A visit to Whitefish Lake--A devoted Indian missionary--Mark and I go
out after buffalo--Mark proves himself a brilliant hunter--Our camp
visited by wolves--Muddy Bull's generosity--We reach home with full
loads of meat.
The first or breaking-in trip for both men and dogs in the winter of
1865-66 was a three-hundred-mile run, and we lost no time between
camps and posts. Although we had the roads to break, still the snow
was not deep. Upon our return I took my wife over to Whitefish Lake
to visit her parents and people, and we spent Sunday in Mr.
Steinhauer's parish, where I learned more of the Cree language and
acquired a clearer insight into the religious experience and life and
language of these western people. As I have said before I will say
here again, Mr. Steinhauer was an ideal missionary. He gave himself
with entire devotion to his work. His best was always to the front,
and God blessed his efforts. The cycles of eternity will reveal the
good this faithful servant accomplished. It was always an
inspiration to spend a few days on his mission.
Hurrying back to Victoria, we made a dash out to see where the camps
were south and east of us, and finding some of these after a two
days' run, we held a series of meetings with them, and shared in
their shortage of provisions, for we found that the buffalo had gone
far out and there had been considerable hardship in consequence.
Moreover Blackfeet and southern Indians had made several successful
raids, in which quite a number of horses had been stolen. There had
been some reciprocity indulged in, too, by the wood and plain Crees,
and these marauding parties had effectually driven the buffalo
farther out. "But," said the old men, "cold weather is near, and the
men will stay at home, and the buffalo will come into this north
country"; a prophecy that we heartily hoped would prove true. We
visited several camps and were cordially welcomed, our message being
eagerly listened to. Many in these lodges heard for the first time
the story of redemption.
It was on this trip that Mark and I, desiring to see for ourselves
where the buffalo were, and if possible secure loads of meat to take
home, started out bright and early one morning, and following a
hunting trail, travelled fast plainward for the whole day. Just as
night was setting in we met a small hunting party, and camping with
them shared their hospitality, which, as their hunt had been a poor
one, was very meagre fare indeed. But even poor meat is better than
none, and as these Indians told us of buffalo which they had not
disturbed because they were discouraged with poor guns and bad
shooting, we went to sleep that night fully determined to have a
trial of our luck on the morrow. Accordingly with the first peep of
day we were off, and, continuing southward, about ten o'clock came to
the edge of a large plain, away out in the centre of which we could
see quite a herd of buffalo. Going to the last point of timber, we
tied our dogs in the centre of a large bluff and started out on the
plain. The buffalo were about five miles distant, but as we had to
keep under cover behind hills and along valleys and small
gullies--sometimes having to crawl at full length for a considerable
distance, where it was impossible to go otherwise without being seen
by the advance scouts of the wary herd--it was late in the afternoon
when we came within four hundred yards of the nearest buffalo. Here
Mark after carefully scanning the lay of the land said to me, "You
had better stay here, and I will try and approach alone. You can
watch the movement of the herd and follow up after I have shot." So
I shoved up a small hummock of snow before me and quietly watched a
fine sample of scouting. Centuries of heredity and years of practice
were now in full play before my eager eyes. I was almost ravenous.
Some poor meat eaten before daylight was all I had had to appease my
hunger that day, and miles of travel in the sharp keen frosty air to
where we left our dogs, and since then hours of running and walking
and crawling to this point, had contributed to give me a tolerably
keen appetite.
We wanted meat for urgent present need, and we wanted loads of it to
take home, and now the whole matter looked exceedingly doubtful.
Yonder were the lines of great bulls, some of them standing and
others lying down, some feeding and others quietly chewing their
cuds, but all on the alert. Beyond these huge sentinels and
surrounded by them were the cows, the meat of which was the object of
our quest.
Mark had but a smooth-bore single-barrelled flint-lock. No long
distance shooting for him. He must get close. He must pass through
the line of bulls. Could he do it? That was the question on my mind
as I moved from side to side on my frozen snowy couch. With his
white blanket belted around him, and the upper half covering his head
and shoulders, Mark was steadily making towards the herd.
Fortunately the day was calm, so that the danger of giving scent was
small. For interminable periods, as it seemed to me, I lost sight of
my companion, and then in a totally unexpected quarter he would
reappear, but always nearer to our game. Now he was among the bulls,
and I almost held my breath as I saw him push himself past a great
big fellow where a blow from horn or hoof might be instant death to
the brave hunter. But with consummate skill he made his way past the
bull and was right in amongst the great black fellows and quite lost
to sight.
Darkness was coming on fast, and the suspense to me as I lay watching
became almost unbearable. Cold, anxiety, hunger, each was doing its
work on brain and heart and stomach. But presently I saw the whole
herd start, and there came in sight a puff of smoke, followed by the
report of Mark's first shot, and away I went after the flying
buffalo. As I ran I heard another report, and then I came suddenly
upon a dead cow. Concluding that this was the result of Mark's first
shot, and that in good time he would come back to this point, I set
to work to skin the carcase, and was thus engaged when I heard Mark
approaching. He was glad to see me, and I delighted at his return in
safety. He had killed two cows. This one we were at was his first.
Then as the buffalo bunched up and fled he had run to one side and,
reloading, had continued running until the herd slowed up. He had
then drawn in under cover and shot the second cow. I admired his
pluck and skill and speed, and told him so, but he only quietly
replied, "These cows are fat, John, and we will have better meat
to-night than we had last night."
We were now on the southerly edge of the plain, and about eight miles
from where we left our dogs early in the day. After brief
deliberation it was decided that Mark should remain to butcher the
cows and look up the nearest camping place, while I should cross the
plains and bring back our dogs.
Taking my direction, I availed myself of buffalo trails in the snow
as much as possible, and when I left one to cross country to another,
I marked the spot as strongly as I could upon my memory, and took my
bearings of the place as well as I could in the winter's darkness
which surrounded me.
In a very short time I was at the bluff and found the dogs.
Unfastening them I brought my train, with old Draffan still in the
lead, and put them on my track, and then brought out Mark's train and
shouted, "Marse, Draffan!" and away we went. Fortunately there was
no wind, and though the night was dark Draffan's instinct and my
memory as to where to cross from one buffalo path to another worked
well. Once or twice I stopped the dogs and struck a match, and was
delighted to find we were on a hard buffalo path. Thus we came at a
good pace back to where the first cow was. But before we reached the
spot Mark came looming up out of the darkness to meet us. The
faithful fellow had been anxious; and now he thought it was his turn
to tell me that I had done well in finding the dogs and returning
them quick and straight.
We used the hide of the cow as a floor for our camp, and soon we had
a cheerful fire and meat cooking and dogs fed; and though it was long
past midnight before we finished our meal and were ready for bed, yet
with light hearts we sang a hymn and knelt in prayer and thankfully
rested.
We were now four days' journey from the Mission, but we had found the
people and also the buffalo. We had loads of good cow meat to take
home, where our supply was rapidly getting low, and as we turned
under our blankets in that small bluff, with the canopy of the sky as
our roof and the horizon as our walls, it might be cold, it certainly
was isolated, and yet we were happy in the satisfaction of success.
I, a Scotch-and-English-Canadian, and my Mountain Stony friend, I
believe, did that early morning more than ever before appreciate the
kingliness of God and the brotherhood of man.
When daylight came Mark went out to see how the meat of our second
cow had fared, for prairie wolves and coyotes were in great numbers
around us. Mark had built a great fire before he left, and I was
lazily dozing beside it waiting for his return, when presently there
was a great commotion amongst our dogs. Jumping up, I saw a monster
wolf just across the fire. He was snapping and snarling at the dogs,
who were barking at him with much vigor, but prudently not venturing
to attack him. For this I was abundantly glad, as undoubtedly he had
some distemper or he would not have thus come into our camp. I could
have shot him, but I was afraid to do so lest in his death-struggles
he might wound some of our dogs; so I went at him with firebrands,
and after some effort was glad to see him continue his course through
the bluff.
[Illustration: "I went at him with firebrands."]
When Mark returned he reported that some of the meat had been taken
by the wolves, but that these had come to the animal just a little
before him, and had not had time to take much. We then hurriedly ate
our breakfast and drove over to where the meat was, took this on, and
started for home. Notwithstanding our loads we made good time, and
reached the outer camp of Indians about 9 p.m. We found that Muddy
Bull, who had been away on the chase while we passed, had returned
and, as usual with him, had made a great hunt. He generously
supplemented our loads with tongues and backfats and bosses, so that
when we left his camp that night we were well provisioned.
Continuing our journey we passed several small camps _en route_, and
stopping about 2 a.m., slept for a few hours and were away again by
daylight. Pushing on, we reached home the third day of the return
journey, bringing word of Indians and buffalo, which missionaries and
traders and settlers were all delighted to hear.