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He said also that he was a Piegan and on a visit to some Cree friends. This was one of the many proofs that we have had, that no matter how good an education the Indian may receive, he will return to his blanket and out-of-the-pot way of living just as soon as he returns to his people. It would be foolish to expect anything different. But those Cree Indians!
The eldest of these companions was one of the Piegan City town marshals. He was a friend of Jacob Pooley's. But there was no friendliness in his face as he approached the register, removed his gun, and searched his person for other weapons. Jacob Pooley said nothing. His face was a dark red. The marshal produced a pair of handcuffs. The register recoiled. "Not those!" he protested.
So we held council of war with Piegan, after which we saddled up and made ready to tackle the soaked prairies. While we were packing grub and bedding on Piegan's extra horse, Lyn joined us, wrapped from head to heel in a yellow slicker.
Probably from these Indians Thompson learned of the entrance to the Rockies by the beautiful clear mountain-stream now named the Bow; and Duncan M'Gillivray, a leading partner, accompanied him south from Rocky Mountain House to the spot on the Bow where to-day the city of Calgary stands. It was on this trip that Nor'westers first met the Piegan Indians.
Soberly we swung to the saddle and rode slowly away, lest the quick beat of hoofs should bring a sudden pang of loneliness to the intrepid soul calmly awaiting death under the shivering trees. A little way beyond the poplar-grove Piegan drew rein, and held up one hand. "Poor devil," he muttered. "He's a-calling us." But he wasn't.
My waistbands were much looser, too, and during a short rest that afternoon I put a dart in my riding-breeches, during the absence of Bill after the pack-horse, which had strayed. It was on that occasion that Tish told us as much of her plan as she thought it wise for us to know. "The holdup," she explained, "is to be the day after to-morrow on the Piegan Pass.
"Do you suppose somebody's following him, that he thinks it necessary to ride clear around us?" "Hardly; but you can gamble that he isn't riding for his health," Mac responded. "Anyway, you'll soon know; he's turning." Piegan swung into the coulée at a fast lope, and we stole carefully down to meet him.
"Here," MacRae broke in hastily, "we've got to move pretty pronto, and get across the river. That fire will be on us in five minutes. Sarge and I will gather up their horses. You keep an eye on Bevans, Piegan; he'll answer questions fast enough when I get at him."
Something in the look thrilled him; it was fantastic, masterful. He wondered that he had not noticed this singular influence before. After all, he was only a savage with cleaner buckskin than his race usually wore. Yet that glow, that power in the face was he Piegan, Blackfoot, Cree, Blood? Whatever he was, this man had heard the words which broke so painfully from him.
They've got to come out here in a little while or roast. The smoke would choke a salamander, on top, right now. We can't miss them in this narrow place, no matter how thick it gets. Look yonder!" A wavering red line licked its way to the canyon-edge on the east side, wiped out the grass, and died on the bald rim-rock. Away up the creek a faint crackling sounded. "Dry timber," Piegan muttered.
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