We again go West――Hiding the trail――Red and white for once in
harmony――Peace and plenty――An autumn holiday――We select a winter’s
camp――The Forks――Hut-building――Our food supply――The autumn hunt――The
Great Prairie――Home thoughts――Indian instincts――The Lake of the
Winds――Buffalo――Good meat――A long stalk――The monarch of the waste――A
stampede――Wolves――The red man’s tobacco.
As we rode back to camp, the Sioux learned from the scout all that had
happened in the camp of the Assineboines, from the time that he had
himself brought news of the presence in the hills of the disabled Cree
and his protectors, until the moment when he had been captured by the
united efforts of the dog and his masters.
The Sioux listened eagerly to the story of the trader’s having
literally set a price upon his head; and when he reflected that all the
precautions which he, Red Cloud, had taken had been done in complete
ignorance of the machinations of his enemy, and only from casually
learning from the Cree that a party of hostile Indians had passed him
on the previous night, he felt how true is that lesson in war which
enjoins never neglecting in times of danger to guard against the worst
even though the least may only be threatened.
But Red Cloud learned from the story of the scout information for
future guidance, as well as confirmation of the course he had already
followed. He realized the fact that though the fire had already freed
him from the presence of the Assineboines, yet, that it could only
be a short respite; the bribe offered by the trader was too high to
allow these men to relinquish all hope of taking prizes which were to
make them great Indians for the rest of their lives. The necessity of
quickly shifting his ground, and of leaving altogether that part of
the country, became so fully apparent to him that he lost no time in
communicating to us his plan of action.
It was, to march that evening about ten miles towards the north, and
then to strike from the hills due west into the great plain. Being
heavily loaded with stores, we could not hope by dint of hard marching
to outstrip our enemies; but by taking unusual precautions to hide our
trail, we might succeed in successfully eluding the watchful eyes of
the Assineboines.
A hasty dinner followed the return of the party to camp, and then
preparations for departure were at once made. The Cree had made, in the
rest and care of the last two days, more progress to recovery than in
the whole period of his former convalescence, and he was now well able
to take his share in the work of striking camp.
When men bivouac in the open it takes but little time to make a camp or
to quit it, and ere the sun had set the whole party had got in motion,
and, led by the Sioux, were threading their course through the hills
farther towards the north.
The rain had ceased, but the grass was still too wet to burn, so that
the simple expedient of setting fire to the prairie in order to hide
a trail, was in this instance impossible. As, however, the point of
departure from the hills for the west was the point most essential to
obliterate, the Sioux did not so much care that our trail while in the
hills could easily be followed.
Not until midnight did he give the word to camp, and the first streak
of dawn found us again in motion. While the morning was still young
we arrived at a small river which flowed out from the hills into the
plain, and pursued, far as the eye could determine to the west, a
course sunken in a narrow valley deep beneath the level of the prairie.
Here was the point of departure. The stream was shallow, and the
current ran over a bed of sand and pebbles. The Sioux, Donogh, and I,
led the pack-horses along the centre of this river channel, while the
scout and the Cree were directed to ride many times to and fro up the
farther bank, and then to continue their course towards the north for
some miles.
It was Red Cloud’s intention to camp about fifteen miles lower down the
stream; he would only keep his horses in the bed of the channel for one
hour, by that time he would have gained a considerable distance down
stream; then selecting a dry or rocky place, we would have left the
channel and continued our course along the meadows on one side.
When the scout and the Cree had put some miles between them and the
stream they were to turn sharp to their left hand; first one, and later
on the other, and then rejoin us some time during the following day. By
these plans the Sioux hoped to foil any pursuers who might be on his
trail, and he would certainly succeed in delaying a pursuit until the
fine weather would again make the grass dry enough to allow it to burn.
Down the centre of the stream we led the pack-horses in file, and away
to the north went the scout and the Cree. It was toilsome work wading
along the channel of the river, which in some places held rocks and
large loose stones; but by little and little progress was made, and
ere sunset the dry ground was once more under foot, and our party was
pursuing a rapid course along the meadows to the west.
Red Cloud had told the scout that he would await him at the Minitchinas,
or Solitary Hill, a conical elevation in the plains some twenty miles
away to the west. At the north side of this hill our whole party came
again together about the middle of the following day, and after a hearty
meal we turned our faces towards that great plain which stretches from
the base of this solitary mound into what seemed an endless west.
Everybody was in high spirits; even the dog had quite recovered from
the effects of his arrow-wound, and the scout and he had become firm
friends.
It was a curious group this, that now held its course into the western
wilds.
[Illustration: It was a curious group this, that now held its course
into the western wilds.]
There were representatives of three of those strange families of the
aboriginal race of North America――that race now rapidly vanishing
from the earth, and soon only to be known by those wild names of soft
sound and poetic meaning which, in the days of their glory, they gave
to ridge, lake, and river, over the wild wilderness of their vast
dominions; and two white men from a far-distant land, alien in race,
strange in language, but bound to them by a sympathy of thought, by
a soldier instinct which was strong enough to bridge the wide gulf
between caste and colour, and make red and white unite in a real
brotherhood――a friendship often pictured in the early dreams of the
red race when the white man first sought the wilds, but never fully
realized in all these long centuries of war and strife, save when
the pale-faced stranger whom they called the Black Robe, came to
dwell amongst them and to tell them of a world beyond the grave, more
blissful than their fabled happy hunting-grounds, where red men and
white were to dwell, the servants of One Great Master.
And now days began to pass of quiet travel over the autumn prairies――days
of real enjoyment to me, who hour by hour read deeper into the great book
which nature ever holds open to those who care to be her students――that
book whose pages are sunsets and sunrises, twilights darkening over
interminable space, dawns breaking along distant horizons, shadows of
inverted hill-top lying mirrored in lonely lakes, sigh of west wind
across measureless meadow, long reach of silent river, stars, space, and
solitude.
Ten days of such travel carried our little party far into the west. We
had reached that part of the northern plains which forms the second of
those sandy ridges or plateaux which mount in successive steps from the
basin of the great lake Winnipeg, to the plains lying at the base of
the Rocky Mountains.
In this great waste game was numerous. Buffalo roamed in small bodies
hither and thither; cabri could be seen dotting the brown grass, or
galloping in light bounds to some vantage hill, from whence a better
survey of the travellers could be had; wolves and foxes kept skulking
in the prairie depressions, and dodged along the edges of ridges to
scent or sight their prey. The days were still fine and bright; but the
nightly increasing cold told that winter was slowly but surely coming
on.
It was now the middle of September, early enough still for summer travel,
but it would soon be necessary to look out for some wintering-ground,
where wood for a hut and fuel could be easily obtained, and where the
grass promised food for the horses during the long months of snow.
Almost every part of this vast ocean of grass had become thoroughly
known to Red Cloud. Land once crossed by a red man is ever after a
living memory to him. He can tell, years after he has passed along a
trail, some of the most trifling landmarks along it; a bush, a rock, a
sharply marked hill, will be all treasured in his memory; and though
years may have elapsed since his eye last rested upon this particular
portion of the great prairie, he will know all its separate features,
all the little hills, courses, or creeks which lie hidden amid the
immense spaces of this motionless ocean.
For some days the Sioux had been conning over in his mind the country,
seeking some spot lying within easy reach of where he was now moving
which yielded what our party required――timber, fuel, and grass. A few
years earlier he had camped at the point of junction of two rivers,
the Red Deer and the Medicine, not more than four days’ journey to
the north-west of where he now was. He remembered that amid a deep
thicket of birch, poplar, and cotton-wood, there stood a large group
of pine-trees. If fire had spared that part of the prairie, he knew
that the alluvial meadows along the converging rivers, would yield
rich store of winter food for the horses. He knew, too, that in other
respects the spot had many recommendations in its favour; it lay
almost in the centre of that neutral zone between the Cree country and
the sandy wastes of the Blackfeet nation, and that it was therefore
safe in winter from the roving bands of these wild tribes, whose
warfare is only carried on during the months of spring, summer, and
autumn. All these things combined made him fix upon this spot for the
winter camping-ground, and he began to shape the course of the party
more to the north, to see if the place held still in its sheltered
ridges all the advantages it had possessed when he had seen it for the
first and last time.
Riding along one sunny mid-day, he explained to me the prospect before
us.
“It is getting late in the season,” he said; “all the grass is yellow;
the wind has begun to rustle in the dry seeds and withered prairie
flowers; the frost of night gets harder and colder. At any moment we
may see a great change; that far off sky-line, now so clear cut against
the prairie, would become hidden; dense clouds would sweep across the
sky, and all the prairie would be wrapped in snow-drift.
“The winter in this north land is long and severe; the snow lies for
months upon the plains, in many feet in thickness it will rest upon yon
creek, now so full of bird-life. The cold will then be intense; all the
birds, save the prairie-grouse, the magpie, and the whisky jack, will
seek southern lands; the buffalo will not, however, desert us, they
may move farther north into the Saskatchewan, and wolves, foxes, and
coyotes will follow in their wake. Neither horse nor man can then brave
for any time the treeless plains.
“We must prepare for the winter,” he went on, “and my plan is this:
some days’ march from this is a spot which, when I last saw it, had
around it all that we shall require for our winter comfort. Where two
rivers come together there stands, sheltered among hills, a clump of
pine-trees. The points of the rivers are well wooded, and the marshes
along the banks hold wild vetch, and the pea plant of the prairie grows
through the under-bush, high above the snow, giving food to horses in
the worst seasons of the year.
“I don’t know any fitter place for winter camp in all the hundreds of
miles that are around us. We are now bound for that spot, and if things
are as I last saw them, we shall make our hut in the pine wood and
settle into our winter-quarters ere the cold has come. We have still
much to do, and it is time we set to work.”
I heard with joy these plans for the winter. The life was still so new
to me――the sense of breathing this fresh bright atmosphere, and of
moving day by day through this great ocean of grass, was in itself such
pleasure, that I had latterly ceased almost altogether to think much
about the future, feeling unbounded confidence in my Indian friend’s
skill and forethought.
Donogh and I had in fact been enjoying the utmost bliss of perfect
freedom――that only true freedom in life, the freedom of fording
streams, crossing prairies, galloping over breezy hill-tops, watching
wild herds in their daily habits of distance, seeing them trail along
slowly into golden sunsets, or file in long procession to some prairie
stream for the evening drink; or better still, marking some stray wolf
into a valley where he thought himself unseen, and dashing down upon
him with wild hulloo ready for the charge, while the silent echoes wake
to the clash of hoof and ring of cheer. All these things, and many
more, had filled the hours of our life in the past month to such a
degree, that our spirits seemed to have widened out to grasp the sense
of a freedom as boundless as the wilderness itself.
It was on the third day following the conversation above recorded, that
we came in sight of a low dark ridge, showing itself faintly above the
northern horizon.
Flowing in many serpentine bends, a small creek wound through the
prairie at our left hand, cotton-wood clusters fringed the “points” of
this stream, and long grass grew luxuriantly between the deep bends,
which sometimes formed almost a figure eight in the roundness of their
curves. Our party moved in a straight line, which almost touched the
outer points of these deep curves, and from the higher ground along
which we marched, the eye could at times catch the glint of water amid
the ends of grasses, and mark the wild ducks sailing thickly on the
rushy pools. I had used my gun frequently during the morning, and
when the mid-day hour had come we had a plentiful supply of wild ducks
hanging to our saddles.
In this life in the wilderness I had early learned the lesson of
killing only what was needed to supply the wants of the party. When
wild ducks were so plentiful, it would of course have been easy to
shoot any quantity of them; but that habit of civilized sport which
seeks only the “bag” had long since ceased to influence me, and I had
come to regard the wild creatures of the prairie, birds and beasts, as
far more worthy of study in life than in death. That terrible misnomer
“good sport” had for me a truer significance. It meant watching the
game by little and little, and killing only what was actually required
for the use of our fellow travellers and myself. During the mid-day
halt on this day Red Cloud held a long conversation with the other
Indians upon the place they were now tending to. The Assineboine had
never visited the spot, the Cree had been there on a war-party two
summers ago; but it was now, he thought, so late in the season that
there would be little danger of meeting any roving bands of Blackfeet,
and the Crees he knew to be far away towards the eastern prairies.
It would have been difficult to have imagined a more perfect scene
of a mid-day camp than that in which our little party found itself
on this bright autumnal day. The camp fire was made at the base of a
round knoll, which ran from the higher plateau of the prairie into
one of the deep bends of the creek; upon three sides a thick fringe of
cotton-wood lined the edges of the stream; the golden leaves of poplars
and the bronzed foliage of the bastard maple hung still and bright
in the quiet September day. Immediately around the camp grew small
bushes of wild plum, covered thickly with crimson and yellow fruits of
delicious flavour.
Ah, what a desert that was! When the wild ducks and the flour gelettes
had been eaten, a single shake of the bush brought down showers of wild
sweet fruit, and when we had eaten all we could, bags were filled for
future use.
But even such prairie repasts must come to an end, and it was soon
time to saddle and be off. So the horses were driven in, and resuming
our course, the evening found us on the banks of the Red Deer river,
not far from its point of junction with the Medicine. We camped that
night upon the banks of the stream, and early next day reached the
point of junction. A ford was soon found, and to the Sioux’ great joy
no trace of fire was to be seen in the meadows between the rivers, or
on the range of hills that lay to the north and east; all was still
and peaceful as he had last seen it. The pine bluff yet stood dark and
solemn at the point where the rivers met, and the meadows, as our party
rode through them, were knee-deep in grasses and long trailing plants.
And now began in earnest a period of hard work. First the small lodge
of dressed skins was pitched upon a knoll amid the pine-trees; then the
saddles and stores were all made safe, upon a rough stage supported
upon poles driven fast into the ground. Next began the clearing of
trees and brushwood on the site selected for the hut. It was a spot
close to the point formed by the meeting of the two rivers, but raised
about twenty feet above the water, and partly hidden by trees and
bushes. Tall pines grew on the site, but the axe of the Sioux and the
scout soon brought down these giants, and made clear the space around
where the hut was to stand.
It was wonderful to watch the ready manner in which the Indians worked
their hatchets; never a blow missed its mark, each falling with
unerring aim upon the spot where the preceding one had struck; then a
lower-struck cut would cause the huge splinters to fly from the trunk,
until, in a few moments the tree crashed to the earth in the exact line
the Indians wished it to fall.
Although a novice at woodman’s craft, I was no idle spectator of the
work. If a man has a quick eye, a ready hand, and a willing heart,
the difficulties that lie in things that are unknown to us are soon
overcome. Every hour’s toil made a sensible improvement in my work. I
soon learnt how to roughly square the logs, and to notch the ends of
them so that one log fitted closely to the other.
Donogh and the wounded Cree meantime looked after the horses, gathered
fuel for the fire, and cooked the daily meals of our party, and often
gave a hand at the lifting of log or labour of construction. Thus the
work went on without intermission, and day by day the little hut grew
in size. All day long the sound of wood-chopping echoed through the
pine wood at the point, over the silent rivers, causing some passing
wolf to pause in his gallop and listen to the unwonted noise; but no
human ear was there to catch it, or human eye to mark the thin column
of blue smoke that rose at eventime above the dark pine-tops when the
day’s work was over. There was no lack of food either. With a few
hooks and lines Donogh managed to do good work among the fishes in the
rivers. The creeks and ponds still held large flocks of wild ducks,
and many a fat black duck fell to a steady stalk of the Cree, whose
crawling powers were simply unmatched. The black-tailed buck were
numerous in the thickets around, and with so many things the larder
never wanted for game, venison, wild fowl, or fish.
Thus the days went by, and at last the hut was finished and ready for
occupation. It was an oblong structure, measuring twenty-five feet by
twenty. A low door gave admission upon the south side; east and west
held windows of parchment-skin drawn over a wooden frame that opened
and shut on leather hinges. At the north side stood the fireplace, a
large hearth, and a chimney capable of holding a quantity of pine logs.
Half the wooden door frame was also bound with parchment skins; thus
plenty of light could be obtained in rough weather, and when the days
would be still and fine both door and windows could be open.
“When the snow has fallen,” said Red Cloud to us, “the light from the
ground will be very great. The snow hanging on the pine boughs will
also light up the place, and the winter’s day will be brighter than you
can imagine. At night our logs will blaze brightly upon the hearth.”
The fireplace and chimney were built of stones and mud. The Indians had
carefully mixed the latter so as to ensure its standing the great heat
of the winter fires. The logs composing the walls were all of pines,
or, more properly speaking, of white spruce; they had been roughly
squared and notched at the end, to allow of their catching each other
and fitting tightly together; mud and moss had then been pressed into
the interstices so as to make them perfectly air-tight. The roof was
composed of long reed-grass, cut from a neighbouring swamp and dried
in the sun. The floor was plastered with a coating of mud, which, when
fully dry, made a smooth and firm surface. Altogether the interior
presented an aspect of great comfort――rude, it is true, but still
clean, bright, and cheerful.
It was a marvel to me how all this labour had been done, and this
result achieved, with only a few rude implements――a couple of axes,
a saw, a few gimlets and awls, and those wonderful knives which the
Indians themselves make from old files――those knives with which a ready
man can fashion a canoe, a dog-sled, or a snow-shoe, with a beauty of
design which no civilized art can excel.
But although shelter for the winter had been thus provided, an equally
important want had still to be attended to; a supply of meat sufficient
to last three months had to be obtained.
The Red Cloud had often spoken to me of the expedition which we had
still before us in the first month of the winter, and now that the hut
was finished the time had come for setting out in quest of buffalo.
“Of all the winter food which the prairie can give,” said he to me,
“there is no food like the meat of the buffalo. The time has now come
when the frost is sufficiently keen all day to keep the meat frozen,
therefore all we kill can be brought in; none of it will be lost. The
last buffalo we saw,” he continued, “were on the plains south of the
Elk river; they were scattered herds of bulls. The cows were then
absent three days’ march south of that ground; the herds were moving
very slowly to the west. About a week’s journey from here there is
a small lake in the plains, called the Lake of the Wind, from the
ceaseless movement of its waters. Day and night, even when the winds
are still, the waters of that lake move and dash with noise against
the pebbles on the shore. It is a favourite haunt for buffalo. To that
lake we shall steer our course; for four days we shall have to cross a
bare plain, on which no tree or bush grows; but at the lake there will
be wood in the caverns around the shores, and we can get shelter for
our tent, and fuel for fire, there. The horses are now all strong and
fat, and they will be able to stand the cold, no matter how severe it
may come.”
The Sioux spoke truly; a prairie horse is all right if he be fat. It
matters little in winter what he may be in speed, or strength, or
activity; as long as he is thick fat there is always a month’s work in
him.
Early on the day following the completion of the hut, all the horses
were driven in from the meadows in which they had spent the last three
weeks. They all looked fat and strong.
During some days past the Cree had been busy preparing sleds, for light
snow had now fallen; and although it had not lain long upon the ground,
it was, nevertheless, likely that ere the time for the return of our
party had arrived the ground would be white with its winter covering.
These sleds would be carried crossways upon a horse until the snow
would allow of their being drawn along the ground; they would each
carry about 500 pounds of meat, and that would form an ample supply for
the winter, with the venison and wild game that could be obtained in a
ten-mile circle around the hut.
All preparations having been finished, Red Cloud, Donogh, the scout,
and myself started on the following morning, bound for the south-west.
We took with us a small tent, six horses, and plenty of powder and
ball. The Cree and the dog remained to take charge of the hut. We
expected to be absent about one month. It was the 20th of October,
a bright, fair autumn day; hill and plain lay basking in a quiet
sunlight, the sky was clear and cloudless, the air had in it that crisp
of frost which made exercise a pleasure.
Winding along the meadows of the Red Deer, the pine bluff at the Forks
was soon lost to sight behind its circling hills.
The evening of the third day after quitting the hut at the Forks found
our little party camped on the edge of that treeless waste which
spreads in unbroken desolation from the banks of the Eagle Creek near
the North Saskatchewan to the Missouri. The spot where the lodge was
pitched bore among the half-breed hunters of the plains the title of
Les Trois Arbres.
It would have been difficult to have found a wilder scene than that
which spread itself to the south and west from this lonely group of
trees.
“Beyond the farthest verge of sight,” said the Sioux, as he pointed out
the general direction he proposed to follow on the morrow, “lies the
lake which the Indians have named the Lake of the Wind. From yonder
group of trees to the shore of that lake, four long days’ journey,
there does not grow one tree or bush upon the prairie. We must halt
here to-morrow, to bake bread and cut wood, to carry on the sleds,
sufficient to last us across this bare expanse. Once at the lake we
shall find wood in plenty, and I think the buffalo will not be far
distant.”
The sight upon which we now gazed was in truth almost sublime in its
vast desolation. The sun, just descended beneath the rim of the western
prairie, cast up into the sky one great shaft of light.
The intense rarity of the atmosphere made the landscape visible to its
most remote depths. A few aspen clumps, and the three trees already
mentioned, grew near the standpoint from which we looked; but in front
no speck of tree met the eye, and the unbroken west lay waiting for the
night in all the length and breadth of its lonely distance.
Never before had I beheld so vast an extent of treeless ground. The
other prairies over which we had journeyed were dwarfed in my mind
by the one now before me. I seemed to be standing upon the shore of
a rigid sea――an ocean, whose motionless waves of short brown grass
appeared to lie in a vast torpor up to, and beyond, the sunset itself;
and this sense of enormous space was heightened by the low but profound
murmur of the wind, as it swept by our standpoint, from vast distance,
into distance still as vast.
The whole of the following day was spent in preparations for crossing
this great waste. A quantity of dry poplar sticks were cut into lengths
suitable for packing upon the sleds.
The fire in the leather tent was kept briskly going, and a good supply
of gelettes was baked before it.
“We will need all the wood we can carry with us,” said the Sioux, “for
the work of boiling the morning and evening kettle.”
When the sunset hour had again come, I was out again upon the hill top
to watch the sun set over the immeasurable waste. My wanderings had
taught me that it was at this hour of sunset that the wilderness put
on its grandest aspect; and often was it my wont to watch its varying
shades, as, slowly sinking into twilight, the vagueness of night stole
over the prairie.
It was at these times of sunset, too, that I seemed to see again all
the well-remembered scenes of my early days in the old glen. Out of
the vast silent wilderness came the brown hill of Seefin, and the
gorse-covered sides of Knockmore. I could fancy that my ear caught
the murmur of the west wind through the heather. How far off it all
seemed――dreamlike in its vividness and its vast distance!
Very early next morning the tent was struck, the horses were driven
in, loads packed, and all made ready for the launch of the little
expedition upon the great prairie sea.
The Sioux led the advance. Long ere mid-day the last glimpse of the
Trois Arbres had vanished beneath the plain. In the afternoon a
snow-storm swept across the waste, wrapping earth and heaven in its
blinding drift. Still the Indian held his way at the same steady pace.
“It is well,” he said to me as I rode close behind him. “If there are
any roving bands on the borders of this great prairie, they will not
see us in this storm.”
Before sunset the storm ceased, the clouds rolled away to the south,
and the boundless plain lay around us on all sides, one dazzling
expanse of snow.
Camp was pitched at sunset in the bottom of a deep _coulee_. A night of
intense cold followed the storm; but within the leather lodge the fire
soon gave light and warmth; and as soon as supper was over we lay down
on each side of the embers, wrapped in our robes.
Thus we journeyed on for some days, until, on the afternoon of the
fourth from quitting Les Trois Arbres, we drew near the Lake of the
Wind.
The weather had again become fine, and, for the season, mild. The snow
had partly vanished, and the sun shone with a gentle lustre, that made
bright and golden the yellow grasses of the great waste.
For several hours before the lake was reached, the trees that grew
near its shores had become visible. I had noticed that these clumps
had risen out of the blank horizon straight in front of us, showing
how accurate had been the steering of the Sioux across a waste that
had presented to the eye of the ordinary beholder apparently not one
landmark for guidance.
I asked the Indian by what marks he had directed his course.
“I could not tell you,” replied the Sioux. “It is an instinct born in
us; it comes as easy to us as it does to the birds, or to the buffalo.
Look up,” he went on; “see that long line of ‘wavies’ sailing to the
south. Night and day they keep that line; a week ago they were at the
North Sea; in a few days they will be where winter never comes. Before
man gave up this free life of the open air, while yet the forest and
the plain were his homes, he knew all these things better even than did
the birds or the beasts; he knew when the storm was coming; the day
and the night were alike to him when he travelled his path through the
forest; his course across the lake was clear to him: but when he grew
to be what you call civilized then he lost the knowledge of the sky,
and of the earth; he became helpless. It is so with the red men; year
by year, we lose something of the craft and knowledge of wood, plain,
and river. One hundred years ago, our young men hunted the buffalo and
the wapiti with the weapons they had themselves made; now it is the
gun or the rifle of the white man that is used by them. Without these
things, which they buy from the traders, they would die, because they
have mostly forgotten the old methods of the chase. Before the horse
came to us from the Spaniard, we hunted the buffalo on foot, and our
young men could chase the herds from sunrise until dusk of evening;
before the gun came to us from the French we killed even the grizzly
bears with our arrows, and straight and true they flew from the bow
drawn on horseback or on foot.”
As thus the Sioux showed how deeply he had studied the past history of
his race, the scattered woods that fringed the lake took better defined
form, and soon the sheen of water became visible through openings in
the belts of forest.
As we drew still nearer, the whole outline of the lake was to be seen.
It lay between deeply indented shores at its northern, or nearer end,
but farther off to the south it stretched out into a broader expanse of
water. The evening was perfectly calm, the branches of the trees did
not move, but the water, still unfrozen in the centre of the lake, was
agitated with many waves, and a restless surge broke upon the edges
of ice with a noise which was plainly audible on the shore. It was a
singular scene, this restless lake lying amid this vast rigid waste.
The Sioux bent his way into one of the long promontories, and soon a
spot was selected amid a thick screen of aspens and maple, where the
tent was pitched in shelter, and all made comfortable against the now
approaching night.
Next day broke fresh and fair; the air was keen and cold, but the dry
fuel, now obtainable in plenty, had kept the lodge warm; and soon
after sunrise the sun came out, glistening upon the white branches of
the leafless trees, and the hoar-frosted grass, and shallow snow of
the plain, and making all things look bright and cheerful. We were
soon in the saddle. The Sioux led the advance, and swinging round by
the southern end of the lake we gained some high and broken ground.
The Sioux had ridden on some distance in advance, and I was about to
quicken my pace in order to overtake him, when suddenly I caught sight
of a dark object appearing above a depression in a ridge some way to
my right; the ridge itself concealed lower ground beyond it, and the
object, which for a second had caught my eye was the back of some
animal that was standing partially hidden within this lower space.
I was glad to have thus caught first sight of game, before even the
quick eye of the Sioux had lighted upon it. Keeping low upon my
horse, I galloped forward, and told my companion what I had seen. He
immediately reconnoitred the hollow, and came back to say that it held
three animals, two buffalo cows and one calf! As I had first discovered
the game, I was to have first shot. We both dismounted, and crept
cautiously up to the edge of the ridge and looked over. From this edge
to where the animals stood was about one hundred and fifty yards. I
laid my rifle over the ridge top, took a steady aim, and fired at the
cow that stood nearest to me. Then we both sprang to our feet, and ran
with all speed down the hill towards the animals. The cow I had fired
at moved off with difficulty, the others bounded away up the opposite
ridge. It was now the Sioux’ turn. Stopping short in his long stride
he fired quickly, and ran on again. The buffalo at which he fired had
gained the summit of the distant ridge, and was for a moment clearly
shown on the white hill-top and against the blue sky beyond it. I was
so intent upon watching my own animal that I had no time to take note
of whether his shot had struck; but, reloading as I ran, I soon reached
the bottom of the little valley. My buffalo was still moving quietly up
the incline, evidently sorely wounded. Another shot from my rifle ere
the beast had reached the top of the ridge brought her to the ground,
no more to rise. We breasted quickly up the incline until the top was
gained, and there, just beyond the summit, lay the Sioux’ buffalo,
quite dead in the snow. What a scene it was as we stood on this prairie
ridge! Away on all sides spread the white and yellow prairie, the
longer grasses still showing golden in the sunlight above the sparkling
layer of snow; there was not a cloud in the vast blue vault that hung
over this glistening immensity; the Lake of the Wind lay below us, its
line of shore-wood showing partially dark against its snow, and its
centre of open water lying blue as the sky above it, set in a frame of
snow-crusted ice. Close at hand, on either side of the ridge where we
stood, lay the dark bodies of our buffalo, stretched upon the shallow
snow.
[Illustration: We both sprang to our feet, and ran with all speed
towards the animals.]
Both animals proved to be in very good condition. “You will taste
to-night,” said the Sioux to me, “the best bit of meat to be got in the
prairie――the flesh of a fat cow buffalo; the finest beef is but poor
food compared to it.”
We were still so near our camp that we determined to get the sleds
out and drag it in, before night would give the wolves a chance of
plundering our winter store of meat. The Sioux began to skin and cut up
the buffalo, and I went back to where we had left the horses, and then
rode to the camp to bring Donogh, the scout, and the sled to the scene.
It was astonishing to see the rapid manner with which the two Indians
cut up these large animals. Early in the afternoon we were all back
in the camp, with three sled-loads of primest meat; we brought skins,
marrow-bones, tongues, and tit-bits; and the remainder of the daylight
was spent in arranging the supplies safe from the ravage of prowling
wolves and in preparing for a good feast after the labours of the day.
Pleasant it was that night, when the darkness had fallen over the
silent wilderness, to look at the cosy scene presented by our camp.
We had swept clear of brushwood and snow a large space on one side of
our leather lodge. Maple-trees grew thickly around it; in the centre
burned clear and bright a fire of dry logs. Steaks were roasting
before glowing embers, the kettle was steaming from a cross-stick,
marrow-bones were toasting, gelettes were baking in a pan set facing
the fire and backed up with hot embers, while, seated on buffalo robes,
around the fire we sat, canopied by the starlight, circled by the vast
and lonely wilderness.
The next morning found us again in the saddle, but this time Donogh
came to share our sport. Our course now lay in a westerly direction
from the lake. It was in that line that the yearling calf had retreated
on the previous day, and there it was likely we should fall in with
buffalo. It was mid-day however before the sight of buffalo gladdened
our eyes. Far away to the south dim dark specks were visible. Ascending
a ridge in the direction of the animals, we had a better view of the
plains. A large herd was distinctly visible, moving slowly towards the
north-west. We watched them for some minutes. “We must cross them on
their line of march,” said the Sioux to me; then we rode briskly off
towards the south-west keeping our horses along the hollows of the
prairie. It was his intention to take up a position in advance of the
herd, and then await its coming. He preferred this mode of attack in
the present instance to running the buffalo upon horseback: the light
covering of snow was sufficient to render the prairie dangerous, since
it had partially hidden the badger holes, and the surface was hard with
frost. “Our horses have to carry us home to the Red Deer river,” he
said as we cantered along; we must be careful how we use them. We soon
reached the edge of what seemed to be a channel of a stream through
the prairie; but there was no water in the wide grassy hollow that ran
in sweeping curves over the plains, nor could a stream of water ever
have flowed in it, because it followed the general undulations of the
land around, although the floor or bottom of it was always lower than
the land that bordered it on either side. We now saw that the line of
the buffalo’s advance was up this grassy hollow, and as the wind was
favourable we would only have to conceal ourselves in the floor of this
depression and to await the approach of the herd. Leaving the horses in
a deep hollow, we gained a spot in the grassy channel where we could
lie concealed behind tufts of grass and snow; here we lay down to await
the buffalo. It was not very long before the leading ones came in sight
of our hiding-place, round a curve in the depression about four hundred
yards distant.
Then in scattered files more came into view, walking slowly and
deliberately forward in that complete unconstraint with which the wild
animals of the earth take their leisure when they fancy their great
enemy, man, is far away from them.
A very old bull led the advance, moving some distance in front of any
other beast.
The snow of many a winter’s storm, the gleam of many a summer’s sun,
had matted and tangled his shaggy mane and sweeping frontlet.
As he approached nearer to us we could see his eyes gleaming brightly
from beneath the thick masses of hair that hung from his forehead; but
there was no trace of that anger or fright such as the hunter sees when
in pursuit of a flying herd. The look now was calm and tranquil; the
great beast was at home in this solitary waste, as his race through
countless generations had been at home here; for in these wilds, so
green in summer, so white in winter, he and his had roamed since time
began.
“Do not fire at him,” said the Sioux in a low tone to me. “He would be
useless to us.”
The old veteran had now come to a halt, about thirty paces in front
of where we lay. He was so close to us that we could mark with ease
every movement of his shaggy head, every expression of his eye. Some
vague idea that there was danger in front seemed to have come upon him,
for once or twice he turned his head round, as if to see whether his
comrades were close at hand.
As they came closing up to him from behind, the same vague feeling
of fear or suspicion seemed to have communicated itself to them, for
they also paused irresolute on their way. That the suspicion was not
directed towards any particular point, was evident from the looks which
the huge animals continued to turn to either side. As thus they stood,
gradually closing up from behind upon the leader, a storm that for some
time had been threatening, broke over the prairie, whirling snow in
dense drifts before it, and wrapping the scene in chaotic desolation.
Truly, a weird wild picture was that before us――the great waste
narrowed for the moment by the curtain clouds of wintry tempest, the
dark animals vaguely seen through the wrack of drift, and the huge form
of the monarch of the prairie standing out against the background of
gloom. It is many a long day now since I looked upon that scene, but I
see it still before me, through time and distance.
The old buffalo, as though reassured by the proximity of his friends,
now began to move forward again.
The Sioux whispered to me to aim at a young bull that had come up
towards the front. He was some little way behind the old leader, but
his side was partly visible to me. I aimed low behind his shoulder, and
fired. In a second, the scene had changed; all was wild confusion among
the herd. Where all had been torpor, all became movement; to sense of
security followed intense fright; and away in wild stampede, through
drift and storm, fled the suddenly startled animals. The young bull
had, however, received his death-wound; he soon dropped from the ranks
of the flying herd, and lay down to die.
It was now so late in the day that we could not hope to get the beast
home to our camp before the morrow. But to leave the dead animal as
he was, on the prairies, exposed for the night to the ravage of wolves
and foxes, would have been to find little remaining save his bones
next day. The Sioux stuck his ramrod into the ribs of the buffalo, and
fastened his powder-flask to the rod, letting it swing in the wind.
This precaution made the carcase safe from attack, at least for one
night; for keener than the scent of food with the wolf is his scent for
powder, and he will long continue to circle around meat thus protected,
ere his greed will bring him close to it for plunder.
As we rode home to the camp, the snowstorm that had swept the plains
abated; but a bitterly cold wind was blowing across the prairie, and a
lurid sunset foreshadowed a continuance of wild weather.
The stock of dry wood for fuel was, however, large; and sheltered amid
the thickets, our camp-fire blazed brightly, while again we brought
back from our long day’s work those keen appetites to relish the good
things of steak and bone and tit-bit that only the prairie hunter can
ever know. Pleasant used it to be on such nights to sit before the camp
fire and watch the wind, as, blowing in gusts, it whirled the yellow
flames through the dry logs, while the peeled willows baked by the
embers.
On this evening the scout brought out a plentiful supply of willow
rods, which he had cut during our absence along a part of the lake
shore to which he had wandered. The outer bark of these willows was a
bright red colour. This outer bark the scout had peeled off, leaving
beneath it a soft inner skin. Having carefully peeled down this inner
skin, so as to make it form ringlets or curls of bark at the knots on
the willow rods, the ends of the rods were now stuck in the ground
close by the fire. The heat soon caused the strips of bark to become
crisp, and fit for smoking. It is in this manner that the Indians make
their “Kinni-kinnick” tobacco.
Wherever the red willow grows, by margin of lake or shore of river,
along the edge of swamp or thicket, there the tobacco pouch of the red
man is easily replenished; and mixed with real tobacco, this inner bark
of the willow forms the universal smoking-mixture of the tribes that
roam the northern wastes.
In the “thick wood” country, lying between lakes Superior and Winnipeg,
the red willow is scarce, but a weed not unlike dwarf box is found.
Dried before a fire, its leaves form kinni-kinnick, like the willow
bark. True to his habit, of taking a last look at the horses before
lying down for the night, the Sioux arose from his robe at the fire
and went out into the open. The horses had sought the shelter of
the thicket; the wind was beginning to rise; no stars were visible,
the branches of the dwarf trees sent forth a mournful sigh as the
night-winds passed through them.
“To-morrow,” he said, when he came back to the tent, “winter will be on
all the land.”
It did not matter. We wrapped ourselves in our robes and lay down to
sleep, heedless alike of rising storm and falling snowflake.