It was not long before our travellers had a large space cleared of snow,
its floor spread with pine-branches, a roaring fire kindled, a couple of
ptarmigan roasting and the tea-kettle bubbling, while the dogs in the
background solaced themselves with raw birds to their heart's content.
Then the red-man and the white man smoked a friendly pipe. They would
probably have smoked even if it had been an unfriendly pipe!
"I wonder," said Macnab, who was apt to become speculative and
philosophical over his pipe after supper, "I wonder if dogs ever envy us
our pipes? You look so comfortable, Big Otter, as you sit there with
half-shut eyes letting the smoke trickle from your mouth and nose, that
I can't help thinking they must feel envious. I'm sure that I should if
I were not smoking!"
The Indian, who was neither a speculator nor a philosopher--though
solemn enough for either or both--replied, "Waugh!"
"Very true," returned the Highlander, "I have no doubt your opinion is
quite correct, though not as clearly put as might be wished. Have you
ever been at Fort Dunregan?"
"Once when Big Otter was a little boy, he stood beside the Great River,"
answered the Indian, gravely; "but the white man had no tent there at
that time."
"The white man has got some pretty big tents there now--made of wood
most of 'em," returned Macnab. "In a few days you shall judge for
yourself, if all goes well."
The red-man smoked over this remark in silence for a considerable time,
evidently engaged in profound thought. He was one of those children of
nature whose brains admit ideas slowly, and who, when they are admitted,
turn them round and round and inside out without much apparent
advantage.
At last he looked earnestly at his companion and asked--"Is there
fire-water at Fort Dunregan?"
"Well, no--I believe not. At least there is none for red-men. Why do
you ask? Did you ever taste fire-water?"
The Indian's dark eyes seem to gleam with unwonted light as he replied
in tones more solemn than usual:--
"Yes. Once--only once--a white brother gave some fire-water to Big
Otter."
"Humph!" ejaculated Macnab, "and what did you think of it!"
"Waugh!" exclaimed the red-man, sending a cloud out of his mouth with
such energy that it seemed like a little cannon-shot, while he glared at
his friend like a superannuated owl. "Big Otter thought that he was in
the happy hunting-grounds with his fathers; his heart was so light and
his limbs were so strong, but that was only a dream--he was still in
this world. Then he took a little more fire-water, and the dream became
a reality! He was away with his fathers on the shining plains; he
chased the deer with the lightness of a boy and the strength of a bear.
He fought, and his foes fell before his strong arm like snowflakes on
the river, but he scalped them not. He could not find them--they were
gone. Big Otter was so strong that he had knocked both their lives and
bodies into the unknown! He saw his father and his mother--and--his
wife and the little one who--died. But he could not speak to them, for
the foes came back again, and he fought and took some more fire-water to
make him fight better; then the world went on fire, the stars came down
from the sky like snow when the wind is high. The Big Otter flew up
into the air, and then--forgot--"
"Forgot what?" asked Macnab, much interested in his red friend's idea of
intoxication.
"Forgot everything," replied the Indian, with a look of solemn
perplexity.
"Well, I don't wonder; you must have had a good swig, apparently. How
did ye feel next morning?"
If the Indian's looks were serious before, they became indescribably
solemn now.
"Big Otter felt," he replied with bated breath, "like bags of shot--
heavy like the great stones. He could scarcely move; all his joints
were stiff. Food was no longer pleasant to his tongue. When he tried
to swallow, it would not remain, but came forth again. He felt a wish
to drink up the river. His head had an evil spirit inside which
squeezed the brain and tried to burst open the skull. His eyes, also,
were swelled up so that he could hardly see, and his nose was two times
more big than the day before."
"That must have been an awful size, Big Otter, considering the size of
it by nature! And what d'ye think was the cause of it all?"
As this question involved thought, the Indian smoked his pipe in silence
for some time, staring for inspiration into the fire.
"It must have been," he at length replied, "hunting with his fathers
before the right time had come. Big Otter was not dead, and he chased
the deer too much, perhaps, or fought too much. It may be that, having
only his earth-body, he ate too much."
"Don't ye think it's just possible," suggested Macnab, "that, having
only your earth-body, you _drank_ too much?"
"Waugh!" replied the red-man. Then, after a few minutes' devotion to
the pipe, he added, "Big Otter would like very much to taste the
fire-water again."
"It's well for you, my boy," returned the other, "that you can't get it
in these regions, for if you could you'd soon be in the happy
hunting-grounds (or the other place) without your earth-body."
At this point the Highlander became more earnest, and treated his
companion to what would have passed in civilised lands for a fair
temperance lecture, in which he sought to describe graphically the evils
of strong drink. To this the Indian listened with the most intense
attention and an owlish expression, making no audible comment whatever--
with the exception, now and then, of an emphatic "Waugh!" but indicating
his interest by the working of his features and the glittering of his
great eyes. Whether the reasoning of Macnab had much influence at that
time could not be ascertained, for he was yet in the middle of one of
his most graphic anecdotes when the Indian's owlish eyes shut with a
suddenness that was quite startling, and he roused himself just in time
to prevent his chin from dropping on his chest.
"Waugh!" he exclaimed with a slightly-confused look.
"Just so," replied Macnab with a laugh, "and now, boy, we'll turn in,
for it strikes me we're going to have warmish weather, and if so, we
shall have to make the most of our time."
Soon the blankets were spread; the fire was replenished with mighty
logs; the travellers lay down side by side and in a few minutes snored
in concert; the flames leaped upwards, and the sparks, entangling
themselves on the snow-encrusted branches of bush and tree, gleamed
there for an instant, or, escaping, flew gaily away into the wintry sky.
While the two men were sleeping, a change came over the scene--a slow,
gentle, scarce perceptible change, which, however, had a powerful
influence on the prospects of the sleepers. The sky became overcast;
the temperature, which had been down at arctic depth for many months,
suddenly rose to that of temperate climes, and snow began to fall--not
in the small sharp particles to which the fur-traders of the great
northern wilderness are accustomed, but in the broad, heavy flakes that
one often sees in England. Softly, silently, gently they fell, like the
descent of a sweet influence--but steadily, persistently, continuously,
until every object in nature became smothered in the soft white garment.
Among other objects the two sleepers were buried.
The snow began by powdering them over. Had any one been there to
observe the process, he would have seen by the bright light of the
camp-fire that the green blankets in which they were wrapt became
piebald first; then assumed a greyish-green colour, which speedily
changed into a greenish-grey, and finally into a pure white. The two
sleepers might thus have represented those figures in chiselled marble
on the tombs of crusaders, had it not been that they lay doubled up, for
warmth--perhaps also for comfort--with their knees at their chins,
instead of flat on their backs with their hands pressed together. By
degrees the correct outline of their forms became an incorrect outline,
and gradually more and more rotund--suggesting the idea that the buried
ones were fat.
As the night wore on the snow accumulated on them until it lay several
inches deep. Still they moved not. Strong, tired and healthy men are
not easily moved. The fire of course sank by degrees until it reached
that point where it failed to melt the snow; then it was quickly
smothered out and covered over. The entire camp was also buried; the
tin kettle being capped with a knob peculiarly its own, and the
snow-shoes and other implements having each their appropriate outline,
while some hundredweights, if not tons, of the white drapery gathered on
the branches overhead. It was altogether an overwhelming state of
things, and the only evidence of life in all the scene was the little
hole in front of each slumberer's nose, out of which issued intermittent
pufflets of white vapour.
So the night passed by and the morning dawned, and the wintry sun arose
like a red-hot cannon ball. Then Macnab awoke with a start and sat up
with an effort.
"Hallo!" was his first exclamation, as he tried to clear his eyes, then
he muttered something in Gaelic which, being incomprehensible, I cannot
translate, although the worthy man has many a time, since the day of
which I write, tried to explain it to me!
It may have been his action, or it may have been indignant northern
fairies, I know not, but certain it is that the Gaelic was instantly
followed by an avalanche of snow from the branch over the Highlander's
head, which knocked him down and reburied him. It also knocked Big
Otter up and drew forth the inevitable "Waugh!"
"Humph!" said Macnab, on clearing himself a second time, "I was half
afraid of this. We've got our work cut out for us."
The Indian replied not, but proceeded to light the fire and prepare
breakfast, while his companion cleared the camp of some of its snow.
The wolfish dogs took a lively interest in these proceedings, but lent
no assistance beyond wagging their tails, either in approval or in
anticipation of breakfast.
Of course breakfast was a repetition of the previous supper, and was
soon disposed of both by men and dogs. Then the latter were harnessed
to their sledge, the snow-shoes were put on, and the journey was
resumed--Macnab manfully leading the way.
And let not the reader imagine that this leadership involved little or
no manhood. Northern snow-shoes are about five feet long, and twelve or
fifteen inches broad. The netting with which the frames are filled up--
somewhat like the bottom of a cane chair--allows fine well-frozen snow
to fall through it like dust and the traveller, sinking it may be only a
few inches in old well-settled-down snow, progresses with ease. But
when a heavy fall such as I have described takes place, especially in
spring, and the weather grows comparatively warm, the traveller's
circumstances change greatly for the worse. The new snow being light
permits him to sink deep into it--perhaps eight or ten inches--at every
step; being also soft, that which falls upon the shoes cannot pass
through the netting, but sticks there, giving him many extra pounds
weight to lift as he goes heavily along. Add to this that his thick
winter garb becomes oppressive in mild weather, and you will perceive
that Macnab's duties as beater of the track were severe.
At first their progress was very slow, for it was through the thick
woods, where fallen trees and bushes obstructed them as well as deep
snow, but towards noon they came out on a more open country--in summer a
swamp; at that time a frozen plain--and the travelling improved, for a
slight breeze had already begun to make an impression on the new snow in
exposed places.
"Now, Big Otter," said Macnab, coming to a halt, "we'll have some grub
here, and then you will take a turn in front."
The Indian was ready for anything. So were the dogs--especially for
"grub." Indeed it was obvious that they understood the meaning of that
word, for when Macnab uttered it they wagged their tails and cocked
their ears.
It was a cold dinner, if I may describe the meal by that name. The work
was too hard, and the daylight in which to do it too brief, to admit of
needless delay. A frozen bird thrown to each of the dogs, and a junk of
equally frozen pemmican cut out of the bag with a hatchet for the
travellers, formed the repast. The latter ate it sitting on a
snow-wreath. They, however, had the advantage of their canine friends
in the matter of hard biscuits, of which they each consumed two as a
sort of cold pudding. Then they resumed the march and plodded heavily
on till near sunset, when they again selected a suitable spot in the
woods, cleared away the snow, and encamped as before.
"It's hard work," exclaimed Macnab with a Celtic sigh, as he sipped his
tea that night in the mellow light of the log fire.
"Waugh! Big Otter has seen harder work," returned the Indian.
"No doubt ye have, an' so have I," returned Macnab; "I mind, once, when
away on a snow-shoe trip on the St. Lawrence gulf, bein' caught by a
regular thaw when the snow turned into slush, an' liftin' the snow-shoes
was like to tear one's legs out o' their sockets, not to mention the
skinning of your toes wi' the snow-shoe lines, an' the wet turning your
moccasins into something like tripe. Yes, it might be worse, as you
say. Now, boy, I'll turn in."
The next day travelling was no better, and on the next again it became
worse, for although the temperature was still below the freezing point,
snow continued to fall all day as well as all night, so that our
travellers and their dogs became like animated snowballs, and beating
the track became an exhausting labour.
But difficulties cannot finally stop, though they may retard, a
"Nor'-wester." On the sixth day, however, they met with a foe who had
power to lay a temporary check on their advance. On the night of the
fifth day out, another change of temperature took place. A thermometer,
had they carried one, would probably have registered from ten to twenty
below zero of Fahrenheit. This, however, was so familiar to them that
they rather liked the change, and heaped up fresh logs on the roaring
fire to counteract the cold; but when a breeze sprang up and began to
blow hard, they did not enjoy it so much, and when the breeze increased
to a gale, it became serious; for one cannot face intense cold during a
gale without the risk of being frost-bitten. In the shelter of the
woods it was all right, but when, towards noon, they came out on an
extended plain where the wild winds were whirling the wilder snow in
blinding drifts, they halted and looked inquiringly at each other.
"Shall we try it?" asked Macnab.
The Indian shook his head and looked solemn.
"It's a pity to give in without--"
A snow-drift caught the Highlander full in the mouth and literally shut
him up! The effect was not to subdue, but to arouse.
"Yes," he said in a species of calm ferocity, when the gale allowed him
the power of utterance, "we'll go on."
He went on, followed by the obedient native and the unhappy dogs, but he
had not taken half a dozen steps when he tripped over a concealed rock
and broke a snow-shoe. To walk with a broken snow-shoe is impossible.
To repair one is somewhat difficult and takes time. They were
compelled, therefore, to re-enter the sheltering woods and encamp.
"You're better at mending than I am," said Macnab to the Indian. "Set
to work on the shoe when the camp is dug out, an' I'll go cut some
firewood."
Cutting firewood is not only laborious, but attended with danger, and
that day ill-fortune seemed to have beset the Highlander; for he had
barely cut half a dozen logs, when his axe glanced off a knot and struck
deep into the calf of his left leg.
A shout brought Big Otter to his side. The Indian was well used to such
accidents. He bound up the wound securely, and carried his comrade into
camp on his back. But now Macnab was helpless. He not only could not
walk, but there was no hope of his being able to do so for weeks to
come.
"Lucky for us we brought the dogs," he remarked when the operation was
completed.
"Waugh!" exclaimed the Indian by way of assent, while he busied himself
in preparing food.
It was indeed lucky, for if they had dragged the provision-sled
themselves, as Macnab had once thought of doing, it would have fallen to
Big Otter's lot to haul his comrade during the remainder of the journey.
As it was, the dogs did it, and in the doing of it, despite the
red-man's anxious and constant care, many a severe shake, and bump, and
capsize in the snow did the unfortunate man receive before that journey
came to a close. He bore it all, however, with the quiet stoicism
characteristic of the race from which he sprang.