An event of this kind occurred soon after the party had gained the western slopes of the mountains.  Three Iroquois Indians, who belonged to the band of trappers, were sent to a stream about ten miles off.  Having reached their destination, they all entered the water to set their traps, foolishly neglecting the usual precaution of one remaining on the bank to protect the others.  They had scarcely commenced operations when three arrows were discharged into their backs, and a party of Snake Indians rushed upon and slew them, carrying away their traps and horses and scalps.  This was not known for several days, when, becoming anxious about their prolonged absence, Cameron sent out a party, which found their mangled bodies affording a loathsome banquet to the wolves and vultures.

After this sad event, the trappers were more careful to go in larger parties, and keep watch.

As long as beaver were taken in abundance, the camp remained stationary; but whenever the beaver began to grow scarce, the camp was raised, and the party moved on to another valley.

One day Dick Varley came galloping into camp with the news that there were several bears in a valley not far distant, which he was anxious not to disturb until a number of the trappers were collected together to go out and surround them.

On receiving the information, Walter Cameron shook his head.

“We have other things to do, young man,” said he, “than go a-hunting after bears.  I’m just about making up my mind to send off a party to search out the valley on the other side of the Blue Mountains yonder, and bring back word if there are beaver there; for if not, I mean to strike away direct south.  Now, if you’ve a mind to go with them, you’re welcome.  I’ll warrant you’ll find enough in the way of bear-hunting to satisfy you; perhaps a little Indian hunting to boot, for if the Banattees get hold of your horses, you’ll have a long hunt before you find them again.  Will you go?”

“Ay, right gladly,” replied Dick.  “When do we start?”

“This afternoon.”

Dick went off at once to his own part of the camp to replenish his powder-horn and bullet-pouch, and wipe out his rifle.

That evening the party, under command of a Canadian named Pierre, set out for the Blue Hills.  They numbered twenty men, and expected to be absent three days, for they merely went to reconnoitre, not to trap.  Neither Joe nor Henri was of this party, both having been out hunting when it was organized; but Crusoe and Charlie were, of course.

Pierre, although a brave and trusty man, was of a sour, angry disposition, and not a favourite with Dick; but the latter resolved to enjoy himself, and disregard his sulky comrade.  Being so well mounted, he not unfrequently shot far ahead of his companions, despite their warnings that he ran great risk by so doing.  On one of these occasions he and Crusoe witnessed a very singular fight, which is worthy of record.