THE LONG TRAIL
For four days Whaley lay between life and death. There were hours when
the vital current in him ebbed so low that McRae thought it was the
beginning of the end. But after the fifth day he began definitely to
mend. His appetite increased. The fever in him abated. The delirium
passed away. Just a week from the time he had been wounded, McRae put
him on the cariole and took him to town over the hard crust of the
snow.
Beresford returned from Fort Edmonton a few hours later, carrying with
him an appointment for Morse as guide and deputy constable.
"Maintiens le droit," said the officer, clapping his friend on the
shoulder. "You're one of us now. A great chance for a short life you've
got. Time for the insurance companies to cancel any policies they may
have on you."
Morse smiled. He was only a deputy, appointed temporarily, but it
pleased him to be chosen even in this capacity as a member of the most
efficient police force in the world. "Maintiens le droit" was the
motto of the Mounted. Tom did not intend that the morale of that body
should suffer through him if he could help it.
Angus McRae had offered his dog-train for the pursuit and Beresford
had promptly accepted. The four dogs of the Scotch trapper were far
and away better than any others that could be picked up in a hurry.
They had stamina, and they were not savage and wolfish like most of
those belonging to the Indians and even to the Hudson's Bay Company.
Supplies for the trip had been gathered by Morse. From the Crees he
had bought two hundred pounds of dried fish for the dogs. Their own
provisions consisted of pemmican, dried caribou meat, flour, salt,
tea, and tobacco.
All Faraway was out to see the start. The travelers would certainly
cover hundreds and perhaps thousands of miles before their return.
Even in that country of wide spaces, where men mushed far when the
rivers and lakes were closed, this was likely to prove an epic trip.
Beresford cracked the long lash and Cuffy leaned forward in the
traces. The tangle of dogs straightened out and began to move. A
French voyageur lifted his throat in a peculiar shout that was half
a bark. Indians and half-breeds snowshoed down the street beside
the sled. At the door of the McRae house stood Angus, his wife, and
daughter.
"God wi' you haith," the trapper called.
Jessie waved a scarf, and Beresford, who had spent the previous
evening with her, threw up a hand in gay greeting.
The calvacade drew to the edge of the woods. Morse looked back. A slim
figure, hardly distinguishable in the distance, still stood in front
of the McRae house fluttering the scarf.
A turn in the trail hid her. Faraway was shut out of view.
For four or five miles the trappers stayed with them. It was rather a
custom of the North to speed travelers on their way in this fashion.
At the edge of the first lake the Indians and half-breeds said
good-bye and turned back.
Morse moved onto the ice and broke trail. The dogs followed in
tandem--Cuffy, Koona, Bull, and Caesar. They traveled fast over the
ice and reached the woods beyond. The timber was not thick. Beyond
this was a second lake, a larger one. By the time they had crossed
this, the sun was going down.
The men watched for a sheltered place to camp and as soon as they
found one, they threw off the trail to the edge of the woods, drawing
up the sledge back of them as a wind-break. They gathered pine for
fuel and cut balsam boughs for beds. It had come on to snow, and they
ate supper with their backs to the drive of the flakes, the hoods of
their furs drawn over their heads.
The dogs sat round in a half-circle watching them and the frozen fish
thawing before the fire. Their faces, tilted a little sideways, ears
cocked and eyes bright, looked anxiously expectant. When the fish were
half-thawed, Morse tossed them by turn to the waiting animals, who
managed to get rid of their supper with a snap and a gulp. Afterward
they burrowed down in the snow and fell asleep.
On the blazing logs Beresford had put two kettles filled with snow.
These he refilled after the snow melted, until enough water was in
them. Into one kettle he put a piece of fat caribou meat. The other
was to make tea.
Using their snowshoes as shovels, they scraped a place clear and
scattered balsam boughs on it. On this they spread an empty flour
sack, cut open at the side. Tin plates and cups served as dish.
Their supper consisted of soggy bannocks, fat meat, and tea. While
they ate, the snow continued to fall. It was not unwelcome, for so
long as this lasted the cold could not be intolerable. Moreover,
snow makes a good white blanket and protects against sudden drops in
temperature.
They changed their moccasins and duffles and pulled on as night-wear
long buffalo-skin boots, hood, mufflers, and fur mits. A heavy fur
robe and a blanket were added. Into these last they snuggled down,
wrapping themselves up so completely that a tenderfoot would have
smothered for lack of air.
Before they retired, they could hear the ice on the lake cracking like
distant thunder. The trees back of them occasionally snapped from the
cold with reports that sounded like pistol shots.
In five minutes both men were asleep. They lay with their heads
entirely covered, as the Indians did. Not once during the night did
they stir. To disarrange their bedding and expose the nose or the
hands to the air would be to risk being frozen.
Morse woke first. He soon had a roaring fire. Again there were two
kettles on it, one for fat meat and the other for strong tea. No
fish were thawing before the heat, for dogs are fed only once a day.
Otherwise they get sleepy and sluggish, losing the edge of their
keenness.
They were off to an early start. There was a cold head wind that was
uncomfortable. For hours they held to the slow, swinging stride of the
webs. Sometimes the trail was through the forest, sometimes in and out
of brush and small timber. Twice during the day they crossed lakes and
hit up a lively pace. Once they came to a muskeg, four miles across,
and had to plough over the moss hags while brush tangled their feet
and slapped their faces.
Cuffy was a prince of leaders. He seemed to know by some sixth sense
the best way to wind through underbrush and over swamps. He was
master of the train and ruled by strength and courage as well as
intelligence. Bull had ideas of his own, but after one sharp brush
with Cuffy, from which he had emerged ruffled and bleeding, the native
dog relinquished claim to dominance.
The travelers made about fifteen miles before noon. They came to a
solitary tepee, built on the edge of a lake with a background of
snow-burdened spruce. This lodge was constructed of poles arranged
cone-shaped side by side, the chinks between plastered with moss
wedged in to fill every crevice. A thin wisp of smoke rose from an
open space in the top.
At the sound of the yelping dogs a man lifted the moose-skin curtain
that served as a door. He was an old and wrinkled Cree. His face was
so brown and tough and netted with seams that it resembled a piece of
alligator leather. From out of it peered two very small bright eyes.
"Ugh! Ugh!" he grunted.
This appeared to be all the English that he knew. Beresford tried him
in French and discovered he had a smattering of it. After a good many
attempts, the soldier found that he had seen no white man with a
dog-train in many moons. The Cree lived there alone, it appeared, and
trapped for a living. Why he was separated from all his kin and tribal
relations the young Canadian could not find out at the time. Later he
learned that the old fellow was an outcast because he had once shown
the white feather in a battle with Blackfeet fifty years earlier.
Before they left, the travelers discovered that he knew two more words
of English. One was rum, the other tobacco. He begged for both. They
left him a half-foot of tobacco. The scant supply of whiskey they had
brought was for an emergency.
Just before night fell, Morse shot two ptarmigan in the woods. These
made a welcome addition to their usual fare.
Though both the men were experienced in the use of snowshoes, their
feet were raw from the chafing of the thongs. Before the camp-fire
they greased the sore places with tallow. In a few days the irritation
due to the webs would disappear and the leg muscles brought into
service by this new and steady shuffle would harden and grow fit.
They had built a wind-break of brush beside the sled and covered the
ground with spruce boughs after clearing away the snow. Here they
rested after supper, drying socks, duffles, and moccasins, which were
wet with perspiration, before the popping fire.
Beresford pulled out his English briar pipe and Tom one picked from
the Company stock. Smoke wreathed their heads while they lounged
indolently on the spruce bed and occasionally exchanged a remark. They
knew each other well enough for long silences. When they talked, it
was because they had something to say.
The Canadian looked at his friend's new gun-case and remarked with a
gleam in his eye:
"I spoke for that first, Tom. Had miners on it, I thought."
The American laughed sardonically. "It was a present for a good boy,"
he explained. "I've a notion somebody was glad I was mushin' with you
on this trip. Maybe you can guess why. Anyhow, I drew a present out of
it."
"I see you did," Beresford answered, grinning.
"I'm to look after you proper an' see you're tucked up."
"Oh, that's it?"
"That's just it."
The constable looked at him queerly, started to say something, then
changed his mind.