Personnel of our party--My little rat terrier has a novel
experience--An Indian horse-thief's visit by night--I shoot and wound
him--An exciting chase--Saved by the vigilance of my rat terrier--We
reach the South Branch of the Saskatchewan--A rushing torrent--A
small skin canoe our only means of transport--Mr. Connor's fears of
drowning--Get our goods
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 carefu'" 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 swam 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-koo-tom, 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.
[Illustration: "I took deliberate aim, and fired at him."]
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 coming 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
hill 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 Carlton 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, ha!" 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!