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JUST now we are surrounded by
both wood and plain hunters. Maskepetoon in my time always had a following
of both parties. The gambling and conjuring drums are beating in several
lodges. In others, as in ours, the evening hymn is being sung and prayer
offered, and presently we roll in our blankets and robes, and sleep, though
it takes me some time to forget my lost train of Maple and her pups.
By 2 am. we are up boiling
our kettle and snatching a bite of breakfast. Then by the clear moonlight we
begin the loading of our sleds. This is tedious work, and had it not been
for the innumerable host of dogs, our own to boot, we would have had this
over and all ready last evening. Now in the keen cold of early morn even old
Joseph has to move quickly to keep from freezing. To put from five to six
hundred pounds of frozen meat on a narrow dog-sled, and as nearly as
possible to maintain the equilibrium is no light task. But by four o'clock
sleds are loaded and dogs harnessed, we bid Mr. and Mrs. Muddy Bull a hasty
good-bye, and are off to make the sixty mile drive home in the day if we
can. And who doubts our doing it? Not our- selves, at any rate, for the road
is fair, our dogs fresh and strong, and we, costumed as we are, must move or
freeze.
Perhaps I am the best clad in
the party, and my clothes altogether will not weigh much. A flannel shirt,
moleskin pants, full length leggings with garters below the knees, duffel
socks and neat moccasins, a Hudson's Bay capote, unlined and unpadded in any
part, a light cap, and mittens which are most of the time tied on the load,
while I wear a pair of thin unlined buckskin gloves. This is in a sense
almost "laying aside every weight," but the race which was set before the
ordinary dog-driver in the days I am writing of was generally sufficient to
keep him warm.
In my own case, I did not for
several years wear any underclothing, and though in the buffalo country, and
a buffalo hunter, I never had room or transport for a buffalo coat until the
Canadian Pacific Railroad reached Alberta, and the era of heavy clothing and
ponderous boots came in, with ever and anon men frozen to death in them! Not
so with us; we run and lift and pull and push, and are warm. Oil Joseph has
for a leader a big dog called "Blucher," and every little while there rings
out in the crisp air the call "Buchen," for in Joseph's soft, euphonious
tongue there is no use for "l" and "r."
Before daylight we have
pulled up in the lee of a clump of poplars, and, kicking away the snow and
gathering wood, have built a glorious fire. A hasty second breakfast, and
again we are off, while the day-sky is still faint in the eastern horizon.
And now the cold seems to double in rigor; old "1)raflkn's"breath solidifies
ere it disappears into the infinity of frozen air on every hand. Even the
smooth toboggan and the soft moccasin are not noiseless on the hard crisp
snow of the road. It is cold, but the colder it becomes the harder we drive.
"Marse, Buchen from old Joseph, "Yoh-ho! Put-eyo," from Susa.
The only dog inclined to
sneak in my train is "Grog." I ring out his name so sharply as to make him
think his last day has come, and he springs into his collar with such vim as
to quicken the whole train into a faster step.
Now the morning is upon us,
and presently the clear sunlight glorifies the waking world. Tiny shrub,
willow bush, timber clump, valley and hill, with their millions of
glittering ice crystals, are brilliantly illumined. The scene is dazzling
and beautiful in the extreme. For miles on every hand as we run the shadows
give way to the most brilliant light, and here and yonder the dark spots,
denoting buffalo, singly or in groups, stand out with startling distinctness
on the great white expanse.
Stopping for our mid-day
meal, we jerk our dogs out of their collars to give them a chance to lick
snow and gambol around and freshen themselves generally, while we hurriedly
boil our kettle and get out our supply of dried meat. While doing this we
also give our dogs about two4 ounces each of the dried meat, just to liven
them up and give them an agreeable anticipation of their supper—the one
square meal in twenty-four hours they will have at the end of the day's
journey. As we gnaw at our dried meat, thankful that what teeth we have left
are sound, we drink hot tea and discuss dogs, Indians, white men, and the
broad questions of civilization and Christianity. Susa is thoroughly
optimistic and joyously sanguine. Joseph is also as to Christianity, but
civilization and men and dogs, "well, he kinder doubts "—at any rate he will
wait and see. But we .cannot wait long now, so we tie on our kettle and
cups, catch our dogs, and start away, leaving our camp-fire to burn itself
out. As the shades of night are commencing to fall we turn our loads on
their sides, and thus run them down the steep long banks of the
Saskatchewan, then righting them at its foot, dash across the big river, and
with dogs pulling for all they are worth, and we pushing behind, we climb
the other more moderate bank, and are at home once more.
There is general lamentation
over the loss of Maple and her pups. The girls shed tears. Little George
cannot understand how big brother John could lose a whole train of dogs and
sled. Father had taken a great fancy to those pups ever since the Blackfoot
trip, and he is sorry because of their loss. Never mind, we are at home, and
we unharness and unload, pile away our meat and feed our dogs, visit with
our friends, and long before daylight next morning are on the out-bound
journey for more meat.
Reaching the Indian camp that
evening, I was disappointed at there being no tidings of my lost train. But
again we loaded, and started home in the night, and before daylight we came
to the camp of a solitary hunter, John Whitford by name, where to my great
delight we found the missing team. They had come to John's camp a few hours
before us. John said that he heard a jingle of bells, and expected some
travellers were either coming to or passing his camp. Then, hearing no
further sounds, he went out to see what it was, when he found Maple alone in
harness, but dragging the other four sets of harness behind her. Evidently
the sled had caught in some bush and the young (logs had become im- patient,
and one by one wriggled out of their bonds. Then the wise old mother dog had
gone back to the sled and bitten off the traces close up to it, thus freeing
herself from the sleigh and saving the harness. She then started for home,
and concluding to rest by the way at John's camp, we found her there with
her pups.
One often hears about "horse
sense," but here was a good large sample of dog sense. That this dog, with
her own traces and those of four other dogs between her and the sleigh,
should pass all these and go back to the sleigh to cut away and liberate
herself, and thus save to us these harnesses, was amazing. I would have
rejoiced over the dogs alone, but to receive these back with the harness was
great good fortune. I hitched Maple and her pups beside my own train, and
taking some meat from Joseph and Susa, lightened their loads and on we went
at a much quicker step. On reaching home that evening I need not say there
was general rejoicing over the recovery of our lost dogs.
As the buffalo moved so did
also the Indian camps, and gradually our meat trails went westward for the
month of February. This trip it was fresh meat, and the next it would be a
mixed load of pounded and dried meat cakes and bladders of grease and
tongues, and as the distance was never more than a big day's run, we would
put on tremendous loads, so that gradually our storehouse was being filled
up.
Through storm and cold, and
sometimes very heavy roads, or no roads at all, Joseph, Susa and myself kept
at the work of providing for our mission party. Those at home in the
meantime were constantly busy holding meetings, doctoring the sick, taking
out timber, whipsawing lumber, or hauling hay and wood. Indeed, there was no
time to become lonely or to think of the onions and garlic of the former
Egypt. Our party knew it was out in a larger wilderness, but, full of
Christian resolution, each one felt as did Joshua and Caleb.
The event of the winter was
the arrival of the February packet from Fort Carry. A few letters from
Eastern friends it might bring, with two or three newspapers several months
old; but this was the one connecting link, and the dwellers in the Hudson's
Bay posts and at mission stations in the North-West, though far apart felt a
common interest in this packet, for it not only brought news' from the far
East, but also from one .another. For days before its expected arrival at
the post or mission the packet was the chief item of conversation. Many an
eye was turned to the direction whence it should come. Many a person the
last thing at night would stand out in the cold and listen for the sound of
bells which might indicate the approach of the eagerly looked-for mail. And
when at last it came, how many were disappointed. The one lone chance, and
still no news where so much had been expected.
And for the swarthy-faced,
wiry-built, hardy men who brought this packet, as you looked at them you
could see fifty miles a day stamped on their every move; fifty miles and
more through deep snow, blinding storms and piercing cold. Picked men these
were, and they knew it, and held themselves accordingly, heroes for the time
being at every post they touched. Nor did these faithful fellows tarry long
at any one place. Arriving in the morning, they were away the same
afternoon. Coming in late at night, off before daylight next morning. This
was the manner of their faithful service to the great Company which somehow
or other had the faculty of inspiring its employees with splendid loyalty to
itself. |
