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Updated: June 16, 2025
Whaley took me there, but West followed." "How did you get away?" "We were out of food. They went hunting. West took my snowshoes. Onistah came. He saw them coming back and gave me his shoes. He went and hid in the woods. But they'll see his tracks. They'll find him. We must hurry back." "Yes," agreed McRae. "I'm thinkin' if West finds the lad, he'll do him ill."
Was he, away down out of sight, the kind of man toward women that West and Whaley were? She wouldn't believe it. He had never taken an Indian woman to live with him. There was not even a rumor that he had ever taken an interest in any Cree girl. Of course she did not like him not the way she did Win Beresford or even Onistah but she was glad he held himself aloof.
This last self-invited guest was Brad Stearns, who had not ridden to Whoop-Up as he had announced, but had watched events from a distance on the chance that he might be of help to Tom Morse. Jessie agreed with Beresford that she must stay in camp till morning. There was nothing else for her to do. She could not very well ride the night out with Onistah on the road back to the fort.
You tortured Onistah and would have killed him if we hadn't come in time. You assaulted my friend here and he'll probably die from his wounds. It's the end of the long trail for you, Bully West. Inside of half an hour you will be dead. If you've anything to say if you can make your peace with heaven don't waste a moment." The face of West went gray.
It would not be possible to try to carry on any farther in such a blizzard. Yet the younger men waited for McRae to come to his decision. If he called on them to do more, they would make a try with him. "We'll stay here," Angus said quietly. "Build up the fire, lads, and we'll cast back for Onistah." Neither of the others spoke.
"They're both good lads," the Scotchman summed up, and passed to his second bit of news. "Onistah and Stokimatis are in frae the Blackfoot country. They stoppit at the store, but they'll be alang presently. I had a word wi' Onistah. We'll wait for him here." "Did he say what he'd found out?" Jessie cried. "Only that he had brought back the truth. That'll be the lad knockin' at the door."
All we've learned is that I look like a picture of a white woman found in a locket nearly twenty years ago. That doesn't take us very far, does it?" "Well, Stokimatis may know something. When Onistah comes back with her, we'll get the facts straight." McRae came into the room. "News, lass," he cried, and his voice rang. "A Cree runner's just down frae Northern Lights.
If Winthrop Beresford or Tom Morse had been outside instead of Onistah, she would not have attempted to give directions. Either of them would have been more competent than she to work out the problem. But the Blackfoot lacked initiative. He would do faithfully whatever he was told to do, but any independent action attempted by him was likely to be indecisive.
He glanced up at the lowering night. "Storm brewing. We'll get started right away." Without a moment's delay he disappeared inside the store to make his preparations. Onistah carried the news to McRae. The blood washed out of the ruddy-whiskered face of the Scot, but his sole comment was a Scriptural phrase of faith.
She relieved him of his coat. He walked over to the couch upon which Onistah lay. "How goes it? Tough sleddin'?" he asked. The bronze face of the Blackfoot was immobile. He must still have been in great pain from the burnt feet, but he gave no sign of it. "Onistah find good friends," he answered simply. Tom looked round the room, and again there came to him the sense of home.
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