Chapter II.]

After supper, when twilight was deepening, and tobacco--in the smoking

of which the women conscientiously joined--was freely forthcoming, the

subject of conversation turned to woodcraft. Since it fell to

Oo-koo-hoo, as the principal hunter, to keep the party supplied with

game while en route, I was wondering what he would do in case he saw a

bear and went ashore to trail it. Would he himself skin and cut up the

bear, or would he want the women to help him? If the latter, what sign

or signal would he use so that they might keep in touch with him? But

when I questioned Oo-koo-hoo, he replied:

"My white son"--for that is what he sometimes called me--"I see you are

just like all white men, but if you are observant and listen to those

who are wiser than you, you may some day rank almost the equal of an

Indian."

Afterward, when I became better acquainted with him, I learned that

with regard to white men in general, he held the same opinion that all

Indians do, and that is, that they are perfect fools. When I agreed

with the old gentleman, and assured him he was absolutely right, and

that the biggest fool I ever knew was the one who was talking to him,

he laughed outright, and replied that now he knew that I was quite

different from most white men, and that he believed some day I would be

the equal of an Indian. When I first heard his opinion of white men, I

regarded him as a pretty sane man, but afterward, when I tried to get

him to include not only his brother Indians, but also himself under the

same definition, I could not get him to agree with me, therefore I was

disappointed in him. He was not the philosopher I had at first taken

him to be; for life has taught me that all men are fools--of one kind

or another.

OO-KOO-HOO'S WOODCRAFT

But to return to woodcraft. Emerson says: "Men are naturally hunters

and inquisitive of woodcraft, and I suppose that such a gazetteer as

wood-cutters and Indians should furnish facts for would take place in

the most sumptuous drawing rooms of all the 'Wreaths' and 'Flora's

Chaplets' of the bookshops" and believing that to be true, I shall

therefore tell you not only how my Indian friends managed to keep their

bearings while travelling without a compass, but how, without the aid

of writing, they continued to leave various messages for their

companions. When I asked Oo-koo-hoo how he would signal, in case he

went ashore to trail game--when the other canoes were out of sight

behind him--and he should want someone to follow him to help carry back

the meat, he replied that he would cut a small bushy-topped sapling and

plant it upright in the river near his landing place on the shore.

That, he said, would signify that he wished his party to go ashore and

camp on the first good camping ground; while, at the same time, it

would warn them not to kindle a fire until they had first examined the

tracks to make sure whether the smoke would frighten the game. Then

someone would follow his trail to render him assistance, providing they

saw that he had blazed a tree. If he did not want them to follow him,

he would shove two sticks into the ground so that they would slant

across the trail in the form of an X, but if he wanted them to follow

he would blaze a tree. If he wanted them to hurry, he would blaze the

same tree twice. If he wanted them to follow as fast as they could

with caution, he would blaze the same tree three times, but if he

desired them to abandon all caution and to follow with all speed, he

would cut a long blaze and tear it off.

Then, again, if he were leaving the game trail to circle his quarry,

and if he wished them to follow his tracks instead of those of the

game, he would cut a long blaze on one tree and a small one on another

tree, which would signify that he had left the game trail at a point

between the two trees and that they were to follow his tracks instead

of those of the game. But if he wished them to stop and come no

farther, he would drop some article of his clothing on the trail.

Should, however, the game trail happen to cross a muskeg where there

were no trees to blaze, he would place moss upon the bushes to answer

instead of blazes, and in case the ground was hard and left an

invisible trail, he would cut a stick and shoving the small end into

the trail, would slant the butt in the direction he had gone.

If traversing water where there were no saplings at hand, and he wished

to let his followers know where he had left the water to cross a

muskeg, he would try to secure a pole, which he would leave standing in

the water, with grass protruding from the split upper end, and the pole

slanting to show in which direction he had gone. If, on the arrival at

the fork of a river, he wished to let his followers know up which fork

he had paddled--say, for instance, if it were the right one--he would

shove a long stick into either bank of the left fork in such a way that

it would point straight across the channel of the left fork, to

signify, as it were, that the channel was blocked. Then, a little

farther up the right fork, he would plant a sapling or pole in the

water, slanting in the direction he had gone--to prove to the follower

that he was now on the right trail. Oo-koo-hoo further explained that

if he were about to cross a lake and he wished to let his follower know

the exact point upon which he intended to land, he would cut two poles,

placing the larger nearest the woods and the smaller nearest the water,

both in an upright position and in an exact line with the point to

which he was going to head, so that the follower by taking sight from

one pole to the other would learn the exact spot on the other shore

where he should land--even though it were several miles away. But if

he were not sure just where he intended to land, he would cut a willow

branch and twist it into the form of a hoop and hang it upon the

smaller pole--that would signify that he might land at any point of the

surrounding shore of the lake.

If he wanted to signal his family to camp at any particular point along

his trail, he would leave some article of his clothing and place near

it a number of sticks standing in the form of the poles of a lodge,

thus suggesting to them that they should erect their tepee upon that

spot. If he had wounded big game and expected soon to overtake and

kill it, and if he wanted help to carry back the meat, he would blaze a

tree and upon that smooth surface would make a sketch, either with

knife or charcoal, of the animal he was pursuing. If a full day had

elapsed since the placing of crossed sticks over the trail, the

follower would abandon all caution and follow at top speed, as he would

realize that some misfortune had befallen the hunter. The second man,

or follower, however, never blazes trees as he trails the first hunter,

but simply breaks off twigs or bends branches in the direction in which

he is going, so that should it be necessary that a third man should

also follow, he could readily distinguish the difference between the

two trails. If a hunter wishes to leave a good trail over a treeless

district, he, as far as possible, chooses soft ground and treads upon

his heels.

When a hunter is trailing an animal, he avoids stepping upon the

animal's trail, so that should it be necessary for him to go back and

re-trail his quarry, the animal's tracks shall not be obliterated. If,

in circling about his quarry, the hunter should happen to cut his own

trail, he takes great care to cut it at right angles, so that, should

he have to circle several times, he may never be at a loss to know

which was his original trail. If the hunter should wish to leave a

danger signal behind him, he will take two saplings, one from either

side of the trail, and twist them together in such a way that they

shall block the passage of the follower, requiring him to pause in

order to disentangle them or to pass around them; and if the hunter

were to repeat such a signal two or three times, it would signify that

the follower should use great caution and circle down wind in order to

still-hunt the hunter's trail in exactly the same way he would

still-hunt a moose. Then, again, if the hunter should wish to let the

follower know the exact time of day he had passed a certain spot, he

would draw on the earth or snow a bow with an arrow placed at right

angles to the bow, but pointing straight in the direction where the sun

had been at that precise moment.

THE BEAR'S DEDUCTION

Owing to their knowledge of wood-craft some Indians are very clever at

deduction.

On Great Slave Lake near Fort Rae an Indian cripple, named Simpson's

Brother, had joined a party of canoe-men for the purpose of hunting

eggs. After paddling toward a group of islands, the party separated,

finally landing on different isles. They had agreed, however, to meet

at sunset on a certain island and there eat and sleep together. While

at work several of the Indians saw Simpson's Brother alone on a little

rocky islet, busily engaged in gathering eggs. Toward evening, the

party met at their rendezvous and took supper together, but strange to

say, Simpson's Brother did not appear. After smoking and talking for a

while, some grew anxious about the cripple. The Bear began to fear

lest some mishap had befallen him; but The Caribou scoffed at the idea:

he was sure that Simpson's Brother was still working and that he would

soon return with more eggs than any of them. The Bear, however,

thought they ought to search for him, as his canoe might have drifted

away. But The Mink replied that if anything like that had happened,

the cripple would certainly have fired his gun. "But how could he fire

his gun if his canoe had drifted away?" asked The Bear, "for would not

his gun be in his canoe?" So they all paddled off to investigate the

mystery. On nearing the island, they saw the Brother's canoe adrift.

When they overhauled it, sure enough his gun was aboard. They then

landed on the little isle where the cripple had been at work and began

calling aloud for him. As they received no answer, some of the Indians

claimed that he must be asleep. The Bear replied that if he was asleep

their shouting would have awakened him and he would have answered, but

that now they had best search the island.

So they divided into two parties and searched the shore in different

directions until they finally met on the other side, then they

scattered and examined every nook and corner of the place--but all in

vain. Some now contended that the others were mistaken, and that that

could not be the island on which the Brother had been working; but The

Bear--though he had not seen the cripple there--insisted that it was.

They asked him to prove it.

"The wind has been blowing steadily from the north," replied The Bear,

"the other islands are all south of this one, and you know that we

found his canoe adrift south of here and north of all the other

islands. That is sufficient proof." Then he added: "The reason

Simpson's Brother did not answer is because he is not on the island,

but in the water."

Again they all clamoured for proof and The Bear answered: "But first I

must find where he landed, and the quickest way to find that place is

to remember that the wind was blowing too strong for him to land on the

north shore, and that the running swells were too strong for him to

land on either the east or west sides, therefore he landed on the south

side--the sheltered side. Now let us go and see where he drew up his

canoe."

But one of the others argued that that would be impossible as Simpson's

Brother was not such a fool as to act like a white man and drag his

canoe over the rocks. The Bear, however, persisted that there would be

some sign, at least where the bow touched shore when the cripple got

out, and that he, The Bear, would go and find it. But first he would

go and examine the nests to learn from which of them the cripple had

removed the eggs. Thus they would learn where he had been working; and

the finding of the landing place would be made easier. So The Bear set

to work. From the empty nests he soon learned where the cripple had

been working, and after a careful search he presently found on a big

rock a little white spot no larger than a man's finger nail.

"There, my friends, is where Simpson's Brother landed, for that white

mark is of gum and proves where the bow of the canoe bumped the rock."

They then asked The Bear where he thought the cripple was, and

pointing, he replied:

"If we search long enough we shall find him in the deep water down

there; for when Simpson's Brother was getting aboard his canoe, he

slipped and in falling struck his head upon the rock; the blow stunned

him, and without a struggle he slid into the water, and was drowned."

When they had brought their canoes round and had peered into the deep

water, true enough, they discovered the body on the bottom of the lake.

Securing a long pole, they fastened a gun worm to one end and, reaching

down, twisted it into the cripple's clothing and brought the body to

the surface. Sadly they placed it in the unfortunate man's canoe,

towed the craft and its burden to the other island, and sent to Fort

Rae for the priest, Father Roure, to come and perform the burial

service.

BEASTS WITH HUMAN SOULS

Next morning we arose with dawn. After a hearty breakfast of

fish--taken from the gill-net that had been set overnight below the

rapid--the work of portaging round the rapids was begun and by about

ten o'clock was finished. Noon overtook us near the mouth of Caribou

River, up which we were to ascend on the first half of our journey to

Oo-koo-hoo's hunting grounds. About two o'clock we entered that stream

and headed westerly toward a spur of mountains that lay about a week's

travel away and through which we had to pass to gain our winter camping

ground. An hour later, as Oo-koo-hoo and I preceded the party,

paddling up one of the channels caused by a number of large islands

dividing the river into mere creeks, we chanced upon a woodland caribou

bull, as it stood among the rushes in a marshy bend watching us from a

distance of not more than forty yards. As I crouched down to be out of

the hunter's way, I heard him say:

"I'm sorry, my brother, but we need you for both food and clothing, so

turn your eyes away before I fire." The next moment the woods echoed

the report of his smooth-bore muzzle-loader--the kind of gun used by

about 90 per cent. of the fur hunters of the forest. Why? Because of

the simplicity of its ammunition. Such a gun never requires a variety

of cumbersome shells for different kinds of game, but with varying

charges of powder and shot or ball, is ready for anything from a rat or

duck to a bear or moose.

Before bleeding the deer, Oo-koo-hoo did a curious thing: with his

sharp knife he destroyed the deer's eyes. When I questioned him as to

his purpose he replied: "As long as the eyes remain perfect, the spirit

remains within the head, and I could not bear to skin the deer with its

spirit looking at me." Though Oo-koo-hoo was in many ways a wise old

man, he held some beliefs that were past my understanding, and others

that, when I tried to analyze them, seemed to be founded on the working

of a sensitive conscience.

Hearing the report of the gun, the others hurried to the scene. While

the deer was being bled the old grandmother caught the blood in a

pail--into which she threw a pinch of salt to clot the blood--as she

wished to use it for the making of a blood pudding. Then the carcass

was loaded aboard Oo-koo-hoo's canoe, rather, indeed, overloading it.

Accordingly, I accepted Amik's invitation to board his craft, and at

the first good place we all went ashore to clear the ground for the

night's camp. There was a porcupine there, and though it moved but

slowly away, my friends did not kill it, for they had plenty to eat,

and did not want to be bothered with taking care of those dangerous

little quills that the women dye and use to such good advantage in

their fancy work. As to the Indian method of dressing meat and

skins--more anon, when we are finally settled upon the fur trail.

That evening, while flames were leaping after ascending sparks, and

shadows were dancing behind us among the trees, we lounged about the

fire on packs and blankets and discussed the events of the day. When I

asked Oo-koo-hoo why he had addressed the deer in such a manner, he

replied that it was the proper and regular way to speak to an animal,

because every creature in the forest, whether beast, bird, or fish,

contained the spirit of some former human being. He further explained

that whenever the men of the olden time killed an unusually large

animal with an extra fine coat, they did not save the skin to sell to

the trader, but burnt the carcass, pelt and all, and in that way they

returned the body to the spirit again. Thus they not only paid homage

to the spirit, but proved themselves unselfish men. He went on to say

that from the time of the Great, Great Long Ago, the Indian had always

believed--as he did to-day--that every bull moose contained the spirit

of a famous Indian chief, that every caribou bull contained the spirit

of a lesser chief, and so on down through the whole of the animal

creation. Bears, however, or rather the spirits animating them,

possessed the greatest power to render good or evil, and for that

reason the hunter usually took the greatest care to address Bruin

properly before he slew him.

It is no wonder that the Indians still retain such ideas when, as Lord

Avebury says: "We do not now, most of us, believe that animals have

souls, and yet probably the majority of mankind from Buddha to Wesley

and Kingsley have done so."

Another thing Oo-koo-hoo told me was that out of respect to the

dignified spirit possessed by the bull moose, women were never allowed

to eat of the head, nor was a moose head to be placed upon a sled upon

which a woman had ever sat; for if that were done, bad luck would

follow the hunter to the end of his days. He knew of a hunter who on

one occasion had been guilty of that irreverence; afterward, whenever

that hunter would see a moose, the moose--instead of trying to

escape--would indifferently bark at him, and even follow him back close

to camp; and when that hunter would go out again, other moose would do

the very same thing. Moreover, the hunter was afraid to kill any moose

that acted that way, for he well knew that the animal was simply

warning him of some great danger that was surely going to befall him.

So, in the end, the hunter fretted himself to death. Therefore every

hunter should take great care to burn all the bones of a moose's head

and never on any account allow a woman to eat thereof or to feed it to

the dogs. In burning the head, the hunter was merely paying the homage

due to so noble a creature.

Again, a hunter might find that though he had formerly been a good

moose hunter, and had always observed every custom, yet he now utterly

failed to secure a moose at all. He might come upon plenty of tracks,

but the moose would always escape, and prove the efforts of an

experienced moose hunter of no more avail than those of a greenhorn.

In such a case, there was but one thing to do, and that was to secure

the whole skin--head, legs, and all--of a fawn, stuff it into its

natural shape, set it up in the woods, wait till the new moon was in

the first crescent, and then, just after sundown, engage a young girl

to shoot five arrows at it from the regular hunting distance. If she

missed, it was proof that the spirit had rejected the girl, and that

another would have to be secured to do the shooting. If success were

then attained, the hunter might go upon his hunt, well knowing he would

soon be rewarded by bringing down a moose. Of course such ideas seem

strange to us, but, after all, are we in a position to ridicule the

Indians' belief? I think not, if we but recall the weird ideas our

ancestors held.

The Indian, like the white man, has many superstitions, some ugly, and

some beautiful, and of the latter class, I quote one: he believes that

the spirits of still-born children or very young infants take flight,

when they die, and enter the bodies of birds. A delightful

thought--especially for the mother. For as Kingsley says of St.

Francis, "perfectly sure that he himself was a spiritual being, he

thought it at least possible that birds might be spiritual beings

likewise, incarnate like himself in mortal flesh; and saw no

degradation to the dignity of human nature in claiming kindred

lovingly, with creatures so beautiful, so wonderful, who praised God in

the forest, even as angels did in heaven."

The forest Indian, however, is not content with merely stating that the

spirits of infants enter birds; but he goes on to say that while the

spirits of Indian children always enter the beings of the finest

singers and the most beautiful of all the birds, the spirits of the

children of white people enter the bodies of stupid, ugly birds that

just squawk around, and are neither interesting to look at nor pleasant

to listen to, but are quarrelsome, and thievish. When I asked

Oo-koo-hoo to name a few birds into which the spirits of white children

entered, he mentioned, among others, the woodpecker--which the Indians

consider to have, proportionately, the longest and sharpest tongue of

all birds. That reminds me of the reply I received from one of the

characters in this book, when I wrote him, among others, requesting

that he grant me permission to make use of his name, in order to add

authority to my text. Like others, he begged me to refrain from

quoting his name, as he was afraid that the information he had given me

might be the cause of the Hudson's Bay Company stopping his pension. I

had suggested that he refer the matter to his wife as she, too, figures

in this story, and the following is part of his reply: "This being an

affair between you and I--I have not consulted my wife. For as you

know, the human female tongue is very similar to that of the female

woodpecker: unusually long, and much too pointed to be of any use."

THE HONESTY OF INDIANS

But to return to the Indian's reproach of the white man's dishonesty;

when he states that the spirits of white children enter only those

birds that are counted great thieves, one cannot wonder at it, for as

far as honesty is concerned, a comparison between the forest Indian and

the white man brands the latter as a thief. Not only is that the

private opinion of all the old fur traders I have met, but I could

quote many other authorities; let two, however, suffice: Charles Mair,

the author of "Tecumseh," and a member of the Indian Treaty Expedition

of 1899, says:

"The writer, and doubtless some of his readers, can recall the time

when to go to 'Peace River' seemed almost like going to another sphere,

where, it was conjectured, life was lived very differently from that of

civilized man. And, truly, it was to enter into an unfamiliar state of

things; a region in which a primitive people, not without fault or

depravities, lived on Nature's food, and throve on her unfailing

harvest of fur. A region in which they often left their beaver, silver

fox, or marten packs--the envy of Fashion--lying by the dog-trail, or

hanging to some sheltering tree, because no one stole, and took their

fellow's word without question, because no one lied. A very simple

folk indeed, in whose language profanity was unknown, and who had no

desire to leave their congenital solitudes for any other spot on earth:

solitudes which so charmed the educated minds who brought the white

man's religion, or traffic, to their doors, that, like the

Lotus-eaters, they, too, felt little craving to depart. Yet they were

not regions of sloth or idleness, but of necessary toil; of the

laborious chase and the endless activities of aboriginal life: the

regions of a people familiar with its fauna and flora--of skilled but

unconscious naturalists, who knew no science . . . But theft such as

white men practice was a puzzle to these people, amongst whom it was

unknown."

Another example worth quoting is taken from Sir William Butler's "The

Wild North Land":

"The 'Moose That Walks' arrived at Hudson's Hope early in the spring.

He was sorely in want of gunpowder and shot, for it was the season when

the beaver leave their winter houses and when it is easy to shoot them.

So he carried his thirty martens' skins to the fort, to barter them for

shot, powder, and tobacco.

"There was no person at the Hope. The dwelling-house was closed, the

store shut up, the man in charge had not yet come up from St. John's;

now what was to be done? Inside that wooden house lay piles and piles

of all that the 'Moose that Walks' most needed. There was a whole keg

of powder; there were bags of shot, and tobacco--there was as much as

the Moose could smoke in his whole life.

"Through a rent in the parchment window the Moose looked at all those

wonderful things, and at the red flannel shirts, and at the four flint

guns and the spotted cotton handerchiefs, each worth a sable skin at

one end of the fur trade, half a six-pence at the other. There was

tea, too--tea, that magic medicine before which life's cares vanished

like snow in spring sunshine.

"The Moose sat down to think about all these things, but thinking only

made matters worse. He was short of ammunition, therefore he had no

food, and to think of food when one is very hungry is an unsatisfactory

business. It is true that the Moose that Walks had only to walk in

through that parchment window and help himself until he was tired. But

no, that would not do.

"'Ah,' my Christian friend will exclaim, 'Ah, yes, the poor Indian had

known the good missionary, and had learnt the lesson of honesty and

respect for his neighbour's property.'

"Yes; he had learnt the lesson of honesty, but his teacher, my friend,

had been other than human. The good missionary had never reached the

Hope of Hudson, nor improved the morals of the Moose That Walks.

"But let us go on. After waiting two days he determined to set off for

St. John's, two full days' travel. He set out, but his heart failed

him, and he turned back again.

"At last, on the fourth day, he entered the parchment window, leaving

outside his comrade, to whom he jealously denied admittance. Then he

took from the cask of powder three skins' worth, from the tobacco four

skins' worth, from the shot the same; and sticking the requisite number

of martens' skins in the powder barrel and the shot bag and the tobacco

case, he hung up his remaining skins on a nail to the credit of his

account, and departed from this El Dorado, this Bank of England of the

Red Man in the wilderness. And when it was all over he went his way,

thinking he had done a very reprehensible act, and one by no means to

be proud of."

If it were necessary further to establish the honesty of the forest

Indian, I could add many proofs from my own experience, but one will

suffice:

Years ago, during my first visit to the Hudson's Bay Post on Lake

Temagami, when the only white man living in all that beautiful region

was old Malcolm MacLean, a "freeman" of the H. B. Co., who had married

an Indian woman and become a trapper, I was invited to be the guest of

the half-breed Hudson's Bay trader, Johnnie Turner, and was given a

bedroom in his log house. The window of my room on the ground floor

was always left wide open, and in fact was never once closed during my

stay of a week or more. Inside my room, a foot from the open window, a

lidless cigar box was nailed to the wall, yet it contained a heap of

bills of varying denominations--ones, fives, and tens, and even

twenties; how much in all I don't know for I never had the curiosity to

count them--though, at the time, I guessed that there were many

hundreds of dollars. It was the trader's bank. Nevertheless, beside

that open window was the favourite lounging place of all the Indian

trappers and hunters who visited the Post, and during my stay a group

of Indians that numbered from three or four to thirty or forty were

daily loitering in the shade within a few feet of that open window.

Sometimes, when I was in my room, they would even intrude their heads

and shoulders through the window and talk to me. Several times I saw

them glance at the heap of money, but they no more thought of touching

it than I did; yet day or night it could have been taken with the

greatest ease, and the thief never discovered--but, of course, there

wasn't a thief in all that region.

But now that the white man has made Lake Temagami a fashionable summer

resort, and the civilized Christians flock there from New York,

Toronto, Pittsburgh, and Montreal, how long would the trader's money

remain in an open box beside an open window on a dark night?

TRACKING UP RAPIDS

After breakfast next morning, while ascending Caribou River, we

encountered a series of rapids that extended for nearly a quarter of a

mile. Here and there, in midstream, rocks protruded above the foaming

water, and from their leeward ends flowed eddying currents of back

water that from their dark, undulating appearance rather suggested that

every boulder possessed a tail. It was always for those long, flowing

tails that the canoes were steered in their slow upward struggle from

one rock to another; for each tail formed a little harbour in which the

canoe could not only make easier headway, but also might hover for a

moment while the paddlers caught their breath. Then out again they

would creep, and once more the battle would rage and, working with

might and main, the paddlers would force the canoe gradually ahead and

over into the eddy of another boulder. Sometimes the water would leap

over the gunwales and come aboard with a savage hiss. At other times

the canoes seemed to become discouraged and, with their heads almost

buried beneath the angry, spitting waves, would balk in midstream and

not move forward so much as a foot to the minute. It was dangerous

work, for if at any time a canoe became inclined across the current,

even to the slightest degree, it might be rolled over and over, like a

barrel descending an incline. Dangerous work it was, but it was

interesting to see how powerfully the Indians propelled their canoes,

how skilfully they guided them, and how adroitly even the little

children handled their paddles. However, we landed safely at the head

of the rapids, and upon going ashore to drain the canoes, partook of a

refreshing snack of tea and bannock. Then to the canoes again. The

aspect of the river was now very beautiful, beautiful enough to ponder

over and to dream, so we took it easy. While pipes were going we

gazed, in peace and restfulness, at the reflections, for they were

wonderful.

After dinner we encountered another rapid, but though it was much

shorter than the former, the current ran too strong to attempt the

ascent with the aid of only paddles or poles. The northern tripper has

the choice between five methods of circumventing "white waters," and

his selection depends upon the strength of the current: first,

paddling; second, poling; third, wading; fourth, tracking; and fifth,

portaging. You are already familiar with the method of paddling, and

also with that of portaging, and a description of poling will shortly

follow. Wading is resorted to only when the trippers, unprovided with

poles, have been defeated in their effort to ascend with no other aid

than their paddles. Then they leap overboard and seizing hold of the

gunwales drag the craft up the rapids before it can be overcome by the

turbulent water, and either driven down stream or capsized. Again,

when the trippers encounter, in shallow water, such obstacles as jammed

timbers, wading allows them carefully to ease their craft around or

over the obstruction.

When tracking their six-fathom canoes, or "York boats," or "sturgeon

scows," the voyageurs of the north brigades use very long lines, one

end of which is attached to the bow of the craft while to the other end

is secured a leather harness of breast straps called _otapanapi_ into

which each hauler adjusts himself. Thus, while the majority of the

crew land upon the shore and, so harnessed, walk off briskly in single

file along the river bank, their mates aboard endeavour, with the aid

of either paddles, sweeps, or poles, to keep the craft in a safe

channel.

In the present instance we had to resort to tracking, but it was of a

light character, for the canoes were not too heavily loaded, nor was

the current too strong for us to make fair headway along the rough,

pathless bank of the wild little stream. In each canoe one person

remained aboard to hold the bow off shore with a paddle or pole, while

the others scrambled along the river bank, either to help haul upon a

line, or, in the case of the younger children and the dogs, simply to

walk in order to relieve the craft of their weight and also for

safety's sake, should the canoe overturn. The greatest danger is for

the steersman to lose control and allow the canoe to get out of line

with the current, as the least headway in a wrong direction is apt to

capsize it.

With us all went well until a scream from the children announced that

Ah-ging-goos, the second son, had fallen in, and anxiety reigned until

the well-drenched Chipmunk partly crawled and was partly hauled ashore;

and then laughter echoed in the river valley, for The Chipmunk was at

times much given to frisking about and showing off, and this time he

got his reward.

But before we had ascended half the length of the rapids we encountered

the usual troubles that overtake the tracker--those of clearing our

lines of trees and bushes, slipping into the muck of small inlets,

stumbling over stones, cutting the lines upon sharp rocks, or having

them caught by gnarled roots of driftwood. As we approached the last

lap of white water the canoes passed through a rocky basin that held a

thirty- or forty-yard section of the river in a slack and unruffled

pool. While ascending this last section, the last canoe, the one in

which the old grandmother was wielding the paddle, broke away from

Oo-koo-hoo, the strain severing his well-worn line, and away

Grandmother went, racing backward down through the turbulent foam.

With her usual presence of mind she exercised such skill in guiding her

canoe that it never for a moment swerved out of the true line of the

current, and thus she saved herself and all her precious cargo. Then,

the moment she struck slack water, she in with her paddle, and out with

her pole, stood up in her unsteady craft, bent her powerful old frame,

and--her pipe still clenched between her ancient teeth--with all her

might and main she actually poled her canoe right up to the very head

of the rapids, and came safely ashore. It was thrilling to watch

her--for we could render no aid--and when she landed we hailed her with

approval for her courage, strength, and skill; but Grandmother was

annoyed--her pipe was out.

TRAVELLING AT NIGHT

While we rested a few minutes, the women espied, in a little springy

dell, some unusually fine moss, which they at once began to gather.

Indian women dry it and use it in a number of ways, especially for

packing about the little naked bodies of their babies when lacing them

to their cradle boards. The incident, however, reminds me of what once

happened to an Indian woman and her eight-year-old daughter when they

were gathering moss about a mile from their camp on the shore of Great

Slave Lake. They were working in a muskeg, and the mother, observing a

clump of gnarled spruces a little way off, sent her daughter there to

see if there were any berries. Instead of fruit the child found a nice

round hole that led into a cavern beneath the roots of the trees that

stood upon the little knoll; and she called to her mother to come and

see it. On kneeling down and peering within, the mother discovered a

bear inside, and instantly turning about, hauled up her skirt and sat

down in such a way that her figure completely blocked the hole and shut

out all light. Then she despatched her child on the run for camp, to

tell Father to come immediately with his gun and shoot the bear.

To one who is not versed in woodcraft, such an act displays remarkable

bravery, but to an Indian woman it meant no such thing, it was merely

the outcome of her knowledge of bears, for she well knew that as long

as all light was blocked from the hole the bear would lie still. But

perhaps you wonder why she pulled up her skirt. To prevent it from

being soiled or torn? No, that was not the reason. Again it was her

knowledge of bears that prompted her, for she knew that if by any

strange chance the bear did move about in the dark, and if he did

happen to touch her bare figure--for Indian ladies never wear

lingerie--the bear would have been so mystified on encountering a

living thing in the dark that he would make never another move until

light solved the mystery. However, Father came with a rush, and shot

the bear, and the brute was a big one, too.

During the rest of the afternoon we found the current quite slack and

therefore, making better headway, we gained Caribou Lake about an hour

before sundown; and on finding a fair wind beneath a clear sky that

promised moonlight, it was decided to sail as far down the lake as the

breeze would favour us, and then go ashore upon some neighbouring isle

for the balance of the night. So two stout poles were secured and laid

across our two large canoes as they rested about a foot apart and

parallel to one another. Then, the poles being lashed to the thwarts,

a single "four-point" blanket was rigged horizontally to two masts, one

standing in each canoe and both guyed with tump-lines, and leaning away

from each other in order to spread the improvised sail. Two canoes so

rigged cannot only make good headway, but can with safety run before a

very strong wind. While Oo-koo-hoo's canoe was kept free, he

nevertheless counted on having it towed, as it could then be cast off

without a moment's delay in case of our coming unexpectedly upon

tempting game.

Supper was no sooner over than we were lying lazily in our canoes and,

to the music of babbling water and foaming wakes, rushing toward the

setting sun. Soon twilight overtook us, and wrapping shadows about us,

accompanied us for a while. Next starlight appeared and with myriads

of twinkling lanterns showed us our way among the now silhouetted

islands. Then the moon uprose and pushed a shiny head through the

upper branches of the eastern trees. At first it merely peeped as

though to make sure we were not afraid; then it came out boldly in

glory and quickly turning our wake into a path of molten gold, began to

soar above the forest.

For a while I could hear the childish prattle of the children and the

crooning of Naudin as she hushed, with swaying body, her baby to her

breast.

Then even those gentle sounds died away as the little forms snuggled

down beneath the blankets among the dogs and bales. Occasionally a

loon called to us, or an owl swooped, ghost-like, overhead, and as we

passed among pine-crested isles, those weather-beaten old monarchs just

stood there, and whispering to one another, shook their heads as we

swept by.

Then for a few moments a mother moose with her two calves stood knee

deep in a water-lily bay, and watched us on our way. But Oo-koo-hoo

was now too drowsy to think of anything but sleep. So hour after hour

went by while the moon rose higher and higher, and circling round to

the westward, began to descend in front of us.

POLING UP RAPIDS

Out of the east came dawn with a sweep of radiant splendour. Still we

sailed westward, ever westward, until the sun rose and through the

rising mist showed us that the mouth of Caribou River opened right

before us; then, happily, we landed on a little island to breakfast,

and to drowse away a couple of hours on mossy beds beneath the shade of

wind-blown pines.

Besides shooting a few ducks and a beaver, and seeing a distant moose,

nothing happened that was eventful enough to deflect my interest from

the endless variety of charming scenery that came into view as we swept

round bend after bend of that woodland river; at least, not until about

four o'clock, when we arrived at the foot of another rapid. This

Oo-koo-hoo and Amik examined carefully from the river bank, and decided

that it could be ascended by poling. So from green wood we cut

suitable poles of about two inches in diameter and from seven to nine

feet in length and knifed them carefully to rid them of bark and knots.

Then, for this was a shoal rapids, both bowman and sternman stood up,

the better to put the full force of their strength and weight into the

work; the children, however, merely knelt to the work of wielding their

slender poles; but in deep water, or where there were many boulders and

consequently greater risk if the canoe were overturned, all would have

knelt to do the work.

Going bow-on straight for the mid-stream current, we plied our poles to

good advantage. Each man remembered, however, to lift his pole only

when his mate's had been planted firmly in the river bottom. Then he

would fix his own a little farther ahead and throw all his weight and

strength upon it, while at the same moment his companion went the same

round. Then he would firmly re-fix his pole a little farther up

stream, and then once again shoved in unison. Thus foot by foot we

crept up stream. It was hard but joyous work, for standing up in a

canoe surrounded by a powerful and treacherous current gave us the

thrill of adventure.

OO-KOO-HOO VISITS BEAVERS

All the canoes having mounted the white water, however, in safety, it

was decided, though sunset was several hours away, to spend the night

at the head of the rapids, as the place afforded an excellent camping

ground and besides, the next day was Sunday, a day upon which all good

trippers cease to travel. While the canvas tepee, and my tent, too,

were being erected, we heard the dogs barking and growling several

hundred yards away, so Amik, slipping on his powder horn and bullet

pouch, ran to investigate. Presently the report of his gun was added

to the din, then silence reigned; and when we went to see what had

happened we found that the hunter had shot a two-year-old moose heifer

that the dogs had bayed. Then, as was her custom, Granny came with her

pail to catch the blood, and to select the entrails she needed to hold

it. By supper time the moose had not only been skinned but the carcass

dressed, too. After the meal was over, Granny washed the entrails

inside and out and then stuffed them with a mixture of blood and

oatmeal that she had prepared and seasoned with salt, and hung her

home-made sausages high up inside the tepee to let them congeal and

also to be out of reach of the dogs. In the meantime, Amik had made

two frames, and Naudin and her daughters had stretched and laced into

them, not only the moose hide, but the skin of the caribou as well; and

when the meat was cut up and hung from the branches of a tree, it was

time to sit around the fire and have our evening talk.

But Oo-koo-hoo, slipping away in his hunting canoe, paddled up a little

creek into a small lake in which he knew a colony of beavers lived. He

was gone about an hour and upon his return he told us about it. On

gaining the little mere, he, without removing his paddle from the

water, propelled his canoe slowly and silently along the shore in the

shadow of the overhanging trees, until a large beaver lodge appeared in

the rising mist; and then standing up in his canoe--in order to get a

better view--he became motionless. Minutes passed while the rising

moon cast golden ripples upon the water, and two beavers, rising from

below, swam toward and mounted the roof of their island home. Then,

while the moonlight faded and glowed, other beavers appeared and swam

hither and thither; some hauling old barkless poles, others bringing

freshly cut poplar branches, and all busily engaged. A twig snapping

behind the hunter, he turned his head, and as he caught a vanishing

glimpse of a lynx in a tree, he was instantly startled by a tremendous

report and a splashing upheaval of water beside his canoe. A beaver

had been swimming there, and on seeing the hunter move, had struck the

water with its powerful tail, to warn its mates before it dived. The

lynx had been watching the beaver.

[Illustration: Minutes passed while the rising moon cast golden ripples

upon the water and two beavers, rising from below, swam toward and

mounted the roof of their island home. A twig snapping behind the

hunter, he turned his head, and as he caught the vanishing glimpse of a

lynx in a tree, he was instantly startled by a tremendous report and a

splashing upheaval . . . See Chapter II.]

"Did you bring back anything?"

"No, my son," Oo-koo-hoo replied, "that hunting-ground belongs to an

old friend of mine."

WOODCRAFT OF TRAILING

After a while the subject of woodcraft arose. When I inquired as to

how I could best locate the north in case I happened to be travelling

on a cloudy day without a compass, the old hunter replied, that though

he never used a compass, he found no difficulty in determining the

north at any time, as the woods were full of signs. For instance, the

branches of trees had a general tendency to be less numerous and

shorter on the north side, and the bark on the north side was usually

finer in texture and of a smoother surface. Also moss was more often

found on the north side of vertical trees. The tops of pine trees

usually leant toward the southeast--but that that was not always a sure

sign in all localities, as in some places the tree tops were affected

by the prevailing winds. The stumps of trees furnished a surer

indication. They showed the rings of growth to be greater in thickness

on the north side. When trees were shattered by lightning, the cracks

more often opened on the south side for lightning generally struck from

that direction. Snow was usually deeper on the south side of trees on

account of the prevailing northerly winds; and if one dug away the

crust from around a tree they would come to fine, granulated snow much

sooner on the north side, thus proving where the shadow usually fell.

Furthermore, as the snowdrifts always pointed in the direction whither

the wind had gone, knowing the direction of the prevailing winds, one

had no trouble in locating the north even on the snow-covered surface

of a great lake.

The old woodman cautioned me that if, while travelling alone upon a big

lake, I should be overtaken by a blizzard, in no case should I try to

fight it, but stop right in my tracks, take off my snowshoes, dig a

hole in the snow, turn my sled over on its side to form a wind-break,

crawl into the hole with the dogs, and wait until the storm subsided.

If a blizzard came head-on it was useless to try to fight it, for it

would easily win; but if the wind were fair and if one were still sure

of his bearings, he might drift with the wind, although at heavy risk,

as the wind is apt to change its course and the tripper lose his way.

There was always one consolation, however, and that was that the

greater the storm the sooner it was over. Another thing I should

remember when travelling on a lake or over an open country, in a

violent snow-storm--I should allow for drifting, much in the same way

as one would if travelling by canoe.

By that time, however, the women and children had gone to sleep upon

their evergreen beds, while we three men continued to converse in

whispers over the glow of the fading fire. Next I asked Oo-koo-hoo in

which direction men usually turned when lost in the woods--to the right

or to the left? He replied that circumstances had much to do with

that, for the character of the country affected the man's turning, as

it was natural to follow the line of least resistance; also it depended

somewhat on the man's build--whether one leg were shorter than the

other. But though he had repeatedly experimented, he could not arrive

at any definite conclusion. However, when trying blindfolded men on a

frozen lake, he noticed that they had a tendency to turn to the south

regardless of whether they were facing east or west. And he concluded

by remarking that he thought people were very foolish to put so much

faith in certain statements, simply because they were twice-told tales.

Upon my questioning him as to how a hunter would act, if, for instance,

he were trailing a moose, and suspected that he was being followed by

enemies, say a pack of wolves, or strange hunters, he informed me that

if that happened to him--that if he suspected some enemy were following

his trail--he would not stop, nor even look around, but at the first

favourable opportunity, when he was sure he couldn't be observed, he

would leave the game trail, circle back a mile or so through the woods,

and upon cutting his old track would at once learn what was following

him. Then if it were worth while he could trail his pursuers and,

coming up behind them, could take them unaware. But if all this

happened on a lake or in open country, where he could not circle back

under cover, he would suddenly turn in his tracks, as though upon a

pivot, and without losing the least headway or causing a moment's delay

in his pace, he would continue walking, but now in a backward

direction, long enough to give himself ample time to scrutinize his

distant trail. By manoeuvring thus, he could study his pursuers

without arousing their suspicion, for whether they were animals or men,

the chances would be--if they were some distance away--that they would

never notice that he had turned about, and was now inspecting his own

tracks.

As regards trailing game, whether large or small, he cautioned me to

watch my quarry carefully, and instantly to become rigid at the first

sign that the game was about to turn round or raise its head to peer in

my direction. More than that, I should not only remain motionless

while the animal was gazing toward me, but I should assume at once some

form that suggested the character of the surrounding trees or bushes or

rocks. For example, among straight-boled, perfectly vertical trees, I

should stand upright; among uprooted trees, I should assume the

character of an overturned stump, by standing with inclined body, bent

legs, and arms and fingers thrust out at such angles as to suggest the

roots of a fallen tree. And he added that if I doubted the wisdom of

such an act, I should test it at a distance of fifty or a hundred

paces, and prove the difficulty of detecting a man who assumed a

characteristic landscape pose among trees or rocks. That was years

before the World War had brought the word _camouflage_ into general

use; for as a matter of fact, the forest Indians had been practising

_camouflage_ for centuries and, no doubt, that was one reason why many

of the Indians in the Canadian Expeditionary Force did such remarkable

work as snipers.

INDIANS IN THE WORLD WAR

For instance: Sampson Comego destroyed twenty-eight of the enemy.

Philip Macdonald killed forty, Johnny Ballantyne fifty-eight. "One of

their number, Lance-Corporal Johnson Paudash," as the Department of

Indian Affairs states, "received the Military Medal for his

distinguished gallantry in saving life under heavy fire and for giving

a warning that the enemy were preparing a counter-attack at Hill

Seventy; the counter-attack took place twenty-five minutes after

Paudash gave the information. It is said that a serious reverse was

averted as a result of his action. Like other Indian soldiers, he won

a splendid record as a sniper, and is officially credited with having

destroyed no less than eighty-eight of the enemy. Another Indian who

won fame at the front was Lance-Corporal Norwest; he was one of the

foremost snipers in the army and was officially credited with one

hundred and fifteen observed hits. He won the Military Medal and bar.

Still another, Corporal Francis Pegahmagabow, won the Military Medal

and two bars. He distinguished himself signally as a sniper and bears

the extraordinary record of having killed three hundred and

seventy-eight of the enemy. His Military Medal and two bars were

awarded, however, for his distinguished conduct at Mount Sorrell,

Amiens, and Passchendaele. At Passchendaele, Corporal Pegahmagabow led

his company through an engagement with a single casualty, and

subsequently captured three hundred Germans at Mount Sorrell.

"The fine record of the Indians in the great war appears in a

peculiarly favourable light when it is remembered that their services

were absolutely voluntary, as they were specially exempted from the

operation of the Military Service Act, and that they were prepared to

give their lives for their country without compulsion or even the fear

of compulsion."

Many military medals were won by the Canadian Indians; Captain A. G. E.

Smith of the Grand River Band of the Iroquois having been decorated

seven times by the Governments of England, France, and Poland, and many

distinguished themselves by great acts upon the battlefield. "Another

Indian to be decorated was Dave Kisek. During the heavy fighting

around Cambrai he unstrapped a machine gun from his shoulder and

advanced about one hundred yards to the German position, where he ran

along the top of their trench, doing deadly execution with his machine

gun. He, single-handed, took thirty prisoners upon this occasion.

This Indian came from the remote regions of the Patricia district.

Sergeant Clear Sky was awarded the Military Medal for one of the most

gallant and unselfish deeds that is recorded in the annals of the

Canadian Expeditionary Force. During a heavy gas attack he noticed a

wounded man lying in 'No Man's Land' whose gas mask had been rendered

useless. Clear Sky crawled to him through the poisonous fumes, removed

his own mask, and placed it on the wounded man, whose life was in

consequence saved. Sergeant Clear Sky was himself severely gassed as a

result of his heroic action. Joe Thunder was awarded the Military

Medal for a feat of arms of an exceptionally dramatic character. He

was separated from his platoon and surrounded by six Germans, each of

whom he bayoneted. George McLean received the Distinguished Conduct

Medal in recognition of the performance of a feat which was an

extraordinary one even for the great war. Private McLean,

single-handed, destroyed nineteen of the enemy with bombs and captured

fourteen."

And yet not a single Canadian Indian has claimed that he won the World

War--not even Pegahmagabow, who shot three hundred and seventy-eight

Germans.

APPROACHING GAME

But to return to the land of peace. Of course, in attempting to

deceive game, one must always guard against approaching down wind, for

most animals grow more frantic over the scent than they do over the

sight of man. Later on, when I went hunting with Oo-koo-hoo, he used

to make me laugh, for at one moment he would be a jolly old Indian

gentleman, and just as likely as not the next instant he would be

posing as a rotten pine stump that had been violently overturned, and

now resembled an object against which a bear might like to rub his back

and scratch himself.

Often have I proved the value of the old hunter's methods, and I could

recite not a few instances of how easy it is to deceive either birds or

animals; but I shall mention only one, which happened on the borderline

of Alaska. I was running through a grove of heavy timber, where the

moss was so deep that my tread made no sound, when suddenly rounding a

large boulder, I came upon a black bear less than fourteen paces away.

It was sitting upon its haunches, directly in the footpath I was

following. As good luck would have it, I saw him first, and for the

fun of it, I instantly became an old gray stump--or tried to look like

one. Presently the bear's head swung round, and at first he seemed a

bit uneasy over the fact that he had not seen that stump before. It

appeared to puzzle him, for he even twisted about to get a better view;

but after watching me for about five minutes he contentedly turned his

head away. A few minutes later, however, he looked again, and becoming

reassured, yawned deliberately in my face. But by that time, being

troubled with a kink in my back, I had to straighten up. Then, strange

to say, as I walked quietly and slowly round him to gain the path

ahead, the brute did not even get up off his haunches--but such

behaviour on the part of a bear rarely happens.

Perhaps you wonder why I didn't shoot the brute. I never carry a gun.

For when one is provided with food, one can carry no more useless thing

than a gun; so far as protection is concerned, there is no more need to

carry a gun in the north woods, than to carry a gun down Broadway; in

fact, the wolves of Broadway--especially those of the female

species--are much more dangerous to man than the wolves of the Great

Northern Forest.

SUNDAY IN CAMP

Next morning being Sunday, we did not strike camp, and the first thing

the women attended to, even while breakfast was under way, was the

starting of a fire of damp, rotten wood, which smoked but never blazed,

and over which, at a distance of about four feet, they leant the

stretched deerskins, hair side up, to dry. Besides those, other frames

were made and erected over another slow fire, and here the flakes or

slabs of moose flesh were hung to be dried and smoked into what is

called jerked meat. The fat, being chopped up and melted in a pail,

was then poured into the moose bladder and other entrails to cool and

be handy for future use. Of course, it would take several days to dry

out the deerskins; so each morning when we were about to travel, the

skins were unlaced and rolled up, to be re-stretched and placed over

another fire the following evening.

Sunday was pleasantly spent, notwithstanding that so many different

religious denominations were represented in camp: for while old Ojistoh

counted her beads according to the Roman Catholic faith, Amik and

Naudin were singing hymns, as the former was an English Churchman and

his wife a Presbyterian; but Oo-koo-hoo would join in none of it as he

had no faith whatever in the various religions of the white men and so

he remained a pagan. Part of the day we spent in pottering about, in

doing a little mending here and there, smoking, telling stories, or in

strolling through the woods; as both Oo-koo-hoo and Amik were opposed

to doing actual work on Sunday. In the afternoon I turned to

sketching, and my drawing excited so much interest that Amik tried his

hand, and in a crude way his sketches of animals and birds were quite

graphic in character. One sketch I made, that of the baby, so pleased

Neykia, that I gave it to her, and when she realized my intention she

seized it with such eagerness that she crumpled and almost tore the

paper; for as the Ojibways have no word to express their thanks, they

show their gratitude by the eagerness with which they accept a present.

That, however, reminds me of having read in one of the leading American

magazines an account of a noted American illustrator's trip into the

woods of Quebec. While there he presented a red handkerchief to an

Indian girl. The fact that she snatched it from him, and then ran

away, was to him--as he stated--a sign that she was willing to comply

with any evil intentions he might entertain toward her. Such absolute

rot! The polite little maid was merely trying to express her unbounded

thanks for his gift.

The only thing that interrupted our paddling the following day was our

going ashore to portage around a picturesque waterfall where two huge

rocks, on the very brink of the cascade, split the river into three.

When we had carried up the canoes, we found the children making a great

to-do about wasps attacking them; for they had put down their packs

beside a wasps' hole; and old Granny, seeing the commotion, had put

down her end of the canoe, and with disgust exclaimed:

"Oh, my foolish people, always standing around and waiting for old

Granny to fix everything!" So saying, she pulled a big bunch of long,

dry grass, and lighting it, ran with a blanket over her head, and

placed the fire against the wasps' hole; in a moment they ceased their

attack and utterly disappeared.

We were now nearing the fork of Crane River, that in its three-mile

course came from Crane Lake, on the shore of which was Oo-koo-hoo's

last winter's camping ground; the men therefore decided that it was

best for Amik to push on in the light canoe and get the two deerskin

winter tepee coverings, as well as their traps, that had been cached

there last spring; and then return to the fork of the river where the

family would go into camp and wait for him.

NEARING TRIP'S END

Transferring most of the cargo to the other canoes, Amik and I provided

ourselves with a little snack and started at once for Oo-koo-koo's old

camping ground. It appeared about a three-mile paddle to the fork of

the river. Nothing save the quacking of ducks rushing by on the wing,

the occasional rise of a crane in front of us, the soaring of an eagle

overhead, and the rippling wakes left by muskrats as they scurried

away, enlivened our hurried trip. We found the leather lodge coverings

in good order upon a stage, and securing them along with several

bundles of steel traps that hung from trees, we put all aboard and

found we had quite a load, for not only were the tepee coverings bulky,

each bundle being about two feet thick by four feet long, but they were

heavy, too, for each weighed about a hundred pounds. Then, too, the

traps were quite a load in themselves. I didn't stop to count them,

but it is surprising the number of traps a keen, hard-working hunter

employs; and they ranged all the way from small ones for rat and ermine

to ponderous ones for bears. Also we gathered up a few odds and ends

such as old axes, an iron pot, a couple of slush scoops, a bundle of

fish-nets, and a lot of old snowshoes. Crane Lake, like many another

northern mere, was a charming little body of water nestling among

beautiful hills. After a cup of tea and some bannock, we once more

plied our paddles.

Now it was down stream and we glided swiftly along, arriving at the

confluence of the Crane and Caribou just before twilight and found

smiling faces and a good supper awaiting our return. How human some

Indians are, much more so than many a cold-blooded white.

Next day we wanted to make the Height-of-land portage for our camp. As

it meant a long, stiff paddle against a strong current for most of the

distance, we were up early, if not bright, and on our way before

sunrise. This time, however, no rapids impeded us and we reached the

portage on the farther shore of Height-of-land Lake, tired and hungry,

but happy over a day's work well done. It was a pretty little lake

about two miles long, surrounded by low-lying land in the midst of a

range of great rock-bound hills, and its waters had a whimsical fashion

of running either east or west according to which way the wind struck

it. Thus its waters became divided and, flowing either way, travel

afar to their final destinations in oceans thousands of miles apart.

But the western outlet, Moose Creek, being too shallow for canoes, a

portage of a couple of miles was made the following day, to the fork of

an incoming stream that doubles its waters and makes the creek

navigable. When we camped that night the hour was late. Then a

two-days' run--the second of which we travelled due north--took us into

Moose Lake; but not without shooting three rapids, each of which the

Indians examined carefully before we undertook the sport that all

enjoyed so much. An eastern storm, however, caught us on Moose Lake

and not only sent us ashore on an island, but windbound us there for

two days while cold showers pelted us. Another day and a half up Bear

River, with a portage round Crane Falls, landed us on the western shore

of Bear Lake at the mouth of Muskrat Creek--and there we were to spend

the winter.

There, too, I remembered Thoreau when he said: "As I ran down the hill

toward the reddening west, with the rainbow over my shoulder, and some

faint tinkling sounds borne to my ear through the cleansed air, from I

know not what quarter, my Good Genius seemed to say,--'Go fish and hunt

far and wide day by day,--farther and wider,--and rest thee by many

brooks and hearth-sides without misgiving. Remember thy Creator in the

days of thy youth. Rise free from care before the dawn, and seek

adventures. Let the noon find thee by other lakes, and the night

overtake thee everywhere at home'." And furthermore: "Let not to get a

living be thy trade, but thy sport. Enjoy the land, but own it not.

Through want of enterprise and faith men are where they are, buying and

selling, and spending their lives like serfs."

III

OO-KOO-HOO'S EL DORADO

OUR WINTER CAMP

Bear Lake was beautiful. Its shores were fringed here and there with

marshy reeds or sandy beaches; and its rivulets, flowing in and out,

connected it with other meres in other regions. At dawn moose and

caribou came thither to drink; bears roamed its surrounding slopes;

lynxes, foxes, fishers, martens, ermines, and minks lived in its

bordering woods. Otters, muskrats, and beavers swam its inrushing

creeks; wolverines prowled its rocky glens, and nightly concerts of

howling wolves echoed along its shores. The eagles and the hawks built

their nests in its towering trees, while the cranes fished and the

ruffed grouse drummed. Nightly, too, the owls and the loons hooted and

laughed at the quacking ducks and the honking geese as they flew

swiftly by in the light of the moon. Salmon-trout, whitefish, pike,

and pickerel rippled its placid waters, and brook-trout leaped above

the shimmering pools of its crystal streams. It was Oo-koo-hoo's

happiest hunting ground, and truly it was a hunter's paradise . . . a

poet's heaven . . . an artist's home.

"What fools we mortals be!"--when we live in the city!

The site chosen for the lodges was on one of two points jutting into

the lake, separated by the waters of Muskrat Greek. On its northwest

side ran a heavily timbered ridge that broke the force of the winter

winds from the west and the north, and thus protected Oo-koo-hoo's

camp, which stood on the southeast side of the little stream. Such a

site in such a region afforded wood, water, fruit, fish, fowl, and

game; and, moreover, an enchanting view of the surrounding country.

Furthermore, that section of The Owl's game-lands had not been hunted

for forty-two moons.

Immediately after dinner the men began cutting lodge poles, while the

women cleared the tepee sites and levelled the ground. On asking

Oo-koo-hoo how many poles would be required for the canvas lodge which

he had kindly offered me the use of for the coming winter, he replied:

"My son, cut a pole for every moon, and cut them thirteen feet in

length, and the base of the tepee, too, should be thirteen feet

across." Then looking at me with his small, shrewd, but pleasant eyes,

he added: "Thirteen is our lucky number. It always brings good

fortune. Besides, most canoes are made of thirteen pieces, and when we

kill big game, we always cut the carcasses into thirteen parts. My

son, when I have time I shall carve a different symbol upon each of the

thirteen poles of your lodge; they shall represent the thirteen moons

of the year, and thus they will enable you to keep track of the phase

of the season through which you are passing."

All the poles were of green pine or spruce. The thin ends of three of

the stoutest were lashed together; on being erected, they formed a

tripod against which the other poles were leant, while their butts,

placed in a circle, were spread an equal distance apart. Over that

framework the lodge covering was spread by inserting the end of a pole

into the pocket of each of the two windshields, and then hoisting the

covering into place. Next the lapping edges, brought together over the

doorway, were fastened securely together with wooden pins, while the

bottom edge was pegged down all round the lodge with wooden stakes. In

the centre of the floor-space six little cut logs were fastened down in

the form of a hexagon, and the earth scooped from within the hexagon

was banked against the logs to form a permanent and limited fireplace.

The surrounding floor space was covered with a layer of fir-brush, then

a layer of rushes, and finally, where the beds were to be laid, a heavy

mattress of balsam twigs laid, shingle-fashion, one upon another, with

their stems down. Thus a springy, comfortable bed was formed, and the

lodge perfumed with a delightful forest aroma. Above the fireplace was

hung a stage, or framework of light sticks, upon which to dry or smoke

the meat. Around the wall on the inner side was hung a canvas curtain

that overlapped the floor, and thus protected the lodgers from draught

while they were sitting about the fire. The doorway was two feet by

five, and was covered with a raw deerskin hung from the top. A stick

across the lower edge kept the skin taut. A log at the bottom of the

doorway answered for a doorstep and in winter kept out the snow. Now

the lodge was ready for occupation.

As there are six different ways of building campfires, it should be

explained that my friends built theirs according to the Ojibway custom;

that is, in the so-called "lodge fashion", by placing the sticks

upright, leaning them together, and crossing them over one another in

the manner of lodge poles. When the fire was lighted, the windshields

formed a perfect draught to carry the smoke up through the permanently

open flue in the apex of the structure, and one soon realized that of

all tents or dwellings, no healthier abode was ever contrived by man.

Indeed, if the stupid, meddlesome agents of civilization had been wise

enough to have left the Indians in their tepees, instead of forcing

them to live in houses--the ventilation of which was never

understood--they would have been spared at least one of civilization's

diseases--tuberculosis--and many more tribesmen would have been alive

to-day.

On entering an Indian tepee one usually finds the first space, on the

right of the doorway, occupied by the woodpile; the next, by the wife;

the third, by the baby; and the fourth, by the husband. Opposite

these, on the other side of the fire, the older children are ranged.

To the visitor is allotted the warmest place in the lodge, the place of

honour, farthest from and directly opposite the doorway. When the dogs

are allowed in the tepee, they know their place to be the first space

on the left, between the entrance and the children.

While the two leather lodges of the Indians stood close together with

stages near at hand upon which to store food and implements out of

reach of the dogs and wild animals, my tepee, the canvas one, stood by

itself a little farther up the creek. Taking particular pains in

making my bed, and settling everything for service and comfort, I

turned in that night in a happy mood and fell asleep contemplating the

season of adventure before me and the great charm of living in such

simplicity. "In the savage state every family owns a shelter as good

as the best, and sufficient for its coarser and simpler wants," says

Thoreau, "but I think that I speak within bounds when I say that,

though birds of the air have their nests, and the foxes their holes,

and the savages their wigwams, in modern civilized society not more

than one half the families own a shelter. In the large towns and

cities, where civilization especially prevails, the number of those who

own a shelter is a very small fraction of the whole. The rest pay an

annual tax for this outside garment of all, become indispensable summer

and winter, which would buy a village of Indian wigwams but now helps

to keep them poor as long as they live. . . . But how happens it that

he who is said to enjoy these things is so commonly a _poor_ civilized

man, while the savage, who has them not, is rich as a savage?"

Next morning, while roaming about the point, I discovered two well-worn

game trails that, converging together, led directly to the extreme

outer end of our point. The tracks were the wild animals' highways

through that part of the woods, and were used by them when they desired

to make a short cut across that end of the lake by way of a

neighbouring island. Worn fairly smooth, and from three to five inches

in depth, by from eight to ten inches in width, these tracks were

entirely free of grass or moss. In following them a few hundred paces,

I could plainly recognize the prints of the moose, the bear, the wolf,

and the fox; and a few smaller and lesser impressions with regard to

the origin of which I was not so sure. The trails were much like the

buffalo trails one used to see upon the plains. To my delight, my

lodge door was not more than ten paces from that wild Broadway of the

Wilderness.

INDIAN POLITENESS

After breakfast Oo-koo-hoo suggested that a "lop-stick" should be cut

in honour of the white man's visit. Selecting a tall spruce, Amik,

with a half-axe in hand, began to ascend it. When he had climbed about

three parts of the way up he began to chop off the surrounding branches

and continued to do so as he descended, until he was about halfway

down, when he desisted and came to earth. The result was a

strange-looking tree with a long bare trunk, surmounted by a tuft of

branches that could be seen and recognized for miles around.

Cutting lop-sticks is an old custom of the forest Indians. Such trees

are used to mark portages, camping grounds, meeting places, or

dangerous channels where submerged rocks lie in wait for the

unsuspecting voyageur. In fact, they are to the Indian what

lighthouses are to the mariner. Yet, sometimes they are used to

celebrate the beginning of a young man's hunting career, or to mark the

grave of a famous hunter. When made to indicate a wilderness

rendezvous, the meeting place is commonly used for the purpose of

coming in contact with their nearest neighbours or friends, and halting

a day or so, while upon their voyage to the post, in order to discuss

their affairs--the winter's hunt, the strange tracks they have seen,

the strange sounds they have heard, the raiding of their hunting

ground, and the like. Always at such meetings a fire is kindled

regardless of the season, an ancient custom of their old religion, but

used to-day more for the purpose of lighting pipes. Beside the fire a

post stripped of its bark is erected, and on it a fire-bag containing

tobacco for the use of all hands is hung. Around the fire the women

and children spread a carpet of brush, upon which the men sit while

conversing. At such meetings one never hears two Indians talk at

once--a fine example for white people to heed--nor do they openly

contradict one another as the vulgar white man does, for such an

offence would be considered, by the savage, rude--and the offender

would be regarded as no better than a white man; for they believe

themselves to be not only the wisest and the bravest, but the politest

people in the world; and when one stops to compare the average Indian

with the average white man in North America, one must grant that the

savage is right.

In relation to their politeness I can go beyond my own observation and

quote the experience of Sir Alexander Henry--whom they called

Coseagon--while he was held a prisoner.

"I could not let all this pass without modestly remarking that his

account of the beginning of things was subject to great uncertainty as

being trusted to memory only, from woman to woman through so many

generations, and might have been greatly altered, whereas the account I

gave them was written down by direction of the Great Spirit himself and

preserved carefully in a book which was never altered, but had ever

remained the same and was undoubtedly the truth. 'Coseagon,' says

Canassatego, 'you are yet almost as rude as when you first came among

us. When young it seems you were not well taught, you did not learn

the civil behaviour of men. We excused you; it was the fault of your

instructors. But why have you not more improved since you have long

had the opportunity from our example? You see I always believe your

stories. That is, I never contradict them. Why do you not believe

mine?' Contradiction, or a direct denial of the truth of what another

says, is among the Indians deemed extremely rude. Only great

superiority, as of a father to a child, or of an old counsellor to some

boy, can excuse it. Alaquippy and the other Indians kindly made some

apology for me, saying I should be wiser in time, and they concluded

with an observation which they thought very polite and respectful

toward me, that my stories might be best for the white people, but

Indian stories were undoubtedly best for Indians."

Furthermore, if we compare the philosophy of the red man and the white,

we find that just because the white man has invented a lot of asinine

fashions and customs, a lot of unnecessary gear and junk, and feeds

himself on unhealthy concoctions that give him indigestion and make his

teeth fall out, he flatters himself that he is the wisest man on earth,

whereas, all things considered, in my humble opinion, he is the prize

fool of the universe--for removing himself so far from nature. And

when the female follower of Dame Fashion goes mincing along the

cement-paved street in her sharp-toed, French-heeled slippers, on her

way to the factory, she flatters herself that she knows better than God

how to perfect the human foot; then the All Wise One, in His just

wrath, strikes back at her by presenting her with a luxuriant crop of

varicose veins, corns, ingrowing nails, fallen arches, and bunions that

supply her with suffering in plenty for the rest of her days. Her red

sister, on the contrary, in moccasined feet, walks naturally through

the forest; and The Master of Life, beholding her becoming humility,

rewards her with painless pleasure.

But to return to the Indians' meeting places in the wilderness. The

important meetings held in the forest are always opened by smoking. No

man speaks without first standing up, and his delivery is always slow

and in short, clear sentences. In the past there were great orators

among the red men as many of the old writers and traders affirm--but

again I quote Sir Alexander Henry:

"Old Canassatego, a warrior, counsellor, and the chief man of our

village, used to come frequently to smoke and talk with me, while I

worked at my new business (mending of gun locks), and many of the

younger men would come and sit with him, pleased to hear our

conversations. As he soon saw I was curious on that head he took a

good deal of pains to instruct me in the principles of their eloquence,

an art (it may seem strange to say it, but it is strictly true) carried

much higher among these savages than is now in any part of Europe, as

it is their only polite art, as they practice it from their infancy, as

everything of consequence is transacted in councils, and all the force

of their government consists in persuasion."

Once when questioning Oo-koo-hoo regarding old Indian customs, he

informed me that among Indians bowing was a very recent innovation, and

that the men of the olden time--the fire-worshippers or

sun-worshippers--never deigned to bow to one another: they bowed to

none but the Deity. They took not the Great Spirit's name in vain; nor

did they mention it save in a whisper, and with bowed head. He

regretted that since coming in contact with the irreverent and

blaspheming white men, his people had lost much of their old-time godly

spirit.

TRAPPING EQUIPMENT

For the next few days the work done by the men was confined to odd jobs

in preparation for the coming winter, and the laying out of their

future trapping trails. They built some stages upon which to store the

canoes, and others nearer the lodges, upon which to place their guns,

sleds, and snowshoes. They cut and shaved axe-handles and helved them.

They overhauled traps, and got ready all their trapping gear. It was

always interesting to watch Oo-koo-hoo and Amik, even when they were

engaged upon the most trivial forest work, for much of it was new to me

and it was all so different from the ways of civilization. Then, too,

they had taken the boys in hand and were instructing them in relation

to the hunter's art.

The first thing they did with the traps, after seeing that the old ones

were in working order, was to boil both the new ones and the old ones

for about half an hour in pots in which was placed either pine, or

spruce, or cedar brush. This they did--Oo-koo-hoo explained--to

cleanse the old traps and to soften the temper of the new ones, thus

lessening the chances of their breaking in zero weather; and also to

free both old and new from all man-smell and to perfume them with the

natural scent of the forest trees, of which no animal is afraid. The

traps they used were the No. 1, "Rat," for muskrats, ermines, and

minks; the No. 2, "Mink," for minks, martens, skunks, and foxes; the

No. 3, "Fox," for foxes, minks, martens, fishers, wolves, wolverines,

skunks, otters, and beavers; the No. 4, "Beaver," for beavers, otters,

wolves, wolverines, and fishers; the No. 5, "Otter," for otters,

beavers, wolves, wolverines, and small bears; and the "Bear" trap in

two sizes--_A_, large, and _B_, small, for all kinds of bears and deer.

Traps with teeth they did not use, as they said the teeth injured the

fur.

Next to the knife, the woodsman uses no more useful implement than the

axe. Even with the professional hunter, the gun takes third place to

the knife and the axe. As between the two makes of axes--the American

and the Canadian--the former appears the best. It is really a good

fair-weather axe, but winter work proves the superiority of the

Canadian implement. The latter does not chip so readily in cold

weather. Furthermore, the eye of the American axe is too small for the

soft-wood helve usually made in the northern forest, since in many

parts no wood harder than birch is to be had. But to reduce the high

temper of the American axe, the hunter can heat the head in fire until

it becomes a slight bluish tinge and then dip it in either fish oil or

beaver oil. The sizes of axes run: "Trappers," 1 1/2 lbs.;

"Voyageurs," 2 1/2 lbs., "Chopping," 3 1/2 lbs., and "Felling," 4 lbs.

At last the eventful morning arrived. Now we were to go a-hunting.

The trap-setting party was to be composed of four persons: Oo-koo-hoo,

the two boys, and myself. Our _ne-mar-win_--provisions--for four, to

last a week, consisted of: one pound of tea, eight pounds of dried

meat, four pounds of grease, four pounds of dried fish, and a number of

small bannocks; the rest of our grub was to be secured by hunting.

Of course, while hunting, Oo-koo-hoo always carried his gun

loaded--lacking the cap--but it was charged with nothing heavier than

powder and shot, so that the hunter might be ready at any moment for

small game; yet if he encountered big game, all he had to do was to ram

down a ball, slip on a cap, and then be ready to fire at a moose or a

bear.

SETTING FOX TRAP

After the usual affectionate good-bye, and the waving of farewell as we

moved in single file into the denser forest, we followed a game trail

that wound in and out among the trees and rocks--always along the line

of least resistance--and for a while headed westward through the valley

of Muskrat Creek. Oo-koo-hoo led the way and, as he walked along,

would occasionally turn and, pointing at the trail, whisper:

"My white son, see, a moose passed two days ago . . . That's fox--this

morning," and when we were overlooking the stream, he remarked: "This

is a good place for muskrats, but I'll come for them by canoe."

The principal object of the trip was to set fox and marten traps.

Hilly timberland of spruce or pine, without much brushwood, is the most

likely place for martens; and in fairly open country foxes may be

found. The favourite haunt of beavers, otters, fishers, minks, and

muskrats is a marshy region containing little lakes and streams; while

for lynxes, a willowy valley interspersed with poplars is the usual

resort.

Coming to an open space along the creek, the wise old Owl concluded

from the fox signs he had already seen, and from the condition of the

soil on a cut bank, that it was a desirable place in which to set a

steel trap for foxes. Laying aside his kit, he put on his trapping

mits, to prevent any trace of man-smell being left about the trap, and

with the aid of his trowel he dug into the bank a horizontal hole about

two feet deep and about a foot in diameter. He wedged the chain-ring

of the trap over the small end of a five-foot pole to be used as a clog

or drag-anchor in case the fox tried to make away with the trap. The

pole was then buried at one side of the hole. Digging a trench from

the pole to the back of the hole, he carefully set the trap, laid it in

the trench near the back of the hole, so that it rested about half an

inch below the surface of the surrounding earth, covered it with thin

layers of birch bark (sewed together with _watap_--thin spruce roots)

then, sifting earth over it, covered all signs of both trap and chain,

and finally, with a crane's wing brushed the sand into natural form.

Placing at the back of the hole a duck's head that Ne-geek had shot for

the purpose, Oo-koo-hoo scattered a few feathers about. Some of these,

as well as the pan of the trap, had been previously daubed with a most

stinking concoction called "fox bait"--hereafter called "mixed bait" to

prevent confusing this with other baits.

It was composed of half a pound of soft grease, half an ounce of

aniseed, an eighth of an ounce of asafoetida, six to ten rotten birds'

eggs, and the glands taken from a female fox--all thoroughly mixed in a

jar and then buried underground to rot it, as well as for safe keeping.

The reason for such a concoction is that the cold in winter does not

affect the stench of asafoetida; aniseed forms a strong attraction for

many kinds of animals; foxes are fond of eggs; and no stronger lure

exists for an animal than the smell of the female gland. So powerful

is the fetor of this "mixed bait," and so delicious is the merest whiff

of it, that it forms not only an irresistible but a long-range

allurement for many kinds of fur-bearers. Indeed, so pungent was it,

that Oo-koo-hoo carried merely a little of it in a cap-box, and found

that a tiny daub was quite sufficient to do his work. The reason for

using the two kinds of bait was that while the mixed bait would attract

the animal to the trap by its scent, the sight of the duck's head would

induce the fox to enter the hole, step upon the unseen trap while

reaching to secure its favourite food, and thus be caught by a foreleg.

The mention of an animal being caught by a foreleg reminds me of the

strange experience that Louison Laferte, a French half-breed,

manservant at Fort Rae, once had with a wolf. Louison was quite a wag

and at all times loved a joke. One day while visiting one of his

trapping paths with his four-dog team he came upon a wolf caught in one

of his traps by the foreleg. After stunning the brute, he found that

its leg was in no way injured, for it had been in the trap but a short

time. Louison, in a sudden fit of frolic humour, unharnessed his

Number 3 dog and harnessed in its place the unconscious wolf. When the

wild brute came to, and leaped up, the half-breed shouted:

"_Ma-a-r-r-che_!" and whipped up his dogs. Off they went, the two

leading dogs pulling the wolf along from in front, while the sled-dog

nipped him from behind and encouraged him to go ahead. Thus into Fort

Rae drove the gay Louison with an untamed timber-wolf in harness

actually helping to haul his sled as one of his dog-team. The

half-breed kept the wolf for more than a month trying to train it, but

it proved so intractable and so vicious that fearing for the children

around the Post, eventually he killed it.

DOG TRAILING FOX

It is generally conceded by the most experienced fur-hunters of the

northern forest, that while the wolverine is a crafty brute and

difficult to hunt, yet of all forest creatures the coloured fox is the

hardest to trap. In hunting the two animals with dogs, however, there

is little comparison. The wolverine, being a heavy, short-legged

beast, can soon be overhauled in an open country or on a beaten trail

by a dog, or in deep snow even by a man on snowshoes; while the chances

of a fox being run down by a dog are not so good. Some hunters,

however, kill many foxes by running them down with dogs, and for such

work they use a light-weight, long-legged dog possessed of both long

sight and keen scent. Hunters declare that no animal, not even the

wolf, has so much endurance as a good hunting-dog.

When a hunting-dog sights a fox on a frozen lake he runs straight for

him. The fox, on realizing that he is being pursued, leaps wildly into

the air two or three times, and then makes off at tremendous

speed--much faster than the dog can run. But in about half a mile the

fox, becoming played out, stops to rest a moment and to look around to

see if the dog is still following. Then, on seeing the dog still in

pursuit, he sets off in another great burst of speed. Meanwhile, the

dog has gained on him, and the fox, discovering this, bolts off at a

different angle. The dog, however, observing what has happened, takes

advantage of his quarry, and cuts the corner and thereby makes another

gain. The fox, now more alarmed than ever, makes another turn, and the

dog cuts another corner and makes another gain. Thus the race goes on

until the fox comes to the conclusion that the dog is sure to get him,

loses both heart and wind and finally lies down from sheer exhaustion.

The dog rushes at him, seizes him between the forelegs, and with one

crunch the hunt is over.

It is much the same in the deep snow of the timberland. There the fox

will start off with great bounds that sink him deep into the snow and

make the scent only the stronger for the dog. Meanwhile, the dog lopes

steadily along, though far out of sight. The fox stops to listen and

learn if his enemy is still pursuing him. When the dog finally comes

into view, the fox changes his course, and the dog cuts the corner, and

thus the story ends in the usual way.

OTHER WAYS OF TRAPPING

As the methods of hunting the wolf, the marten, the lynx, and the

wolverine are founded on the various ways of trapping the fox, a full

description of how foxes are hunted may be of interest. Then, too, the

reader will be enabled to understand more easily, without unnecessary

repetition, the modes of trapping other animals. My description,

however, will apply only to the hunting of the crafty coloured foxes of

the forest, and not to their stupid brethren of the Arctic coasts--the

white and the blue foxes.

Of course, every Indian tribe believes its own manner of hunting to be

the master way, but it is conceded by experienced fur-traders that the

Ojibway method is the best. When setting a fox trap in the winter

time, the first thing an Ojibway does is to jab into the snow, small

end down, and in an upright position, the clog or drag-pole. With his

knife he then cuts a hole in the snow exactly the size of the set trap,

the plate of which has already been daubed with mixed bait. In this

hole the trap is placed in such a position that it rests about half an

inch below the surface of the snow. A thin shield of birch bark covers

this, and then with a crane's wing the snow is brushed over both trap

and chain so that no sign remains. Then in addition to the mixed bait,

he plants about the spot food bait, such as bits of rotten fish or duck.

Most hunters have a regular system for setting their traps so that they

may know exactly where and how they are placed. Usually he sets them

east and west, then cutting a notch on a branch--about a foot from the

butt--he measures that distance from the trap, and thrusts the branch

into the snow in an upright position, as though it were growing

naturally. The stick serves not only to mark the trap, but in an open

space to furnish the same attraction for a fox as a tree does for a

dog; besides, when the hunter is going his rounds, at the sight of the

branch he will remember where and how his trap is set, and can read all

the signs without going too near. The object of laying the sheet of

birch bark over the trap is that when any part of the bark is touched

the trap may go off; besides, it forms a hollow space beneath, and thus

allows the animal's foot to sink deeper into the trap, to be caught

farther up, and to be held more securely.

The foregoing is the usual way of setting a fox trap, yet the Wood

Crees and the Swampy Crees set their fox traps on mounds of snow about

the size of muskrat houses. For that purpose they bank the snow into a

mound about eighteen inches high, bury the drag-pole at the bottom, set

the trap exactly in the crest of the mound, and, covering up all traces

of trap and chain with powdered snow, sprinkle food bait and mixed bait

around the bottom of the mound. The approaching fox, catching scent of

the mixed bait, follows it up and then eats some of the food bait,

which presently gives him the desire to go and sit upon the

mound--which is the habit of foxes in such a condition--and thus he is

caught.

A curious thing once happened to a Dog-rib Indian at Great Slave Lake.

One day he found a wolf caught in one of his traps and foolishly

allowed his hunting-dog to rush at it. The wolf leaped about so

furiously that it broke the trap chain, and ran out upon the lake, too

far for the hunter's gun. In pursuit of the wolf, the dog drew too

near and was seized and overpowered by the wolf. In order to save his

dog the hunter rushed out upon the lake; and when within fair range,

dropped upon one knee and fired. Unluckily, the ball struck the trap,

smashed it, and set the wolf free; and all the hunter got for his pains

was a dead dog and a broken trap--while the wolf went scot free.

The Chipewyan and Slave Indians set their traps inside a lodge made of

eight or ten poles, seven or eight feet in length, placed together

lodge fashion and banked round with a wall of brush to prevent the fox

entering except by the doorway. The trap is set in the usual way, just

outside the entrance, the chain being fastened to one of the door

poles. Instead, however, of being placed on the snow around the trap,

the mixed bait is put on a bit of rabbit skin fastened in the centre of

the lodge; the idea being that the fox will step on the trap when he

endeavours to enter. The Louchieux Indian sets his trap the foregoing

way, but in addition he sets a snare in the doorway of the lodge, not

so much to catch and hold the fox, as to check him from leaping in

without treading on the trap.

Oo-koo-hoo told me that whenever a trap set in the usual way had failed

to catch a fox, he then tried to take advantage of the cautious and

suspicious nature of the animal by casting about on the snow little

bits of iron, and re-setting and covering his trap on the crest of some

little mound close at hand without any bait whatever. The fox,

returning to the spot where he had scented and seen the bait before,

would now scent the iron, and becoming puzzled over the mystery would

try to solve it by going to the top of the mound to sit down and think

it over; and thus he would be caught.

Another way to try for a fox that has been nipped in a trap and yet has

got away is to take into account the strange fact that the animal will

surely come back to investigate the source of the trouble. The hunter

re-sets the trap in its old position and in the usual way; then, a

short distance off, he builds a little brush tepee, something like a

lynx-lodge, which has a base of about four feet, and by means of a

snare fastened to a tossing-pole, he hangs a rabbit with its hind feet

about six inches above the snow. A mixed-bait stick is placed a little

farther back, in order to attract the fox, while another trap is set

just below the rabbit. The idea of re-setting the first trap in the

old position is to put the fox off his guard when he approaches the

dead rabbit hanging in the snare. As, no doubt, he has seen a rabbit

hang many times before, and snares so baited he has often robbed. The

Indian in his extreme care to avoid communicating man-smell to the

rabbit will even remain to leeward of it while he handles it, lest

man-scent should blow against the rabbit and adhere to the fur. If

that happened, the fox would be so suspicious that he would not go near

the rabbit.

But to illustrate how stupid the white fox of the Arctic coast is in

comparison with the coloured fox of the forest, the following story is

worth repeating. It happened near Fort Churchill on the northwest

coast of Hudson Bay. The trader at the post had given a certain Eskimo

a spoon-bait, or spoon-hook, the first he had ever seen; and as he

thought it a very wonderful thing, he always carried it about with him.

The next fall, while going along the coast, he saw a pack of white

foxes approaching, and having with him neither a trap nor a gun, he

thought of his spoon-hook. Tearing a rag off his shirt, he rubbed on

it some porpoise oil which he was carrying in a bladder, fastened the

rag about the hook, laid it on a log directly in the path of the

approaching foxes, and, going to the end of the line, lay down out of

sight to watch what would happen. When the foxes drew near, one of

them seized the bait, and the Eskimo, jerking the line, caught the fox

by the tongue. In that way the native caught six foxes before he

returned to the post; but then, as everyone in the Far North knows,

white foxes are proverbially stupid creatures.