About noon the brother, finding the sufferer's trail, arrived upon the

scene, removed the drop-log, picked up the unconscious man, and

carrying him to his canoe, cut away the thwarts and laid him in. After

a paddle of fifteen miles to the portage landing, he left the stricken

wretch in the canoe, and ran four miles to get help. With other men

and two horses he speedily returned, rigged up a stage swung between

the horses, and laying Marasty thereon, transported him through the

bush to his home.

In the meantime, an express had been despatched to Prince Albert to

summon a doctor; but the old Indian women could not bear to wait so

long for the coming of relief, so filing a big knife into a

fine-toothed saw, they cut away the bruised flesh and sawed off the

broken bones. They made a clean amputation which they dressed with a

poultice made from well-boiled inner bark of juniper, and not only did

no mortification set in, but the arm healed nicely; and when the doctor

arrived ten days later, he examined the amputation carefully and said

that there was nothing for him to do: the old women had done their work

so well. Marasty quickly recovered, and next winter he was on the

hunting trail again.

HOW BEARS ARE HUNTED

After spending three days upon the trapping trail we returned to camp;

but because our toboggan was loaded with game, and also because we did

not return by our outgoing route, the grandmother and the two boys set

out to bring in the bear meat and the bear's head. During the feast

that followed Oo-koo-hoo addressed the bear's head with superstitious

awe and again begged it not to be offended or angry because it had been

killed since they needed both its coat and its fat and flesh to help

tide them over the winter. In this entreaty Amik did not join--perhaps

because he was too civilized. After the meal, the skull was hung upon

a branch of a pine that stood near the lodges. It reminded me that

once I had seen at an old camping place eleven bear skulls upon a

single branch; but the sight of bear skulls upon trees is not uncommon

when one is travelling through the Strong Woods Country.

That night, when I was sitting beside Oo-koo-hoo, we began talking

about bear hunting and he said: "My son, some day you, too, may want to

become a great bear-hunter, and when you do go out to hunt alone, don't

do as I do, but do as I say, for I am growing old and am sometimes

careless about the way I approach game." Puffing away at his pipe, he

presently continued: "In trailing bear, the hunter's method of

approach, of course, depends entirely upon the information he has

gained from the tracks he has discovered. If the hunter sees the bear

without being seen, he will approach to within about twenty paces or

even ten of the brute before he fires; being, however, always careful

to keep some object between him and his quarry. And when he does fire,

he should not wait to see the effect, but should immediately run aside

for a distance of fifteen or twenty paces, as the first thing a bear

does when it is shot is to bite the wound on account of the pain, next

it tries to discover who hit it, and remembering from which direction

the sound came, it looks up, and seeing the smoke, rushes for it. Then

the hunter has his opportunity, for on seeing the beast pass broadside,

he fires, and thus stands a good chance of hitting a vital spot.

"At a critical moment a good hunter's movements are not only swift but

always premeditated. Nor does he ever treat a bear with contempt: from

first to last, he is always on guard. He never takes a chance. Even

if the bear drops when the hunter fires, he will immediately re-load

and advance very slowly lest the brute be feigning death. The hunter

advances, with his gun cocked and in readiness, to within perhaps five

paces, and then waits to see if his quarry is really dead. If the bear

is not dead and sees that the hunter is off his guard, the chances are

it will rush at him. But an experienced hunter is not easily fooled,

for he knows that if an animal makes a choking sound in its throat,

caused by internal bleeding, it is mortally wounded; but if it makes no

such sound--watch out!"

"My son, no animal is ever instantly killed, for there is always a

gradual collapse, or more or less of a movement caused by the

contraction of its muscles, before death actually comes; but when an

animal feigns death, it is always in too much of a hurry about it, and

drops instantly without a final struggle, or any hard breathing--that

is the time when one should wait and be careful.

"Then again, my son, if a wounded or cornered bear comes suddenly upon

a hunter, the beast will not at once rush at him, grab him or bite him,

but will instantly draw back, just as the hunter will do; then it will

sit up upon its haunches for a moment, as though to think over the

situation; that pause, slight as it is, gives the hunter a moment to

uncover his gun, cock it, and aim, and fire it at the beast's mouth.

In such a situation the hunter prefers to fire at its mouth, because if

shot in the heart, the bear can still lunge at the hunter before it

falls, but if struck in the mouth, the brute is dazed and stops to rub

its face; meanwhile, the hunter has a chance to re-load and try for a

shot behind the ear, as that is even more fatal than one in the heart.

But if the bear happens to be in a tree, the hunter does not try for

either the brain or the heart, because the former is usually out of

aim, and the latter is protected by the trunk or limb of the tree; so

he shoots at the small of the back for that will paralyze it and cause

it to let go hold of the tree, and drop to the ground. The fall will

leave very little fight in it, or will finish it altogether. But if

hit in the head or even in a paw, the chances are that the bear will

jump; and then watch out, for it will either run or fight!

"In hunting bears, however, the hunter must remember that he should

guard most against scent and sound betraying him, since a bear's sight

is not very keen. If the bear happens to be feeding, the hunter may

easily approach, provided that the wind is right and he keeps quiet;

but if the bear hears the slightest sound or catches a single whiff of

scent--away he goes! If, however, the hunter approaches in an open

place and the bear, seeing him, sits up to get a better look, the

hunter should immediately stand perfectly still, and wait thus until

the bear again resumes feeding or moves away. Then the hunter rushes

forward, but all the while watches keenly to see when it stops to look

again; and at the first sign of that the hunter becomes rigid once

more. Such tactics may be successful two or three times but rarely

more, so then the hunter had best fire. Now, my son, when you go

hunting you will know what to do, and if Amik would only pay attention

to what I say, he, too, might become a better hunter, for I have had

much experience in hunting both black and grizzly bears."

NEYKIA AND HER LOVER

As the weeks passed, the children devoted themselves to their winter

play and spent most of their days in the open air. Tobogganing was

their greatest sport. Often did they invite me to take part in this,

and whenever, in descending a slope, a sled-load was upset, it always

created hilarious laughter.

The younger children, even during the severest part of the winter when

it registered forty or more degrees below zero, were always kept

comfortably warm, sometimes uncomfortably warm, in the rabbit-skin

coats that their mother and their grandmother had made for them. The

rabbit skins were cut into thin, spiral strips and twisted, with the

hair-side out, about thin thongs, and woven together like a

small-meshed fish-net, so that, though the hair overlapped and filled

every mesh completely, one's fingers might be passed through the

garment anywhere. They also made rabbit-skin blankets in the same way;

and of all blankets used in the north woods, none has so many good

qualities. A rabbit-skin blanket is less bulky than that of the

caribou skin; it is warmer than the famous four-point woollen blanket

of the H. B. Co., and not only ventilates better than either of the

others, but it is light to carry. It has the drawback, however, that

unless it is enclosed in a covering of some light material, the hair

gets on everything, for as long as the blanket lasts it sheds rabbit

hair. I have tried many kinds of beds, and many kinds of blankets, and

sleeping bags, too, even the Eskimo sleeping bag of double

skin--hairless sealskin on the outside and hairy caribou skin on the

inside--and many a night I have slept out in the snow when it was fifty

degrees below zero, and experience has taught me that the rabbit skin

blanket is best for winter use in the northern forest. A sleeping bag

that is large enough to get into is too large when you are in it; you

cannot wrap it around you as you can a blanket, therefore it is not so

warm; besides, it is harder to keep a bag free of gathering moisture

than a blanket.

But to return to the children. It used to amuse me to see the boys

returning from their hunts carrying their guns over their shoulders.

The contrast in size between the weapons and the bearers of them was so

great that by comparison the lads looked like Liliputians, yet with all

the dignified air of great hunters they would stalk up to their sisters

and hand them their guns and game bags to be disposed of while they

slipped off their snowshoes, lighted their pipes, and entered the

lodge. By the way, I don't believe I have mentioned that in winter

time the guns are never kept in the lodges, but always put under cover

on the stages, as the heat of the lodges would cause the guns to sweat

and therefore to require constant drying and oiling; and for the same

reason, in winter time, when a hunter is camped for the night, he does

not place his gun near the open fire, but sets it back against a tree,

well out of range of the heat.

On one of their rounds of the trapping trails the boys discovered a

splendid black fox in one of Oo-koo-hoo's traps, and it was with great

pride that the little chaps returned home with the prize.

One sunny day, late in November, while tobogganing with the children on

the hillside, our sport was interrupted by the approach of a young

stranger, an Indian youth of about seventeen. He came tramping along

on snowshoes with his little hunting toboggan behind him on which was

lashed his caribou robe, his tea-pail, his kit bag, and a haunch of

young moose as a present to Amik and his wife. In his hand he carried

his gun in a moose-skin case. He was a good-looking young fellow, and

wore the regulation cream-coloured H. B. _capote_ with hood and

turned-back cuffs of dark blue. He wore no cap, but his hair was

fastened back by a broad yellow ribbon that encircled his head. At

first I thought he was the advance member of a hunting party, but when

I saw the bashful yet persistent way in which he sidled up to Neykia,

and when I observed, too, the shy, radiant glance of welcome she gave

him, I understood; so also did the children, but the little rogues,

instead of leaving the young couple alone, teased their sister aloud,

and followed the teasing with boisterous laughter. It was then that I

obtained my first impression of the mating of the natives of the

northern forest. The sylvan scene reminded me of the mating, too, of

the white people of that same region, and I thought again of the

beautiful Athabasca. Was it in the same way that her young white man

had come so many miles on snowshoes through the winter woods just to

call upon her? It set me thinking. Again, I wondered who "Son-in-law"

could be? Whence did he come? But, perhaps, after all he was no

super-man, or, rather, super-lover, for had not Neykia's beau travelled

alone in the dead of winter, over ninety miles, just to see her once

again and to speak to her? Shing-wauk--The Little Pine--as the Indians

called him, stayed three days, but I did not see much of him, for I

left early the following morning on another round of another

trapping-path.

OO-KOO-HOO AND THE WOLF

As a faint gray light crept through the upper branches of the eastern

trees and warned the denizens of the winter wilderness of approaching

day, the door-skin flapped aside and a tall figure stepped from the

cozy fire-lit lodge into the outer sombreness of the silent forest. It

was Oo-koo-hoo. His form clad in fox-skin cap, blanket _capote_, and

leggings, made a picturesque silhouette of lighter tone against the

darker shadows of the woods as he stood for a moment scanning the

starry sky. Reëntering the lodge, he partook of the breakfast his wife

had cooked for him, then he kissed her and went outside. Going to the

stage, he took down his five-foot snowshoes, slipped his moccasined

feet into the thongs, and with his gun resting in the hollow of his

bemittened hand, and the sled's hauling-line over his shoulder, strode

off through the vaulted aisles between the boles of the evergreens;

while through a tiny slit in the wall of his moose-skin home two loving

eyes watched the stalwart figure vanishing among the trees.

[Illustration: Going to the stage, he took down his five-foot

snowshoes, slipped his moccasined feet info the thongs, and with his

gun resting in the hollow of his bemittened hand, and the sled's

hauling-line over his shoulder, strode off through the vaulted aisles

between the boles of evergreens; while through a tiny slit in the wall

of his moose-skin home two loving eyes watched his stalwart figure

vanishing among the . . . See Chapter IV.]

Later on, though the sun was already shining, it was still intensely

cold. As we went along, Oo-koo-hoo's breath rose like a cloud of white

smoke fifteen or twenty feet in the air before it disappeared. Only

the faintest whisper of scuffling snowshoes and scrunching snow could

be heard; the sound of the occasional snapping of a twig came as a

startling report compared with the almost noiseless tread of the

hunter. A little cloud of powdery snow rose above the dragging heels

of his snowshoes, and, whirling about, covered the back of his leggings

with a coating of white. Onward he strode, twisting through the

tangled scrub, stooping under a fallen tree, stepping over a

snow-capped log, or pacing along a winter-locked stream.

When Oo-koo-hoo came to a district overgrown with willows interspersed

with poplars, he stopped to examine a snare set for lynx. It had not

been disturbed, but a little farther on we saw the form of a dead lynx

hanging from a tossing-pole above the trail. The carcass was frozen

stiff, and the face still showed the ghastly expression it had worn in

its death struggle. The rigid body was taken down and lashed to the

sled. Resetting the snare, we continued our way. Farther on, in a

hilly country timbered with spruce, where there was not much

undergrowth, we came to marten traps. In swampy places, or where there

were creeks and small lakes, we examined traps and deadfalls set for

mink, muskrat, beaver, fisher, and otter. Where the country was fairly

open and marked with rabbit runways we came upon traps set for foxes

and wolves.

The gray, or timber, wolf is trapped in the same way as the coloured

fox, save only that the trap is larger. Though the steel trap is much

in vogue among white men and half-breeds, the deadfall, even to this

day, is much preferred by the Indian. Though, in the first place, it

requires more labour to build, yet it requires less for transportation

since the materials are all at hand; and, besides, when once built it

lasts for years. Then, again, it is not only cheaper, but it is more

deadly than the steel trap, for once the animal is caught, it seldom

escapes. With the steel trap it is different, as animals often pull

away from the steel jaws or even gnaw off a foot in order to get free.

If, however, the hunter's deadfalls and traps have been set in vain,

and if the wolf has been causing trouble and the hunter is determined

to secure him, he will sit up for him at night in the hope of getting a

shot at him. Years ago many wolves were destroyed with poison, but

nowadays it has gone out of use--that is, among the fur-hunters of the

forest.

When a wolf is caught in a trap and he sees a hunter approaching, he

will at first lie down, close his eyes, and keep as still as possible

to escape notice; but should he find that the hunter is still coming

on, say to within twenty paces from him, he will fly into a rage, show

his fangs, bristle his hair, and get ready for a spring. The hunter

usually takes a green stick about a yard long by two inches thick, and

instead of striking a great, swinging blow with both hands, he holds

the stick in one hand and strikes a short, quick, though powerful,

blow, hitting the brute on the snout close to the eyes. That stuns

him, and then the hunter, with either foot or knee, presses over the

heart until death ensues. But clubbing the wolf is dangerous work, for

the hunter may hit the trap and set the captive free, or it may bite

him. So the gun is frequently used, but only to shoot the wolf in the

head, as a wound anywhere else would injure the fur.

Late in the afternoon, as we were approaching a wolf trap, Oo-koo-hoo,

who was leading the way, suddenly stopped and gazed ahead. A large

wolf was lying in the snow, evidently pretending to be dead. One of

its forepaws was held by the trap, and the hunter drew his axe and

moved forward. As we came near, the beast could stand the strain no

longer, but rose up with bristling hair, champing fangs, and savage

growl. When Oo-koo-hoo had almost reached the deeply marked circle in

the snow where the wolf had been struggling to gain its freedom, he

paused and said:

"My brother, I need your coat, so turn your eyes away while I strike."

A momentary calmness came over the beast, but as the hunter raised his

axe it suddenly crouched, and with its eyes flashing with rage, sprang

for Oo-koo-hoo's throat. Its mighty leap, however, ended three feet

short of the mark, for the trap chain grew taut, jerked it down and

threw it violently upon its back. Instantly regaining its feet, it

dashed away on three legs, and in its effort to escape dragged the clog

through the snow. The bounding clog sent the snow flying, and the

hunter rushed in pursuit, while the wolf dodged among the trees to

escape a blow from Oo-koo-hoo. Then it bolted again, and ran straight

for a few yards until the clog caught and held fast. The hunter,

pressing on with raised axe, had no time to draw back when the brute

sprang for him as it did; luckily, however, his aim was true: the back

of the axe descended upon the wolf's head, and it fell dead. This was

fortunate for the hunter, as unwarily he had allowed himself so to get

between the clog and the beast that the chain almost swung over his

snowshoes. If he had missed his aim, no doubt it would have gone hard

with him.

[Illustration: As the wolf dashed away, the bounding clog sent the snow

flying, and the hunter rushed in pursuit, while the wolf dodged among

the trees to escape a blow from Oo-koo-hoo. Then it bolted again, and

ran straight for a few yards until the clog caught and held fast. The

hunter, pressing on with raised axe, had no time to draw back when the

brute sprang for him . . . See Chapter IV.]

A few slant rays of the sun penetrating the deep gloom of the thick

forest and reminding us that day was fast passing, we decided to camp

there for the night. So we cut a mattress of brush, made a fire, and

refreshed ourselves with supper before we started to skin the wolf.

THE WAYS OF A WOLF

Talk of wolves prevailed all evening, and Oo-koo-hoo certainly had a

store of information upon that subject. In expressing surprise that a

wolf had strength enough to jerk about a big drag-log, as though it

were merely a small stick, he replied that once when he had killed a

full-grown bull-moose and dressed and hung up the meat, he had left for

camp with part of his prize, but on returning again to the cache, he

had found a wolf moving off with one of the hindquarters. It must have

weighed close upon a hundred pounds. But perhaps, if I quote Charles

Mair, the strength and endurance of a wolf will be better realized: "In

the sketch of 'North-Western America' (1868) Archbishop Tache, of St.

Boniface, Manitoba, recounts a remarkable instance of persevering

fortitude exhibited by a large, dark wolf caught in a steel trap at

Isle a la Crosse many years ago. A month afterward it was killed near

Green Lake, ninety miles distant, with the trap and connecting

wood-block still attached to one of its hind legs. It had evidently

dragged both around in the snow for many a mile, during a period of

intense cold, and it is, therefore, not surprising that it was a

'walking skeleton' when finally secured."

Though the timber-wolf is a fast traveller, it cannot out-distance the

greyhound or wolf hound; but though it is seldom seen in water it is a

good swimmer. Its weight may run from seventy-five to one hundred and

fifty pounds, and an extra large wolf may stand close to thirty inches

at the shoulder, and be over five feet in length. In colour they range

from white to nearly black, but the ordinary colour is a light brownish

gray. Usually they mate in February, but whether or not for life, it

is hard to say. They breed in a hollow log, or tree or stump, or in a

hole in the ground, or in a cave. The young are normally born in

April, usually six or eight in a litter, and the father helps to care

for them.

Many of the wolves I have seen were running in pairs, some in families,

and the greatest number I have ever seen together was seven. That was

in Athabasca in the winter time. The seven were in a playful mood,

racing around and jumping over one another; and though all were

full-grown, five of them displayed the romping spirits of puppies, and

I wondered if they could be but one family. Though my dog-driver and

I, with our dog-train, passed within about a hundred paces of them, and

though we were all on a sunny lake, they never ceased their play for a

single moment, nor did they show in any way that they had seen us.

There are several voices of the wilderness that cause some city people

alarm and dread, and they are the voices of the owl, the loon, and the

timber-wolf. But to me their voices bring a solemn, at times an eerie,

charm, that I would gladly go miles to renew. Though much of the

wolf-howling has been of little appeal, I have heard wolf concerts that

held me spell-bound. On some occasions--but always at night--they

lasted without scarcely any intermission for three or four hours. The

first part of the programme was usually rendered--according to the

sound of their voices--by the youngest of the pack; later the

middle-aged seemed to take the stage; but of all the performance,

nothing equalled in greatness of volume or in richness of tone the

closing numbers, and they were always rendered by what seemed to be

some mighty veteran, the patriarch of the pack, for his effort was so

thrilling and awe-inspiring that it always sent the gooseflesh rushing

up and down my back. Many a time, night after night, beneath the

Northern Lights, I have gone out to the edge of a lake to listen to

them.

When hunting big game, such as deer, wolves assist one another and

display a fine sense of the value of team-work in running down their

prey. Though the wolf is a shy and cautious animal, he is no coward,

as the way he will slash into a pack of dogs goes far to prove. In the

North the stories of the wolf's courage are endless; here, for example,

is one: "During our residence at Cumberland House in 1820," says

Richardson, "a wolf, which had been prowling and was wounded by a

musket ball and driven off, returned after it became dark, whilst the

blood was still flowing from its wound, and carried off a dog, from

amongst fifty others, that howled piteously, but had no courage to

unite in an attack on their enemy."

Nevertheless, wolves rarely attack man, in fact, only when they are

afflicted with rabies or hydrophobia. No doubt everyone has read, at

one time or another, harrowing stories of the great timber-wolves of

our northern forest forming themselves into huge packs and pursuing

people all over the wilderness until there is nothing left of the

unfortunate community save a few odds and ends of cheap jewellery.

Even our most dignified and reliable newspapers are never loath to

publish such thrilling drivel; and their ignorant readers gulp it all

down, apparently with a relishing shudder; for the dear public not only

loves to be fooled, but actually gloats over that sort of thing, since

it is their hereditary belief.

When I was a boy, I, too, thrilled over such nonsense, and when I made

my first trip into the forest I began to delve for true wolf stories,

and I have been delving ever since. So far, after over thirty years of

digging, I have actually dug up what I believe to be one authentic

story of an unprovoked wolf having actually attacked and killed a man.

On several occasions, too, I have had the satisfaction of running to

cover some of the wolf stories published in our daily press. I read a

few years ago in one of Canada's leading daily papers--and no doubt the

same account was copied throughout the United States--a thrilling story

of two lumber-jacks in the wilds of Northern Ontario being pursued by a

pack of timber-wolves, and the exhausted woodsmen barely escaping with

their lives, being forced by the ferocious brutes to spend a whole

night in a tree at a time when the thermometer registered -- below

zero. I am sorry I have forgotten the exact degree of frost the paper

stated, but as a rule it is always close to 70 or 80 degrees below zero

when the great four-legged demons of the forest go on the rampage.

THE WOLVES AND GREENHORNS

Several years later, when I was spending the summer at Shahwandahgooze,

in the Laurentian Mountains, I again met Billy Le Heup, the hunter, and

one night when we were listening to a wolf concert I mentioned the

foregoing newspaper thriller. Billy laughed and acknowledged that he,

too, had read it, but not until several weeks after he had had a chance

to investigate, first hand, the very same yarn; for he, too, had been

trailing wolf stories all his life.

It so happened that Le Heup's work had taken him through the timber

country north of Lake Temiscamingue. While stopping one day at a

lumber camp to have a snack, three men entered the cookery where he was

eating. One of them was the foreman, and he was in a perfect rage. He

had discharged the other two men, and now he was warning them that if

they didn't get something to eat pretty ---- quick and leave the camp

in a ---- of a hurry, he would kick them out. Then, just before he

slammed the door and disappeared, he roared out at them that not for

one moment would he stand for such ---- rot, as their being chased and

treed all night by wolves.

When quiet was restored and the two men had sat down beside Le Heup at

the dining table, he had questioned them and they had told him a

graphic story of how they had been chased by a great pack of wolves and

how they had managed to escape with their lives by climbing a tree only

just in the nick of time; and, moreover, how the ferocious brutes had

kept them there all night long, and how, consequently, they had been

nearly frozen to death.

It was a thrilling story and so full of detail that even "old-timer" Le

Heup grew quite interested and congratulated himself on having at last

actually heard, first hand, a true story of how Canadian timber-wolves,

though unprovoked, had pursued, attacked, and treed two men. Indeed,

he was so impressed that he decided to back-track the heroes' trail and

count for himself just how many wolves the pack had numbered. So he

got the would-be lumber-jacks--for they were greenhorns from the

city--to point out for him their incoming trail, which he at once set

out to back-track. After a tramp of three or four miles he came to the

very tree which from all signs they had climbed and in which they had

spent the night. Then desiring to count the wolf tracks in the snow,

he looked around, but never a one could he see. Walking away for about

a hundred yards he began to circle the tree, but still without success.

He circled again with about an eighth of a mile radius, but still no

wolf tracks were to be seen. As a last resort he circled once more

about a quarter of a mile from the tree, and this time he was rewarded;

he found wolf tracks in the snow. There had been three wolves. They

had been running full gallop. Moreover, they had been trailing a

white-tailed deer; but never once had either deer or wolves paused in

their run, nor had they come within a quarter of a mile of the tree in

which the greenhorns from the city had spent the night. Of such

material are the man-chasing, man-killing wolf stories made.

Frequently I have had timber-wolves follow me, sometimes for half an

hour or so; on one occasion two of the largest and handsomest

timber-wolves I ever saw followed me for over two hours. During that

time they travelled all round me, ahead, behind, and on either side;

and occasionally they came within sixty or seventy feet of me. Yet

never once, by action or expression, did they show any signs other than

those which two friendly but very shy dogs might have shown toward me.

THE WOLF THAT KILLED A MAN

Of course, wolves will attack a man; when they are trapped, wounded, or

cornered--just as a muskrat will; but of all the wolf stories I have

ever heard, in which wolves killed a man, the following is the only one

I have any reason to believe, as it was told me first-hand by a

gentleman whose word I honour, and whose unusual knowledge of animal

life and northern travel places his story beyond a doubt.

One winter's day in the seventies, when Mr. William Cornwallis King was

in charge of Fort Rae, one of the Hudson's Bay Company's posts on Great

Slave Lake, he was snowshoeing to a number of Indian camps to collect

furs, and had under his command several Indians in charge of his

dog-trains. On the way they came upon a small party of Dog-rib

Indians, who, after a smoke and a chat, informed him that, being in

need of meat, one of their party, named Pot-fighter's-father, had set

out three days before to hunt caribou; and as he had not returned, they

were afraid lest some evil had befallen him. When Mr. King learned

that it had been Pot-fighter's-father's intention to return to camp on

the evening of the first day, he advised the Indians to set out at once

in search of him.

After following his tracks for half a day they came suddenly upon the

footprints of an unusually large wolf which had turned to trail the

hunter. For some miles the brute had evidently followed close beside

the trail of Pot-fighter's-father, diverging at times as though seeking

cover, and then again stalking its prey in the open. One Indian

continued to follow the old man's trail, while another followed that of

the wolf. They had not gone far before they discovered that

Pot-fighter's-father had come upon a herd of caribou, and a little

farther on they found, lying on the snow, a couple of caribou carcasses

that he had shot. Strange to say, the animals had not been skinned,

nor had their tongues been removed. More remarkable still, the

wolf--although passing close to them--had not stopped to feed. Soon

they came upon another dead caribou, and this time Pot-fighter's-father

had skinned it, and had cut out its tongue; but again the wolf had

refused to touch the deer.

Continuing their pursuit, they discovered a brush windbreak where the

hunter had evidently stopped to camp for the night. Now they noticed

that the tracks of the wolf took to cover among the scrub. Approaching

the shelter, they read in the snow the signs of a terrible struggle

between a man and a wolf. The hunter's gun, snowshoes, and sash

containing his knife, rested against the windbreak, and his axe stood

in the snow where he had been cutting brush. From the snow the Indians

read the story of the long-drawn fight. Here it told how the great

wolf had leaped upon the back of the unsuspecting man while he was

carrying an armful of brush, and had knocked him down. There it showed

that the man had grappled with the brute and rolled it over upon its

back. Here the signs showed that the wolf had broken free; there, that

the two had grappled again, and in their struggle had rolled over and

over. The snow was now strewn with wolf-hair, and dyed with blood.

While the dreadful encounter had raged, the battleground had kept

steadily shifting nearer the gun. Just a couple of yards away from it

lay the frozen body of poor old Pot-fighter's-father. His deerskin

clothing was slit to tatters; his scalp was torn away; his fingers were

chewed off, but his bloody mouth was filled with hair and flesh of the

wolf.

After burying the body of old Pot-fighter's-father in a mound of

stones, the Indians determined to continue in pursuit of the wolf. Its

tracks at last led them to a solitary lodge that stood in the shelter

of a thicket of spruce. There the hunters were greeted by an Indian

who was living in the tepee with his wife and baby. After having a cup

of tea, a smoke, and then a little chat, the hunters enquired about the

tracks of the great wolf that had brought them to the lodge. The

Indian told them that during the night before last, while he and his

wife were asleep with the baby between them, they had been awakened by

a great uproar among the dogs. They had no sooner sat up than the dogs

had rushed into the tepee followed by an enormous wolf. Leaping up,

the hunter had seized his axe and attacked the beast, while his wife

had grabbed the baby, wrapped it in a blanket, and rushing outside, had

rammed the child out of sight in a snowdrift, and returned to help her

husband to fight the brute. The wolf had already killed one of the

dogs, and the Indian in his excitement had tripped upon the bedding,

fallen, and lost his grip upon his axe. When he rose, he found the

wolf between himself and his weapon. His wife, however, had seized a

piece of firewood and, being unobserved by the wolf, had used it as a

club and dealt the beast so powerful a blow upon the small of the back

that it had been seriously weakened and had given the Indian an

opportunity to recover his axe, with which at last he had managed to

kill the wolf.

It was Mr. King's belief, however, that such unusual behaviour of a

wolf was caused by distemper, for the brute seemed to display no more

fear of man than would a mad dog. And he added that the behaviour of

the wolf in question was no more typical of wolves in general than was

the behaviour of a mad dog typical of dogs.

COMING OF THE FUR-RUNNERS

That night, when we returned home, Oo-koo-hoo said to his grandsons:

"Ne-geek and Ah-ging-goos, my grandchildren, the fur-runner is coming

soon. To-morrow do you both take the dogs and break a two-days' trail

on Otter River in order to hasten his coming."

Next morning the boys set out to break the trail. When they camped on

Otter River on the afternoon of the second day they cached in the river

ice some fish for the trader's dogs. They chopped a hole and, after

placing the fish in, filled it up with water, which they allowed to

freeze, with the tail of a single fish protruding, in order to show the

fur-runner what was cached below. To mark the spot, they planted a

pole with its butt in the hole, and rigged up a tripod of sticks to

support it. At the top of the pole they tied a little bag of tea and a

choice piece of meat for the trader. At the bend of the river below,

where he would surely pass, they erected another pole with a bunch of

fir twigs attached, for the purpose of attracting his attention to

their tracks.

On their return home they found Oo-koo-hoo and Amik sorting their furs

in anticipation of the fur-runner's arrival. Before them lay, among

the other skins, the skin of the black fox, and when the boys entered

the lodge Oo-koo-hoo addressed the whole family, saying:

"Do not mention the black fox to the fur-runner, since I intend keeping

it until I go to the Post, in the hope of making a better bargain

there. Now sort your skins, and set aside those you wish to give in

payment on your debt to the Great Company."

During the afternoon of the following day Lawson the fur-runner for the

Hudson's Bay Company arrived with his dog-train. He shook hands with

Oo-koo-hoo and Amik and the boys, and kissed the women and the girls,

as the custom of the traders is. It being late in the day, Oo-koo-hoo

decided not to begin trading until next morning. So they spent the

evening in spinning yarns around the fire. Shortly after breakfast

strange dogs were heard. The boys ran out and saw an unknown man

approaching. When the newcomer--a French-Canadian half-breed--had

eaten, and had joined the others in a smoke, he gave me a letter from

Free Trader Spear. Then Oo-koo-hoo began questioning him:

"My brother, you are a stranger in this country; so I have given you

fire and food and tobacco in friendship. Tell me now why and from

whence you come?"

The half-breed replied: "My brother, I come from the Border

Lands--where the plains and the forests meet--and my name is Gibeault.

I have come to trade regularly with you as I am now working for Free

Trader Spear, whose post, as you know, is near Fort Consolation. You

will do well to encourage opposition to the Great Company, and thus

raise the price of furs."

The half-breed then presented the hunters with several plugs of "T &

B," some matches, tea, sugar, flour, and a piece of "sow-belly." For

some time Oo-koo-hoo sat holding a little fresh-cut tobacco in his

hand, until Gibeault, taking notice, asked him why he did not smoke it.

"The Great Company always gives me a pipe," replied the hunter.

The runner for the free trader, not to be outdone, gave him a pipe.

"I suppose," began Oo-koo-hoo, "that your heart is glad to see me."

"Yes," replied Gibeault, "and I want to get some of your fur."

"That is all very well, but I will see which way you look at me,"

returned the Indian.

"Have you much fur?" asked the half-breed.

"I have enough to pay my debt to the Great Company."

"Yes, I know, but you will have some left, and I want to do business

with you, so bring out your furs and I will treat you right."

"That sounds well, but you must remember that though the Great Company

charges more, their goods are the best goods, while yours are all cheap

rubbish."

Thinking the opportunity a favourable one, Gibeault assumed an air of

friendly solicitude and said:

"The Company has cheated your people so many hundred years that they

are now very rich. No wonder they can afford to give you high prices

for your furs. Free Trader Spear is a poor but honest man. It is to

your great advantage to trade part of your furs with me in order to

make it worth his while to send me here every winter. As you know, my

presence here compels the Company to pay full value for your furs and

so you are the one who reaps the greatest benefit."

"That is partly true," answered Oo-koo-hoo, "but I must be loyal to the

Company. You are here to-day and away tomorrow; but the Company is

here for ever. But I will not be hard on you; I will wait and see how

you look at me."

For a while the dignified Indian sat puffing at his pipe and gazing at

the fire. Every line of his weather-beaten and wrinkled but handsome

face was full of sterling character. At times his small eyes twinkled

as a flash of cunning crept into them, and a keen sense of humour

frequently twitched the corners of his determined mouth. Then he

brought out a pack of furs and, handing it to Lawson, said:

"This is to pay the Great Company for the advances they gave us last

summer."

Lawson took the bundle without opening it, as it would not be checked

over until he delivered it at Fort Consolation. Resenting the Indian's

attitude toward Gibeault he began:

"I see, now that there's another trader here, it's easy for you to

forget your old friends. The free trader comes and goes. Give him

your furs, an' he doesn't care whether you're dead to-morrow. It's not

like that with the Great Company. The Company came first among your

people, and since then it has been like a father, not only to all your

people before you, but to you as well. Whenever your forefathers were

smitten with hunger or disease, who looked after them? It wasn't the

free trader; it was the Company. Who sells you the best goods? It

isn't the free trader; it's the Company. Who gave you your debt last

fall and made it possible for you to hunt this winter? It wasn't the

free trader; it was the Company. My brother, you have none to thank

but the Great Company that you're alive to-day."

With a grunt of disapproval Oo-koo-hoo sullenly retorted:

"The Priest says it is The Master of Life we have to thank for that. I

am sure that the Commissioner of the Great Company is not so great as

God. It is true you give us good prices now, but it is also true that

you have not given us back the countless sums you stole from our

fathers and grandfathers and all our people before them; for did you

not wait until the coming of the free traders before you would give us

the worth of our skins? No wonder you are great masters; it seems to

me that it takes great rogues to become great masters."

The angry Lawson, to save a quarrel, bit his moustache, smiled faintly

and, presenting the hunter with even more than Gibeault had given, said:

"Never mind, my brother, you're a pretty smart man."

Without replying, Oo-koo-hoo accepted the present so eagerly that he

jerked it out of the trader's hand. That pleased Lawson. Presently

the Indian threw down a bear skin, saying:

"My brother, this is to see how you look at me."

Now the way of the experienced fur-runner is to offer a big

price--often an excessive price--for the first skin. He calculates

that it puts the Indian in a good humour and in the end gives the

trader a chance of getting ahead of the native. That is just what

Lawson did, and Gibeault refused to raise the bid.

"My brother," said the Indian addressing the latter, "you had better go

home if you cannot pay better prices than the Great Company."

Gibeault, nettled, outbid his rival for the next skin, and thus it went

on, first one and then the other raising the prices higher and higher,

much to the delight of the Indians. Oo-koo-hoo had already sold a

number of skins for more than their market value before it dawned on

the white men that they were playing a losing game. Though glaring

savagely at each other, both were ready to capitulate. Lawson,

pretending to examine some of Gibeault's goods, stooped and whispered:

"We're actin' like fools. If we keep this up our bosses will fire us

both."

"Let's swap even--you take every other skin at your own figure,"

returned the French half-breed.

"Agreed," said Lawson, straightening up.

No longer outbidding one another, they got the next few skins below the

market price. But before the traders had made good their loss the

Indian gathered up his furs and turning to the fur-runners with a

smile, said:

"My brothers, as I see that you have agreed to cheat me, I have decided

that I and my people will keep all our furs until we go out next

spring; so it is now useless for you to remain any longer."

Having read the note Gibeault brought me from Free Trader Spear, I

hastened to hand the half-breed my reply, accepting Mr. and Mrs.

Spear's invitation to be their guest for a few days when everyone would

be gathering at Fort Consolation to attend the New Year's dance; and

again I wondered if "Son-in-law" would be there.

V

MEETING OF THE WILD MEN

WHO IS SON-IN-LAW?

Christmas week had arrived and now we were off for the New Year's dance

to be held at Fort Consolation. Instead of travelling round three

sides of an oblong as we had done to reach Oo-koo-hoo's hunting ground

by canoe, we now, travelling on snowshoes, cut across country, over

hill and valley, lake and river, in a southeasterly direction, until we

struck Caribou River and then turned toward White River and finally

arrived at God's Lake. Our little party included Oo-koo-hoo, his wife

Ojistoh, their granddaughter Neykia, and myself. Our domestic outfit

was loaded upon two hunting sleds in the hauling of which we all took

turns, as well as in relieving each other in the work of track beating.

At night we camped in the woods without any shelter save brush

windbreaks over the heads of our beds, our couches being made of

balsam-twigs laid shingle fashion in the snow. For the sake of warmth

Ojistoh and Neykia slept together, while Oo-koo-hoo and I cuddled up

close to one another and fitted together like spoons in a cutlery case,

for the cold sometimes dipped to forty below.

The prisoner of the city, however, may think sleeping under such

conditions not only a terrible hardship but a very dangerous thing in

the way of catching one's death of cold. I can assure him it is

nothing of the kind--when the bed is properly made. And not only does

one _never_ catch cold under such conditions, but it is my experience

that there is no easier way to get rid of a bad cold than to sleep out

in the snow, wrapped in a Hudson's Bay blanket, a caribou robe, or a

rabbit-skin quilt, when the thermometer is about fifty below zero. But

rather than delay over a description in detail of the mere novelty of

winter travel, let us hurry along to our first destination, and visit

the Free Trader Mr. Spear and his family, and find out for our own

satisfaction whether or not the mysterious "Son-in-law" had recently

been courting the charming Athabasca.

When we reached God's Lake, for a while we snowshoed down the centre,

until at the parting of our ways we said good-bye, for the Indians were

heading directly for Fort Consolation. As I neared Spearhead and came

in view of its one and only house, the Free Trader's dogs set up a

howl, and Mr. Spear came out to greet me and lead me into the sitting

room where I was welcomed by his wife and daughter. Now I made a

discovery: quartered in a box in the hall behind the front door they

had three geese that being quite free to walk up and down the hall,

occasionally strolled about for exercise. As good luck would have it,

supper was nearly ready, and I had just sufficient time to make use of

the tin hand-basin in the kitchen before the tea bell rang. Again,

during the first half of the meal we all chatted in a lively strain,

all save Athabasca, who, though blushing less than usual, smiled a

little more, and murmured an occasional yes or no; all the while

looking even more charming. But her composure endured not long, for

her mother presently renewed the subject of "Son-in-law":

"Father, don't you think it would be a good idea if you took son-in-law

into partnership very soon?"

"Yes, Mother, I do, because business is rapidly growing, and I'll need

help in the spring. Besides, it would give me a chance to do my own

fur-running in winter, and in that way I believe I could double, if not

treble, our income."

Athabasca turned crimson and I followed suit--for being a born blusher

myself, and mortally hating it, I could never refrain from sympathizing

with others similarly afflicted.

"Precisely, Father," replied Mrs. Spear, "that's exactly what I

thought. So you see you wouldn't be making any sacrifice whatever, and

such an arrangement would prove an advantage all round. Everybody

would be the happier for it, and it seems to me to delay the wedding

would be a vital mistake."

From that moment until we left the table Athabasca concentrated her

vision on her plate; and I wondered more than ever who "Son-in-law"

could be. Then an idea came to me, and I mused: "We'll surely see him

at Fort Consolation."

After supper I discovered a new member of the household, a chore-boy,

twenty-eight years of age, who had come out from England to learn

farming in the Free Trader's stump lot, and who was paying Mr. Spear so

many hundred dollars a year for that privilege, and also for the

pleasure of daily cleaning out the stable--and the pig pen. When I

first saw him, I thought: "Why here, at last, is 'Son-in-law.'" But on

second consideration, I knew he was not the lucky man, for it was

evident the Spears did not recognize him as their social equal, since

they placed him, at meal time, out in the kitchen at the table with

their two half-breed maid-servants.

That evening, while sitting around the big wood stove, we discussed

Shakespeare, Byron, Scott, and even the latest novel that was then in

vogue--"Trilby," if I remember right--for the Spears not only

subscribed to the _Illustrated London News_ and _Blackwood's_ but they

took _Harper's_ and _Scribner's_, too. And by the way, though

Athabasca had never been to school, her mother had personally attended

to her education. When bedtime arrived, they all peeled off their

moccasins and stockings and hung them round the stove to dry, and then

pitter-pattered up the cold, bare stairs in their bare feet. I was

shown into the spare room and given a candle, and when I bade them

good-night and turned to close the door, I discovered that there was no

door to close, nor was there even a curtain to screen me from view.

The bed, however, was an old-fashioned wooden affair with a big solid

footboard, so I concluded that in case of any one passing the doorway,

I could crouch behind the foot of the bed. Then, when I blew out my

candle, I got a great surprise, for lo and behold! I could see all over

the house! I could see "Paw and Maw" getting undressed, Athabasca

saying her prayers, and the half-breed maids getting into bed.

How did it happen? The cracks between the upright boards of my

partition were so wide that I could have shoved my fingers through. As

a matter of fact, Mr. Spear explained next day, the lumber being green,

rather than nail the boards tightly into place, he had merely stood

them up, and waited for them to season.

During the night the cold grew intense, and several times I was

startled out of my sleep by a frosty report from the ice and snow on

the roof that reminded one of the firing of a cannon.

In the morning when the geese began screeching in the lower hall, I

thought it was time to get up, and was soon in the very act of pulling

off a certain garment over my head when one of the half-breed

maids--the red-headed one whose hair Mr. Spear had cut off with the

horse clippers--intruded herself into my room to see if I were going to

be down in time for breakfast, and I had to drop behind the foot of the

bed.

At breakfast, the first course was oatmeal porridge; the second,

"Son-in-law"; the third, fried bacon, toast, and tea; after which we

all put on our wraps for our five-mile trip across God's Lake to Fort

Consolation. Everyone went, maids, chore-boy, and all, and everyone

made the trip on snowshoes--all save the trader's wife, who rode in

state, in a carriole, hauled by a tandem train of four dogs.

THE NEW YEAR'S DANCE

It was a beautiful sunny day and the air was very still; and though the

snow was wind-packed and hard, the footing was very tiresome, for the

whole surface of the lake was just one endless mass of hard-packed

snowdrifts that represented nothing so much as a great, stormy,

white-capped sea that had been instantly congealed. And for us it was

just up and down, in and out, up and down, in and out, all the way

over. These solid white waves, however, proved one thing, and that was

the truth of Oo-koo-hoo's woodcraft; for, just as he had previously

told me, if we had been suddenly encompassed by a dense fog or a heavy

snowstorm, we could never for a moment have strayed from our true

course; as all the drifts pointed one way, south-by-southeast, and

therefore must have kept us to our proper direction.

There were many dogs and sleds, and many Indians and half-breeds, too,

about the Fort when we arrived; and as the dogs heralded our approach,

the Factor came out to greet us and wish us a Happy New Year. At the

door Mrs. Mackenzie, the half-breed wife of the Factor, was waiting

with a beaming smile and a hearty welcome for us; and after we had

removed our outer wraps, she led us over to the storehouse in which a

big room had been cleared, and heated, and decorated to answer as a

ballroom and banqueting hall. Tables were being laid for the feast,

and Indian mothers and maidens and children, too, were already sitting

on the floor around the sides of the room, and with sparkling eyes were

watching the work in happy expectation. Around the doorway, both out

and in, stood the men--Indians and half-breeds and a few French and

English Canadians. Some wore hairy caribou _capotes_, others hairless

moose-skin jackets trimmed with otter or beaver fur, others again

were-garbed in duffel _capotes_ of various colours with hoods and

turned-back cuffs of another hue; but the majority wore _capotes_ made

of Hudson's Bay blanket and trimmed with slashed fringes at the

shoulders and skirt; while their legs were encased in trousers gartered

below the knee, and their feet rested comfortably in moccasins.

Though, when snowshoeing, all the men wore hip-high leggings of duffel

or blanket, the former sometimes decorated with a broad strip of

another colour, the latter were always befringed the whole way down the

outer seam; both kinds were gartered at the knee. Such leggings are

always removed when entering a lodge or house or when resting beside a

campfire--in order to free the legs from the gathered snow and prevent

it from thawing and wetting the trousers. The children wore outer

garments of either blanket or rabbit skin, while the women gloried in

brilliant plaid shawls of two sizes--a small one for the head and a

large one for the shoulders. The short cloth skirts of the women and

girls were made so that the fullness at the waist, instead of being cut

away, was merely puckered into place, and beneath the lower hem of the

skirt showed a pair of beaded leggings and a pair of silk-worked

moccasins.

All the Indians shook hands with us, for in the Canadian Government's

treaty with them it is stipulated that: "We expect you to be good

friends with everyone, and shake hands with all whom you meet." And I

might further add that the Indian--when one meets him in the winter

bush--is more polite than the average white man, for he always removes

his mitten, and offers one his bare hand. Further, if his hand happens

to be dirty, he will spit on it and rub it on his leggings to try and

cleanse it before presenting it to you. But when he did that, I could

never decide which was the more acceptable condition--before or after.

When the Factor entered, he was greeted with a perfect gale of

merriment, as it was the ancient custom of the Great Company that he

should kiss every woman and girl at the New Year's feast. After that

historical ceremony was over--in which Free Trader Spear also had to do

his duty--and the laughter had subsided, the principal guests were

seated at the Factor's table, the company consisting of the three

clergymen, the Spears, myself, the two North-West Mounted

Policemen--who had just arrived from the south--and a few native

headmen, including my friend Oo-koo-hoo. Though the feast was served

in relays, some of the guests who were too hungry to await their turn

were served as they sat about the floor. The dishes included the

choice of moose, caribou, bear, lynx, beaver, or muskrat.

Then a couple of picturesque, shock-haired French Canadians got up on a

big box that rested upon a table, and tuning up their fiddles, the

dance was soon in full swing. In rapid succession the music changed

from the Double Jig to the Reel of Four, the Duck Dance, the Double

Reel of Four, the Reel of Eight, and the Red River Jig, till the old

log storehouse shook from its foundation right up to its very rafters.

The breathless, perspiring, but happy couples kept at it until

exhaustion fairly overtook them, and then dropping out now and then,

they sat on the floor around the walls till they had rested; and then,

with all their might and main, they went at it again. Among other

things I noticed that the natives who were smoking were so considerate

of their hosts' feelings that they never for a moment forgot themselves

enough to soil the freshly scrubbed floor, but always used their

upturned fur caps as cuspidors.

The children, even the little tots, showed great interest in the

dancing of their parents, and so delighted did they become that they

would sometimes gather in a group in a corner and try to step in time

with the music.

Everyone that could dance took a turn--even Oo-koo-hoo and old Granny

did the "light fantastic"--and at one time or another all the principal

guests were upon the floor; all save--the priest. The scarlet tunics

of the corporal and the constable of the Royal North-West Mounted

Police as well as the sombre black of the English Church and the

Presbyterian clergymen, added much to the whirling colour scheme, as

well as to the joy of the occasion. But look where I would I could not

find "Son-in-law," and though the blushing Athabasca was often in the

dance, it was plain to see her lover was not there, for even the

handsome policemen, though they paid her marked attention, gave no

sign, either of them, of being the lucky one. In the number of

partners, Oo-koo-hoo's granddaughter outshone them all, and, moreover,

her lover was present. At every chance Shing-wauk--The Little

Pine--was shyly whispering to her and she was looking very happy. Even

I rose to the occasion and had for my first partner our host's swarthy

wife, a wonderful performer, who, after her husband's retirement from

the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, became the most popular dancer

in all Winnipeg. Nor must I forget my dance with that merry, muscular,

iron-framed lady, Oo-koo-hoo's better half--old Granny--who at first

crumpled me up in her gorilla-like embrace, and ended by swinging me

clean off my feet, much to the merriment of the Indian maidens.

As the afternoon wore on the Rabbit Dance began, and was soon followed

by the Hug-Me-Snug, the Drops of Brandy, and the Saskatchewan Circle,

and--last but not least--the Kissing Dance. And when the Kissing Dance

was encored for the fifth time, the company certainly proclaimed it a

Happy New Year.

THE BEAUTIFUL ATHABASCA

Again at tea time the guests gathered round the festive board; then, a

little later, the music once more signalled the dancers to take their

places on the floor. Hour after hour it went on. After midnight

another supper was served; but still "the band"--consisting of a violin

and a concertina--played on, and still the moccasined feet pounded the

floor without intermission. At the very height of the fun, when the

Free Trader's charming daughter was being whirled about by a scarlet

tunic, Mrs. Spear turned to me and beamed:

"Doesn't Athabasca look radiantly beautiful?"

"Indeed she does!" I blushed.

"And what a delightful party this is . . . but there's just one thing

lacking . . . to make it perfect."

"What's that?" I enquired.

"A wedding . . . my dear." Then, after a long pause, during which she

seemed to be staring at me--but I didn't dare look--she impatiently

tossed her head and exclaimed:

"My . . . but some men are deathly slow!"

"Indeed they are," I agreed.

About four o'clock in the morning the music died down, then, after much

hand-shaking, the company dispersed in various directions over the

moonlit snow; some to their near-by lodges, some to the log shacks in

the now-deserted Indian village, and others to their distant hunting

grounds. It must have been nearly five o'clock before the ladies in

the Factor's house went upstairs, and the men lay down upon caribou,

bear, and buffalo skins on the otherwise bare floor of the living room.

It was late next morning when we arose, yet already the policemen had

vanished--they had again set out on their long northern patrol.

At breakfast Mr. and Mrs. Spear invited me to return and spend the

night with them, and as Oo-koo-hoo and his wife wanted to remain a few

days to visit some Indian friends, and as the Factor had told me that

the north-bound packet with the winter's mail from the railroad was

soon due; and as, moreover, the Fur Brigade would be starting south in

a few days, and it would travel for part of the way along our homeward

trail, I accepted Mr. Mackenzie's invitation to return to Fort

Consolation and depart with the Fur Brigade.

It was a cold trip across the lake as the thermometer had dropped many

degrees and a northwest wind was blowing in our faces. As I had

frequently had my nose frozen, it now turned white very quickly, and a

half-breed, who was crossing with us, turned round every once in a

while and exclaimed to me:

"Oh my gud! your nose all froze!"

The snow seemed harder than ever, and for long stretches we took off

our snowshoes and ran over the drifts, but so wind-packed were they

that they received little impression from our feet. Of course, when we

arrived at Spearhead, the house was cold and everything in it above the

cellar--except the cats and geese--was frozen solid; but it is

surprising how quickly those good old-fashioned box stoves will heat a

dwelling; for in twenty or thirty minutes those wood-burning stoves

were red-hot and the whole house comfortably warm.

It's strange, but nevertheless true, that "Son-in-law" was never once

mentioned at dinner, but later on, when Athabasca and I were sitting

one on either side of the room, Mrs. Spear got up and, getting a

picture book, asked:

"Mr. Heming, are you fond of pictures? Daughter has a delightful

little picture book here that I want her to show you, so now, my dears,

both sit over there on the sofa where the light will be better, and

look at it together."

Moving over to the old horsehair sofa--the pride of all Spearhead and

even of Fort Consolation--we sat down together, much closer than I had

expected, as some of the springs were broken, thus forming a hollow in

the centre of the affair, into which we both slid without warning--just

as though it were a trap set for bashful people. Then Mrs. Spear with

a sigh, evidently of satisfaction, withdrew from the room, and we were

left alone together. With the book spread out upon our knees we looked

it over for perhaps---- Well, I am not sure how long, but anyway, when

I came to, I saw something just in front of me on the floor. Really,

it startled me. For in following it up with my eye I discovered that

it was the toe of a moccasin, and the worst of it was that it was being

worn by Mrs. Spear. There, for ever so long, she must have been

standing and watching us. The worst of that household was that all its

members wore moccasins, so you could never hear them coming.

That night, when we were sitting around the stove, Mrs. Spear explained

to me how she had educated her daughter and added: "But perhaps, after

all, if the wedding is not going to take place right away, it might be

well to send Daughter to some finishing school for a few months--say in

Toronto," and then, after a little pause, and still looking at me, she

asked: "To which school would you prefer us to send Athabasca?"

When I named the most fashionable girls' school in that city, "Paw and

Maw" settled it, there and then, that Daughter would attend it next

fall, that is, unless it was decided to celebrate her wedding at an

earlier date.

Next morning, at breakfast, Mrs. Spear suggested that Athabasca should

take me for a drive through the woods and Mr. Spear remarked:

"You know, Mr. Heming, we haven't any cutter or any suitable sleigh,

and besides, one of the horses is working in the stump lot; but I think

I can manage."

In a little while he led a horse round to the front door. The animal

had a pole attached to either side, the other end of which dragged out

behind; across the two poles, just behind the horse's tail, was

fastened a rack of cross poles upon which was placed some straw and a

buffalo robe. It was really a _travois_, the kind of conveyance used

by the Plains Indians. Getting aboard the affair, off we went, the old

plug rumbling along in a kind of a trotting walk, while Athabasca held

the reins. The morning being a fine sunny one, and the trees being

draped and festooned with snow, the scene was so beautiful when we got

into the thicker woods that it made one think of fairyland. A couple

of fluffy little whiskey jacks followed us all the way there and back,

just as though they wanted to see and hear everything that was going

on; but those little meddlers of the northwoods must have been

disappointed, for both Athabasca and I were not only too shy to talk,

but too bashful even to sit upright; in fact, we both leaned so far

away from one another that we each hung over our side of the trap, and

did nothing but gaze far off into the enchanted wood. We must have

been gone nearly two hours when the house again came into view. Yes, I

enjoyed it. It was so romantic. But what I couldn't understand was

why her parents allowed her to go with me, when they were already

counting on "Son-in-law" marrying her. It was certainly a mystery to

me. However, that afternoon I left for Fort Consolation.

BACK TO FORT CONSOLATION

On my way across the lake I noticed that the wind was veering round

toward the east and that the temperature was rising. When I arrived in

good time for supper Factor Mackenzie seemed relieved, and remarked

that the barometer indicated a big storm from the northeast. That

night, in front of the big open fire, we talked of the fur trade.

Among other books and papers he showed me was a copy of the Company's

Deed Poll; not published a century ago, but printed at the time of

which I am writing, and thus it read:

"To all whom these presents shall come, The Governor and Company of

Adventurers of England Trading into Hudson's Bay send greeting.

Whereas His Majesty King Charles the Second did, by His Royal Charter,

constitute the Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading

into Hudson's Bay in a Body Corporate, with perpetual succession and

with power to elect a Governor and Deputy Governor and Committee for

the management of their trade and affairs----."

From it I learned that the commissioned officers appointed by the

Company to carry on their trade in Canada were: a Commissioner, three

Inspecting Chief Factors, eight Chief Factors, fifteen Factors, ten

Chief Traders, and twenty-one Junior Chief Traders, all of whom on

appointment became shareholders in the Company. While the Governor and

Committee had their offices in London, the Commissioner was the

Canadian head with his offices in Winnipeg, and to assist him an

advisory council, composed of Chief Factors and Chief Traders, was

occasionally called. The Company's territory was divided into four

departments--the Western, the Southern, the Northern, and the

Montreal--while each department was again sub-divided into many

districts, the total number being thirty-four. The non-commissioned

employees at the various posts were: clerks, postmasters, and servants.

Besides the regular post servants there were others employed such as:

voyageurs, among whom were the guides, canoe-men, boatmen, and scowmen;

then, again, there were fur-runners, fort-hunters, and packeteers.

In the morning a miserable northeaster was blowing a heavy fall of snow

over the country, and the Factor offered to show me the fur-loft where

the clerk and a few half-breed men-servants were folding and packing

furs. First they were put into a collapsible mould to hold them in the

proper form, then when the desired weight of eighty pounds had been

reached, they were passed into a powerful home-made fur-press, and

after being pressed down into a solid pack, were corded and covered

with burlap, and marked ready for shipment. The room in which the men

worked was a big loft with endless bundles of skins of many sizes and

colours hanging from the rafters, and with long rows of shelves stacked

with folded furs, and with huge piles of pelts and opened bales upon

the floor. Also there were moose and caribou horns lying about, and

bundles of Indian-made snowshoes hanging by wires from the rafters, and

in one corner kegs of dried beaver castors.

THE WINTER MAIL ARRIVES

On the morning of the second day of the storm I happened to be in the

Indian shop, where I had gone to see the Factor and the clerk barter

for the furs of a recently arrived party of Indian fur-hunters, when

presently I was startled by hearing:

"_Voyez, voyez, le pacquet_!" shouted by Bateese as he floundered into

the trading room without a thought of closing the door, though the

drifting snow scurried in after him. Vociferously he called to the

others to come and see, and instantly trade was stopped. The Factor,

the clerk, and the Indians, rushed to the doorway to obtain a glimpse

of the long-expected packet. For two days the storm had raged, and the

snow was still blowing in clouds that blotted out the neighbouring

forest.

"Come awa', Bateese, ye auld fule! Come awa' ben, an steek yon door!

Ye dinna see ony packet!" roared the Factor, who could distinguish

nothing through the flying snow.

"_Bien, m'sieu_, mebbe she not very clear jus' now; but w'en I pass

from de Mad Wolf's Hill, w'en de storm she lif' a leetle, I see two men

an' dog-train on de lac below de islan's," replied the half-breed

fort-hunter, who had returned from a caribou cache, and whose duty it

was to keep the fort supplied with meat.

"Weel, fetch me the gless, ma mon; fetch me the gless an' aiblins we

may catch a glint o' them through this smoorin' snaw; though I doot

it's the packet, as ye say." And the Factor stood shading his eyes and

gazing anxiously in the direction of the invisible islands. But before

the fort-hunter had returned with the telescope, the snowy veil

suddenly thinned and revealed the gray figure of a tripper coming up

the bank.

"_Quay, quay_! Ke-e-e-pling!" sang out one of the Indians. He had

recognized the tripper to be Kipling, the famous snowshoe runner.

Immediately all save the Factor rushed forward to meet the little

half-breed who was in charge of the storm-bound packet, and to welcome

him with a fusilade of gunshots.

Everyone was happy now, for last year's news of the "_Grand Pays_"--the

habitant's significant term for the outer world--had at last arrived.

The monotonous routine of the Post was forgotten. To-day the long,

dreary silence of the winter would be again broken in upon by hearty

feasting, merry music, and joyous dancing in honour of the arrival of

the half-yearly mail.

All crowded round the voyageur, who, though scarcely more than five

feet in height, was famed as a snowshoe runner throughout the

wilderness stretching from the Canadian Pacific Railroad to the Arctic

Ocean. While they were eagerly plying him with questions, the crack of

a dog-whip was heard. Soon the faint tinkling of bells came through

the storm. In a moment all the dogs of the settlement were in an

uproar, for the packet had arrived.

With a final rush the gaunt, travel-worn dogs galloped through the

driving snow, and, eager for the shelter of the trading room, bolted

pell-mell through the gathering at the doorway, upsetting several

spectators before the driver could halt the runaways by falling

headlong upon the foregoer's back and flattening him to the floor.

All was excitement. Every dog at the post dashed in with bristling

hair and clamping jaws to overawe the strangers. Amid the hubbub of

shouting men, women, and children, the cracking of whips, and the

yelping of dogs, the packet was removed from the overturned sled and

hustled into the Factor's office, where it was opened, and the mail

quickly overhauled. While the Factor and his clerk were busily writing

despatches, a relay of dogs was being harnessed, and two fresh runners

were making ready to speed the mail upon its northward way.

Before long the Factor's letters were sealed and carefully deposited in

the packet box, which was lashed on the tail of the sled, the forepart

of which was packed with blankets, flour, tea, and pork for the

packeteers, and frozen whitefish for the dogs. Then amid the usual

handshaking the word "_Marche_!" was given, and to the tune of cracking

whips, whining dogs, and crunching snow, the northern packet glided out

upon the lake with the Indian track-beater hurrying far ahead while the

half-breed dog-driver loped behind the sled. Thus for over two

centuries the Hudson's Bay Company had been sending its mails through

the great wilderness of Northern Canada.

THE DOG BRIGADE

That afternoon five dog-trains arrived from outlying posts. They had

come to join the Dog Brigade that was to leave Fort Consolation first

thing in the morning on its southern way to the far-off railroad. As I

wished to accompany the brigade, I had arranged with Oo-koo-hoo that we

should do so, as far as we could without going out of our way, in

returning to his hunting grounds. So to bed that night we all went

very early, and at four o'clock in the morning we were astir again.

Breakfast was soon over, then followed the packing of the sleds, the

harnessing of the dogs, the slipping of moccasined feet into snowshoe

thongs, the shaking of hands, and the wishing of farewells. Already

the tracker, or track-beater, had gone ahead to break the trail.

"_M-a-r-r-che_!" (start) shouted the guide--as the head dog-driver is

called. Every driver repeated the word; whips cracked; dogs howled,

and the brigade moved forward in single file. At the head went the

Factor's train of four powerful-looking and handsomely harnessed dogs

hauling a decorated carriole in which the Factor rode and behind which

trotted a picturesque half-breed driver. Next in order went the teams

of the Church of England clergyman and the Roman Catholic priest, both

of whom happened to be going out to the railroad. Behind these

followed twelve sleds or toboggans, laden with furs, which the Hudson's

Bay Company was shipping to its Department Headquarters. When one

remembers that black or silver fox skins are frequently sold for over a

thousand dollars each, one may surmise the great value of a cargo of

furs weighing nearly four thousand pounds, such as the Dog Brigade was

hauling. No wonder the Company was using all haste to place those furs

on the London market before the then high prices fell.

The brigade formed an interesting sight, as the Indians, half-breeds,

and white men were garbed most curiously; and in strong contrast to the

brilliant colours worn by the members of the brigade, the clergymen

trotted along in their sombre black--the priest's cassock flowing to

his snowshoes, and his crucifix thrust, daggerlike, in his girdle.

The four dogs comprising each of the fur-trains hauled three hundred

pounds of fur besides the camp outfit and grub for both driver and

dogs--in all, about five hundred pounds to the sled. When the

sleighing grew heavy, the drivers used long pushing-poles against the

ends of the sleds to help the dogs.

TRAVELLING WITH DOG-TRAINS

While the march always started in a stately way--the Factor's carriole

in advance--it was not long before the trains abandoned their formal

order; for whenever one train was delayed through any one of many

reasons, the train behind invariably strove to steal ahead so that

after a few hours' run the best dogs were usually leading.

For several hours we followed the lake and the river, and just before

daylight appeared in the southeastern sky the Aurora Borealis vanished

from view. Later, a golden glow tipping the tops of the tallest trees,

heralded the rising of the sun. Coming out upon a little lake--for we

were now short-cutting across the country--we saw that the light over

the distant hills had broken into a glorious flood of sunshine. Half

over the far-off trees, along the horizon, the sun was shining, and the

whole southeastern sky seemed aflame with bands and balls of fire. A

vertical ribbon of gradually diminishing lustre, scarcely wider than

the sun, was rising into the heavens to meet a vast semi-circle of

rainbow beauty arched above the natural sun. Where the strange halo

cut the vertical flame and the horizon on either side three mock suns

marked the intersection. Above the natural sun and beneath the halo,

four other mock suns studded the vertical band of light. It was a

wonderful sight and lasted fully twenty minutes--the sky was just as I

have shown it in my picture of the York Factory Packet.

Now the brigade was halted, in voyageur parlance, "to spell the dogs

one smoke," which, being translated, meant that the dogs could rest as

long as it took their masters to smoke a pipeful of tobacco. The

drivers, conversing in little groups or sitting upon sleds as they

puffed at their pipes, watched the beautiful phenomenon, and the talk

turned to the many remarkable sun-dogs that they had seen. Presently

the mock suns grew dim; the arch faded away; the band lost its colour;

the true sun rose above the trees and then, as ashes were knocked from

pipes, we resumed our journey.

After leaving the lake we entered a muskeg that extended for miles.

Its uneven surface was studded with countless grassy hummocks, many of

them crowned with willow and alder bushes or gnarled and stunted

spruces or jack pines. It made hard hauling for the dogs. From a

distance, the closely following trains reminded one of a great serpent

passing over the country, that--when it encountered a hummocky section

requiring the trains to turn from side to side, and to glide up and

down--seemed to be writhing in pain. Near the end of the swamp an open

hillside rose before us, and upon its snowy slopes the sun showed

thousands of rabbit-runs intersecting one another in a maze of tracks

that made one think of a vast gray net cast over the hill.

Passing into a "bent-pole" district we encountered an endless number of

little spruce trees, the tops of which had become so laden with snow

that their slender stems, no longer able to sustain the weight, had

bent almost double as they let their white-capped heads rest in the

snow upon the ground. Later, we entered a park-like forest where pine

trees stood apart with seldom any brushwood between. Fresh marten

tracks were noticed in the snow. A little farther on, two

timber-wolves were seen slinking along like shadows among the distant

trees as they paralleled our trail on the right. The dogs noticed

them, too, but they, like their masters, were too busy to pay much

attention. The wolves were big handsome creatures with thick fluffy

coats that waved like tall grasses in a strong breeze as they bounded

along.

Coming to a steep hill everyone helped the dogs in their climb. When

at last the brigade, puffing and panting, reached the summit, pipes

were at once in evidence and then another rest followed. When the

descent began, the drivers--most of them having removed their snowshoes

that their feet might sink deeper into the snow--seized their

trail-lines, and, acting as anchors behind the sleds, allowed

themselves to be hauled stiff-legged through the deep snow in their

effort to keep the sleds from over-running the dogs. It was exciting

work. The men throwing their utmost weight upon the lines sought every

obstruction, swerving against trees, bracing against roots, grasping at

branches, and floundering through bushes. Often they fell, and

occasionally, when they failed to regain their footing, were

mercilessly dragged downhill; the heavy sleds, gathering momentum,

overtook the fleeing dogs, and their unfortunate masters were ploughed

head-first through the snow. At the foot of the steepest incline a

tumult arose as men and dogs struggled together in an effort to free

themselves from overturned sleds. Above the cursing in French and

English--but not in Indian--rose the howling of the dogs as lead-loaded

lashes whistled through the frosty air. One wondered how such a tangle

could ever be unravelled, but soon all was set straight again.

About eight o'clock we had our second breakfast and by twelve we

stopped again for the noon-day meal, both of which consisted of

bannock, pork, and tea. While we ate, the dogs, still harnessed, lay

curled up in the snow.

Again the guide shouted "_Ma-r-r-che_!" and again the brigade moved

forward. Some of the trains were handsomely harnessed, especially the

Factor's. The loin-cloths of the dogs, called _tapis_, were richly

embroidered and edged with fringe. Above the collars projected pompons

of broken colours and clusters of streaming ribbons, while beneath hung

a number of bells. All the dogs were hitched tandem, and every train

was made up of four units. Except the dogs of the Factor's train,

there were few real "huskies," as Eskimo dogs are called, for most of

the brutes were the usual sharp-nosed, heavy-coated mongrels that in

the Strong Woods Country go by the name of _giddes_; some, however, had

been sired by wolves.

The track-beater's snowshoes, which were the largest used by any of the

brigade, were Wood Cree "hunting shoes" and measured nearly six feet in

length. The other men wore Chipewyan "tripping shoes" about three feet

long--the only style of Canadian snowshoes that are made in "rights and

lefts."

For a number of miles we passed through heavily timbered forest where

shafts of sunlight threw patches of brilliant white upon the woodland's

winter carpet, and where gentle breezes had played fantastically with

the falling snow, for it was heaped in all manner of remarkable forms.

Here and there long, soft festoons of white were draped about groups of

trees where the living stood interlocked with the dead. Among the

branches huge "snow-bosses" were seen, and "snow-mushrooms" of wondrous

shape and bulk were perched upon logs and stumps. "Snow-caps" of

almost unbelievable size were mounted upon the smallest of trees, the

slender trunks of which seemed ready to break at any moment. It was

all so strangely picturesque that it suggested an enchanted forest.

Early that afternoon we came upon an Indian lodge hiding in the woods,

and from within came three little children. It was then fully twenty

below zero, yet the little tots, wishing to watch the passing brigade,

stood in the most unconcerned way, holding each other by the hand,

their merry eyes shining from their wistful faces while their bare legs

and feet were buried in the snow. Though they wore nothing but little

blanket shirts, what healthy, happy children they appeared to be!

Then out upon a lake we swung where the wind-packed snow made easy

going. Here the heavy sleds slid along as if loadless, and we broke

into a run. On rounding a point we saw a band of woodland caribou trot

off the lake and enter the distant forest. By the time we reached the

end of the lake, and had taken to the shelter of the trees, dusk was

creeping through the eastern woods and the rabbits had come out to

play. They were as white as the snow upon which they ran

helter-skelter after one another. Forward and backward they bounded

across the trail without apparently noticing the dogs. Sometimes they

passed within ten feet of us. The woodland seemed to swarm with them,

and no wonder, for it was the seventh year, the year of Northland game

abundance, when not only rabbits are most numerous, but also all the

other dwellers of the wilderness that prey upon them. Already,

however, the periodical plague had arrived. When I stopped to adjust a

snowshoe thong I counted five dead hares within sight; next year

starvation would be stalking the forest creatures.

CAMPING IN THE SNOW

While the sunset glow was rapidly fading, the brigade halted to make

camp for the night. All were to sleep in the open, for dog brigades

never carry tents but bivouac on the snow with nothing but a blanket

between the sleeper and the Aurora Borealis--though the thermometer may

fall to sixty below zero. Some of the men moved off with axes in their

hands, and the sound of chopping began to echo through the forest. On

every side big dry trees came crashing down. Then the huge "long

fires", driving darkness farther away, began to leap and roar. Then,

too, could be seen the building of stages on which to place the

valuable fur-laden sleds out of reach of the destructive dogs; the

gathering of evergreen brush; the unhitching of dogs and the hanging up

of their harness in the surrounding trees; the unloading of sleds; the

placing of frozen whitefish to thaw for the dogs; the baking of

bannocks, the frying of pork, and the infusing of tea. Then, in

silence, the men ate ravenously, while the hungry dogs watched them.

When pipes had been filled and lighted each driver took his allotment

of fish, called his dogs aside, and gave them a couple each. Some of

the brutes bolted their food in a few gulps and rushed to seize the

share of others, but a few blows from the drivers' whips drove them

back.

When the dogs had devoured their day's rations--for they are fed only

once every twenty-four hours--their masters sought out sheltered spots

for them and cut a few branches of brush for their beds. Some of the

men cooked a supply of bannock to be eaten the following day. Others

hung their moccasins, mittens, and leggings on little sticks before the

fires to dry. It was an animated scene. The "long fires" were huge

structures, twelve or fifteen feet in length, so that each man might

bask in the heat without crowding his neighbour. A number stood with

their back to the blaze while the rest sat or lounged on their blankets

and, puffing away at their pipes, joined in the conversation that

before long became general.

Just then the dogs began to blow and then to growl, as a strange Indian

strode out of the gloom into the brilliant glare of the fires.

"_Wat-che_! _wat-che_?" (What cheer, what cheer?) sang out the men.

The stranger replied in Cree, and then began a lively interchange of

gossip. The Indian was the track-beater of the south-bound packet from

the Far North that was now approaching. All were keenly interested.

The cracking of whips and the howling of dogs were heard, and a little

later the tinkling of bells. Then came a train of long-legged,

handsomely harnessed dogs hauling a highly decorated carriole behind

which trotted a strikingly dressed half-breed dog-driver. When the

train had drawn abreast of our fire an elderly white man, who proved to

be Chief Factor Thompson, of a still more northerly district of the

Hudson's Bay Company, got out from beneath the carriole robes,

cheerfully returned our greeting, and accepted a seat on the dunnage

beside Factor Mackenzie's fire. Two other trains and two other

dog-drivers immediately followed the arrival of the Chief Factor, for

they were the packeteers in charge of the packet. Now the woods seemed

to be full of talking and laughing men and snarling, snapping dogs.

Twenty-two men were now crowding round the fires, and seventy-two dogs

and eighteen sleds were blocking the spaces between the trees.

NORTHERN MAIL SERVICE

Chief Factor Thompson was the "real thing," and therefore not at all

the kind of Hudson's Bay officer that one ever meets in fiction. For

instead of being a big, burly, "red-blooded brute," of the "he-man"

type of factor--the kind that springs from nowhere save the wild

imaginations of the authors who have never lived in the

wilderness . . . he was just a real man . . . just a fine type of

Hudson's Bay factor, who was not only brother to both man and beast,

but who knew every bird by its flight or song; who loved children with

all his heart--flowers, too--and whose kindly spirit often rose in

song. Yes, he was just a real man, like some of the men you know--but

after all, perhaps he was even finer--for the wilderness does nothing

to a man save make him healthier in body and in soul; while the cities

are the world's cesspools. He was rather a small, slender man, with

fatherly eyes set in an intelligent face that was framed with gray hair

and gray beard.

After the Chief Factor and his men had been refreshed with bannock,

pork, and tea, pipes were filled and lighted and for a time we talked

of all sorts of subjects. Later, when we were alone for a little

while, I found Mr. Thompson a man richly informed on northern travel,

for he had spent his whole life in the service of the Hudson's Bay

Company, and at one time or another had been in charge of the principal

posts on Hudson Bay, Great Slave Lake, and the Peace, the Churchill,

the Athabasca, and the Mackenzie rivers. Among other subjects

discussed were dogs and dog-driving; and when I questioned him as to

the loading of sleds, he answered:

"Usually, in extremely cold weather, the Company allots dogs not more

than seventy-five pounds each, but in milder weather they can handily

haul a hundred pounds, and toward spring, when sleds slide easily, they

often manage more than that." Then dreamily puffing at his pipe he

added: "I remember when six dog-trains of four dogs each hauled from

Fort Chipewyan on Lake Athabasca to Fort Vermillion on the Peace River

loads that averaged six hundred and fifty pounds per sled--not

including the grub for the men and dogs and the men's dunnage. Then,

again, William Irving with Chief Factor Camsell's dogs brought to Fort

Simpson a load of nine hundred pounds. The greatest load hauled by

four dogs that I know of was brought to Fort Good Hope by Gaudet. When

it arrived it weighed a trifle over one thousand pounds. But Factor

Gaudet is one of the best dog-drivers in the country." Then,

re-settling himself more comfortably before the fire, he continued:

"And while I think of it we have had some pretty fine dogs in the

service of the Company. The most famous of all were certainly those

belonging to my good friend Chief Factor Wm. Clark. He bred them from

Scotch stag hounds and "huskies"--the latter, of course, he procured

from the Eskimos. His dogs, however, showed more hound than husky.

Their hair was so short that they had to be blanketed at night. Once

they made a trip from Oak Point on Lake Manitoba to Winnipeg, starting

at four o'clock in the morning, stopping for a second breakfast by the

way, and reaching Winnipeg by one o'clock at noon, the distance being

sixty miles. They were splendid dogs and great pets of his. They used

to love playing tricks and romping with him. Frequently, when nearing

a post, they would purposely dump him out of his carriole and leaving

him behind, go on to the post, where, of course, on their arrival with

the empty sled, they were promptly sent back for Mr. Clark.

Understanding the command, they would at once wheel about and, without

a driver, return on the full gallop to get their master. When coming

upon him they would rush around and bark at him, showing all the while

the greatest glee over the trick they had played him. He never used a

whip upon them. No snowshoer could be found who was swift enough to

break a trail for those dogs and no horse ever overtook them. Once,

while going from Oak Point to Winnipeg, Factor Clark's train ran down

six wolves, allowing him to shoot the brutes as he rode in his

carriole. Another time they overhauled and threw a wolf which Mr.

Clark afterward stunned, and then bound its jaws together. When the

brute came to, it found itself harnessed in the train in place of one

of the dogs, and thus Chief Factor Clark drove a wild timber-wolf into

the city of Winnipeg."

"They must have been wonderful dogs," remarked Father Jois, "but it's

too bad they don't breed such dogs nowadays."

"That's so," returned the Chief Factor. "Twenty or thirty years ago at

each of the big posts--the district depots--they used to keep from

forty to fifty dogs, and at the outposts, from twenty to thirty were

always on hand. At each of the district depots a man was engaged as

keeper of the dogs and it was his duty to attend to their breeding,

training, and feeding."

"Speaking of feeding, what do you consider the best food for dogs?" I

asked.

"By all means pemmican," replied the Chief Factor, "and give each dog a

pound a day. The next best rations for dogs come in the following

order: two pounds of dried fish, four pounds of fresh deer meat, two

rabbits or two ptarmigan, one pound of flour or meal mixed with two

ounces of tallow. That reminds me of the way the old half-breed

dog-drivers used to do. In such districts as Pelly and Swan River,

where fish and other food for dogs was scarce, we had frequently to

feed both men and dogs on rations of flour. Some of the half-breeds

would leave their ration of flour with their family, and count on

eating the dog's ration while on the trip and letting the poor brutes

go hungry, just because the dogs belonged to the Company. So we put a

stop to that by mixing coal oil with the dog's rations and having them

bated into cakes before the trip was begun. Such a mixture made the

men sick when they tried to eat it, but the dogs didn't seem to mind it

at all."

"Then kerosene is not included in the regular rations the Company

supplies for its trippers and voyageurs?" I ventured, laughingly.

"Hardly, for in the Northland that would be rather an expensive

condiment." The old gentleman smiled as he continued: "In outfitting

our people for a voyage, we supply what is known as a full ration for a

man, a half ration for a woman or a dog, and a quarter ration for a

child. For instance, we give a man eight pounds of fresh deer meat per

day while we give a woman or a dog only four pounds and a child two

pounds. A man's ration of fish is four pounds per day, of pemmican two

pounds, of flour or meal two pounds, of rabbits or ptarmigan four of

each," said he, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe. I was afraid he

was going to turn in, so I quickly asked:

"Which is the longest of the Company's packet routes at the present

day?"

"That of the Mackenzie River packet from Edmonton to Fort Macpherson.

In winter it is hauled two thousand and twelve miles by dog-train; and

in summer it is carried by the Company's steamers on the Athabasca, the

Slave, and the Mackenzie rivers. Next comes the Peace River packet

from Edmonton to Hudson's Hope, a distance of over a thousand miles.

In summer it goes by steamer, and in winter by dog-train. There's the

York Factory packet from Winnipeg to Hudson Bay by way of Norway House,

a distance of seven hundred miles. In winter it is hauled by dogs from

Selkirk as far as Oxford House, and from there to York Factory by men

with toboggans. In summer it is carried by canoe on Hay River and by

steamboat on Lake Winnipeg. Then there's the Liard River packet and

the Reindeer Lake packet. Each travels about five hundred miles by

dogs in winter and by canoe in summer. The Moose Factory packet from

Temiscamingue to James Bay goes by canoe in summer, but by men in

winter. All mails in and out from Hudson Bay or James Bay to or from

the next post in the interior, are hauled by men. Dogs are seldom used

on those routes, on account of the depth of the snow and the scarcity

of dog feed."

[Illustration: "There's the York Factory packet from Hudson Bay to

Winnipeg, a distance of seven hundred miles. In winter it is hauled by

dogs between Selkirk and Or ford House, but between the latter post and

York Factory it is hauled by men with toboggans. All mails in and out

from Hudson Bay to or from the next post in the interior are hauled by

men. Dogs are seldom used on those routes, on account of . . ." See