Lake freezes--I go for rope--Have a narrow escape from wolf and
drowning--We finish our fishing--Make sleds--Go home--Camp of
starving Indians en route.
All of a sudden the lake froze over, and our nets were under, and we
had no rope to pass under the ice. So, leaving my gun with Neils,
for he had none, and whistling the dogs to me, I set out on a run for
home; and as it was only twenty-five miles, my purpose was to be back
in camp the same night, for I could conveniently make a fifty-mile
run in those days. Down the valley and over the hills, through the
dense forest we went--the ten dogs and myself. Presently, as we were
coasting along the shore of a lake, we met a huge, gaunt timber wolf.
Ah, thought I, if I only had my gun! I set the dogs on him, but he
very soon drove them back, and came at me. I remembered seeing some
lodge-poles a little way back on the trail, and I retreated to them,
and securing one, came on to the attack again. Between the dogs and
myself, we drove the wolf on to a little point jutting out into the
lake, and he took to the ice. I foolishly followed him out, hoping
to get a whack at him with my pole, but suddenly I awoke to the fact
that the ice was giving way with me and the water was deep. Down I
dropped, and stretched out, and leaned with the most of my weight on
the pole, which, covering a good space of ice, fortunately held me
up; so crawling and pushing, and anxiously looking through the
transparent ice for the bottom, I made for the shore. How thankful I
was when I did see the bottom, and presently was ashore once more!
[Illustration: A CLOSE CALL]
As I ran off on the trail, I seemed to take a fresh lease of life,
for it seemed as if I had nearly lost my grip of it a few minutes
since.
I reached Mr. Woolsey's just as he was sitting down to lunch, and he
was so glad to see me that he would not hear of my going back that
afternoon.
A few Indians had come and gone, and from these Mr. Woolsey had
secured some dried meat, which to me was a great treat after so much
fish.
We were becoming fast friends, this old bachelor missionary and
myself, for while he was anything but a pioneer, and altogether out
of place in this wild country, yet he was thoroughly good, and as
full of the milk of "human kindness" as men are ever made.
Early the next morning I was away with the rope, and by night Neils
and I had overhauled several of our nets and put some fresh ones in
their place.
And now winter set in, with no snow, but extreme cold, which soon
thickened the ice, and Neils and I gave our spare time to making a
couple of toboggans, for we purposed when we did go home, to take
loads of fish with us.
As the ice made, the fish went away, and soon our fishing was over
for that time. We had put up about three thousand, and lived almost
entirely on fish; the livers of some dog-fish we occasionally caught
being our only change, except a very few fish-ducks, which were
hardly a change. We had also fattened the ten dogs ready for winter
work. This was no small item.
Now we made a strong "log cache," and stored our fish in it, putting
tent and nets and everything with the fish; and having finished our
dog-sleighs, or toboggans, we contemplated starting in the morning
for home, though there was as yet no snow. As it was moonlight, I
proposed to Neils that we start at once.
So we loaded up, hitched our dogs and set out. What a time we
had--bare ground, fallen timber, stumps and hills; and, to make
matters worse, while we were making a fire about midnight to cook our
last duck, which we had saved for days for this very purpose, the
dogs stole it, and our disappointment was bitter. We had cleaned
that duck, and had it all ready to cook, and looked forward to
picking its bones ourselves. We craved the change in diet, even if
it was only from fish to a fishy duck; but just as we had the prize,
the contemptible dogs stole it, and though it is now thirty-two years
since this happened, I can still very strongly sympathize with Neils
and myself.
We thawed and roasted a fish, and started on, and about two o'clock
in the morning came upon a solitary lodge right on the road. This
proved to be a wood Stoney, Peter Pe-kah-ches. He and his family
were starving. There was no snow, and everything being crisp with
frost, he could not approach game. Peter was a renowned hunter, but
the season was against him, and thus he was starving. We gave him
part of our fish, and received the heart-felt blessings of the whole
family, who hardly waited to thaw some of the fish until they ate
them.
This lightened our hearts and our loads also, and we went on and
reached home before daylight.