Chapter

Thirteen

Word of the attempted horse robbery had spread through F Troop, and both Rob and Luke were treated like heroes. To ease the headache that had turned Luke’s lips white with pain, Denny managed to secure some laudanum from Dr. Kittson by pretending to have a severe headache himself. The trooper who was also F Troop’s cook had made pemmican soup with wild onions he had found, and fully baked the bread to tempt Luke to eat. Rob carefully washed the three inch split in Luke’s skull and watched anxiously for any sign of infection. In the two days that followed, the lump gradually grew smaller and Luke refused more laudanum. Orders were given: the troopers were to pack up and be ready to move again.

Colonel Macleod and a few constables had gone south twice to buy oats and hay from the well-supplied men who were marking the boundary, and once he’d been able to purchase a dozen horses — all of them dark brown. As the train moved northwest, they sometimes spotted small herds of buffalo, but they were too far in the distance to give chase. They used the pancake-sized dried buffalo dung they found along the way, which burned well in their campfires. Rob figured buffalo were a mixed blessing since they could make good eating, but they chewed off all the grass in their path and turned small creeks to mud.

Some of the men began to grumble over the following days since leaving the fairly comfortable camp at Old Wife’s Creek — especially after they set up camp one night in the driving rain and had to ride in sodden clothing while buffeted by a cold wind the next day. A rumour floated through the camp that they were lost, that Colonel French had no idea which way to go. They doubted the very notion that they would ever see the mountains they had heard so much about. Some even began to doubt the existence of the mountains.

On August 25 the advance scouts spotted the Cypress Hills. They also rode into camp that night with two antelope and three deer — a welcome change from pemmican. Rob and Luke weren’t impressed, though, and had been silently fuming ever since they left Cripple Camp and turned northwest, when they should have been going southwest. Rob was impatient to get to Fort Benton and perhaps find news of their missing herd. That night, when Inspector Denny joined F Troop for the evening meal, Rob forgot himself and demanded an explanation.

“Seems to me Colonel French must be dumb as a stump if he can’t see that he has to go south if he’s going to Fort Benton!” As soon as these words left his tongue, Rob regretted them. He knew he had gone too far.

There was dead silence while Denny stared at Rob. But the officer relaxed and reached for the tin teapot. Filling his cup, he said gently, “I know how you feel, Rob, but you must bear this in mind: the purpose of this journey is to bring law and order to this great land. The first step is to catch and stop those ruffians selling whiskey to the Natives. Anything else is second to that.”

Rob picked up the stick at his feet and jabbed at the fire with it. He knew he should apologize, but he just couldn’t. Luke had almost been killed; they hadn’t had a decent meal since they left home, and they were dog-tired. Worst of all, it was starting to look like it was all for nothing.

Denny was still speaking. “We all know where we have been, but it’s the colonel who knows how to find the whiskey fort.” He paused and looked around at each of the seven men around the campfire. “And that fort is about two or three days from here, with good feed for the horses and shelter for all.”

The men were excitedly talking at once. “When do we start?” asked a trooper with an Irish accent. “It’s lookin’ for a fight with them bad men, I am!”

Denny grinned. “Sit yourself down, McGee. The colonel wants us to rest here for a few days to get men and horses in shape for that fight.”

Even the officers expressed both astonishment and unrestrained jubilation when, two days later, Morrow came galloping back from the advance guard and slid to a stop beside the colonel. Word spread quickly down the line: they had reached the meeting of the Bow and Belly Rivers, and the whiskey fort would be nearby.

Denny’s F Troop had been lagging behind, as usual. But when they heard the shouts through the still air Denny galloped forward, leaving a cloud of dust behind him. He returned quickly to repeat the guide’s announcement.

A mix of feelings whirled through Rob. He had become increasingly worried about Luke, who had grown more and more silent. Sleeping on a warm bed in the fort, with better food might put some more meat on his skinny frame. But if this is to be the end of our journey, is there any hope of finding the horses? And — empty handed or not — how will we get home? One thing’s for sure: it’s too late for Colonel French to send us back now, so I can take Luke up to see Dr. Kittson.

But the elation was short lived and Rob’s worries had to be put aside when Denny returned from conferring once more with the head of the line. Raising his voice above the creaking wagons and carts, he said, “Morrow’s made a mistake. This supposed meeting of two rivers is but a sharp turn in the Saskatchewan River.”

There was a chorus of groans, and Denny raised his voice. “Not all is lost. The Saskatchewan River does lead to the Bow very soon. That is Colonel French’s promise.”

There had been a cold drizzle for most of the day, and when they camped that night it turned into an even colder downpour. Anxious to keep Luke warm, Rob briefly considered putting their tent near the fire, but decided the space around the fire was already crowded with tents. If he could find a place by one of the wagons that would shelter their tent from the wind, they might still stay warm and dry. Rob was relieved when he found the ideal spot — a wagon stopped near a small outcropping from a low hill. He ran back to the cart carrying their belongings and hauled out the tent. They quickly set the tent up beneath the outcropping, and Rob pushed his brother inside. “I’ll see to the horses,” he said ducking outside where he bumped into Pierre, one of the wagon drivers.

“Your pardon, mes ami,” boomed the Métis. “I should knock, perhaps?”

Rob grinned and bowed low. “Entre, Monsieur.”

“Me, I come with the invitation to spend this lovely night in ma maison. It is small, yes? Not to fear. I will move out my furniture, and there is room for all.”

Rob didn’t hesitate. “Thanks, Pierre, that would be great. Our tent doesn’t have a floor, and the ground’s already wet.”

Silently Luke climbed into the back of the wagon, and Rob tossed their blankets in after him. Pierre handed down the water barrels he carried, and Rob rolled them under the wagon. Then he went to see about their horses.

Sam and Chris were standing were they’d left them, about four yards away. Water bounced off their hanging heads and dripped from their necks. Rob stripped off their saddles, and ran his hand over Sam’s sides feeling her ribs through her cold skin. She shivered. He rested his head against her neck for a moment. “Jings, Sam,” he whispered, “if Dad saw you like this, he’d have my ears for breakfast.” He had a crazy thought then. Why not try? If Pierre doesn’t see me, no one will know.

Rob gathered the reins dangling from both horses and led them to the tent beside the wagon. He quickly collapsed the tent, and reached for Sam’s bridle. At first, she refused to back under the shelf of rock, but with Rob’s tugs on the reins and whispered encouragement; she finally moved under it and stood next to the wagon. Chris, on the other hand, seemed to feel any shelter was better than none and needed no urging at all. Carefully, Rob draped the flattened tent over their backs. “There now,” he whispered, “it’s close quarters for sure, but you can keep each other warm. I’ll be back with your oats. Best you eat slow. It’s the last we got.”

Through the cold, wet night, Sam and Chris stood side-by-side, and emerged, albeit stiffly, in the morning; but five other horses weren’t as fortunate, and had died over night. Rob started wishing that he’d wake up from this nightmare.

Two days later Denny’s promise, that they were near the end of their journey, seemed to be fulfilled. When F Troop caught up with the rest of the train they could see wagons and carts had stopped in shallow swale, and beyond them men and horses were lined up. Denny and his men rode up the low hill to join them; Rob and Luke followed.

Far below, the wide, shining river snaked along between high bluffs as far as the eye could see. Rob turned to his brother. “Look at that, Luke. Must be that’s the Saskatchewan River, and someplace around it there’s supposed to be the two rivers that feed into it, and that’s where we find the whiskey traders.”

Luke smiled weakly. “Maybe the ones that have our horses!”

“Right.” Rob stared down the hill. “But how the heck do we get down there?”

Colonel Macleod rode over to confer with Denny and the men of F Troop. “We camp here tonight, and tomorrow we will follow the river west to the junction of the Bow and Belly Rivers. However, we must first find a way to get ourselves down to the rivers.” Looking down the line of men, his let his eyes rest upon Rob and Luke. Without a smile, he continued, “That would be a good task for our stowaways. Ride west no more than twenty miles and find us a path.”

Without a word, Rob and Luke turned their horses. “You okay, Luke? Maybe you should sit here and wait until I get back.”

“Don’t be daft,” Luke replied curtly and rode on, both of them at a steady lope.

About four hours had passed when they heard a rumble like distant thunder. Instinctively they looked up expecting to see thunderheads but only wispy trails of white drifted through the bright blue sky. Puzzled, Rob turned in his saddle, his eyes searching the empty plain. Suddenly Luke shouted, “Jings! Rob look!” He was pointing ahead to a black line surging toward them in the distance. Buffalo!

They were coming faster than a shot from a rifle. Rob felt himself go weak. “We gotta get out of here.”

Their only chance was to try to outrun them. With a quick jerk on her reins and a kick in her ribs, Sam leaped around and began to race back along the ridge above the river. Rob glanced over his shoulder to make sure Luke was close behind. As they flew over the hard ground, Rob imagined the hoof beats were closer. For one scary moment he pictured the mass of running beasts pouring over them like a dark and deadly wave.

After several seconds, which felt like minutes, he realized he was wrong. The noise was different somehow. Cautiously, Rob turned his head, and saw that Luke was also looking back as he rode. They pulled their horses to a halt. The buffalo were no longer heading their way but were pouring over the side of the bluff, heading down to the river.

“Whew!” Rob exclaimed through lips so dry they stuck together. “That was close!”

They stood in silence, watching the amazing spectacle. Thousands of buffalo were swimming across the river below, and several thousand more were flowing down the hill leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. When the last of the animals made it down to the river, Rob and Luke rode more than a mile to the hundred-foot-wide gap where the huge beasts had plunged down the hill. It was plain that the path had been used before: the soil was worn down to bare rock in some places and hard packed in the rest. It sloped gradually to the river where the buffalo were swimming across, the sun gleaming brightly on the mass of wet backs.

“Jings!” Rob said shakily. “Good thing we didn’t get this far else we might have been riding down there around the same time those buffalo started running down.”

It was then that Luke spoke thoughtfully as he stared down at the astonishing scene. “I think I’ve seen this before — saw buffalo swimming the river.”

Rob glanced at his brother quickly. With a stab of fear, he wondered if Luke was remembering more. Was it from here that he and his mum were taken?