Camping in the snow--Our costume--Brilliant sunrise effects--Maple
and her pups found at last--Striking example of "dog sense"--The Fort
Garry packet.
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 a.m. 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
ourselves, 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, duffil 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. Old
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 "Draffan'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 two 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 dogs had become impatient, 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 Garry. 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.