"Well he _were_ a queer bear--a _queer_ un--th' _queerest_ I ever hear
tell about. Awake in _winter_ an' takin' after folks without bein'
_provoked_. 'Tis th' first black bear _I_ ever heard tell about that
done that. I knows bears pretty well an' they alus takes tother way
about as fast as their legs 'll carry un."
"Now, if you wants me t' tell about this bear ye'll ha' t' stop
interruptin'."
"No one said as they wanted ye to."
"Now I'm goin' t' tell un whatever."
"As I were sayin', th' bear he takes after me wi' his best licks an' I
takes off an' tries t' load my gun as I runs. I drops in a han'ful o'
powder an' then finds I gone an' left my ball pouch at th' fire. It
were pretty hard runnin' wi' my racquets sinkin' in th' snow, which
were new an' soft an' I were losin' ground an' gettin' winded an'
'twere lookin' like un's goin' t' cotch me sure. All t' onct I see a
place where the snow's drifted up three fathoms deep agin a ledge an'
even wi' th' top of un. I makes for un an' runs right over th' upper
side an' th' bear he comes too, but he has no racquets and th' snow's
soft, bein' fresh drift an' down he goes sinkin' most out o' sight an'
th' more un wallers th' worse off un is."
"An' what does you do?" asks Bob.
"What does I do? I stops an' laughs at un a bit. Then I lashes my
sheath knife on th' end o' a pole spear-like, an' sticks th' bear back
o' th' fore leg an' kills un, an' then I has bear's meat wi' my tea,
an' in th' spring gets four dollars from th' company for the skin."
In twenty minutes they had the pelt removed from the bear and Dick
generously insisted upon Bob taking it as the first-fruits of his
inland hunt, saying: "Ye earned he wi' yer runnin'."
The best of the meat was cut from the carcass, and that night thick,
luscious steaks were broiled for supper, and the remainder packed for
future use on the journey.
Fine weather had attended the voyageurs thus far but that night the
sky clouded heavily and when they emerged from the tent the next
morning a thick blanket of snow covered the earth and weighted down
the branches of the spruce trees. The storm had spent itself in the
night, however, and the day was clear and sparkling. Very beautiful
the white world looked when the sun came to light it up; but the snow
made tracking less easy, and warned the travellers that no time must
be lost in reaching their destination, for it was a harbinger of the
winter blasts and blizzards soon to blow.
Early that afternoon they came in view of the rushing waters of the
Gull Island Rapids, with their big foam crested waves angrily
assailing the rocks that here and there raised their ominous heads
above the torrent. The greater length of these rapids can be tracked,
with some short portages around the worst places. Before entering them
everything was lashed securely into the boat, as at the Porcupine
Rapids, and the tracking line fastened a few inches back of the bow
leaving enough loose end to run to the stern and this was tied
securely there to relieve the unusual strain on the bow fastening. Ed
took the position of steersman in the boat, while the other three were
to haul upon the line.
When all was made ready and secure, they started forward, bringing the
craft into the heavy water, which opposed its progress so vigorously
that it seemed as though the rope must surely snap. Stronger and
stronger became the strain and harder and harder pulled the men. All
of Ed's skill was required to keep the boat straight in the
treacherous cross current eddies where the water swept down past the
half-hidden rocks in the river bed.
They were pushing on tediously but surely when suddenly and without
warning the fastening at the bow broke loose, the boat swung away into
the foam, and in a moment was swallowed up beneath the waves. The rear
fastening held however and the boat was thrown in against the bank.
But Ed had disappeared in the fearful flood of rushing white water.
The other three stood appalled. It seemed to them that no power on
earth could save him. He must certainly be dashed to death upon the
rocks or smothered beneath the onrushing foam.
For a moment all were inert, paralyzed. Then Dick, accustomed to act
quickly in every emergency, slung the line around a boulder, took a
half hitch to secure it and, without stopping to see whether it would
hold or not, ran down stream at top speed with Bob and Bill at his
heels.
V
THE TRAILS ARE REACHED
Ed had been cast away in rapids before, and when he found himself in
the water, with the wilderness traveller's quick appreciation of the
conditions, he lay limp, without a struggle. If he permitted the
current to carry him in its own way on its course, he might be swept
past the rocks uninjured to the still water below. If one struggle was
made it might throw him out of the current's course against a boulder,
where he would be pounded to death or rendered unconscious and surely
drowned. He was swept on much more rapidly than his companions could
run and quite hidden from them by the big foam-crested waves.
It seemed ages to the helpless man before he felt his speed slacken
and finally found himself in the eddy where they had begun to track.
Here he struck out for the river bank only a few yards distant, and,
half drowned, succeeded in pulling himself ashore. A few minutes
later, when the others came running down, they found him, to their
great relief, sitting on the bank quite safe, wringing the water from
his clothing, and their fear that he was injured was quickly dispelled
by his looking up as they approached and remarking, as though nothing
unusual had occurred,
"Bathin's chilly this time o' year. Let's put on a fire an' boil
th'kettle."
"I don't know as we got a kettle or anythin' else," said Dick,
laughing at Ed's bedraggled appearance and matter-of-fact manner. "We
better go back an' see. I hitched th' trackin' line to a rock, but I
don't know's she's held."
"Well, let's look. I'm a bit damp, an' thinkin' _I_ wants a fire,
whatever."
A cold northwest wind had sprung up in the afternoon and the snow was
drifting unpleasantly and before the boat was reached Ed's wet
garments were frozen stiff as a coat of mail and he was so chilled
through that he could scarcely walk. The line had held and they found
the boat in an eddy below a high big boulder. It was submerged, but
quite safe, with everything, thanks to the careful lashings, in its
place, save a shoulder of bear's meat that had loosened and washed
away.
"I thinks, lads, we'll be makin' camp here. Whilst I puts a fire on
an' boils th' kettle t' warm Ed up, you pitch camp. 'Twill be nigh
sun-down afore Ed gets dried out, an' too late t' go any farther,"
suggested Dick.
In a few minutes the fire was roaring and Ed thawing out and drinking
hot tea as he basked in the blaze, while Dick chopped fire-wood and
Bob and Bill unloaded the boat and put up the tent and made it snug
for the night.
Heretofore they had found the outside camp-fire quite sufficient for
their needs, and had not gone to the trouble of setting up the stove,
but it was yet some time before dark, and as the wet clothing and
outfit could be much more easily and quickly dried under the shelter
of the heated tent than in the drifting snow by the open fire, it was
decided to put the stove in use on this occasion. Bob selected a flat
stone upon which to rest it, for without this protection the moss
beneath, coming into contact with the hot metal, would have dried
quickly and taken fire.
When everything was brought in and distributed in the best place to
dry, Bob took some birch bark, thrust it into the stove and lighted
it. Instantly it flared up as though it had been oil soaked. This
made excellent kindling for the wood that was piled on top, and in an
incredibly short time the tent was warm and snug as any house. Ed left
the open fire and joined Bob and Bill, and in a few minutes Dick came
in with an armful of wood.
"Well, un had a good wettin' an' a cold souse," said he, as he piled
the wood neatly behind the stove, addressing himself to Ed, who, now
quite recovered from his chill, stood with his back to the stove,
puffing contentedly at his pipe, with the steam pouring out of his wet
clothes.
"'Twere just a fine time wi' th' dip I had ten year ago th' winter
comin'," said Ed, ruminatively. "'Twere _nothin'_ to that un."
"An' where were that?" asked Dick.
"I were out o' tea in March, an' handy to havin' no tobaccy, an' I
says t' myself, 'Ed, ye can't stay in th' bush till th' break up wi'
nary a bit o' tea, and ye'd die wi'out tobaccy. Now ye got t' make th'
cruise t' th' Post.' Well, I fixes up my traps, an' packs grub for a
week on my flat sled (toboggan) an' off I goes. 'Twere fair goin' wi'
good hard footin' an' I makes fine time. Below th' Gull Rapids, just
above where I come ashore th' day, I takes t' th' ice thinkin' un
good, an' 'twere lucky I has my racquets lashed on th' flat sled an'
not walkin' wi' un, for I never could a swum wi' un on. Two fathoms
from th' shore I steps on bad ice an' in I goes, head an' all, an' th'
current snatches me off'n my feet an' carries me under th' ice, an'
afore I knows un I finds th' water carryin' me along as fast as a deer
when he gets th' wind."
"An' how did un get out?" asked Bob in open-mouthed wonder.
"'Twere sure a hard fix _under_ th' ice," remarked Bill, equally
interested.
"A wonderful hard fix, a _wonderful_ hard fix, _under_ th' ice, an' I
were handy t' stayin' under un," said Ed, taking evident delight in
keeping his auditors in suspense. "Aye, a _wonderful_ hard fix,"
continued he, while he hacked pieces from his tobacco plug and filled
his pipe.
"An' where were I?" asked Dick, making a quick calculation of past
events. "I were huntin' wi' un ten year ago, an' I don't mind ye're
gettin' in th' ice."
"'Twere th' winter un were laid up wi' th' lame leg, an' poor Frank
Morgan were huntin' along wi' me. Frank were lost th' same spring in
th' Bay. Does un mind that?"
"'Twere only _nine_ year ago I were laid up an' Frank were huntin' my
trail," said Dick.
"Well, maybe 'twere only nine year; 'twere _nine_ or _ten_ year ago,"
Ed continued, with some show of impatience at Dick's questioning.
"Leastways 'twere thereabouts. Well, I finds myself away off from th'
hole I'd dropped into, an' no way o' findin' he. The river were low
an' had settled a foot below th' ice, which were four or five feet
thick over my head, an' no way o' cuttin' out. So what does I do?"
"An' what does un do?" asked Dick.
"What does I do? I keeps shallow water near th' shore an' holdin' my
head betwixt ice an' water makes down t' th' Porcupine Rapids. 'Twere
a long an' wearisome pull, an' thinks I, 'Tis too much--un's done for
now.' After a time I sees light an' I goes for un. 'Twere a place near
a rock where th' water swingin' around had kept th' ice thin. I gets
t' un an' makes a footin' on th' rock. I gets out my knife an' finds
th' ice breaks easy, an' cuts a hole an' crawls out. By th' time I
gets on th' ice I were pretty handy t' givin' up wi' th' cold."
"'Twere a close call," assented Dick, as he puffed at his pipe
meditatively.
"How far did un go under th' ice?" asked Bill, who had been much
interested in the narrative.
"Handy t' two mile."
For several days after this the men worked very hard from early dawn
until the evening darkness drove them into camp. The current was swift
and the rapids great surging torrents of angry water that seemed bent
upon driving them back. One after another the Horseshoe, the Ninipi,
and finally, after much toil, the Mouni Rapids were met and conquered.
The weather was stormy and disagreeable. Nearly every day the air was
filled with driving snow or beating cold rain that kept them wet to
the skin and would have sapped the courage and broken the spirit of
less determined men. But they did not mind it. It was the sort of
thing they had been accustomed to all their life.
With each morning, Bob, full of the wilderness spirit, took up the
work with as much enthusiasm as on the day he left Wolf Bight. At
night when he was very tired and just a bit homesick, he would try to
picture to himself the little cabin that now seemed far, far away, and
he would say to himself,
"If I could spend th' night there now, an' be back here in th'
mornin', 'twould be fine. But when I _does_ go back, the goin' home'll
be fine, an' pay for all th' bein' away. An' the Lard lets me, I'll
have th' fur t' send Emily t' th' doctors an' make she well."
One day the clouds grew tired of sending forth snow and rain, and the
wind forgot to blow, and the waters became weary of their rushing. The
morning broke clear and beautiful, and the sun, in a blaze of red and
orange grandeur, displayed the world in all its rugged primeval
beauty. The travellers had reached Lake Wonakapow, a widening of the
river, where the waters were smooth and no current opposed their
progress. For the first time in many days the sails were hoisted, and,
released from the hard work, the men sat back to enjoy the rest, while
a fair breeze sent them up the lake.
"'Tis fine t' have a spell from th' trackin'," remarked Ed as he
lighted his pipe.
"Aye, 'tis that," assented Dick, "an' we been makin' rare good time
wi' this bad weather. We're three days ahead o' my reckonin'."
How beautiful it was! The water, deep and dark, leading far away,
every rugged hill capped with snow, and the white peaks sparkling in
the sunshine. A loon laughed at them as they passed, and an invisible
wolf on a mountainside sent forth its long weird cry of defiance.
They sailed quietly on for an hour or two. Finally Ed pointed out to
Bob a small log shack standing a few yards back from the shore,
saying:
"An' there's my tilt. Here I leaves un."
Bill Campbell was at the tiller, and the boat was headed to a strip of
sandy beach near the tilt. Presently they landed. Ed's things were
separated from the others and taken ashore, and all hands helped him
carry them up to the tilt.
There was no window in the shack and the doorway was not over four
feet high. Within was a single room about six by eight feet in size,
with a rude couch built of saplings, running along two sides, upon
which spruce boughs, used the previous year and now dry and dead, were
strewn for a bed. The floor was of earth. The tilt contained a sheet
iron stove similar to the one Bob had brought, but no other furniture
save a few cooking utensils. The round logs of which the rough
building was constructed, were well chinked between them with moss,
making it snug and warm.
[Illustration]
This was where Ed kept his base of supplies. His trail began here and
ran inland and nearly northward for some distance to a lake whose
shores it skirted, and then, taking a swing to the southwest, came
back to the river again and ended where Dick's began, and the two
trappers had a tilt there which they used in common. Between these
tilts were four others at intervals of twelve to fifteen miles, for
night shelters, the distance between them constituting a day's work,
the trail from end to end being about seventy miles long.
The trails which the other three were to hunt led off, one from the
other--Dick's, Bill's and then the Big Hill trail, with tilts at the
juncture points and along them in a similar manner to the arrangement
of Ed's, and each trail covering about the same number of miles as
his. Each man could therefore walk the length of his trail in five
days, if the weather were good, and, starting from one end on Monday
morning have a tilt to sleep in each night and reach his last tilt on
the other end Friday night. This gave him Saturday in which to do odd
jobs like mending, and Sunday for rest, before taking up the round
again on Monday.
It was yet too early by three weeks to begin the actual trapping, but
much in the way of preparation had to be done in the meantime. This
was Tuesday, and it was agreed that two weeks from the following
Saturday Ed and Dick should be at the tilt where their trails met and
Bill and Bob at the junction of their trails, ready to start their
work on the next Monday. This would bring Dick and Bill together on
the following Friday night and Bob and Ed would each be alone, one at
either end of the series of trails and more than a hundred miles from
his nearest neighbour.
"I hopes your first cruise'll be a good un, an' you'll be doin' fine
th' winter, Bob. Have a care now for th' Nascaupees," said Ed as they
shook hands at parting.
"Thanks," answered Bob, "an' I hopes you'll be havin' a fine hunt
too."
Then they were off, and Ed's long winter's work began.
The next afternoon Dick's first tilt was reached, and a part of his
provisions and some of Ed's that they had brought on for him, were
unloaded there. Dick, however, decided to go with the young men to the
tilt at the beginning of the Big Hill trail, to help them haul the
boat up and make it snug for the winter, saying, "I'm thinkin' you
might find her too heavy, an' I'll go on an' give a hand, an' cut
across to my trail, which I can do handy enough in a day, havin' no
pack."
An hour before dark on Friday evening they reached the tilt. Dick was
the first to enter it, and as he pushed open the door he stopped with
the exclamation:
"That rascal Micmac!"
VI
ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS
The stove and stovepipe were gone, and fresh, warm ashes on the floor
gave conclusive proof that the theft had been perpetrated that very
day. Some one had been occupying the tilt, too, as new boughs spread
for a bed made evident.
"More o' Micmac John's work," commented Dick as he kicked the ashes.
"He's been takin' th' stove an' he'll be takin' th' fur too, an' he
gets a chance."
"Maybe 'twere Mountaineers," suggested Bill.
"No, 'twere no Mountaineers--_them_ don't steal. No un ever heard o' a
Mountaineer takin' things as belongs to _other_ folks. _Injuns_ be
honest--leastways all but half-breeds."
"Nascaupees might a been here," offered Bob, having in mind the
stories he had heard of them, and feeling now that he was almost
amongst them.
"No, Nascaupees 'd have no use for a _stove_. They'd ha' burned th'
tilt. 'Tis Micmac John, an' he be here t' steal fur. 'Tis t' steal
fur's what _he_ be after. But let me ketch un, an' he won't steal much
more fur," insisted Dick, worked up to a very wrathful pitch.
They looked outside for indications of the course the marauder had
taken, and discovered that he had returned to the river, where his
canoe had been launched a little way above the tilt, and had either
crossed to the opposite side or gone higher up stream. In either case
it was useless to attempt to follow him, as, if they caught him at
all, it would be after a chase of several days, and they could not
well afford the time. There was nothing to do, therefore, but make the
best of it. Bob's tent stove was set up in place of the one that had
been stolen. Then everything was stowed away in the tilt.
The next morning came cold and gray, with heavy, low-hanging clouds,
threatening an early storm. The boat was hauled well up on the shore,
and a log protection built over it to prevent the heavy snows that
were soon to come from breaking it down.
Before noon the first flakes of the promised storm fell lazily to the
earth and in half an hour it was coming so thickly that the river
twenty yards away could not be seen, and the wind was rising. The
three cut a supply of dry wood and piled what they could in the tilt,
placing the rest within reach of the door. Then armfuls of boughs were
broken for their bed. All the time the storm was increasing in power
and by nightfall a gale was blowing and a veritable blizzard raging.
When all was made secure, a good fire was started in the stove, a
candle lighted, and some partridges that had been killed in the
morning put over with a bit of pork to boil for supper. While these
were cooking Bill mixed some flour with water, using baking soda for
leaven--"risin'" he called it--into a dough which he formed into cakes
as large in circumference as the pan would accommodate and a quarter
of an inch thick. These cakes he fried in pork grease. This was the
sort of bread that they were to eat through the winter.
The meal was a cozy one. Outside the wind shrieked angrily and swirled
the snow in smothering clouds around the tilt, and rattled the
stovepipe, threatening to shake it down. It was very pleasant to be
out of it all in the snug, warm shack with the stove crackling
contentedly and the place filled with the mingled odours of the
steaming kettle of partridges and tea and spruce boughs. To the
hunters it seemed luxurious after their tedious fight against the
swift river. Times like this bring ample recompense to the wilderness
traveller for the most strenuous hardships that he is called upon to
endure. The memory of one such night will make men forget a month of
suffering. Herein lies one of the secret charms of the wilds.
When supper was finished Dick and Bill filled their pipes, and with
coals from the stove lighted them. Then they lounged back and puffed
with an air of such perfect, speechless bliss that for the first time
in his life Bob felt a desire to smoke. He drew from his pocket the
pipe Douglas had given him and filled it from a plug of the tobacco.
When he reached for a firebrand to light it Dick noticed what he was
doing and asked good naturedly,--
"Think t' smoke with us, eh?"
"Yes, thinks I'll try un."
"An' be gettin' sick before un knows it," volunteered Bill.
Disregarding the suggestion Bob fired his pipe and lay back with the
air of an old veteran. He soon found that he did not like it very
much, and in a little while he felt a queer sensation in his stomach,
but it was not in Bob's nature to acknowledge himself beaten so
easily, and he puffed on doggedly. Pretty soon beads of perspiration
stood out upon his forehead and he grew white. Then he quietly laid
aside the pipe and groped his way unsteadily out of doors, for he was
very dizzy and faint. When he finally returned he was too sick to pay
any attention to the banter of his companions, who unsympathetically
made fun of him, and he lay down with the inward belief that smoking
was not the pleasure it was said to be, and as for himself he would
never touch a pipe again.
All day Sunday and Monday the storm blew with unabated fury and the
three were held close prisoners in the tilt. On Monday night it
cleared, and Tuesday morning came clear and rasping cold.
Long before daylight breakfast was eaten and preparations made for
travelling. Bob lashed his tent, cooking utensils, some traps and a
supply of provisions upon one of two toboggans that leaned against the
tilt outside. The other one was for Bill when he should need it. Dick
did up his blanket and a few provisions into a light pack, new slings
were adjusted to their snow-shoes and finally they were ready to
strike the trails.
The steel-gray dawn was just showing when Dick shouldered his pack,
took his axe and gun and shook hands with the boys.
"Good-bye Bob. Have a care o' nasty weather an' don't be losin'
yourself. I'll see you in a fortnight, Bill. Good-bye."
With long strides he turned down the river bend and in a few moments
the immeasurable white wilderness had swallowed him up.
The Big Hill trail was so called from a high, barren hill around whose
base it swung to follow a series of lakes leading to the northwest. Of
course as Bob had never been over the trail he did not know its
course, or where to find the traps that Douglas had left hanging in
the trees or lying on rocks the previous spring at the end of the
hunting season. Bill was to go with him to the farthest tilt on this
first journey to point these out to him and show him the way, then
leave him and hurry back to his own path, while Bob set the traps and
worked his way back to the junction tilt.