THE TRAIL IN THE SNOW
It was noon the following day when they overtook the caribou herd, half
way between the northern extremity of the lake and the range of hills. A
halt was called upon the margin of a small lake along the shores of
which the stragglers could be seen feeding slowly along.
"Dat bes' we ain' kill only 'bout six--seven today. Dat mak' us work
pretty good to git um cut up before de night com' long an' freeze um.
Tomorrow we kill eight--nine mor' an' dat be nuff."
The dogs were unhitched and tied to trees, and Connie started to loosen
the rifle from its place on top of one of the packs. But the Indian
stayed him: "No, dat ain' no good we mak' de shoot. We scare de herd an'
dey travel fast. We let Leloo kill um, an' dat don't chase um off. Dey
t'ink Leloo wan big wolf, an' dey all de tam git kill by de wolf, an'
dey don't care."
So armed only with their belt axes and knives, they struck out for the
herd accompanied by Leloo who fairly slavered in anticipation of the
coming slaughter. And a slaughter it was, as one by one the stricken
brutes went down before the deadly onslaught. What impressed Connie more
even than the unerring accuracy of the death stroke was the ominous
silence with which the great wolf-dog worked. No whimper--no growl, nor
whine, nor bark--simply a noiseless slipping upon the selected animal,
and then the short silent rush and a caribou staggered weakly to its
knees never to rise again. One or two bawled out as the flashing fangs
struck home, but the sound caused no excitement among the others which
went on feeding as if nothing had happened. This was due to the cunning
of Leloo--partly no doubt a native cunning inherited from his father,
the great white wolf from the frozen land beyond the frozen sea--partly,
too, this cunning was the result of the careful training of 'Merican
Joe, who had taught the wolf-dog to strike only those animals that were
separated from their fellows. For had the killer rushed blindly in,
slashing right and left the herd would have bunched for defence, and
later have travelled far into the hills, or struck out for the open
tundra.
When six animals were down, Leloo was called off, and Connie and the
Indian set about skinning and cutting up the carcasses.
"I see where we're going to make about two more trips for this meat,"
said Connie. "We've got more than we can pack now, and with what we kill
tomorrow, it will take at least three trips."
'Merican Joe nodded. "Yes, we build de _cache_, an' we pack all we kin
haul, an' com' back w'en we git time. Anyhow, dat ain' so far lak we
gon' on dem odder hills. We strike mos' straight wes' from here we com'
on de cabin."
The killing and cutting up was finished by noon next day, and when
darkness fell the two gorged an enormous meal of bannocks and liver, and
retired to their sleeping bags for a well-earned rest. For the two
toboggans stood loaded with meat covered tightly with green hides that
had already frozen into place, and formed an effective protection
against the pilfering of the dogs, three or four of which were amazingly
clever sneak-thieves--while at least two were out-and-out robbers from
whose depredations even the liver sizzling in the frying pan was not
safe. The same precaution of covering was taken with the meat on the
platform of the pole _cache_, for while its height from the ground
protected it from the prowlers, the frozen hides also protected it from
the inroads of the "whiskey jacks," as the voracious and pestiferous
Canada jays are called in the Northland. For they are the boldest
robbers of all, not even hesitating to fly into a tent and grab some
morsel from the plate of the camper while he is eating his meal. These
birds scorn the cold, remaining in the far North all winter, and woe
betide the unprotected piece of meat they happen to light upon, for
though it be frozen to the hardness of iron, the sharp bills of these
industrious marauders will pick it to the bone.
The pace was slow next day owing to the heavy loads, each toboggan
carrying more than one hundred pounds to the dog. But the trail to the
cabin was not a long one and the trappers were anxious to carry with
them as much meat as possible, to avoid making another trip until well
into fox trapping time. It was late in the afternoon when Connie who was
travelling ahead breaking trail, paused at the edge of a clump of
spruce and examined some tracks in the snow. The tracks were made by a
pair of snowshoes, and the man who wore them had been heading
north-east. 'Merican Joe glanced casually at the tracks. "Som' Injun
trappin'," he opined.
"White man," corrected Connie, "and I don't believe he was a trapper."
The Indian glanced again at the trail. "Mebbe-so p'lice," he hazarded.
"Not by a long shot! If there was any patrol in here there'd be sled
tracks--or at least he'd be carrying a pack, and this fellow was
travelling light. Besides you wouldn't catch any men in the Mounted
fooling with snowshoes like that!" The boy pointed to the pattern of a
track. "Those are bought rackets from the outside. I saw some like 'em
in the window of a store last winter down in Minneapolis. They look nice
and pretty, but they're strung too light. Guess we'll just back track
him for a while. His back trail don't dip much south, and we won't swing
far out of the way."
'Merican Joe expressed indifference. "W'at you care 'bout de man? We
ain' los' nuttin'. An' we ain' got to run way from de p'lice."
Connie grinned. "No, and believe me, I'm glad we haven't got to!
They're a hard bunch to run away from. Anyway, this fellow is no
policeman, and I've just got a hunch I'd like to know something about
him. I can't tell why--just a hunch, I guess. But somehow I don't like
the looks of that trail. It don't seem to _fit_. The tracks are pretty
fresh. We ought to strike the remains of his noon camp before long."
The Indian nodded. "All right, we follow um. You know all 'bout de man
trail. Som' tam you know all 'bout de fur trail, too--you be de gran'
trapper."
The back trail held its course for a few miles and then swung from the
westward so that it coincided with their own direction. At the point
where it bent from the westward, they came upon the man's noon-time
camp.
"Here's where he set his pack while he built his fire," pointed the boy.
"He didn't have much of a pack, just a sleeping bag and a couple of
day's grub rolled up in it. Here's where he set his rifle down--it was a
high power--little shorter and thinner butt than mine--a thirty-thirty,
I guess. He ain't a _chechako_ though, for all he's got bought
snowshoes. He tramped out his fire when he went, and he didn't throw
away his tea-grounds. Whoever he is, he's got a camp not farther than
two days from here, or he'd never be travelling that light in this
country."
A few miles farther on Connie again halted and pointed to another trail
that converged with the one they were following. They had been
travelling upon the ice of a small river and this new trail dipped into
the river bed from the north-eastward.
"It's the same fellow!" cried the boy. "This trail was made yesterday.
He camped somewhere ahead of us last night and went back where he came
from today. Left his own back trail here--thought it was easier to
follow on up the river, I guess. Or, maybe he wanted to dodge some bad
going. Where he came from isn't so far away, either," continued the boy,
"he was travelling light yesterday, too."
They had proceeded but a short distance when 'Merican Joe called a halt.
He came forward, and looked intently at Leloo who was the leader of
Connie's team. Connie saw the great wolf-dog was sniffing the air
uneasily.
"What is it?" he asked of 'Merican Joe.
"Injuns. Big camp. Me--I kin smell de smoke."
Connie sniffed the air, but could smell nothing. "How far?" he asked.
"She straight ahead on de wind--mebbe-so two, t'ree mile."
The banks of the small river they were following became lower as they
advanced and finally disappeared altogether as the stream wound its way
through a frozen swamp. In the swamp they encountered innumerable trails
of snowshoes that crossed each other at every conceivable angle.
"Squaw tracks," grunted 'Merican Joe. "De squaw got to ten' de rabbit
snare. Dat mak' um work pretty good. Injun don't buy so mooch grub lak
de wi'te mans, an' every day de squaw got to ketch 'bout ten rabbit. If
dey got mooch--w'at you call _tenas-man_?"
"Children--kids," supplied Connie.
"If dey got mooch kids dey mus' got to ketch 'bout twenty rabbit every
day."
"Why don't they go after caribou?"
"Yes, dey hunt de caribou w'en de caribou com' roun'. But dey can't go
mebbe-so hondre mile to hunt de caribou. Dey live on de rabbit, an
ptarmigan, an' fish in de winter tam, an' w'en de bad rabbit year com'
'long den de Injun he's belly git empty an' de ribs stick out an' he too
mooch die from de big hongre."
They were nearing the village. Sounds of a dog fight reached their ears,
the savage growls of the combatants, and the yapping and barking of the
pack that crowded about them. Then the hoarse call of an Indian, and a
yelping of dogs as the man evidently worked on them industriously with a
club.
They emerged suddenly from the thick growth of the swamp on to the ice
of the broader stream which connects Lake Ste. Therese with McVicker Bay
of Great Bear Lake. The village was located upon the opposite bank which
rose some twelve or fifteen feet above the river ice. Through the
gathering darkness Connie made out some five or six log cabins, and many
makeshift dwellings of poles, skins and snow blocks.
Their appearance upon the river was the occasion for a pandemonium of
noise as the Indian dogs swept out upon the ice to greet them with
barks, yaps, growls, whines, and howls. Never had the boy seen such a
motley collection of dogs. Big dogs and little dogs, long tailed, short
tailed, and bob tailed--white dogs and black dogs, and dogs of every
colour and all colours between. In only two particulars was there any
uniformity--they all made some sort of a noise, and they were all
skin-poor.
Heads appeared at the doors of various dwellings, and a little knot of
Indians gathered at the top of the bank, where they waited, staring
stolidly until two heavily loaded toboggans came to a halt at the foot
of the steep bank.
Greetings were exchanged and several invitations were extended to the
travellers to spend the night--one Indian in particular, who spoke a few
words of English and appeared to be rather better dressed than the
others, was very insistent, pointing with evident pride toward the
largest of the log houses. But they declined with thanks, and indicated
that they would camp a short distance below the village where a more
gently sloping bank gave promise of ascent for the heavily loaded
toboggans. As they proceeded along the foot of the bank, an Indian
lurched from one of the skin dwellings, and leered foolishly at them
from the top of the bank. Sounds issued from the shack as of voices
raised in quarrel, and Connie and 'Merican Joe exchanged glances as they
passed on to their camping place.
An hour later as they were finishing their supper, an Indian stepped
abruptly out of the darkness, and stood blinking at them just within the
circle of light from the little fire. He was the Indian they had seen
lurch from the dwelling.
"Hello," said Connie, "what do you want?" The Indian continued to stare,
and Connie tried jargon. "_Iktah mika tika?_" But still the man did not
answer so the boy turned him over to 'Merican Joe who tried out several
dialects and gave it up. The Indian disappeared as abruptly as he had
come, and a few moments later stepped again into the firelight. This
time he carried a large beaver skin which he extended for inspection.
Connie passed it over to 'Merican Joe.
"Is it a good skin?" he asked.
"Good skin," assented 'Merican Joe, "Wan' ver' big beaver ..."
"How much?" asked Connie, making signs to indicate a trade.
The Indian grunted a single word. "_Hooch!_"
"Oh--ho, so that's it!" cried the boy. "I knew it when I saw him the
first time. And I knew that trail we've been following this afternoon
didn't look right. I had a hunch!"
He handed the Indian his skin and shook his head. "No got _hooch_." It
took the man several minutes to realize that there was no liquor
forthcoming, and when he did, he turned and left the fire with every
evidence of anger. Not long after he had gone, another Indian appeared
with the same demand. In vain Connie tried to question him, but
apparently he knew no more English or jargon than the first.
"We've got to figure out some scheme to gum that dirty pup's game!"
cried the boy. "I just wish I was back in the Mounted for about a week!
I'd sure make that bird live hard! But in the Mounted or out of it, I'm
going to make him quit his whiskey peddling, or some one is going to get
hurt!"
'Merican Joe looked puzzled. "W'at you care 'bout dat? W'at dat mak' you
mad som' wan sell Injun de _hooch_?"
"What do _I_ care! I care because it's a dirty, low-lived piece of work!
These Injuns need every bit of fur they can trap to buy grub and
clothes with. When they get _hooch_, they pay a big price--and they pay
it in grub and clothes that their women and children need!"
'Merican Joe shrugged philosophically, and at that moment another Indian
stepped into the firelight. It was the man who had insisted upon their
staying with him, and who Connie remembered had spoken a few words of
English.
"You looking for _hooch_, too?" asked the boy.
The Indian shook his head vigorously. "No. _Hooch_ bad. Mak' Injun bad.
No good!"
Connie shoved the teapot into the coals and motioned the man to be
seated, and there beside the little fire, over many cups of strong tea,
the boy and 'Merican Joe, by dint of much questioning and much sign talk
to help out the little English and the few words of jargon the man knew,
succeeded finally in learning the meaning of the white man's trail in
the snow. They learned that the Indians were Dog Ribs who had drifted
from the Blackwater country and settled in their present location last
fall because two of their number had wintered there the previous year
and had found the trapping good, and the supply of fish and rabbits
inexhaustible. They had done well with their traps, but they had killed
very few caribou during the winter, and the current of the river had
taken many of their nets and swept them away under the ice. The rabbits
were not as plentiful as they had been earlier in the fall, and there
was much hunger in the camp.
They traded as usual, and had gotten "debt" at Fort Norman last summer
before they moved their camp. Later in the summer two men had come along
in a canoe and told them that they would come back before the mid-winter
trading. They said they would sell goods much cheaper than the Hudson's
Bay Company, or the Northern Trading Company, and that they would also
have some _hooch_--which cannot be obtained from the big companies.
Yesterday one of these men came into the camp. He had a few bottles of
_hooch_ which he traded for some very good fox skins, and promised to
return in six days with the other man and two sled loads of goods. He
told them that they did not have to pay their debt to the companies at
Fort Norman because everything at the fort had burned down--all the
stores and all the houses and the men had gone away down the river and
that they would not return. The Indians had been making ready to go to
the fort to trade, but when they heard that the fort was burned they
decided to wait for the free traders. Also many of the young men wanted
to trade with the free traders because they could get the _hooch_.
The Indian said he was very sorry that the fort had burned, because he
did not like the free traders, and he wanted to pay his debt to the
company, but if there was nobody there it would be no use to make the
long trip for nothing.
When he finished Connie sat for some time thinking. Then, producing a
worn notebook and the stub of a pencil from his pocket he wrote upon a
leaf and tore it from the book. When he spoke it was to 'Merican Joe.
"How long will it take you to make Fort Norman travelling light?" he
asked.
"'Bout fi', six, day."
"That will be ten or twelve days there and back," figured the boy, as he
handed him the note.
"All right. You start in the morning, and you go with him," he added,
turning to the Indian.
"That white man lied! There has been no fire at the fort. He wants to
get your skins, and so he lied. You go and see for yourself. The rest
of them here won't believe me if I tell them he lied--especially as the
young men want the _hooch_. I have written McTavish to send someone,
back with you who has the authority to arrest these free traders. I'm
going to stay to get the evidence. In the meantime you send your hunters
on our back trail and they will find many caribou. Divide the meat we
have on the sleds among the people--the women and the children. It will
last till the men return with the meat. I am going to follow the free
traders to their camp."
It took time and patience to explain all this to the Indian but once he
got the idea into his head he was anxious to put the plan into effect.
He slipped away and returned with two other Indians, and the whole
matter had to be gone over again. At the conclusion, one of them agreed
to accompany Connie, and the other to distribute the meat, and to lead
the caribou hunt, so after unloading the sleds and making up the light
trail outfits, they all retired to get a few hours' sleep for the
strenuous work ahead. How well they succeeded and how the free
traders--but, as Mr. Kipling has said, that is another story.