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When we were about midway
between what is now Innisfail and Bowden, there came an addition to our
larder which very much comforted us and helped out our commissary. This
windfall came to us under peculiar circumstances. When at Edmonton my
brother found his dog, which had been lost for some time. The canine was a
stumpy- tailed eccentric, a very peculiar-looking brute at best; but now,
when found, he was but a shocking mass of skin and bone, and on this trip,
with our provisions running short, he had shared, and had been very content
to quietly follow in the distance. This morning as I was tramping ahead on
my snowshoes, a fine bunch of buffalo cows and calves came careering across
our course at right angles. These were a splendid sight as the strong
leaders plunged into the drifts and made the snow fly in all directions, and
then the weaker and younger, clinging to the trail and following up as fast
as possible. Suddenly, as I neared the track of the buffalo, I heard a yelp
at my heels, and our bobtailed pile of bones jumped past me and lunged on
through the snow on to the smashed-up trail of the herd, and then, with
renewed speed, he bounded away on this. Near by there was a small creek, the
banks of its valley at this point being about a thousand feet across. The
buffalo had rushed down into the valley, and the dog had disappeared after
them. I was expecting to see him returning from his futile chase, blown and
spent, when all of a sudden I heard a furious barking across the valley.
Running out to where I could see, I found that our dog had brought two husky
calves to bay, and was holding them as if hypnotized by his furious jumping
and barking as he sprang from one to the other.
By this time David came up,
and as the doctor was near, we waited until he came, and then we gave him
charge of our horses, bringing up any we thought might want to run, for him
to hold. Then we ran across the valley and climbed the hill under cover as
much as we could. As we had no rifles with us we were dependent upon our
revolvers. The calves were in splendid condition, both big and fat. From
behind the brow of the hill I took sight with my six-shooter; but David
yelled, "Don't. You will hit my dog." And 'again and again, just as I wanted
to shoot, he would pull my coat, or say, "Don't you kill my dog." I was
waxing warm and just about to shoot, whether or not, when both calves
suddenly started on the quick jump and took the back trail, and our dog was
pounding after them for all he was worth.
David jumped away on his
snowshoes down the hill, following in the run, and I after him. When about
two-thirds down, he tripped on one of the big chunks of solid drift the
buffalo herd had broken up in their rush, and over he went, head first into
the loose snow, legs and feet up and snowshoes in mid-air.
It was a very funny sight,
and I was exploding with laughter, which helped me also to take a header;
for I had not gone a rod past my brother when down I came with full force,
and was embedded in the snow. I was up about as quick as David, and when I
had got the snow out of my eyes and was busy taking it out of my mouth and
ears, etc., I saw the calves rushing up the other hill, straight for the
doctor. There he stood, holding on to the horses, and the two stout young
buffalo dashing right at him, and our dog following up as fast as he could.
The whole scene was exceedingly funny. The doctor was in a terrible quandary
as to what to do. The buffalo and the dog were coining right at him; then
those horses, he dare not let them go; and here was a wall of deep snow all
around him.
As soon as I got the snow out
of my mouth I shouted to him, "Doctor," and as if he expected great relief
from my call, he shouted back, "Yes." Again I shouted, "Doctor, stop those
buffalo! stop those buffalo!" And now the doctor was in a greater dilemma
than ever. How could he stop those buffalo? The doctor's consternation and
bewilderment, the dog's sudden resurrection, the unexpected chase, were all
so exceedingly humorous that both David and I could hardly run with
amusement.
Just then the plucky dog came
and caught one of the calves by his leg, and being helped by the broken and
deep snow, pulled him down, and I came up and grabbed the other leg, and
there we held the big fellow. Now David came up and pounced down on his
shoulders and head. When we had taken breath, and the other calf had again
doubled on his track and was now following the herd away, we cut the throat
of our prey, and were glad of this windfall of fine fresh meat, secured, as
it had been, without our firing a shot. Of course, from thence on the dog
was more than ever one of us, and this incident and the delicious meat of
our hunt did much to cheer up and bring back to a fresh interest in this
life our English Londoner.
Two days after this, as we
were lunching, the Hudson's Bay men came up to us. They had run short of
food and were pressing on, but when they came to where we had killed, they
travelled almost night and day to come up to us for relief. We were able to
give them both fresh and dried provisions, and, having this, they again
dropped behind. When within some forty miles of our fort, the doctor's horse
completely played out, and we left him on the road. The snow had lessened,
and there was plenty of grass, and we hoped he would recuperate, which,
after a few days, he did, and this was a very strong evidence as to the
nutritious grasses of this Southern country. A long, hard trip through deep
snow and heavy drifts, and in poor condition to start with, and now we leave
this horse on the plains in the month of January, and he lives and is able
to come on in after a few days rest in the big, wide, open country, feeding
on this grass.
When within twenty miles of
home, we came into buffalo numerous and in splendid condition. We travelled
through great herds, and were glad, for, if we hurried up, we would be able
to come out at once and kill and store away all the meat needed for the rest
of the winter. Moreover, the Indians in our vicinity would make dry
provisions, which we could trade and make pemmican out of for summer food,
both at home and for travelling purposes.
We found our people well, and
at once we started out on a hunt, and the very first afternoon hauled in
several carcasses from within four miles of our fort. Then the next day we
went across the river and into camp for regular hunting work. I had noticed
that my brother was taking advantage of my pick of the herd whenever it so
happened that we ran together. He had at this time the fastest horse, and
when we charged, his method was to keep close to my side until he saw the
direction of my run; then he would push his horse ahead and kill the best.
To-day the ground and herds were favorable to my having my own pick. There
was a round hill in front of the buffalo, and I knew this would in all
probability split the herd. There were four of us to run—a Hudson's Bay
officer who, though a native of the Red River Valley, would now for the
first time participate in a buffalo run; a Stoney Indian, David and myself.
When we dashed in I looked
the herd over, and saw a few fine farrow cows running together. Keeping my
eye on them, I pressed my horse towards the other side of the herd, and, as
I had anticipated, the hill split the bunch, and I soon had my friends
rushing the main body on one side of the hill while I took the other side
after the fat cows. Of these I killed four, one right after the other, in a
very short distance, and was busy placing the last one ready for skinning
when my brother rode up, and noting the quality of animals as he helped me
to put them right, said, "Why, where did you find these?" I told him I had
found them by looking over the herd.
Then we went to look for our
Hudson's Bay friend, and when we found him his face was all aflame with
excitement. Said lie, "Say, what is the matter with my gun?" He had fired
the sixteen shots, and then bent the lever of the rifle in his excitement.
"Where is your kill?" we casually enquired. "Oh, I must have a great many
lying around," was the answer, but when we went with him to look there was
not even a wounded animal to be found anywhere. This was most amazing to our
tenderfoot hunter. He had fired sixteen shots, but his experience had been
like many another man's, so we told him by way of comfort.
Where we were was splendid'
ground for running, and we planned to bring buffalo from farther up the
valley to this spot to run them on, if possible. In this we were successful,
and our Hudson's Bay officer saw for the first time the "bringing in" of the
wild cattle. In a couple of days we had loaded the sleds we had with us, and
while our men took the meat to the fort we moved down in the valley and made
camp in a new place, and again went on with our hunt. Here, in one of the
runs, I had a close shave from a bad fall. Just as we were about to charge
the herd, the Stoney Indian said to me, "Here, John, ride my horse." As
there was not time to change saddles, I jumped on his horse just as he was,
and away we rushed after the herd. There was one real good fat animal in the
bunch, and I pressed the splendid little fellow under me after her. Then she
jumped down a bank, and my horse jumped after her. In doing this the saddle
girths snapped, and for a moment I was hanging on the horse's neck. Then I
got back into my place on the horse, and had to run, to kill, and also to
keep saddle and cloth on the horse with me. However, in a very few minutes I
had killed the cow and kept everything together, and my Stoney, who had
watched the run, complimented me on my horsemanship as well as on my hunting
skill. My brother had made a good kill farther up, and having butchered our
animals and protected the meat as much as we could from the wolves, we again
moved our camp farther down the valley to a spot which is now on the
McDougall Orphan- age and Training School claim.
The next day we made a big
hunt and were kept busy on into the night skinning and cutting up our game.
It was here, while in this camp, that I had the experience of being
instrumental in drowning a fine herd of buffalo. I was running them on the
flat when my horse slipped on a hard, shelving piece of drift, and we both
rolled and tumbled far, so that before we (that is, the horse and man and
gun) were together again, some time had elapsed before we caught up to the
fast-moving herd. These were now near the river, and when I charged them
they jumped the bank. I had barely time to pick and shoot one when my herd
had slid out on the smooth ice and into a deep hole in the current, from
which 'there was no way of escaping.
I climbed the steep hank, and
in sorrow watched these wild cattle drown, as, one by one, they turned over
and floated up against the ice of the river. I stood as one convicted in the
very act of this immense slaughter. There would be sixty or seventy in the
herd, but as it would be both dangerous and disagreeable to bother with
them, we left the lot to freeze in and become the food and profit of a band
of Sarcees, who came along later in the season and chopped them out. Many a
time, in camp and home, my old friend, Chief Cheneka, would chide me for
thus killing buffalo by the bunch. He would say, "I have killed many
buffalo, but never more than five or six at once; and here comes John, who
forever preaches economy and thrift, and he killed a whole herd at one run."
We remained in this camp and
kept on hunting until our men had made several trips to and fro with the
sleds, and our storehouses were being well filled with choice meat. It was
at this time that I saw the wonderful instinct of the buffalo in crossing an
ice-bound river. The ice was very smooth and glassy, and many score jumped
the high bank at the mouth of the Ghost River and made to cross the Bow. I
sat on my horse and thought that they would balk at the smooth ice; hut, to
my great astonishment, the wise animals bunched to the centre, and In a
packed, dense mass, went skating and sliding across the smooth ice to the
other bank without a tumble. They braced each other across the hundred yards
or more of glassy ice, and went on the run up the other bank as if this was
a common experience in their history, and again I said to myself, "How
wonderful is instinct."
Having secured several
thousands of pounds of splendid fresh meat, my next move was to put up a log
schoolhouse and start our new teacher at work. In three or four days we had
the first school in all this country south of Edmonton in fair running
order.
This accomplished, and
learning that a goodly number of my people were scattered in' camps north
and east and south of us, and busy gathering robes and making provisions, as
well as doing some timber trapping, I started out on horseback alone and
paid these what might be called a pastoral visit. I found them in camps of
from ten to fifteen and twenty lodges, and all very glad to see me. I spent
from two to three days in each camp, holding religious services and giving
lectures on the coming changes in government, and settlement, and general
civilization.
My whole equipment on this
trip was a blanket and a little copy of the New Testament and my Cree hymn
book. I always found a number of newly dressed robes arranged for me to use
in the lodges I made my home in. The kindness and real genuine hospitality
of these people was most refreshing, and the intense interest in our
gatherings was encouraging. In the most northerly camp I visited on this
trip I stumbled on a unique find in the shape of a "silk robe," a genuine
freak in nature. This animal had been killed a few days before my coming,
and now the skin was in parchment shape and arranged at the back of my seat
in this lodge. When an opportune time came I asked mine host as to the
killing, and also if he had promised the robe to anyone. When I found that I
was the first on the spot I told him that I wanted to purchase this robe,
and he answered, "Yes, you can have it." "How much do you want for it?" was
my answer. Then he conferred with his wife, and she, speaking in Stoney,
told him to ask six skins for the robe.
At this time an ordinary head
and tail dressed robe was priced at three skins. I understood what she said,
and immediately told them that I was quite willing to give them thirty skins
for the hide. They were astonished at this, and also overjoyed at my offer.
I told the Indian the next time he came into the fort I would pay him the
thirty skins, and his good wife smiled at the prospect of a new blanket and
some strouds and cotton prints, etc. This Indian told me some time
afterwards that when he went into the fort the Hudson's Bay trader wanted to
know of him why he had let me have the robe, and said he would have paid
very much more for it. "How much would you have given me for it?" enquired
the Indian. The trader answered, "Six skins," and the Indian said, "Well,
perhaps you might have given me that much, but I question." Then the Indian
told the trader that I had given him thirty skins, and no more was said.
When I left that camp I had
this parchment robe carefully packed and tied to my saddle, and, reaching
home, Mrs. McDougall had, it dressed by an Indian woman who was an expert in
such work. To-day, 'if we had not prized and kept this robe, though living
among buffalo for twenty years and handling and trading many robes, we would
be absolutely without one. However, my wife has hung on to our silk robe,
and when I see it, I also see the lodges among the Douglas firs on the
foothill slope, and all the wild and strange life of the winter of 1874-5
comes to me even as if it was but now; and those Indian people, men and
women, splendid folks, genuine and true—Jacob and Cherieka and Bear's Paw
and Hector Nimrod, the man who killed this animal with this beautiful
covering. They have gone on, and we sorrowed for them, and yet we remain. |
