The Lost Trail | Page 4

act upon the presumption that there were no
such things as enemies in this solitude. Every night they had run their
boat in to shore, started a fire, and slept soundly by it until morning,
and thus far, strange as it may seem, they had suffered no molestation
and had seen no signs of ill-will, if we except the occurrences already
related. Through the day, the stalwart arms of Teddy, with occasional
assistance from the more delicate yet firm muscles of Harvey, had plied
the paddle. No attempt at concealment was made. On several occasions

they had landed at the invitation of Indians, and, after smoking, and
presenting them with a few trinkets, had departed again, in peace and
good-will.
Not to delay information upon an important point, we may state that
Harvey Richter was a young minister who had recently been appointed
missionary to the Indians. The official members of his denomination,
while movements were on foot concerning the spiritual welfare of the
heathen in other parts of the world, became convinced that the red-men
of the American wilds were neglected, and conceding fully the force of
the inference drawn thence, young men were induced to offer
themselves as laborers in the savage American vineyard. Great latitude
was granted in their choice of ground--being allowed an area of
thousands upon thousands of square miles over which the red-man
roamed in his pristine barbarism. The vineyard was truly vast and the
laborers few.
While his friends selected stations comparatively but a short distance
from the bounds of civilization, Harvey Richter decided to go to the Far
Northwest. Away up among the grand old mountains and majestic
solitudes, hugging the rills and streams which roll eastward to feed the
great continental artery called the Mississippi, he believed lay his true
sphere of duty. Could the precious seed be deposited there, if even in a
single spot, he was sure its growth would be rapid and certain, and, like
the little rills, it might at length become the great, steadily-flowing
source of light and life.
Harvey Richter had read and studied much regarding the American
aborigines. To choose one of the wildest, most untamed tribes for his
pupils, was in perfect keeping with his convictions and his character for
courage. Hence he selected the present hunting-grounds of the Sioux, in
upper Minnesota. Shortly before he started he was married to Cora
Brandon, whose devotion to her great Master and to her husband would
have carried her through any earthly tribulations. Although she had not
urged the resolution which the young minister had taken, yet she gladly
gave up a luxurious home and kind friends to bear him company.
There was yet another whose devotion to the young missionary was

scarcely less than that of the faithful wife. We refer to the Irishman,
Teddy, who had been a favorite servant for many years in the family of
the Richters. Having fully determined on sharing the fortunes of his
young master, it would have grieved his heart very deeply had he been
left behind. He received the announcement that he was to be a life-long
companion of the young man, with an expression at once significant of
his pride and his joy.
"Be jabers, but Teddy McFadden is in luck!"
And thus it happened that our three friends were ascending one of the
tributaries of the upper Mississippi on this balmy day in the spring of
1820. They had been a long time on the journey, but were now nearing
its termination. They had learned from the Indians daily encountered,
the precise location of the large village, in or near which they had
decided to make their home for many and many a year to come.
After landing, and before starting his fire, Teddy pulled the canoe up on
the bank. It was used as a sort of shelter by their gentler companion,
while he and his master slept outside, in close proximity to the
camp-fire. They possessed a plentiful supply of game at all times, for
this was the Paradise of hunters, and they always landed and shot what
was needed.
"We must be getting well up to the northward," remarked the young
man, as he warmed his hands before the fire. "Don't you notice any
difference in the atmosphere, Cora?"
"Yes; there is a very perceptible change."
"If this illigant fire only keeps up, I'm thinking there'll be a
considerable difference afore long. The ways yees be twisting and
doubling them hands, as if ye had hold of some delightsome soap,
spaaks that yees have already discovered a difference. It is better nor
whisky, fire is, in the long run, providin' you don't swaller it--the fire,
that is."
"Even if swallowed, Teddy, fire is better than whisky, for fire burns

only the body, while whisky