wilderness bound for the lodges of the
Assiniboines, burdened with a wealth of peltry to make a trader's eyes
stand out and clad in all the glory of the visiting tribes, and it was
heading straight for the country of the Saskatchewan.
Towering head-dresses swept above their moving columns, pomp and
ceremony showed in the panoply of carved spear-heads, feathered shafts,
and slung bows of the white ash which decked them on their peaceful
mission, while underneath fringed garments of buckskin, stained and
beaded with porcupine quills, were bands and stripes of war-paint.
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