Finally the river wound into a large stream on the west side of
the main range of the Rockies. Mackenzie had crossed the Divide.
For a week after crossing the Divide, the canoe followed the course of
the river southward. This was not what Mackenzie expected. He sought
a stream flowing directly westward, and was keenly alert for sign of
Indian encampment where he might learn the shortest way to the Western
Sea. Once the smoke of a camp-fire rose through the bordering forest;
but no sooner had Mackenzie's interpreters approached than the savages
fired volley after volley of arrows and swiftly decamped, leaving no
trace of a trail. There was nothing to do but continue down the
devious course of the uncertain river. The current was swift and the
outlook cut off by the towering mountains; but in a bend of the river
they came on an Indian canoe drawn ashore. A savage was just emerging
from a side stream when Mackenzie's men came in view. With a wild
whoop, the fellow made off for the woods; and in a trice the narrow
river was lined with naked warriors, brandishing spears and displaying
the most outrageous hostility. When Mackenzie attempted to land,
arrows hissed past the canoe, which they might have punctured and sunk.
Determined to learn the way westward from these Indians, Mackenzie
tried strategy. He ordered his men to float some distance from the
savages. Then he landed alone on the shore opposite the hostiles,
having sent one of his interpreters by a detour through the woods to
lie in ambush with fusee ready for instant action.
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