One of the most ancient methods of hunting and one which is still in

vogue in some remote localities is the "drive." Two famous places for

drive hunting in olden days were Point Carcajou on Peace River, and the

Grand Detour on Great Slave River. The former driving ground was about

thirty miles long by about three miles across, while the latter was

about fifteen miles long by about three miles across. The mode of

hunting was for a party of Indians to spread out through the woods, and

all, at an appointed time, to move forward toward a certain point, and

thus drive the game before them, until the animals, on coming out into

the open at the other end, were attacked by men in ambush. At those

driving grounds in the right season--even if a drive of only a few

miles were made--the Indians could count on securing two or three

bears, three or four moose, and twelve or fifteen caribou. But in

later years, a number of the drivers having been accidentally shot from

ambush, the practice has been discontinued in those localities.

THE BEAR IN HIS WASH

It is not an uncommon occurrence for a hunter, when travelling through

the winter woods, to discover the place where a bear is hibernating;

the secret being given away by the condensed breath of the brute

forming hoar frost about the imperfectly blocked entrance to the wash.

The Indians' hunting dogs are experts at finding such hidden treasure,

and when they do locate such a claim, they do their best to acquaint

their master of the fact.

One day when Oo-koo-hoo was snowshoeing across a beaver meadow, his

dogs, having gained the wooded slope beyond, began racing about as

though they had scented game and were trying to connect a broken trail.

So The Owl got out his pipe and sat down to have a smoke while his dogs

were busily engaged. Presently they centred on a certain spot, and

Oo-koo-hoo, going over, discovered the tell-tale hoar frost. Twisting

out of his snowshoes--for an Indian never has to touch his hands to

them when he puts them on or takes them off--he used one of them for a

shovel, and digging away the snow, he came upon a bear's wash. It was

quite a cave and dark inside, and as the dogs refused to enter, the

hunter crawled into the entrance and reaching in as far as he could

with his hand, felt the forms of two bears. Making sure of the exact

position of the head of one of them, he then shoved his gun in until

the muzzle was close to the ear of one of the bears and then he fired.

The explosion aroused the other bear and as it crawled out Oo-koo-hoo

killed it with his axe. The latter was a brown bear while the former

was a black.

When a bear in his den shows fight and threatens danger, the hunter may

wedge two crossed poles against the opening of the wash, leaving only

enough space for the brute to squeeze through and thus prevent it from

making a sudden rush. Then when the bear does try to come out, the

hunter, standing over the opening, kills it with the back of his axe.

Sometimes a second hole is dug in order to prod the beast with a pole

to make it leave its den. The white hunter frequently uses fire to

smoke a bear out, but not infrequently he succeeds in ruining the coat

by singeing the hair. It requires more skill, however, to find a

bear's wash than it does to kill him in his den. The Indians hunt for

bear washes in the vicinity of good fishing grounds or in a district

where berries have been plentiful.

One winter when I happened to be spending a few days at Brunswick House

an old Indian woman came to call upon the Hudson's Bay trader's wife,

and, while she was having afternoon tea, she casually remarked that

while on her way to the Post she had espied a bear wash. Digging down

into its den with one of her snowshoes, she had killed the brute with

her axe, and if the other guests would care to see her prize, it was

lying on her sled, just outside the door. What a contrast to the way

the Wild West movie actors would have done the deadly work with the aid

of all their absurd artillery! Nevertheless, that kindly spoken,

smiling-faced, motherly old lady, did the deed with nothing but her

little axe.

But while the men of the wilderness laugh over the serious drivel of

most fiction writers who make a specialty of northern tales, nothing is

so supremely ludicrous as the attempts made by the average movie

director to depict northern life in Canada. Never have I seen a

photoplay that truthfully illustrated northern Canadian life.

THE WOLVERINE AND GILL NET

Next day we again set out on a moose trail, but, as ill luck followed

us in the way of a heavy snowstorm, we gave up the chase and continued

on our way. It was hard going and we stopped often. Once we halted to

rest beside a number of otter tracks. Otters leave a surprisingly big

trail for animals of their size. A good imitation could be made of an

otter's trail by pressing down into the snow, in a horizontal position,

a long, irregular stove pipe of the usual size. The reason the otter's

trail is so formed, is that the animal, when travelling through deep

snow, progresses on its belly and propels itself principally by its

hind legs, especially when going down hill. When making a hillside

descent an otter prefers to use an old, well-worn track and glides down

it with the ease and grace of a toboggan on its slide. It was the

sight of the otter's trail that set Oo-koo-hoo thinking of his younger

days.

"Years ago, my son, I very nearly killed a man. It happened at just

such a place as this: a little lake with a patch of open water above a

spring. It was on my father's hunting grounds, and late one afternoon,

after passing through heavy timber, I came out upon its shore, and

there I discovered two men robbing one of my otter traps. One man was

holding up the otter by the tail and laughingly commenting on his gain,

while the other was resetting the trap beneath the ice. I raised my

gun and was about to fire, when it occurred to me that, after all, a

man's life was worth more than an otter's skin; so I let them go, and

left it to the Redcoats (Mounted Police) to settle with them. I knew

them both. They were half-breeds from near Montreal, and were well

learned in the ways of the whites."

[Illustration: It was on my father's hunting grounds, and late one

afternoon, after passing through heavy timber, I came out upon its

shore, and there I discovered two men robbing one of my traps. One man

was holding up the otter by the tail and laughingly commenting on his

gain, while the other was resetting the trap beneath the ice. I raised

my gun and was about to fire, when . . . See Chapter VI.]

But before setting out on our way--I forgot to tell you--we cached our

moose meat in a tree as was previously agreed upon with old Granny,

who, with the boys, was to come and take it home; and in order to

prevent wolverines from stealing or spoiling the meat, the hunter

wrapped round the trunk of the tree an old bag to which were fastened

many fish hooks, all with their barbs pointing downward and ready to

impale any creature that tried to climb the tree. Needless to say, as

that tree stood alone, no wolverine touched that meat.

That day we covered about twenty miles, and by the afternoon of the

second day we had arrived at the lake on the far shore of which lived

Oo-koo-hoo's sister, Ko-ko-hay--The Perfect Woman--with her daughter

and her son-in-law and four granddaughters. As we drew near the camp

we found the women about a mile from shore fishing through the ice for

salmon trout. There were a number of holes--each of which was marked

by a spruce bough set upright in the snow--and the fishing was being

done with hook and line. The hook dangling below the ice about a third

of the water's depth, was held in position by a branch line to which

was attached a suitable sinker. The trout they had caught ran from ten

to thirty pounds each--as near as I could judge--and as the women had

already gained a good haul, they loaded their catch upon their sled and

returned home with us.

Gill nets are also used in the winter time. They are strung under the

ice beneath a series of holes by means of which the net is passed under

the ice with the aid of a pole. The lines being then secured at either

end, the net can be readily drawn back and forth for the purpose of

emptying and resetting. Of course, floats and sinkers are used to

spread the net and keep it in proper position. In some

localities--where the water is muddy--the nets are occasionally boiled

with willow bark to keep them from being destroyed by worms.

Gill nets, however, are frequently injured by animals, not only

amphibious ones such as beaver and otter, but even by such animals as

wolverines. Some years ago, a Yellowknife Indian hunting near Fort

Resolution had an experience of that kind. He having set a gill net

beneath the ice, failed to visit it for several days. When, however,

he did arrive, he saw that it had been tampered with, and found no

difficulty in reading the story in the snow. A wolverine, happening by

on a mild day when the fishing holes were open, began sniffing about

one of the poles to which the end lines of the net were secured; then

scenting the smell of fish, he began chewing the pole; and incidentally

his sharp teeth severed the cords that held the net. Then, for the

want of something better to do, he went to the other end, to which were

attached the lines of the other end of the net. Again scenting fish,

he began to chew the second pole, but this time finding it give way, he

hauled it out of the hole; and with the pole came part of the net; and

with the net came a few fish. In trying to free the fish from the

tangled mesh, he hauled out more net which contained more fish; then,

in an effort to feast royally, he ended by hauling out the whole net.

The following day the Indian arrived and reading the story in the snow,

set a trap for the robber. Again the wolverine came, but so did the

hunter, and much to his delight found the wolverine caught in the trap.

Such an incident, indeed, is not rare, for the same thing has happened

in other parts of the forest.

"THE PERFECT WOMAN"

The Perfect Woman's daughter was married to a half-breed by the name of

Tastowich and the four granddaughters were nice-looking girls ranging

in age from fourteen to twenty. Though very shy, they were bubbling

over with quiet fun and I enjoyed my visit. That evening, among other

subjects, we discussed the various hunting caps worn by Indian big-game

hunters, and The Perfect Woman offered to make me one if I could supply

her with the needed material; but when she saw that I had nothing but a

double "four-point" Hudson's Bay blanket, she offered to make me a

complete suit from that article and to lend me, for the rest of the

winter, a rabbit-skin quilt to take the place of the blanket. I

accepted her kindly offer, but of course paid her for both the work and

the quilt.

So the older women set to work with nothing more modern in the way of

tools than a pair of scissors, a thimble, and a needle and thread; and

by bed time I was well rigged in Indian fashion, for the hunting trail.

The cap they made me was the same as Amik wears in my picture of the

lynx hunter. The suit consisted of a coat and hip-high leggings, and

though I have worn that suit on many a winter trip, and though it is

now over twenty-five years old, I have never had to repair their

excellent hand-sewing.

When the work was finished the father and the mother crawled into a

double bunk that was surrounded by a curtain; Ko-ko-hay wound herself

up in a blanket and lay down upon the floor, and Oo-koo-hoo did

likewise, yet there were two bunks still unoccupied. But I was

informed that I was to occupy the single one, while the four girls were

to sleep in the big double one. As I had not had my clothes off for

several days and as I was counting on the pleasure of sleeping in my

night-shirt, I planned to sit up late enough to make my wish come true,

though I knew that the intended occupants of those two bunks would have

to rely solely upon darkness to form a screen, as neither bunk was

provided with a curtain. After a little while, however, it began to

dawn upon me that the girls were counting on doing the same thing, for

they made no move to leave the open fire. But the Sand Man finally

made them capitulate. At last, rising from their seats, they piled a

lot of fresh wood upon the fire, then climbing into their big bunk,

they took off their shawls and hanging them from the rafters, draped

them completely about their bed. Now my opportunity had arrived, and

though the fire was filling the one-room log house with a blaze of

light, I made haste to discard my clothes--for now the older people

were all sound asleep. In a few moments I was in the very act of

slipping on the coveted garment when I heard a peal of merriment behind

me. On looking round I discovered that the shawls had vanished from

around the bunk and four merry young ladies, all in a row, were peering

at me from beneath their blankets and fairly shaking their bed with

laughter.

INDIANS AND CIVILIZATION

Tastowich's home was built entirely of wood, deerskin, and clay. The

house was of logs, the glassless windows were of deerskin parchment,

the door-lock and the door-hinges were of wood, the latch string was of

deerskin, the fireplace and the chimney were of clay, the roof thatch

was of bark. The abode was clean, serviceable, and warm; and yet it

was a house that could have been built thousands of years ago. But

consider, for instance, Oo-koo-hoo's comfortable lodge; a similar

dwelling, no doubt, could have been erected a million years ago; and

thus, even in our time, the pre-historic still hovers on the outskirts

of our flimsy civilization. A civilization that billions of human

beings for millions of years have been struggling violently to gain;

and now after all that eternal striving since the beginning of

time--what has been the great outstanding gain--as the Indian sees it?

"Baldness and starched underwear for men, high-heeled shoes and corsets

for women, and for both--spectacles and false teeth." Is it any wonder

the red man laughs?

But some of you will doubt that the Indian laughs, and more of you will

even doubt whether the red man possesses a sense of humour. A few days

ago my Toronto oculist--you see I have been justly rewarded for

hovering around civilization--and I were discussing Indians. The

doctor quoted his experience with them. Some years before he had taken

a trip into the forest where he had met an old Indian chief whose wife

had had her eye injured by accident. The doctor told the old man if

ever he contemplated taking his wife to Toronto, to let the doctor know

of their coming, and he would see what he could do to repair the

injury. A year or so later a letter arrived from the very same Indian

reservation. Though it was hard to read, the doctor made out that the

Indian intended to bring his wife to Toronto so that the oculist could

fulfil his promise; but as luck would have it, the doctor had not only

forgotten the Indian's name, but he had great difficulty in reading the

signature. After much study, however, he decided that the old Indian

had signed his name as "Chief Squirrel" so thus the doctor addressed

his reply. A couple of weeks later the postman arrived with a letter

he was rather loath to leave at the doctor's house. The oculist,

however, on seeing that it was addressed to his own number on Bloor

Street West, and that the name was preceded by the title of Doctor,

believed that it was intended for him. On opening it he found it was

from the old Indian whom he had addressed as "Chief Squirrel." Now,

however, he realized he had made a mistake in giving the red man such a

name, for another glance at the outside of the envelope not only proved

that the Indian was indignant, but that he also possessed a sense of

humour, for "Chief Squirrel" had, in return, addressed the noted

oculist as "Doctor Chipmunk."

While spending a couple of days at Tastowich's house the subject of

hunting was never long omitted from the general conversation; and upon

learning from the half-breed that caribou were plentiful about a day's

travel to the westward, nothing would do but Oo-koo-hoo must take that

route on his return home; though of course it meant many more miles to

cover. The excursion, however, was inviting, as a good trail could be

followed all the way to the caribou country, as the Tastowichs had been

hauling deer meat from that region.

By the evening of the first day, as good fortune would have it, we

baited among many signs of caribou, and not only were fresh caribou

tracks to be seen, but also those of wolves, for the latter were

trailing the deer. The incident reminded Oo-koo-hoo of a former

experience which he told as we sat by the fire.

WOLVES RUNNING CABIBOU

"It happened years ago. For weeks, my son, I had had ill luck and my

family were starving. For days I had hunted first one kind of game and

then another, but always without success. Then, as a last resort, I

started after caribou, though I well knew that I should have to travel

a long distance before falling in with them. But in the end I was

rewarded. The going was bad, mostly through a dense growth of small

black spruce, where the trees stood so close together that I had

difficulty in hauling my sled, being compelled, at times, to turn on

edge, not only my toboggan, but also my snowshoes, in order to pass

between. After several hours' hard work the forest grew more open and,

about noon of the third day, I discovered a band of caribou quietly

sunning themselves on a large muskeg.

"Some were feeding, others were lying down, fawns were scampering about

in play, and young bulls were thrusting at each other with their

prong-like horns. There were over a hundred in all. I watched them

for some time before I was discovered by seven young bulls, and as they

were nearest me, they stopped in their play, left the others, and came

down wind to investigate the strange two-legged creature that also wore

a caribou skin.

"With heads held high and expanded nostrils quivering in readiness to

catch scent of danger, they came on very slowly yet not without a great

deal of high stepping and of prancing, with a sort of rhythmical

dancing motion. Every now and then they threw their heads down, then

up, and then held them rigid again. They were brave enough to come

within sixty or seventy paces and even a little closer. But as ill

luck ordained, while I was waiting for a better chance to bring down

one of them with my old flint-lock, they caught scent of me, and

suddenly falling back--almost upon their haunches--as though they had

been struck upon the head, they wheeled round, then fled in alarm to

the main body. Then, as caribou usually do, the whole band began

leaping three or four feet into the air--much as they sometimes do when

hit by a bullet. Then, too, with tails up they swept away at full

gallop and, entering the forest beyond, were lost to view.

"It was a great disappointment, my son, and I became so disheartened

that I made but a poor attempt to trail them that day. That evening,

when I lay down to rest upon the edge of a muskeg, the moon was already

shining; and by midnight the cold was so intense that the frost-bitten

trees went off with such bangs that I was startled out of my slumber.

It was then that I discovered a pack of eight wolves silently romping

about in the snow of the muskeg--just like a lot of young dogs. Their

antics interested me and it was some time before I fell asleep again.

"In the morning, though a heavy rime (frozen mist) was falling and

though it was so thick that it obliterated the surrounding forest, I

set out again in search of game tracks, and having crossed the muskeg,

not only found the tracks of many caribou, but learned, too, that the

eight wolves were now trailing the deer in earnest.

"About half way between sunrise and midday I came upon a lake, and

there I discovered not only the same herd of caribou and the same

wolves, but the deer were running at full speed with the wolves in full

chase behind them. My son, it was a fascinating sight. The caribou

were going at full gallop, covering twenty feet or more at a bound, and

all running at exactly the same speed, none trying to outstrip the

others, for the fawns, does, and bucks were all compactly bunched

together. It was as exciting and as interesting a sight as one may see

in the Strong Woods. Though the wolves did not seem to be putting

forth their utmost speed, they nevertheless took care to cut every

corner, and thus they managed to keep close behind, while their long,

regular lope foretold their eventually overhauling their quarry.

"Protected by a gentle southwest wind and a thick screen of underbrush,

I watched the chase. Three times the deer circled the lake, which was

about half a mile in length. For safety's sake the caribou carefully

avoided entering the woods, even rounding every point rather than cut

across among the trees. On the fourth round I saw that the wolves had

set their minds upon running down a single deer, for as they now

suddenly burst forward at their top speed, the herd, splitting apart,

allowed the wolves to pass through their ranks. A few moments later an

unfortunate doe, emerging in front, galloped frantically ahead with the

wolves in hot pursuit; while the rest of the herd slowed down to a

trot, then to a walk, and finally halted to rest in perfect

indifference as to their companion's fate.

"Round and round the lake the frightened creature sped, with the

determined wolves behind her. Presently, however, the wolves one by

one turned aside, and lay down to rest, until only two continued the

pursuit. But as the deer came round the lake again several of the

now-refreshed wolves again entered the chase, thus they relieved one

another. The ill-fated doe, in a vain hope of throwing aside her

pursuers, twice rushed into the very centre of the caribou herd; but it

was of no avail, for, as the wolves relentlessly followed her, the

other deer wildly scattered away to a safer distance, where, however,

they soon came together again, and stood watching their enemies running

down their doomed comrade. Now first one wolf and then another took

the lead; closer and closer they pressed upon the exhausted doe whose

shortening stride told that her strength was fast ebbing away.

"My son, perhaps you wonder why I did not use my gun? I was out of

range, and, moreover, while I was afraid that if I ventured out of the

woods I might frighten the game away, I knew I had but to wait a little

while and then I should be sure of at least one deer without even

firing my gun. I did not have to wait long. With a few tremendous

leaps the leading wolf seized the doe by the base of the throat and

throwing her, heels over head, brought her down.

"Realizing that I must act at once, I rushed out upon the lake, but in

my haste I fell and broke the stock off my gun--just behind the hammer.

But as I still had my axe, I picked up the broken gun, and charged in

among the wolves that now began to back away, though not without much

snarling, glaring of angry eyes, and champing of powerful jaws. As one

remained too near, I let drive at it with a charge from my almost

useless gun; and though I missed my aim, the report relieved me of any

further trouble. Cutting up the deer, I feasted upon it for several

hours, then loaded my sled and hurried home with the meat for my

starving family."

There are three principal species of Canadian caribou: the smallest

living on the Barren Grounds and taking their name from that region;

the largest frequenting the Rocky Mountains west of the Mackenzie River

and known as Woodland or Mountain caribou; and the intermediate size

inhabiting the Great Northern Forest and called Woodland caribou.

In comparison with moose, wapiti, and other deer of North America, the

Woodland caribou ranks third in size. In colour its coat is of a

grayish brown with a white neck and belly. In winter the heavy growth

of neck hair really amounts to a mane. Of the three breeds, the

Woodland caribou have the smallest horns, the Barren Ground the

slenderest, while the Mountain caribou have the most massive. Record

antlers range from fifty- to sixty-inch beams, with a forty- to

fifty-inch spread, and possessing from sixty to seventy points. The

does are usually provided with small horns, and in that way they are

distinct from all other Canadian deer.

On account of its wide-spreading and concave hoofs the Woodland caribou

does not have to "yard" as other deer do in winter time, for thus

provided with natural snowshoes, the caribou can pass over the deepest

snow with little trouble. Also, throughout the year it is an extensive

traveller, and as its food is found everywhere within its wide range,

its wanderings are determined chiefly by the wind. Indeed, so great a

traveller is it that, when thoroughly alarmed, it may cover from fifty

to a hundred miles before settling down again. Rivers and lakes do not

hinder its roaming for it is a powerful and a willing swimmer. The

mating takes place in October and the calves are born in June.

The following morning while at breakfast Oo-koo-hoo discoursed upon the

game we were about to hunt:

"My son, everything that applies to hunting the moose, applies to

hunting the caribou, except that the hunter never tries to 'call' the

caribou. But now I recollect that there is one thing about moose

hunting that I forgot to tell you and it applies also to hunting the

caribou. In some localities barriers are still in use, but nowadays

they seldom make new ones. In the old days whole tribes used to take

part in barrier hunting and sometimes the barriers would stretch for

fifteen or twenty miles and were usually made from one part of the

river to another, and thus they marked off the woods enclosed in a

river's bend. Barriers are made by felling trees in a line; or, in an

open place, or upon a river or lake, placing a line of little trees in

the snow about ten paces apart. Small evergreens with the butts no

thicker than a man's thumb were often used; yet an artificial line of

such brush was enough to turn moose or caribou and cause them to move

forward in a certain direction where the hunters were hiding. Even big

clumps of moss, placed upon trees, will produce the same effect.

Frequently, too, snares for deer are set in suitable places along the

barrier, and while the snares are made of babiche the loops are kept

open with blades of grass.

"There is still another thing I forgot to tell you about moose

hunting--my son, I must be growing old when I forget so much. While my

Indian cousins in the East use birch-bark horns for calling moose, my

other cousins in the Far North never do, yet they call moose, too, but

in a different way. They use the shoulder blade of a deer. Thus, when

a bull is approaching, the hunter stands behind a tree and rubs the

shoulder blade upon the trunk or strikes it against the branches of a

neighbouring bush, as it then makes a sound not unlike a bull thrashing

his horns about. Such a sound makes a bull believe that another is

approaching and ready to fight him for the possession of the cow, and

he prepares to charge his enemy. At such a moment the hunter throws

the shoulder blade into some bushes that may be standing a little way

off, and the enraged bull, hearing this last sound, charges directly

for the spot. Then, as the brute passes broadside, the hunter fires.

"But, my son, to return to caribou hunting, you probably know that

those deer are very fond of open places during sunny weather in winter

time, such places as, for instance, rivers and small lakes where the

wind will not be strong. There they will spend most of the day resting

or playing together in big bands of perhaps fifty or more. Sometimes,

however, when a high wind springs up, they have a curious custom of all

racing round in a circle at high speed. It is a charming sight to

watch them at such sport. Most of their feeding is done right after

sunrise and just before sunset, and at night they always resort to the

woods.

"Then, too, when caribou go out upon a lake they have a habit of lying

down beside the big ridges that rise three or four feet above the rest

of the surface, where the ice has been split apart and then jammed

together again with such power that the edges are forced upward. They

lie down there to avoid the wind while resting in the sun. There the

hunter sometimes digs a trench in the snow and lies in wait for the

unsuspecting deer. When he shoots one, he immediately skins it, but

takes care to leave the head attached to the skin; then ramming a pole

into the head at the neck, he drapes the skin over the pole and getting

down on all fours places the skin over his back and pretends to be a

caribou. Thus he will approach the band, and should he tire of

crawling along on his hands and knees he will even lie down to rest in

sight of the deer, but he always takes care to keep down wind. In such

a guise it is not hard to come within gun-range of the band.

"A very good thing to carry when hunting deer in the woods is a bunch

of tips of deer horns, each about four inches long and all suspended

from the back of the hunter's belt; as the horn tips will then tinkle

together at every movement of the hunter, and make a sound as though

the horns of a distant band of closely marching caribou were striking

together. In that way, my son, it is easier to approach, and when you

are ready to fire, look carefully for a large, white, fat doe, and then

let drive at her; for bands of deer are never led by bulls, but always

by does and usually by a barren one. If you shoot the leader first,

the chances are the band will stand waiting for one of their number to

lead the way. Remember, too, that deer are never so frightened at

seeing or hearing you as they are at scenting you, for the merest whiff

of man-smell will drive them away. When they first scent you they will

take two or three jumps into the air with their heads held high, their

nostrils extended, and their eyes peering about; then swinging round,

they will gallop off and later settle down into a great high-stepping,

distance-covering trot that will carry them many miles away before they

halt. There is still another good way to hunt caribou on a lake and

that is to put on a wolf skin and approach on all fours, but it is not

so successful as when the hunter wears a caribou skin."

TRAILING IN THE SNOW

Breakfast over, we slipped on our snowshoes and set out to follow a

mass of tracks that led southward. It was easy going on a beaten

trail, a blind man could have followed it; and that reminds me of

something I have failed to tell you about winter trailing in the

Northland. In winter, the men of the Northland don't trail human

beings by scent, they trail them by sight or sometimes by touch. Sight

trailing, of course, you understand. Trailing by touch, however, when

not understood by the spectator, seems a marvellous performance. For

instance, when a husky dog, the leader of a sled-train, will come out

of the forest and with his head held high, and without a moment's

hesitation, trot across a lake that may be three or four miles wide,

upon the surface of which the wind and drifting snow have left

absolutely no visible sign of a trail, and when that dog will cross

that great unbroken expanse and enter the woods on the far shore

exactly where the trail appears in sight again, though no stick or

stone or any other visible thing marks the spot--it does seem a

marvellous feat. But it is done, not by sight, sound, or scent, but by

touch--the feel of the foot. In winter time man, too, follows a trail

in the same way, notwithstanding that he is generally handicapped by a

pair of snowshoes. Some unseen trails are not hard to follow--even a

blind man could follow them. It is done this way:

Suppose you come to a creek that you want to cross, yet you can see no

way of doing it, for there is nothing in sight--neither log nor

bridge--spanning the river. But suppose someone tells you that, though

the water is so muddy that you cannot see an inch into it, there is a

flat log spanning the creek about six inches below the surface, and

that if you feel about with your foot you can find it. Then, of

course, you would make your way across by walking on the unseen log,

yet knowing all the time that if you made a misstep you would plunge

into the stream. You would do it by the feel of the foot. It is just

the same in following an unseen trail in the snow--it lies hard-packed

beneath the surface, just as the log lay unseen in the river. What a

pity it is that the writers of northern tales so rarely understand the

life they have made a specialty of depicting.

But to return to the caribou we were trailing, and also to make a long

hunt short--for you now know most of the interesting points in the

sport--I must tell you that we spent a full day and a night before we

came up with them. And that night, too, a heavy fall of snow added to

our trouble, but it made the forest more beautiful than ever. It was

after sunrise when we picked up fresh tracks. A heavy rime was

falling, but though it screened all distant things, we espied five

caribou that were still lingering on a lake, over which the main band

had passed. They were east of us and were heading for the north side

of a long, narrow island. As soon as they passed behind it, Oo-koo-hoo

hurried across the intervening space, and ran along the southern shore

to head them off. The eastern end of the island dwindled into a long

point and it was there that The Owl hoped to get a shot. Sure enough

he did, for he arrived there ahead of the deer. Though he had lost

sight of them, he knew they were nearing him, for he could hear the

crunching sound of their hoofs in the frosty snow, and later he could

even hear that strange clicking sound caused by the muscular action of

the hoofs in walking--a sound peculiar to caribou.

[Illustration: Oo-koo-hoo could even hear the strange clicking sound,

caused by the muscular action of the hoofs in walking--a sound peculiar

to caribou. He cautiously went down on one knee and there waited with

his gun cocked and in position. Now antlered heads appeared beyond the

openings between the snow-mantled trees. The hunter, taking aim,

addressed them: "My brothers, I need your . . ." Then the violent

report of his gun shattered the . . . See Chapter VI.]

Oo-koo-hoo cautiously went down on one knee and there waited with his

gun cocked and in position. The air was scarcely moving. Now antlered

heads appeared beyond the openings between the snow-mantled trees. The

hunter, taking aim, addressed them:

"My brothers, I need your . . ." Then the violent report of his gun

shattered the stillness, and the leader, a doe, lunged forward a few

paces, staggered upon trembling legs, and then sank down into the

brilliantly sunny snow. But before Oo-koo-hoo could re-load for a

second shot the rest of the little band passed out of range, and, with

their high-stepping, hackney action, soon passed out of sight. So,

later on, with our sled again heavily loaded, and with packs of meat

upon our backs, we set out for home.

THE MAN WHO HIBERNATED

Next morning, soon after sunrise, while I was breaking trail across a

lake, I espied a log house in a little clearing beside a large beaver

meadow. As it was about the time we usually stopped for our second

breakfast, I turned in the direction of the lonely abode. It was a

small, well-built house, and with the exception of the spaces at the

two windows and the door, was entirely enclosed by neatly stacked

firewood suitable for a stove. Beyond, half built in the rising

ground, stood a little log stable, and near it a few cattle were eating

from haystacks. Going up to the shack, I knocked upon the door, and as

a voice bade me enter I slipped off my snowshoes, pulled the latch

string, and walked in. Entering from the dazzling sunlight made the

room at first seem in darkness. Presently, however, I regained my

sight, and then beheld the interior of a comfortable little home--the

extreme of neatness and order; and then I saw a human form lying

beneath the blankets of a bunk in a far corner. Later I noticed that

two black eyes beneath a shock of black hair were smiling a welcome.

"Good morning," I greeted. "May I use your stove to cook breakfast?"

"No, sir," replied the figure, then it sat up in bed, and I saw that it

was a white man. "I'll do the cooking myself, for you're to be my

guest."

"Thanks," I returned, "I'm travelling with an Indian and I don't wish

to trouble you; but if I may use your stove I'll be much obliged."

"If I have what you haven't got," my host smiled, "will you dine with

me?"

"All right," I agreed.

"Potatoes," he exclaimed.

"Good," I laughed.

"Then sit down, please, and rest while I do the cooking."

Oo-koo-hoo now came in and at the host's bidding, filled his pipe from

a tobacco pouch upon the table.

The accent of the stranger suggested that he was an English gentleman,

and it seemed strange, indeed, to discover so refined and educated a

man living apparently alone and without any special occupation in the

very heart of the Great Northern Forest. Curiosity seized me. Then I

wondered--was this the man? . . . could he be "Son-in-law"?

But I refrained from questioning him. So I talked about the woods and

the weather, while Oo-koo-hoo brought in a haunch of venison from his

sled and presented it to the stranger. But with my host's every action

and word the mystery grew.

The stove, which was fireless, stood beside the bed, and reaching for

the griddle-lifter, my host removed the lids; then picking up a stick

of pine kindling from behind the stove, he whittled some shavings and

placed them in the fire-box; and on top of this he laid kindling and

birch firewood. Then he replaced the lids, struck a match, and while

the fire began to roar, filled the kettle from a keg of water that

stood behind the stove, and mind you, he did it without getting out of

bed. Next, he leant over the side of the bunk, opened a little trap

door in the floor, reached down into his little box-like cellar, and

hauled up a bag containing potatoes, which he then put in a pot to

boil, in their skins. From the wall he took a long stick with a crook

upon the end, and reaching out, hooked the crook round the leg and drew

the table toward him. Reaching up to one of the three shelves above

his bunk, he took down the necessary dishes and cutlery to set the

breakfast table for us three. While the potatoes were boiling he took

from another shelf--the one upon which he kept a few well-chosen

books--a photograph album and suggested that I look it over while he

broiled the venison steak and infused the tea.

When I opened the album and saw its contents, it not only further

excited my curiosity regarding the personal history of my host, but it

thrilled me with interest, for never before or since have I seen an

album that contained photographs of a finer-looking or more

distinguished lot of people. Its pages contained photographs of Lord

This, General That, Admiral What's-his-name, and also the Bishop of

I've-forgotten and many a Sir and Lady, too, as well as the beautiful

Countess of Can't-remember.

Breakfast was served. The potatoes were a treat, the steak was

excellent, the tea was good, and there we three sat and ate a hearty

meal, for not only did we relish the food, but the company, the wit,

and the laughter, too. But all the while my healthy, jovial, handsome

host remained in bed. I studied the blankets that covered his

legs--apparently there was nothing wrong with that part of him. I

could not fathom the mystery. It completely nonplussed me.

I glanced round the room; there were many photographs upon the walls,

among them Cambridge "eights" and "fours"; and sure enough, there he

was, rowing in those very crews; and in the football and tennis

pictures he also appeared as one of the best of them all. And how neat

and clean was his one-room house! Everything was in order. A water

keg behind the stove to keep the water from freezing. A big barrel by

the door in which to turn snow into water. A woodpile across the end

of the room--enough to outlast any blizzard. Then when I glanced at

him again, I noticed a crested signet ring upon his left little finger.

Breakfast over, smoking began, and as he washed the dishes, I wiped

them--but still I pondered. Then, at last, I grew brave. I would risk

it. I would ask him:

"Why do you stay in bed?"

First he responded with a burst of laughter, then with the question:

"Why, what's the use of getting up?" and next with the statement: "I

stay in bed all winter . . . or nearly so. It's the only thing to do.

I used to get up, and go for my mail occasionally . . . at least, I did

a few years ago, but too many times I walked the forty miles to the

Hudson's Bay Company's Flying Post at Elbow Creek only to find no

letters for me . . . so I chucked it all. Then, too, the first few

winters I was here I used to do a little shooting, but I get all the

game I want from the Indians now, so I have chucked the shooting, too.

Now the only thing that gets me out of bed, or takes me out of doors,

is to watch which way the wind blows. Two winters ago, when I was away

from here a week, the wind blew steadily from the north for five days

or more, and my cattle ate so far into the south sides of the hay

stacks that two of the stacks fell over on them and in that way I lost

five head--they were smothered."

Oo-koo-hoo, knocking the ashes from his pipe, began to tie his coat;

apparently, he thought it was time we were going. I opened the album

again, and glanced through it once more as I sat upon the edge of my

strange host's bunk. I stopped my turning when I came to a photograph

of a charming gentlewoman whose hair was done in an old-fashioned way

so becoming to her character and beauty. She must have been

twenty-three. He, then, was nearing forty. I thought his hand

lingered a little upon the page. And when I commented on her beauty, I

fancied his voice tremored slightly--anyway his pipe went out.

But Oo-koo-hoo, getting up, broke the silence.

I invited my still-unknown host to pay me a visit. We shook hands

heartily, and as I turned to close the door, I noticed that he had lain

down again, and had covered up his head. As a pleasant parting

salutation--a cheering one as I thought--I exclaimed:

"Perfectly stunning! . . . the most beautiful lot of women I have ever

seen!"

And then from beneath the bed clothes came--

"Y-e-s . . . _the blighters_!"

VII

LIFE AND LOVE RETURN

HYMEN COMES WITH SPRING

"My son, it is ever thus, when spring is on the way," smiled

Oo-koo-hoo, as Granny entered with glee and displayed a new deerskin

work-bag, containing needles, thread, thimble, and scissors; a present

from Shing-wauk--The Little Pine--Neykia's lover.

"Now that Spring and Love are going to hunt together," further remarked

the Indian, "the snow will run away, and the ice begin to tremble when

it hears the home-coming birds singing among the trees. Ah, my son, it

reminds me of the days of my youth," sighed The Owl, "when I, too, was

a lover."

"Tell me," I coaxed.

"It was many years ago, at the New Year's dance at Fort Perseverance

that I first met Ojistoh. She was thirteen then, and as beautiful as

she was young. . . . No; I shall never forget those days . . . When

she spoke her voice was as gentle as the whispering south wind, and

when she ran she passed among the trees as silently and as swiftly as a

vanishing dream; but now," added Oo-koo-hoo, with a sly, teasing glance

at his wife, "but now look at her, my son . . . She is nothing but a

bundle of old wrinkled leather, that makes a noise like a she-wolf that

has no mate, and when she waddles about she goes thudding around on the

split end of her body--like a rabbit with frozen feet."

But Granny, saying never a word, seized the wooden fire-poker, and

dealt her lord and master such a vigorous blow across the shoulders

that she slew his chuckle of laughter the moment it was born. Then, as

the dust settled, silence reigned. A little later, as Granny put more

wood upon the fire, she turned to me with twinkling eyes and said:

"My son, if you could have seen the old loon when he was courting me,

it would have filled your heart with laughter. It is true he was

always a loon, for in those days Oo-koo-hoo, the great hunter, was even

afraid of his own shadow, for he never dared call upon me in daylight,

and even when he came sneaking round at night he always took good care

that it was at a time when my father was away from home. Furthermore,

he always chose a stormy evening when the snow would be drifting and

thus cover his trail; and worse still, when he came to court me he

always wore women's snowshoes; because, my son, he had not courage

enough to come as a man."

This sally, however, only made Oo-koo-hoo smile the more as he puffed

away at his brier.

"Did he always bring your grandmother a present?" I enquired.

"No, my son, not always, he was too stingy," replied the old woman,

"but he did once in a while, I must grant him that."

"What was it?"

"Oh, just a few coils of tripe."

But Granny, of course, was joking, that was why she did not explain

that deer tripe filled with blood was as great a delicacy as a suitor

could offer his prospective grandmother-in-law; for among certain

forest tribes, it is the custom that a marriageable daughter leaves the

lodge of her parents and takes up her abode with her grandmother--that

is, if the old lady is living within reasonable distance.

Shing-wauk--The Little Pine--had come that day, and had been invited to

sleep in Amik's tepee; yet he spent the greater part of his time

sitting with Neykia in her grandmother's lodge. As there are no cozy

corners in a tepee, it is the Ojibway custom for a lover to converse

with his sweetheart under cover of a blanket which screens the lovers

from the gaze of the other occupants of the lodge. Early in the

evening the blanket always hung in a dignified way, as though draped

over a couple of posts set a few feet apart. Later, however, the posts

frequently lost their balance and swayed about in such a way as to come

dangerously near colliding. Then, if the old grandmother did not speak

or make a stir, the blanket would sometimes show that one support had

given away. Accordingly, the old woman was able to judge by the

general contour of the blanket just how the courtship was progressing,

and being a foxy old dame she occasionally pretended to snore just to

see what might happen.

One night, however, Granny's snoring was no longer pretense, and when

she woke up from her nap, she found that both supports of the blanket

were in immediate danger of collapsing. Seizing the stick with which

she used to poke the fire, she leaped up and belaboured the blanket so

severely that it lost no time in recovering its proper form.

Kissa Pesim (The Old Moon)--February, and Mikesewe Pesim (The Eagle

Moon)--March, had flown and now Niske Pesim, (The Goose Moon)--April,

had arrived; and with it had come the advance guard of a few of those

numerous legions of migratory birds and fowls that are merely winter

visitors to the United States, Mexico, and South America; while Canada

is their real home--the place where they were born. Next would follow

Ayeke Pesim (the Frog Moon) of May, when love would be in full play;

then a little later would come Wawe Pesim (The Egg Moon) otherwise

June, when the lovers would be living together--or nesting.

Yes, truly, the long-tarrying but wonderous Goose Moon had at last

arrived, and at last, too, the spring hunt was on. It was now a joyous

season accompanied with charming music rendered by the feathered

creatures. Overhead the geese where honking, out upon the lake the

loons were calling, near the shore the ducks were quacking, while all

through the woods the smaller birds were singing. Now, even among the

shadows, the snow was slinking away; while the river ice, plunging

along with a roar, ran down to the lake where it rested quietly in a

space of open water.

Now, too, it so happened that day, that Neykia, she of woodland grace

and beauty, was strolling in the sunshine with her Little Pine; while

on every side the trees were shaking their heads and it seemed

gossiping about the hunting plans of that reckless little elfin hunter,

Hymen, who was hurrying overland and shooting his joyous arrows in

every direction, till the very air felt charged with the whisperings of

countless lovers. It made me think of the shy but radiant Athabasca,

and I wondered--was her lover with her now?

THE SPRING HUNT

The Indians divide their annual hunt for fur into three distinct

hunting seasons: the fall hunt--from autumn until Christmas; the winter

hunt--from New Year's Day until Easter; and the spring hunt--from

Easter until the hunters depart for their tribal summer camping ground.

At the end of each hunting season--if the fur-runners have not traded

with the hunters and if the hunter is not too far away from the

post--he usually loads upon his sled the result of his fall hunt and

hauls it to the Post during Christmas week; likewise he hauls to the

Post the catch of his winter hunt about Easter time; while the gain

from his spring hunt is loaded aboard his canoe and taken to the Post

the latter part of May. Easter time, or the end of the winter hunt,

marks the closing of the hunting season for all land animals except

bear; and the renewing of the hunting season for bear, beaver, otter,

mink, and muskrat, all water animals save the first.

Meanwhile, the canoes had been overhauled: freshly patched, stitched,

and gummed, their thwarts strengthened, their ribs adjusted, and their

bottoms greased.

A few days later, loading some traps and kit--among which was the

hunter's bow and quiver of arrows--aboard his small canoe, Oo-koo-hoo

and I set out at sunrise and paddling around the western end of Bear

Lake, entered Bear River. It was a cold but delightful morning, and

the effect of the sun shining through the rising mist was extremely

beautiful. We were going otter- and muskrat-hunting; and as we

descended that charming little stream and wound about amid its marshy

flats and birch- and poplar-clad slopes, every once in a while ducks

startled us by suddenly whirring out of the mist. Then, when long

light lines of rippling water showed in the misty screen we knew that

they were nothing but the wakes of swimming muskrats; and soon we

glided into a colony of them; but for the time being they were not at

home--the still-rising spring freshet had driven them from their

flooded houses.

The muskrat's little island lodge among the rushes is erected upon a

foundation of mud and reeds that rises about two feet before it

protrudes above the surface of the water. The building material, taken

from round the base, by its removal helps to form a deep-water moat

that answers as a further protection to the muskrat's home. Upon that

foundation the house is built by piling upon it more reeds and mud.

Then the tunnels are cut through the pile from about the centre of the

over-water level down and out at one side of the under-water

foundation, while upon the top more reeds and mud are placed to form

the dome-shaped roof, after which the chamber inside is cleared. The

apex of the roof rises about three feet above the water. In some

localities, however, muskrats live in dens excavated in the banks of

rivers or ponds. To these dens several under-water runways lead.

Muskrats feed principally on the roots and stalks of many kinds of

sub-aqueous plants. In winter time, when their pond is frozen over,

and when they have to travel far under water to find their food, they

sometimes make a point of keeping several water-holes open, so that

after securing their food, they may rise at a convenient hole and eat

their meal without having to make long trips to their house for the

purpose. In order to keep the water-hole from freezing, they build a

little house of reeds and mud over it. Sometimes, too, they store food

in their lodges, especially the bulbous roots of certain plants.

Muskrats, like beavers, use their tails for signalling danger, and when

alarm causes them to dive they make a great noise, out of all

proportion to their size. Thus the greenhorn from the city is apt to

take the muskrat's nightly plunges for the sound of deer leaping into

water; and just in the same way does the sleepless tenderfoot mistake

the thudding footfalls of the midnight rabbit for those of moose or

caribou running round his tent.

Muskrats are fairly sociable and help one another in their work. They

mate in April and their young are born about a month later. The

Indians claim that they pair like the beaver, and that the father helps

to take care of the children. The young number from three to eight.

When they are full grown their coats are dark brown. In length

muskrats measure about eighteen inches, while in weight they run from a

pound and a half to two pounds.

Except in autumn, their range is exceedingly small, though at that

season they wander much farther away from their homes. If danger

threatens they are always ready to fight, and they prove to be

desperate fighters, too. While slow on land, they are swift in water;

and such excellent divers are they that in that way they sometimes

escape their greatest enemy--the mink; though wolves, fishers, foxes,

otters, as well as birds of prey and Indians are always glad to have a

muskrat for dinner.

But to return to our muskrat hunt: Oo-koo-hoo, stringing his bow and

adjusting an arrow, let drive at one of the little animals as it sat

upon some drift-wood. The blunt-headed shaft just skimmed its back and

sank into the mud beyond; the next arrow, however, bowled the muskrat

over; and in an hour's time The Owl had eleven in his canoe. When I

questioned him as to why he used such an ancient weapon, he explained

that a bow was much better than a gun, as it did not frighten the other

muskrats away, also it did not injure the pelt in the way shot would

do, and, moreover, it was much more economical.

Occasionally Oo-koo-hoo would imitate the call of the muskrats;

sometimes to arrest their attention, but more often to entice them

within easy range of his arrows. If he killed them outright while they

were swimming, they sank like stones; but when only wounded, they

usually swam round on the surface for a while. Once, however, a

wounded one dived, and, seizing hold of a reed, held on with its teeth

in order to escape its pursuer; Oo-koo-hoo, nevertheless, eventually

landed it in his canoe.

In setting steel traps for them the hunter placed the traps either in

the water or on the bank at a spot where they were in the habit of

going ashore, and to decoy them to that landing Oo-koo-hoo rubbed

castoreum on the branches of the surrounding bushes--just in the same

way as he did for mink or otter. Another way he had of setting traps

was to cut a hole in the side of a muskrat's house, so that he could

thrust in his arm and feel for the entrance to the tunnel, then he

would set a trap there and close up the hole.

One day when he was passing a muskrat house that he had previously

opened for that purpose and closed again, he discovered that the hole

was again open. Thinking that the newly added mud had merely fallen

out, he thrust his arm into the hole to reach for the trap, when

without the slightest warning some animal seized him by the finger. It

was a mink that had been raiding the house; and in the excitement that

followed, the brute escaped. The hunter, however, made little of his

injury; chewing up a quid of tobacco, he placed it over the wound and

bound it securely with a rag torn from the tail of his shirt.

Oo-koo-hoo explained that in winter time, when there was little snow,

he often speared muskrats through the ice. The spear point is usually

made of quarter-inch iron wire and attached to a seven-foot shaft.

Much of the spearing he did at the rats' feeding and airing

places--those little dome-shaped affairs made of reeds and mud that

cover their water-holes. The hunter, enabled by the clearness of the

ice, followed their runways and traced them to where the little fellows

often sat inside their shelters. Knowing that the south side of the

shelter is the thinnest side, The Owl would drive in his spear and

impale the little dweller.

HUNTING THE OTTER

That afternoon Oo-koo-hoo set a number of traps for otter. When placed

on land otter traps are set as for fox, though of course of a larger

size, and the same statement applies to deadfalls; while the bait used

for both kinds of otter traps is the same as that used for mink. The

otter is an unusually playful, graceful, active, and powerful animal;

but when caught in a trap becomes exceedingly vicious, and the hunter

must take care lest he be severely bitten. Oo-koo-hoo told me that on

one occasion, when he was hunting otters, he lost his favourite dog.

The dog was holding an otter prisoner in a rocky pocket where the water

was shallow, and the otter, waiting to attack the dog when off guard,

at last got its chance, seized its adversary by the throat, and that

was the end of the dog.

The otter is not only easily tamed, but makes a charming pet, as many a

trader has proved; and it is one of the few animals that actually

indulge in a sport or game for the sheer sake of the thrill it affords.

Thus the otter is much given to the Canadian sports of tobogganing and

"shooting the chute," but it does it without sled or canoe; and at all

seasons of the year it may be seen sharing its favourite

slide--sometimes fifty or a hundred feet in length--with its

companions. If in summer, the descent is made on a grassy or clayey

slope down which the animals swiftly glide, and plunge headlong into

deep water. If the sport takes place on a clay bank, the wet coats of

the otters soon make the slide so slippery that the descent is made at

thrilling speed. But in winter time the sport becomes general, as then

the snow forms a more convenient and easier surface down which to

slide. The otter, though not a fast traveller upon land, is a master

swimmer, and not only does it pursue and overtake the speckled trout,

but also the swift and agile salmon.

Otters den in the river or lake bank and provide an underwater entrance

to their home. They mate in February and the young--never more than

five, but more often two--are born in April; and though their food

includes flesh and fowl--muskrats, frogs, and young ducks--it is

principally composed of fish.

Though slow on land an otter often travels considerable distances,

especially in winter time, when it goes roaming in search of open

water. If pursued it has a protective way of diving into and crawling

swiftly beneath the surface of the snow, in such a way that though its

pursuer may run fast, he more often loses his quarry; I know, because I

have experienced it.

The otter not only has its thick, oily, dark-brown fur to keep it warm,

but also a thick layer of fat between its skin and body; and thus,

seal-like, it seems to enjoy in comfort the coldest of winter water.

Otters measure three or four feet in length and in weight run from

fifteen to thirty pounds.

The Indians of the Strong Woods are very superstitious in relation to

the otter. They not only refuse to eat the flesh, but they don't like

to take the carcass home, always preferring to skin it where it is

caught. Even then they dislike to place the skin in their hunting bag,

but will drag it behind them on the snow. Also, Indian women refuse to

skin an otter, as they have a superstition that it would prevent them

from becoming mothers.

One afternoon, when Oo-koo-hoo and I were sitting on a high rock

overlooking the rapids on Bear River, he espied an otter ascending the

turbulent waters by walking on the river bottom. We watched the animal

for some time. It was an interesting sight, as it was evidently

hunting for fish that might be resting in the backwaters behind the

boulders. Every time it would ascend the rapids it would rise to the

surface and then quietly float down stream in the sluggish, eddying

shore currents where the bushes overhung the bank. Then it would again

dive and again make the ascent by crawling up the river bottom.

"My son, watch him closely, for if he catches a fish you will see that

he always seizes it either by the head or tail, rarely by the middle,

as the fish would then squirm and shake so violently that the otter

would not like it. Sometimes, too, an otter will lie in wait on a rock

at the head of a rapid, and when a fish tries to ascend to the upper

reach of the river by leaping out of the water and thus avoiding the

swift current, the otter will leap, too, and seize the fish in mid-air.

It is a thrilling sight to see him do it."

The snow was going so rapidly and the water running so freely that

Oo-koo-hoo felt sure the bears had now all left their dens, otherwise

water might be trickling into their winter beds. So, for the next few

days, the hunter was busily engaged in setting traps for bears,

beavers, otters, minks, and muskrats; and thus the spring hunt went

steadily on while the Goose Moon waned and then disappeared, and in its

place the Frog Moon shone.

LITTLE PINE'S LOVE SONG

One sunny morning, while I was strolling along the beach, I heard the

sound of distant drumming, and presently a youthful voice broke into

song. It was The Little Pine singing to his sweetheart.

Now it was Maytime in the Northland. Tender grasses were thrusting

their tiny blades from under last year's leaves and here and there the

woodland's pale-green carpet was enriched with masses of varying

colours where wild flowers were bursting into bloom. Yet the

increasing power of the sun had failed to destroy every trace of

winter--for occasional patches of snow were to be seen clinging to the

shady sides of the steepest hills and small ice floes were still

floating in the lake below. But as summer comes swiftly in the Great

Northern Forest, spring loses no time in lingering by the way. Already

the restless south wind was singing softly to the "Loneland" of the

glorious days to come.

The forest and all her creatures, hearing the song of spring time, were

astir with joyous life. Among the whispering trees the bees were

humming, the squirrels chattering, and many kinds of birds were making

love to one another.

No wonder Shing-wauk--The Little Pine--sang his love song, too, for was

not his heart aflame with the spring time of life? Perched high among

the branches of a pine the youth was relieving the monotony of his

drumming by occasionally chanting. At the foot of the thickly wooded

hillside upon which the pine stood the indolent waters of Muskrat Creek

meandered toward Bear Lake. On the bank near the river's mouth stood

the lodges, but neither Oo-koo-hoo nor Amik seemed to be at home; and

the rest of the family may have been absent, too, for the dogs were

mounting guard.

Again the boy beat his drum; louder and louder he sang his love song

until his soft rich voice broke into a wail. Presently the door-skin

of Granny's lodge was gently pushed aside, and Neykia stepped

indolently forth.

Shading her eyes with her hand, the girl gazed at the hillside, but

failed to discern her lover in the tree top. She listened awhile and

then, upon hearing once more the love song above the beating of the

drum, yielded to the dictates of her heart and began to climb the hill.

Little Pine saw her coming, ceased his drumming, and slid down to hide

behind the tree trunk.

A faintly marked woodland path led close by, and along it the maiden

was advancing. As she came abreast of the tree the youth, in fun, gave

a shout, and the maid--evidently pretending bashful alarm--took to

flight.

Though fleet of foot, she suffered him to overtake her soon and catch

her by the arm, and hold her while she feigned to struggle desperately

for freedom. That won, she turned away with a laugh, sat down upon a

bank of wild flowers, and with shyly averted face, began plucking them.

Little Pine sat down beside her. A moment later she sprang up and with

merry laughter ran into the denser forest, and there, with her lover

swiftly following her, disappeared from view.

At sunset that evening Oo-koo-hoo and his wife sat smoking beside their

fire; and when the hermit thrush was singing, the whippoorwill

whippoorwilling, the owl oo-koo-hooing, the fox barking, the bull frog

whoo-wonking, the gander honking, the otter whistling, the drake

quacking, the squirrel chattering, the cock grouse drumming, and the

wolf howling--each to his own chosen mate, the hunter turned to me and

smiled:

"Do you hear Shing-wauk singing?"

I listened more attentively to the many mingling love songs of the

forest dwellers, and sure enough, away off along the shore, I could

hear Little Pine singing to his sweetheart. It was charming.

THE LOVE DANCE

"My son," sighed Oo-koo-hoo, "it reminds me of the days when I, too,

was a boy and when Ojistoh was a girl, away back among the many springs

of long ago."

"Yes, Nar-pim," smiled Granny--for an Indian woman never calls her

husband by his name, but always addresses him as Nar-pim, which means

"my man."

"Yes, Nar-pim, don't you remember when I heard that drumming away off

among the trees, and when I, girl-like, pretended I did not know what

it meant, but you, saying never a word and taking me by the hand, led

me to the very spot where that handsome little lover was beating his

drum and making love to so many sweethearts?"

"Yes, I remember it well, when I took little Ojistoh, my sweetheart, by

the hand and we hurried to find the little drummer." Then, turning to

me, the hunter continued: "My son, one never forgets the days of his

youth, and well can I recall picking our way in and out among the trees

and undergrowth, tiptoeing here and there lest our moccasined feet

should break a fallen twig and alarm the drummer or the dancers. For

it was the love dance we were going to see. As the drumming sound

increased in volume, our caution increased, too. Soon we deemed it

prudent to go down upon our hands and knees and thus be more surely

screened by the underbrush as we stealthily approached. Creeping on

toward the sound, slowly and with infinite precaution, we discovered

that we were not the only ones going to the dance: the whirring of

wings frequently rustled overhead as ruffed grouse skimmed past us in

rapid flight.

"Once, my son, we felt the wind from a hawk's wing swooping low from

bush to bush, as though endeavouring to arrive unheralded. Twice we

caught sight of a fox silently and craftily stealing along. Once we

saw a lynx--a soft gray shadow--slinking through the undergrowth ahead.

It seemed as if all the Strong Woods dwellers were going to the love

dance, too, and, I remember, Ojistoh began to feel afraid. But,"

smiled Oo-koo-hoo, "she was devoured with curiosity; and, besides, was

not her young lover with her? Why need she fear?

"When we came to the foot of a ridge the drumming sounded very near.

With utmost wariness we crawled from bush to bush, pausing every now

and then, and crouching low. Then, judging the way still clear, we

crawled forward, and finally gained the top of the ridge. With

thumping hearts we rested a moment in a crouching posture, for we had

at last arrived upon the scene. Slowly and breathlessly raising our

heads, we peered through the leafy screen and beheld the love dance in

full swing.

"And there, my son, on a clear sandy opening in the wood, twenty or

thirty partridge hens were dancing in a semicircle, in the centre of

which, perched upon a rotten log, a beautiful cock partridge drummed.

He was standing with his small head thrust forward upon a finely arched

neck which was circled by a handsome outstanding black ruff, fully as

wide as his body. His extended wings grazed his perch, while his

superb tail spread out horizontally.

"'Chun--chun--chun--chun--chun-nnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,' he hissed slowly at

first, but with steadily increasing rapidity. His bill was open; his

bright eyes were gleaming; his wings were beating at such a rate that

the forest resounded with the prolonged roll of his drumming. Again

and again he shrilled his love call, and again and again he beat his

wondrous accompaniment. Every little while the whirring of swiftly

moving wings was heard overhead as other hens flew down to join in the

love dance. To and fro strutted the cock bird in all his pride of

beauty--his wings trailing upon the log, his neck arched more haughtily

than ever, his ruff rising above his head, and his handsome fan-like

tail extended higher still.

"Meanwhile, my son, the hens, too, were strutting up and down, and in

and out among their rivals; some, with wings brushing upon the ground;

others, with a single wing spread out, against which they frequently

kicked the nearest foot as they circled round each other. A continuous

hissing was kept up, along with a shaking of heads from side to side, a

ceremonious bowing, and a striking of bills upon the ground.

But--though the cock was doing his best to dazzle them with the display

of his charms--the hens appeared unconscious of his presence and

indifferent to his advances.

"There Ojistoh and I were gazing in silent admiration at the scene

before us, when--without the slightest warning, and as though dropped

from the sky--another cock landed in the midst of the dancers.

Immediately the cock of the dance rushed at the intruder and fiercely

attacked him.

"But the newcomer was ready. My son, you should have seen them. Bills

and wings clashed together. In a moment feathers were flying and blood

was running. But the hens never paused in their love dance. Again and

again the feathered fighters dashed at each other, only to drop apart.

Then, facing each other with drooping wings, ruffled plumes, extended

necks, lowered heads, and gaping bills, they would gasp for breath. A

moment later they would spring into the air and strike viciously at

each other with bill and wing, then separate again. The sand was soon

strewn with feathers and sprinkled with blood, yet the belligerents

kept renewing the deadly conflict. Unconcernedly, all the while, the

stupid hens tripped to and fro in the evolutions of their love dance.

"Already the intruder's scalp was torn; the left wing of the cock of

the dance was broken; and both were bleeding copiously. It was a great

fight, my son, and the end was near. At the next rush the intruder

knocked the cock of the dance down, and leaping upon him, drove his

bill into his skull, killing him.

"After a brief rest to recover breath, the victor jumped over his late

rival's body, took a short leap into the air, gave a back kick of

contempt, flew up on the log, and looked round as though seeking for

female applause. But the hens, with apparently never a thought of him,

still kept up their dancing. Presently he, too, sounded his love call

and drummed his accompaniment. Then, strutting up and down, he

inspected the dancers. When he had made up his mind as to which was

the belle of the dance, he made a rush for her.

"But, my son, at that very moment a lynx sprang through the air, seized

him by the neck, and bounded off with him among the bushes. In the

confusion that followed, the hens flew away and I, seizing Ojistoh,

kissed her. Startled, she leaped up, and with laughter ran away, but

in hot pursuit I followed her."

THE WAYS OF THE FEMALE

"Ah, my son," commented Granny with a smile and a shake of her head as

she drew her pipe from her mouth, "Nar-pim has always been like

that . . . but he was worse in the days of his youth . . . fancy him

taking a little girl to see the love dance . . . the old rabbit!"

"The old rabbit . . . indeed?" Oo-koo-hoo questioned. "Why, it was

just the other way round. It was you who wanted me to take you there;

it was your hypocritical pretence of innocence that made me do it; and

though, as you said, I took your hand, it was you who was always

leading the way."

Then was renewed the ancient and never-settled question as to who was

at fault, the old Adam or the old Eve; but as Granny usually got the

better of it by adding the last word, Oo-koo-hoo turned to me in

disgust and grunted:

"Listen to her . . . why, my son, it has always been the female that

did the courting . . . all down through the Great, Great Long Ago, it

has ever been thus . . . and so it is to-day. Look at the cow of the

moose, the doe of the deer, the she of the lynx, the female of the

wolf, the she of the bear, the goose, the duck, the hen, and the female

of the rabbit. What do they do when they want a mate? . . . They

bellow and run, they meow and bow, they howl and prance, they twitter

and dance . . . just as women have always done. And when the male

comes, what does the female do? She pretends indifference, she feigns

innocence, she runs away, and stops to listen, _afraid lest she has run

too far_; and then, if he does not follow, she comes deceitfully back

again and pretends not even to see him. Remember, my son, that though

the female always runs away, she never runs so fast that she couldn't

run faster; and it makes no difference whether the female has wings or

fins, flippers or feet, it is all the same . . . the female always does

the courting."

No doubt, had they ever met, Oo-koo-hoo and George Bernard Shaw would

have become fast friends; for George, too, insists on the very same

thing. But does not the average man, from his great store of conceit,

draw the flattering inference that it is he and he alone who does the

courting, and that his success is entirely due to his wonderful display

of physical and mental charm; while the average woman looks in her

mirror and laughs in her sleeve--less gown.

Though for some time silence filled the tepee and the dogs were asleep

beside the door, the pipes still glowed; and Oo-koo-hoo, stirring the

fire, mused aloud:

"But, perhaps, my son, you wonder why the hen partridges dance that way

and why the cock drums his accompaniment?"

"It does seem strange," I replied.

"But not, my son, if you know their history. It is an old, old story,

and it began away back in the Great, Great, Long Ago, even before it

was the custom of our people to marry. It happened this way: Once

there was an old chief who used oftentimes to go away alone into the

woods and mount upon a high rock and sing his hunting songs and beat

his drum. Since he was much in favour, many women would come and

listen to his songs; also, they would dance before him--to attract his

attention.

"Now it came to pass on a certain day that a young chief of another

tribe happened by chance upon that way. Hearing the drumming, he

resolved to find out what it was about. Deep into the heart of the

wood he followed the sound and came upon an open glade wherein were

many women dancing before a huge boulder. Wondering, with great

admiration, the young chief gazed upon their graceful movements and

comely figures, and determined to rush in and capture the most

beautiful of them. Turning thought into act, he bounded in among the

dancers, and, to his amazement, discovered the old chief, who, at sight

of him, dropped his drum, grasped his war club, and leaping down from

his rocky eminence, rushed upon the young interloper in a frenzy of

jealous fury. The women made no outcry; for, like the female moose or

caribou, they love the victor. So to the accompaniment of the men's

hard breathing and the clashing of their war clubs, they went

unconcernedly on with their love dance. In the end the young chief

slew the older one, and departed in triumph with the women. But, my

son, when the Master of Life learned what had happened, he was

exceeding wroth; insomuch that he turned the young chief and the women

into partridges. That is why the partridges dance the love dance even

to this day."

HUNTING WILD FOWL

Next morning, while Oo-koo-hoo was examining a muskrat lodge from his

canoe, he heard a sudden "honk, honk," and looking up he espied two

Canada geese flying low and straight toward us; seizing his gun, he up

with it and let drive at one of the geese as it was passing beyond him,

and brought it down. He concluded that they had just arrived from the

south and were seeking a place to feed. Later, we encountered at close

range several more and the hunter secured another.

As they were the first geese he had killed that season, he did not

allow the women to touch them, but according to the Indian custom,

dressed and cooked them himself; also, at supper time, he gave all the

flesh to the rest of us, and saved for himself nothing but the part

from which the eggs came. Further, he cautioned us not to laugh or

talk while eating the geese, otherwise their spirits would be offended

and he would have ill-luck for the rest of the season. And when the

meal was finished he collected all the bones and tossed them into the

centre of the fire, so that they would be properly consumed instead of

allowing the dogs to eat them; and thus he warded off misfortune.

As we sat by the fire that night Oo-koo-hoo busied himself making

decoys for geese, by chopping blocks of dry pine into rough images of

their bodies, and fashioning their necks and heads from bent willow

sticks; as well as roughly staining the completed models to represent

the plumage. And while he worked he talked of the coming of the birds

in spring.

"My son, the first birds to arrive are the eagles; next, the snow-birds

and the barking crows (ravens); then the big gray (Canada) geese, and

the larger ducks; then the smaller kinds of geese and the smaller kinds

of ducks; and then the robins, blackbirds, and gulls. Then, as likely

as not, a few days later, what is called a 'goose winter'--a heavy, wet

snowstorm followed by colder weather--may come along and try to drive

the birds all back again; but before the bad weather completes its

useless work a timely south wind may arrive, and with the aid of a

milder spell, will utterly destroy the 'goose winter'. Then, after

that, the sky soon becomes mottled with flying birds of many kinds:

gray geese, laughing geese, waveys, and white geese, as well as great

flocks of ducks of many kinds; also mud-hens, sawbills, waders,

plovers, curlew, pelicans, swans, and cranes, both white and gray.

Then another great flight of little birds as well as loons. And last

of all may come the little husky geese that travel farther north to

breed their young than do those of any other kind."

The next day the hunters built a "goose stand" on the sandy beach of

Willow Point by making a screen about six feet long by three feet high

of willow branches; and, as the ground was wet and cold, a brush

mattress was laid behind the screen upon which the hunters could sit

while watching for geese. The site was a good one, as Willow Point

jutted into the lake near a big marsh on its south side. Beyond the

screen they set their decoys, some in the water and others on the sand,

but all heading up wind. When they shot their first geese, the hunters

cut off the wings and necks together with the heads and fastened them

in a natural way upon the decoys.

Oo-koo-hoo told me that when one wished to secure geese, he should be

in readiness to take his position behind the stand before the first

sign of morning sun. Furthermore, he told me that geese were usually

looking for open water and sandy beaches from eight to nine o'clock;

from ten to twelve they preferred the marshes in order to feed upon

goose grass and goose weed, as well as upon the roots and seeds of

other aquatic plants. Then from noon to four o'clock they sought the

lakes to preen themselves; while from four to six they returned to the

sandy beaches and then resorted to the marshes in which to spend the

night. That was the usual procedure for from ten to fifteen days, then

away they went to their more northern breeding grounds where they spent

midsummer.

Seeing a hawk soaring overhead, Oo-koo-hoo said it reminded him of a

hawk that once bothered him by repeatedly swooping down among his

dead-duck decoys, and each time he had to rush from his blind to drive

the hawk away or it would have carried away one of his dead ducks; and

being short of ammunition, he did not care to waste a shot. But he

ended the trouble by taking up all his dead ducks save one. Then he

removed the pointed iron from his muskrat spear, and ramming the butt

of the iron into the sand, left it standing up beside the duck as

though it had been a reed. The next time the hawk swooped down, he let

it drive with full force at the dead duck, and thus impale itself on

the muskrat spear.

But one day, after the geese had passed on their northward journey,

Oo-koo-hoo began making other decoys of a different nature, and when I

questioned him, he replied that he was going to kill a few loons with

his bow and arrow, as Granny wished to use the skins of their necks to

make a work-bag for the Factor's wife at Fort Consolation. After

shaping the decoys, he mixed together gunpowder, charcoal, and grease

with which to paint the decoys black--save where he left spots of the

light-coloured wood to represent the white markings of those beautiful

birds. When the decoys were eventually anchored in the bay they bobbed

about on the rippling water quite true to life and they even took an

occasional dive, when the anchor thong ran taut.

OO-KOO-HOO'S COURTING

After supper, when we were talking about old customs, I questioned

Oo-koo-hoo as to how the Indians married before it was the custom to go

to the Post to get the clergyman to perform that rite; and in reply he

said:

"My son, Ojistoh and I were married both ways, so I don't think I can

do better than to tell you how our own marriage took place. It was

this way, my son: one night, when old Noo-koom, Ojistoh's grandmother,

became convinced that we lovers had sat under the blanket long enough,

she decided that it was time we sat upon the brush together, or were

married. Accordingly, she talked the matter over with Ojistoh's

parents. They agreed with her, and Ojistoh's father said: 'It is well

that Oo-koo-hoo and Ojistoh should be married according to the custom

of our people, but it is also well that we should retain the friendship

of the priest and the nuns. On our return to Fort Perseverance,

therefore, the children must be married in the face of the Church; but

I charge you all not to let any one at the Post know that Oo-koo-hoo

and Ojistoh have already been married after the custom of our people.

It is well that we should live according to the ways of our

forefathers, and it is also well that we should seem to adopt the ways

of the white man. Now call Ojistoh, and let me hear what she has to

say.'

"When Ojistoh came in, her father told her that I was a good boy; that

I would certainly make a successful hunter; and that, if she would sit

upon the brush with me, they would give her plenty of marrow grease for

her hair and some porcupine quills for her moccasins. They might even

buy her some ribbon, beads, and silk thread for fancy work.

Furthermore, they said I would be given enough moose skins to make a

lodge covering.

"Ojistoh chewed meditatively upon the large piece of spruce gum in her

mouth, while she listened with averted eyes and drooping head. But old

Noo-koom, evidently supposing Ojistoh to be in doubt, interposed: 'You

must sit upon the brush with him, because I have promised that you

would. Did we not eat the fat and the blood, and use the firewood he

left at our door?'

"The remembrance, no doubt, of all that dainty eating decided Ojistoh,

and she gave her word that she would sit upon the brush with me if they

would promise to buy her a bottle of perfume when they returned to Fort

Perseverance. When Ojistoh left the lodge, her father said to me:

"'Listen, my boy, Noo-koom tells me that you have been sitting under

the blanket with my daughter Ojistoh. She is a good girl and will make

you happy; for she can make good moccasins.'

"'Yes,' I replied, 'I know the girl and I want her.'

"'To-morrow, then,' said her father, 'you must sit upon the brush with

her. I will tell the women to prepare the feast.'

"Next morning Ojistoh sat waiting in her lodge for me to come. Already

she wore the badge of womanhood, for not having a new dress she had

simply reversed her old one and buttoned it up in front instead of the

back. For it is the custom of Ojibway girls to button their dresses

behind and for married women to button theirs in front.

"My son, you should have seen me that morning, for I was bedecked in

all my finery, and upon entering Noo-koom's lodge, I seized Ojistoh by

the hair of her head, and dragged her out. Her struggles to escape

from me were quite edifying in their propriety. Her shrieks were

heartrending--or rather, they would have been had they not alternated

with delighted giggles. By that time the wedding march had begun; for

as we struggling lovers led the way, the children, bubbling with

laughter, followed; and the old people brought up the rear of the

joyous procession. We, the happy couple, tussled with each other until

we reached a spot in the bush where I had cleared a space and laid a

carpet of balsam brush beside a fire. There I deposited her. With a

final shriek she accepted the new conditions, and at once set about her

matrimonial duties, while the others returned to their lodges to put

the finishing touches to the wedding breakfast.

"Oh, yes, my son, those were happy days," continued the hunter.

"There, beside a great fire in the open, was laid a carpet of brush, in

the centre of which a blanket was spread, and upon it the feast. There

were rabbits, partridges, and fish roasted upon sticks. In a pot,

boiled fresh moose and caribou meat; in another, simmered lynx

entrails, bear fat, and moose steak. In a third, stewed ducks and

geese. In a fourth, bubbled choice pieces of beaver, muskrat, lynx,

and skunk. Besides, there were caribou tongues, beaver tails, bear

meat, and foxes' entrails roasted upon the coals. Strong tea in

plenty, fresh birch syrup, forest-made cranberry wine, a large chunk of

dried Saskatoon berries served with bear's grease, frozen cranberries,

and a little bannock made of flour, water, and grease, completed the

fare.

"Then, too, Ojistoh sat beside me and ate out of my dish. She even

used my pipe for an after-dinner smoke. Then, after an interval of

rest, dancing began, by the dancers circling the fire to the measured

beat of a drum. Round and round we moved in silence. Then, breaking

into a chant, we men faced the women, and from time to time solemnly

revolved. But the women never turned their backs upon the fire. It

was rather slow, monotonous measure, only relieved by the women and

children throwing feathers at one another. Between each dance the

company partook of refreshments, and so the festivity proceeded until

daylight. Next morning Ojistoh's father gave us some wholesome advice

and then we set up housekeeping on our own account, and, as you see,

have continued it even to this day; haven't we, my little Ojistoh?"

smiled the old hunter at his wife.

NATURE'S SANCTUARIES