despatch a message to me
with full information as to how they had been received. I gave him until
five o'clock the following evening, at which hour, if his messenger had
not appeared, I was to start for the Winnipeg River, en route for the
Expedition.

Five o'clock came on the following day, and no messenger. Every thing
was in readiness for my departure: the canoe, freshly pitched, was
declared fit for the Winnipeg itself; the provisions were all ready to be
put on board at a moment's notice. I gave half an hour's law, and that
delay brought the messenger; so, putting off my intention of starting, I
turned my face back towards Fort Garry. My former interviewer had sent me
a letter; all was as I wished-Mr. Dreever had been set at liberty, my
baggage given up, and he would expect me on the following morning.

The Indians were in a terrible state of commotion over my going. One of
their chief medicine-men, an old Swampy named Bear, laboured long and
earnestly to convince me that Riel had got on what he called "the track
of blood," the devil's track, and that he could not get off of it. This
curious proposition he endeavoured to illustrate by means of three small
pegs of wood, which he set up on the ground. One represented Riel,
another his Satanic Majesty, while the third was supposed to indicate
myself.

He moved these three pegs about-very much after the fashion of a
thimble-rigger; and I seemed to have, through my peg, about as bad a time
of it as the pea under the thimble usually experiences. Upon the most
conclusive testimony, Bear proceeded to show that I hadn't a chance
between Riel and the devil, who, according to an equally clear
demonstration, were about as bad as bad could be.

I had to admit a total inability to follow Bear in the reasoning which
led to his deductions; but that only proved that I was not a
"medicine-man," and knew nothing whatever of the peg theory.

So, despite of the evil deductions drawn by Bear from the three pegs, I
set out for Fort Garry, and, journeying along the same road which I had
travelled two nights previously, I arrived in sight of the village of
Winnipeg before midday on the 23rd of July. At a little distance from the
village rose the roof and flag-staffs of Fort Garry, and around in
unbroken verdure stretched-the prairie lands of Red River.

Passing from the village along the walls of the fort, I crossed the
Assineboine River and saw the "International" lying at her moor