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WE HAVE now been nearly a
month on the way, and are becoming well acquainted with each other, for
there is no better place than around the camp-fire, and on a trip like ours,
to size up men and display one's own idiosyncrasies. Mr. Connor, the
gentleman who had joined me at the Red River, proves to be a very good
companion. He has travelled and read; was at one time, in the early forties,
a minister of the Methodist Church, but owing to some misunderstanding had
given up the ministry and gone afloat—and is still floating. He is generally
bright and cheerful, and very helpful, but sometimes falls into a streak of
melancholy, which, after all, darkens his own day more than that of any one
else. He drives his own cart. This he has shingled with pieces of tarred
bale covers, and, at night sleeps in it. His yoke of steers, though at first
somewhat balky in mud- holes, after I have drilled them a few times, and got
them to recognize my voice in a real western yell, come along all right. His
son James, who is one of my men, is a short, sturdy fellow, and being strong
and hearty, is fast adapting himself to this new life. My other man, Oliver,
is but an over-grown boy; has had very little opportunity in life, no chance
at school, and is rather simple-minded, but willing and strong. The
Scotchman, who is on his way across the mountains,' walks by his own cart
and horse most of the day's march, and is "canny and careful" about the
camp; for the most part silent and reserved, but in a pinch, and at river
crossings, lends a strong hand. Such a journey as we are on is new to all
but myself, and I, though all my life on the frontier, am but in my fourth
year in this the greater West.
We had three dogs with us,
one belonging to the Scotchman, and the others to me. Both of mine were a
present from a clergyman I met in the settlement, one a duck dog, and the
other a small rat terrier. The latter supported the two former on the road
by killing gophers for them. This little fellow was extremely agile. He
would jump up on my foot in the stirrup, and at the next leap be in the
saddle beside me. There he would rest for a little while, perhaps until the
next gopher popped in sight, when with a bound he would be away; and this he
would keep up the whole day long. At night I might wrap my blanket as
tightly as I pleased about me; the little scamp would crawl in somehow and
sleep in my bosom. One day when we were hunting moulting ducks during our
noon spell, he got after a big stock duck, and taking hold of the tail
feathers of the bird, the latter made for the lake with the dog in tow. The
little fellow was gritty and held on while the duck towed him far out into
the lake. It was highly amusing to see the small dog being whirled along by
the duck, who was flapping his featherless wings and swimming at a great
rate. Presently the dog, wanting to bark, opened his mouth, and the duck
dove under immediately it was loose. My little pet swain ashore after
affording us no little amusement by his unusual adventure.
One Saturday evening we
camped in the Touchwood Hills, and found ourselves in the vicinity of a
solitary lodge occupied by an old Indian and his aged wife. They told us
that their children and people had gone out on the plains. The report was
that the buffalo were not far away, and they were hoping to hear from their
friends before long. The mesas-kootom, or service berry, were very plentiful
all through the hills, and this old couple had gathered and dried a large
quantity. I was glad to trade a bag of these from them to take home to our
people, for any kind of dried fruit had been a scarce article with us.
On Sunday afternoon two boys
came in from the plains with a horse-load of dried provisions. They were the
old man's grandchildren, and had come for the old folks. The boys said the
buffalo were a good day's journey south of us, which would be about fifty
miles. Monday morning I traded some dried provisions from the old man, and
we parted company.
I think it was the fourth day
afterwards that we camped in a small round prairie, backed by a range of
hills and fringed around by willow and poplar brush. We had pulled our carts
into a line, with our camp-fire in the centre. We were sufficiently north,
as we thought, to be comparatively safe from horse-thieves and war parties,
so we merely hobbled our horses, and making a good smudge near our own fire,
we rolled in our blankets, each man under a cart, except Mr. Connor, who
slept in his. Some time in the night I was awakened by my little dog, who
had crept under my blanket as usual, and now startled me by springing forth
and barking vigorously. As I raised myself on elbow, I saw that the two
larger dogs were charging at something quite near. The moon was about three
parts full, and the night quiet and almost clear. From under the shadow of
the cart I could see our horses feeding near the smoke. Presently I
discovered an object crawling up to come between the carts and the horses.
At first I thought it was a big grey wolf, but as the dogs rushed at it, I
saw that it did not recede, but came on. I reached for my gun and watched
closely, and presently saw the object pick up a stick and throw it at the
dogs. This convinced me that it was someone trying to steal our horses. His
object evidently was to creep in between us and our stock, and gently
driving them away, he would then cut the hobbles and run them off.
Having made sure that what I
saw was a human being, and a would-be horse-thief, or worse, I immediately
planned to intercept him. So I in turn began to crawl along the shade of the
carts until I was under the last one, which was Mr. Connor's. Here I waited
and watched until, seeing the fellow repeatedly frighten the dogs away, I
was sure it was a man. He was slowly coining up on hands and knees, and was
now near the first horse, when I took deliberate aim and fired at him. My
gun was loaded with shot, and fortunately for him was only a single barrel,
or I would have given him the other, for I was not at that moment in a mood
to spare a horse-thief. My shot at once knocked him flat. When the smoke had
cleared away I saw him starting to crawl off, so I jumped for him, on which
he rose to his feet and ran for all he was worth towards the nearest brush.
I dropped my gun and picked up a pole that lay in my way, and was overtaking
him fast when he reached the thicket; then thinking he might not be alone, I
ran back for my gun. My companions by this time were all up, and we made
ready for an attack. Tying up our horses, we watched and guarded until
daylight, but were not further molested.
By this time I concluded that
the thief was alone, and I became very anxious about him. I knew I had hit
him, but to what extent I did not know; so taking a man with me, we went on
his track and found that he had lost considerable blood, had rested and, we
supposed, had in some way bound up his wound and then gone on. As we tracked
him I concluded by his step that he was but slightly hurt, and would reach
his camp all right. This relieved my mind considerably, but it was not until
the next year we heard about the fellow. Then it came out that I blew the
top off the man's shoulder, and after a hard journey back to camp, he lay
some three months before recovering. Having ample opportunity for
reflection, he saw the error of his former way and vowed to steal no more.
This Indian had heard from
the old man and his two grandchildren, whom we left in the Touchwood Hills,
that a small party of white men had travelled west, having with them some
good horses. He concluded that this would be a 'soft snap," and acted
accordingly. Had it not been for my vigilant little rat terrier, he would
have taken our horses and left us in a pretty fix. I have always felt
thankful I did not kill the fellow, but most certainly I wanted to at the
time. If my gun had been loaded with ball, or that bit of prairie had been
longer—for I was coming up on him fast, and the pole I carried was a strong
one—the results might have been different.
We were now approaching the
South Branch of the Saskatchewan. The streams we had crossed thus far were
as child's play compared to this. It was midsummer, and the snow and ice in
yonder mountains, six or seven hundred miles away, would be melting, and the
mighty river be a swollen torrent. Would we find a boat there or not? If
not, how were we to cross? These were thoughts and questions which kept
coming up in my mind all the time. It is very easy under some conditions to
say to another man, "Do not cross the river until you come to it," but when
you know the river to be big and wide, and the current like that of a
mill-race; when you know that there is not a man in your party as good even
as yourself in such a case; when you feel all the responsibility of life and
property, involving the well-being of many others, you cannot help but
worry.
We were still several miles
from the river, when I galloped ahead to find out the best or the worst that
might be in store for us. Coming to the river I saw it was booming. Great
trees and rafts of driftwood were being swept down by its swishing currents,
and with a strain of anxiety I rode down the several hills to the river's
brink, and felt almost sick at heart when I found there was no boat in
sight. Very often the Hudson's Bay Company kept a boat at this point, but
now, search as I would, there was none to be found, and I rode back up the
hill with a heavy heart. however, at the top of the bill I now discerned a
pole stuck in the ground, and thought I saw something white at the end of
it. Galloping over, I found a note tied to the pole, which said, "Down in
the woods in the direction this stick points, there is a skin canoe."
This had been arranged by the
Company people at Canton for the benefit of Mr. Hardisty, whom they expected
to be on his way west from an eastern visit. They had not a boat to spare,
so they made this small skin canoe, brought it here and left it staged up in
the trees for his use when he should come along. The note also said, In the
bow of the canoe you will find a chunk of hard grease." This was to pitch
its seams with and make it waterproof if possible. Now for a light
travelling party, with saddle and pack-horses, this would be sufficient, but
for a heavily loaded train like ours it seemed like a "small hook to hang
your hat on." But even this was something, and I soon went to the spot in
the woods indicated and found the canoe placed high on the limbs, to keep it
from the wolves and coyotes, who would soon gnaw its skin covering. I saw it
was very small, being made of two buffalo cowhides, stretched over a frame
of willows, and in it were two paddles and a parcel, which undoubtedly
contained the grease.
It was late Saturday evening
when we camped upon the shore, and my companions were almost paralyzed by
the appearance of the river. It was fortunate that they had all day Sunday
to become somewhat familiar with the sight of this mad current and its
tremendous volume of water. Monday morning I was up with the day, and
calling my two men we boiled the kettle, chopped some chunks from our mass
of pemmican, and sat down to breakfast. Presently• Mr. Connor crawled out of
his cart, and sitting on its edge, said "Good-morning." I invited him to a
cup of tea and a piece of pemmican, but to my astonishment he very solemnly
said, "Before I do anything to-day I want to come to an agreement with you
men as to how long you are prepared to stay here and search for the body of
anyone of us who may be drowned here to-day." It was very early in the
morning, and myself and men were not very hungry—at any rate, the one dish
of uncooked pemmican was not very appetizing—but when the above very anti-
tonic remarks fell in sombre tones from the venerable-looking .man's lips, I
noticed that Oliver dropped his pemmican, while his eyes widened and his
face blanched. I saw that I must do something, or else I would not be able
to take Oliver near the river that day. So I laughed out a regular "Ha, ha1"
at the old man's strange demand. "It is no laughing matter," said he. "Yes
it is—a very laughable matter," I answered, "that a man of your age and
experience should make such a proposition, for in the first place we do not
expect anyone to be drowned here to-day, and more, if any of us should drown
in that current, what would be the use of searching for the body? If I am
the one to be drowned, don't you lose a minute looking for my body, but go
on taking the stuff across, and take it to its destination; but my word for
it, we will get across all right. Come along and have a cup of tea." This he
did without saying any more about drowning, and he worked like a trooper all
the rest of the day, helping in any way he could. Some years later Mr.
Connor was drowned, and he may have felt premonitions of his coming fate
that morning.
Breakfast over, we
immediately began operations. The first thing was to carry the canoe to the
water's edge, then taking the grease, and biting off a mouthful, chew this
until it became like gum; then with finger cover over the seams wherever
they occurred in the canoe. When this was done we launched the canoe, and
for the first trip put in about three hundred pounds, as this, we thought,
with the two men necessary to work her, might be all she could carry. Then
we had to track or trail our canoe up the river a long way, for the current
would carry us down a great distance while crossing. This we did by one
pulling on a line and the other wading along the shore and keeping the canoe
out from the rocks; then when we did let go, the two in the canoe had to
paddle as hard as they could, for the rough hide and flat shape of the
clumsy thing made it very heavy in the water. Having reached the other side,
and unloaded and carried up our goods out of the reach of a possible rise of
water, we had to again pull our canoe a long way up the river on that side,
in order to reach anywhere near where our stuff was in crossing again. After
the first trip we found that we could average about four hundred pounds with
the two men, and keeping hard at it the long summer's day, drying our boat
while we lunched or dined or supped, and ever and anon repitching it with
the grease, we had most of our stuff across by sundown, and were once more
in camp—and no one drowned! |
