to the “Pale-face” trader, whose little wooden forts or trading-posts are dotted here and there, at wide intervals, all over the land. But in the days of which we write it was not so. The fur-traders at that time went forth in armed bands into the heart of the Indians’ country, and he who went forth did so “with his life in his hand.”
The band of which Walter Cameron was the chief had, many months before, started from one of the distant posts of Oregon on a hunting expedition into the then totally unknown lands of the Snake Indians. It consisted of about sixty men, thirty women, and as many children of various ages—about a hundred and twenty souls in all. Many of the boys were capable of using the gun and setting a beaver-trap. The men were a most motley set. There were Canadians, half-breeds, Iroquois, and Scotchmen. Most of the women had Indian blood in their veins, and a few were pure Indians.
The equipment of this strange band consisted of upwards of two hundred beaver-traps—which are similar to our rat-traps, with this difference, that they have two springs and no teeth—seventy guns, a few articles for trade with the Indians, and a large supply of powder and ball; the whole—men, women, children, goods, and chattels—being carried on the backs of nearly four hundred horses. Many of these horses were not laden, being designed for the transport of furs that were to be taken.
For food this adventurous party depended entirely on their guns, and during the march hunters were kept constantly out ahead. As a matter of course, their living was precarious. Sometimes their kettles were overflowing; at others they scarce refrained from eating their horses. But during the months they had spent in the wilderness good living had been the rule, starvation the exception. They had collected a large quantity of beaver skins, at that time among the most valuable in the market.
Having shot two wild horses, seven elks, six small deer, and four big-horned sheep the day before, the camp kettles were full, and the people happy.
“Now, Master Dick Varley,” said Cameron, touching the young hunter on the shoulder as he stood ready equipped by one of the camp-fires, “I’m at your service. The people won’t need any more looking after to-night. I’ll divide my men: thirty shall go after this rascally band
