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Updated: May 9, 2025
"We will see just which trail you take," he continued, following them at a safe distance and keeping himself hidden by the brush till they reached the open and disappeared over the hill. Swiftly Cameron ran to the top, and, lying prone among the prairie grass, watched them for some time as they took the trail that ran straight westward. "Sarcee Reserve more than likely," he muttered to himself.
He was a Sarcee, one of the last of an almost extinct tribe, so old that his hair was of a shaggy white, and he was so thin that he looked like a famine-stricken Hindu. "He has lived so long that no one knows his age," Father Roland had said, "and he is the best trailer between Hudson's Bay and the Peace." He cracked his long caribou-gut whip to remind David that he was ready.
I would recommend him at once as a sergeant." The Inspector handed back the letter without comment. "Well?" said the Commissioner. "Cameron would do very well for the work," said the Inspector, "and he deserves promotion." "What was that Sarcee business, Inspector?" enquired the Commissioner. "That must have been when I was down east."
It is also the meaning of the word Déné, the generic name of a race as widely sundered, if not as widely spread, as the Algonquin itself. The Chipewyan of Lake Athabasca speaks the same tongue as the Apaché of Arizona, the Navajo of Sonora, the Hoopa of Oregon, and the Sarcee of Alberta.
For many years no man had come into this valley between the two ridges to molest the beaver. If a Sarcee trapper had followed down the nameless creek and had caught the patriarch and chief of the colony, he would at once have judged him to be very old and his Indian tongue would have given him a name.
Little Pine, in whose movements you are all interested, I understand, is at this present moment lodging with the Sarcee Indians, and next week will move on to visit old Crowfoot. The Sarcee visit amounts to little, but the visit to old Crowfoot well, I need say no more to you, Cameron. Probably you know more about the inside workings of old Crowfoot's mind than I do."
At a safe distance he dismounted, tied the horse to a young pine, and carefully examined his rifle. Very cautiously he stalked the camp, moving toward it with the skill and the stealth of a Sarcee scout. Camp had been pitched in a small open space surrounded by bushes.
They were not yet quite prepared to burn their bridges behind them. Indeed some of them suggested the wisdom of holding the prisoners as hostages in case of necessity arising in the future. "What Indians are here?" whispered Cameron. "Piegan, Sarcee, Blood," breathed Jerry. "No Blackfeet come not yet Copperhead he look, look, look all yesterday for Blackfeet coming.
They were thick about him on all sides, and they could not shoot much at him, for fear of killing their own people on the other side. One of the Sarcees fell. "These people cannot kill us here. Where that patch of choke-cherry brush is, in the very centre of their camp, we will go and take our stand." Another Sarcee fell, and now there were only three of them. These people cannot kill us here.
Accordingly, on September 19, 1877, at the Blackfeet Crossing of the Bow River, less than a 100 miles from Fort MacLeod, the Chiefs of the Blackfeet, Blood, Piegan, Stony and Sarcee tribes and some 5,000 of their men, women and children met to hear the Great Mother's chiefs. Mr.
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