her family seemed to have come to an understanding that it was her
especial duty to look after his comfort. From the first she had been
much troubled that he had only his cloth adikey instead of a deerskin
coat such as her father and Mookoomahn wore, and she often expressed
her regret that there was no deerskin with which to make him one. He
insisted at these times that his adikey was quite warm enough, but she
always shook her head in dissent, for she could not believe it, and
would say,
"No, the Snow Brother is cold. Manikawan will make him warm clothes
when the deer are found."
On the very night of their arrival at the camp she went amongst the
wigwams and begged from the women some skins of the fall killing,
tanned with the hair on, with the flesh side as fine and white and
soft as chamois. In two days she had manufactured these into a coat
and had it ready for decoration. It was a very handsome garment, sewn
with sinew instead of thread, and having a hood attached to it
similar to the hoods worn by Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn.
With brushes made from pointed sticks she painted around the bottom of
the coat a foot-wide border in intricate design, introducing red,
blue, brown and yellow colours that she had compounded herself the
previous summer from fish roe, minerals and oil. Other decorations and
ornamentations were drawn upon the front and arms of the garment
before she considered it quite complete. Then she surveyed her work
with commendable pride, and with a great show of satisfaction
presented it and a pair of the regulation buckskin leggings to Bob.
She was quite delighted when he put his new clothes on, and made no
secret of her admiration of his improved appearance.
"Now," she said, "the brother is dressed as becomes him and looks very
fine and brave."
"'Tis fine an' warm," Bob assented, "an' I'm thinkin' I'm lookin' like
an Injun sure enough."
Bob's aversion to Manikawan's attentions was wearing off, and he was
taking a new interest in her. He very often found himself looking at
her and admiring her dark, pretty face and tall, supple form.
Sometimes she would glance up quickly and catch him at it, and smile,
for it pleased her. Then he would feel a bit foolish and blush through
the tan on his face; for he knew that she read his thoughts. But
neither he nor Manikawan ever voiced the admiration that they felt for
each other.
Bob was lounging in the wigwam one day a week or so after the arrival
at the camp when he heard some one excitedly shouting,
"Atuk! Atuk!"
He grabbed his gun and ran outside where he met Sishetakushin rushing
in from an adjoining wigwam. The Indian called to him to leave his gun
behind and get a spear and follow. He could see that something of
great moment had occurred and he obeyed.
The Indians from the lodges, all armed with spears, were running
towards a knoll just below the camp, and Bob and Sishetakushin and
Mookoomahn joined them. When they reached the top of the knoll Bob
halted for a moment in astonishment. Never before had he beheld
anything to compare with what he saw below. A herd of caribou
containing hundreds--yes thousands--like a great living sea, was
moving to the eastward.
Some of the Indians were already running ahead on their snow-shoes to
turn the animals into the deep snowdrifts of a ravine, while the other
attacked the herd with their spears from the side. The caribou changed
their course when they saw their enemies, and plunged into the ravine,
those behind crowding those in front, which sank into the drifts until
they were quite helpless. From every side the Indians rushed upon the
deer and the slaughter began. Bob was carried away with the excitement
of the hunt, and many of the deer fell beneath his spear thrusts. The
killing went on blindly, indiscriminately, without regard to the age
or sex or number killed, until finally the main herd extricated itself
and ran in wild panic over the river ice and out of reach of the
pursuers.
In the brief interval between the discovery of the deer and the escape
of the herd over four hundred animals had fallen under the ruthless
spears. When Bob realized the extent of the wicked slaughter he was
disgusted with himself for having taken part in it.
"'Twas wicked t' kill so many of un when we're not needin' un, an' I
hopes th' Lard'll forgive me for helpin'," he said contritely.
[Illustration: "Saw her standing in the bright moonlight"]
Aside from the inhumanity of the thing, it was a terrible waste of
food, for it would only be possible to utilize a comparatively small
proportion of the meat of the slaughtered animals. Perhaps
seventy-five of the carcasses were skinned, after which the flesh was
stripped from the bones and hung in thin slabs from the poles inside
the wigwams to dry. The tongues were removed from all the slaughtered
animals, for they are considered a great delicacy by the Indians; and
some of the leg bones were taken for the marrow they contained. The
great bulk of the meat, however, was left for the wolves and foxes, or
to rot in the sun when summer came.
The deer killing was followed by a season of feasting, as is always
the case amongst the Indians after a successful hunt. In every wigwam
a kettle of stewing venison was constantly hanging, night and day over
the fire, and marrow bones roasting in the coals, and for several days
the men did nothing but eat and smoke and drink tea.
It was, however, a busy time for the women. Besides curing the meat
and tongues, they rendered marrow grease from the bones and put it up
neatly in bladders for future use; and it fell to their lot, also, to
dress and tan the hides into buckskin.
The passing deer herds brought in their wake packs of big gray and
black timber wolves, and the country was soon infested with these
animals. At night their howls were heard, and they came boldly to the
scene of the caribou slaughter and fattened upon the discarded
carcasses of the animals. Now and again one was shot. With plenty to
eat, they were, however, comparatively harmless, and never molested
the camp.
February was drawing to a close when one day Sishetakushin, Mookoomahn
and two other Indians packed their toboggans preparatory to going on
an excursion. Bob noticed the preparations with interest, and inquired
the meaning of them.
"The tea and tobacco are nearly gone, and we are in need of powder and
ball," Sishetakushin answered.
To get these things Bob knew they must go to a trading post, and here,
he decided, was a possible opportunity for him to find a means of
reaching home. He asked the Indians at once for permission to
accompany them. There was no objection to this from any of them,
though they told him it would be a tiresome journey, that they would
travel fast, and be back in a few days.
But Bob did not propose to let any chance of meeting white men pass
him, and he hurriedly got his things together for the expedition. He
had no intimation of the name or location of the post they were going
to further than that the Indians told him they were going to Mr.
MacPherson, who was, he felt sure, a Hudson's Bay Company Factor, and
he believed that if he could once reach one of the company's forts a
way would be shown him to get to Eskimo Bay. That night was one of
excitement and anticipation for Bob.
Manikawan seemed to read his thoughts, for the whole evening she
looked troubled, and her eyes were wet when Bob said good-bye to her
in the morning. As the little party turned down upon the river ice, he
looked back once and saw her standing near the wigwam, in the bright
moonlight, her slender figure outlined against the snow, and he waved
his hand to her.
He never knew that for many days afterwards, when the dusk of evening
came, she stole alone out of the wigwam and down the trail where he
had disappeared to watch for his return, nor how lonely she was and
how she brooded over his loss when she knew that she should never see
her White Brother of the Snow again.
XVII
STILL FARTHER NORTH
Bob and the Indians travelled in single file, with Mookoomahn leading,
and kept to the wide, smooth pathway that marked the place where the
river lay imprisoned beneath ice a fathom thick. The wind had swept
away the loose snow and beaten down that which remained into a hard
and compact mass upon the frozen river bed, making snow-shoeing here
much easier than in the spruce forest that lay behind the willow brush
along the banks. The Indians walked with the long rapid stride that is
peculiar to them, and which the white man finds hard to simulate, and
good traveller though he was Bob had to adopt a half run to keep their
pace. They drew but two lightly loaded toboggans, and unencumbered by
the wigwam and other heavy camp equipment, and with no trailing squaws
to hamper their speed, an even, unbroken gait was maintained as mile
after mile slipped behind them.
Not a breath of air was stirring, and the absolute quiet that
prevailed was broken only by the moving men and the rhythmic creak,
creak of the snow-shoes as they came in contact with the hard packed
snow.
The very atmosphere seemed frozen, so intense was the cold. The moon
like a disk of burnished silver set in a steel blue sky cast a weird,
metallic light over the congealed wilderness. The hoar frost that lay
upon the bushes along the river bank sparkled like filmy draperies of
spun silver, and transformed the bushes into an unearthly multitude of
shining spirits that had gathered there from the dark, mysterious
forest which lay behind them, to watch the passing strangers.
Presently the light of dawn began to diffuse itself upon the world,
and the spirit creations were replaced by substantial banks of
frost-encrusted willows. In a little while the sun peeped timorously
over the eastern hills, but, half obscured by a haze of frost flakes
which hung suspended in the air, gave out no warmth to the frozen
earth.
No halt was made until noon. Then a fire was built and a kettle of ice
was melted and tea brewed. Bob was hungry, and the jerked venison,
with its delicate nutty flavour, and the hot tea, were delicious. The
latter, poured boiling from the kettle, left a sediment of ice in the
bottom of the tin cup before it was drained, so great was the cold.
After an hour's rest they hit the trail again and never relaxed their
speed for a moment until sunset. Then they sought the shelter of the
spruce woods behind the river bank, and in a convenient spot for a
fire cleared a circular space, several feet in circumference, by
shovelling the snow back with their snow-shoes, forming a high bank
around their bivouac as a protection from the wind, should it rise. At
one side a fire was built, and in front of the fire a thick bed of
boughs spread. While the others were engaged in these preparations Bob
and Sishetakushin cut a supply of wood for the night.
It was quite dark before they all settled themselves around the fire
for supper. Two frying pans were now produced, and from a haunch of
venison, frozen as hard as a block of wood, thin chips were cut with
an axe, and with ample pieces of fat were soon sizzling in the pans
and filling the air with an appetizing odour, and in spite of the
bleak surroundings the place assumed a degree of comfort and
hospitality.
After supper the Indians squatted around the fire on deerskins spread
upon the boughs, smoking their pipes and telling stories, while Bob
reclined upon the soft robes that Manikawan had thoughtfully provided
him with, watching the light play over their dark faces framed in long
black hair, and thought of the Indian girl and wondered if he was
always to live amongst them, and if he would ever become accustomed to
their wild, rude life.
Finally they lay down close together, with their feet towards the
fire, and wrapped their heads and shoulders closely in the skins,
leaving their moccasined feet uncovered, to be warmed by the blaze,
and the lad was soon lost in dreams of the snug cabin at Wolf Bight.
Once during the night he awoke and arose to replenish the fire. The
stars were looking down upon them, cold and distant, and the
wilderness seemed very solemn and quiet when he resumed his place
amongst the sleeping Indians.
They were on their way again by moonlight the following morning.
Shortly after daybreak they turned out of the river bed and towards
noon came upon some snow-shoe tracks. A little later they passed a
steel trap, in which a white arctic fox straggled for freedom. They
halted a moment for Sishetakushin to press his knee upon its side to
kill it and then went on. The fox he left in the trap, however, for
the hunter to whom it belonged. This was the first steel trap that Bob
had seen since coming amongst the Indians and he drew from its
presence here that they must be approaching a trading station where
traps were obtainable and in use by the hunters.
In the middle of the afternoon they turned into a komatik track, and
Bob's heart gave a bound of joy.
"Sure we're gettin' handy t' th' coast!" he exclaimed.
They would soon find white men, he was sure. The track led them on for
a mile or so, and then they heard a dog's howl and a moment later came
out upon two snow igloos. Eskimo men, women, and children emerged on
their hands and knees from the low, snow-tunnel entrance of the igloos
at their approach, but when they saw that the travellers were a party
of Indians, gave no invitation to them to enter, and said nothing
until Bob called "Oksunie" to them--a word of greeting that he had
learned from the Bay folk. Then they called to him "Oksunie, oksunie,"
and began to talk amongst themselves.
"They're rare wild lookin' huskies," thought Bob.
As much as Bob would have liked to stop, he did not do so, for the
Indians stalked past at a rapid pace, never by word or look showing
that they had seen the igloos or the Eskimos.
These new people, particularly the women, who wore trousers and
carried babies in large hoods hanging on their backs, did not dress
like any Eskimos that Bob had ever seen before. Nor had he ever before
seen the snow houses, though he had heard of them and knew what they
were. The dogs, too, were large, and more like wolves in appearance
than those the Bay folk used, and the komatik was narrower but much
longer and heavier than those he was accustomed to. He was surely in a
new and strange land.
More igloos were seen during the afternoon, but they were passed as
the first had been, and at night the party bivouacked in the open as
they had done the night before.
On the morning of the third day they passed into a stretch of barren,
treeless, rolling country, and before midday turned upon a well-beaten
komatik trail, which they followed for a couple of miles, when it
swung sharply to the left towards the river, and as they turned
around a ledge of rocks at the top of a low ridge a view met Bob that
made him shout with joy, and hasten his pace.
At his feet, in the field of snow, lay a post of the Hudson's Bay
Company.
XVIII
A MISSION OF TRUST
As Bob looked down upon the whitewashed buildings of the Post, his
sensation was very much like that of a shipwrecked sailor who has for
a long time been drifting hopelessly about upon a trackless sea in a
rudderless boat, and suddenly finds himself safe in harbour. The lad
had never seen anything in his whole life that looked so comfortable
as that little cluster of log buildings with the smoke curling from
the chimney tops, and the general air of civilization that surrounded
them. He did not know where he was, nor how far from home; but he did
know that this was the habitation of white men, and the cloud of utter
helplessness that had hung over him for so long was suddenly swept
away and his sky was clear and bright again.
A man clad in a white adikey and white moleskin trousers emerged from
one of the buildings, paused for a moment to gaze at Bob and his
companions as they approached, and then reentered the building.
As they descended the hill the Indians turned to an isolated cabin
which stood somewhat apart from the main group of buildings and to the
eastward of them, but Bob ran down to the one into which the man had
disappeared. His heart was all aflutter with excitement and
expectancy. As he approached the door, it suddenly opened, and there
appeared before him a tall, middle-aged man with full, sandy beard and
a kindly face. Bob felt intuitively that this was the factor of the
Post, and he said very respectfully,
"Good day, sir."
"Good day, good day," said the man. "I thought at first you were an
Indian. Come in."
Bob entered and found himself in the trader's office. At one side were
two tables that served as desks, and on a shelf against the wall
behind them rested a row of musty ledgers and account books. Benches
in lieu of chairs surrounded a large stove in the centre.
"Take off your skin coat and sit down," invited the trader, who was,
indeed, Mr. MacPherson of whom the Indians had told.
"Thank you, sir," said Bob.
When he was finally seated Mr. McPherson asked:
"That was Sishetakushin's crowd you came with, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir," Bob answered.
"Where did you hail from? It's something new to see a white man come
out of the bush with the Indians."
"From Eskimo Bay, sir, an' what place may this be?"
"Eskimo Bay! Eskimo Bay! Why, this is Ungava! How in the world did you
ever get across the country? What's your name?"
"My name's Bob Gray, sir, an' I lives at Wolf Bight." Then Bob went
on, prompted now and again by the factor's questions, to tell the
story of his adventures.
"Well," said Mr. MacPherson, "you've had a wonderful escape from
freezing and death and a remarkable experience. You'd better go over
to the men's house and they'll put you up there. Come back after
you've had dinner and we'll talk your case over. The dinner bell is
ringing now," he added, as the big bell began to clang. "Perhaps I'd
better go over with you and show you the way."
The men's house, as the servants' quarters were called, was a
one-story log house but a few steps from the office. As Bob and Mr.
MacPherson entered it, a big man with a bushy red beard, and a tall
brawny man with clean shaven face, both perhaps twenty-five or thirty
years of age, and both with "Scot" written all over their
countenances, were in the act of sitting down to an uncovered table,
while an ugly old Indian hag was dishing up a savory stew of
ptarmigan.
Bob's eye took in a plate heaped high with white bread in the centre
of the table and he mentally resolved that it should not be there when
he had finished dinner.
"Here's some company for you," announced the factor. "Ungava Bob just
ran over from Eskimo Bay to pay us a visit. Take care of him. This,"
continued he by way of introduction, indicating the red-headed man,
"is Eric the Red, our carpenter, and this," turning to the other, "is
the Duke of Wellington, our blacksmith. Fill up, Ungava Bob, and come
over to the office and have a talk when you've finished dinner."
"Sit doon, sit doon," said the red-whiskered man, adding, as Mr.
MacPherson closed the door behind him, "my true name's Sandy Craig
and th' blacksmith here is Jamie Lunan. Th' boss ha' a way o' namin'
every mon t' suit hisself. Now, what's your true name, lad? 'Tis not
Ungava Bob."
"Bob Gray, an' I comes from Wolf Bight."
"Now, where can Wolf Bight be?" asked Sandy.
"In Eskimo Bay, sir."
"Aye, aye, Eskimo Bay. 'Tis a lang way ye are from Eskimo Bay! Th'
ship folk tell o' Eskimo Bay a many hundred miles t' th' suthard. An'
Jamie an' me be a lang way fra' Petherhead. Be helpin' yesel' now,
lad. Ha' some partridge an' ye maun be starvin' for bread, eatin' only
th' grub o' th' heathen Injuns this lang while," said he, passing the
plate, and adding in apology, "'Tis na' such bread as we ha' in auld
Scotland. Injun women canna make bread wi' th' Scotch lassies an' we
ne'er ha' a bit o' oatmeal or oat-cake. 'Tis bread, though. An' how
could ye live wi' th' Injuns? 'Tis bad enough t' bide here wi' na'
neighbours but th' greasy huskies an' durty Injuns comin' now an'
again, but we has some civilized grub t' eat--sugar an' molasses an'
butter, such as 'tis."
Sandy and Jamie plied Bob with all sorts of questions about Eskimo Bay
and his life with the Indians, and they did not fail to tell him a
good deal about Peterhead, their Scotland home, and both bewailed
loudly the foolish desire for adventure that had induced them to leave
it to be exiled in Ungava amongst the heathen Eskimos and Indians in a
land where "nine minths o' th' year be winter an' th' ither three
remainin' minths infested wi' th' worst plagues o' Egypt, referrin' t'
th' flies an' nippers (mosquitoes)."
Strange and new it all was, and while he ate and talked, Bob took in
his surroundings. The room was not unlike the Post kitchen at Eskimo
Bay, though not so spotlessly clean. Besides the table there were two
benches, four rough, home-made chairs and a big box stove that
crackled cheerily. At one side three bunks were built against the wall
and were spread with heavy woollen blankets. Two chests stood near the
bunks and several guns rested upon pegs against the wall. Upon ropes
stretched above the stove numerous duffel socks and mittens hung to
dry. The Indian woman passed in and out through a passageway that led
from the side of the room opposite the door at which he had entered
and her kitchen was evidently on the other side of the passageway.
Bob did not forget his resolution as to the bread, to which was added
the luxury of butter, and more than once the Indian woman had to
replenish the plate. When they arose from the table Jamie pointed out
to Bob the bunk that he was to occupy. Then, while they smoked their
pipes, they gossiped about the Post doings until the bell warned them
that it was time to return to their work.
In accordance with Mr. MacPherson's instructions Bob walked over to
the factor's office where he found a young man of eighteen or nineteen
years of age writing at one of the desks.
"Sit down," said he, looking up. "Mr. MacPherson will be in shortly.
You're the young fellow just arrived, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir," said Bob.
"You've had a long journey, I hear, and must be glad to get out. When
did you leave home?"
"In September, sir, when I goes t' my trail."
"I came here on the _Eric_ in September, and if you want to see home
as badly as I do you're pretty anxious to get back there. But there
isn't any chance of getting away from here till the ship comes. This
is the last place God ever made and the loneliest. What did you say
your name is?"
"Bob Gray, sir."
"Well, Mr. MacPherson will call you something else, but don't mind
that. He has a new name for every one. He calls Sishetakushin, one of
the Indians you came in with, Abraham Lincoln because he's so tall,
and one of the stout Eskimos is Grover Cleveland. That's the name of
an American president. Mr. MacPherson gets the papers every year and
keeps posted. He received, on the ship, all last year's issues of a
New York paper called the _Sun_ besides a great packet of Scotch and
English papers. But this _Sun_ he thinks more of than any of them and
every morning he picks out the paper for that date the year before and
reads it as though it had just been delivered. One year behind, but
just as fresh here. He finds a lot of new names in 'em to give the
Eskimos and Indians and the rest of us that way. I'm Secretary Bayard,
whoever he may be. I don't read the American papers much. The chief
clerk is Lord Salisbury, the new premier. You know the Conservatives
downed the Liberals, and Gladstone is out. Good enough for him, too,
for meddling in the Irish question. I'm a conservative, or I would be
if I was home. We don't have a chance to be anything here. Now, I
suppose you----"
Here Mr. MacPherson entered and the loquacious Secretary Bayard became
suddenly engrossed in his work. The factor opened a door leading into
a small room to the right.
"Come in here, Ungava Bob," said he, "and we'll have a talk. Now," he
continued when they were seated, "what do you think you'll do?"
"I don't know, sir. I wants t' get home wonderful bad," said Bob.
"Yes, yes, I suppose you do. But you're a long way from home. It looks
as though you'll have to stay here till the ship comes next summer. I
can send you back with it."
"'Tis a long while t' be bidin' here, sir, an' I'm fearin' as
mother'll be worryin'."