The brief summer had fled, and autumn, with its bright sunshine and
invigorating frosts, had returned to the Far North, when one day, during
that short delightful period styled the Indian summer, our friend
MacSweenie and his inseparable henchman Mowat sauntered down to the
beach in front of the new fort.
"Iss it here the canoe wass lyin', Tonal'?"
"Ay, yonder it is, just beyond the palin', bottom up."
"Man, this iss fine weather--whatever."
"It is that," replied Mowat, who could hardly have replied otherwise,
for the fact did not admit of a doubt.
There was an intense brilliancy yet a hazy softness in the air, which
was particularly exhilarating. Trumpeting wild-geese, piping plover,
the whistling wings of wild-ducks, and the notes of other innumerable
feathered tribes, large and small, were filling the woods and swamps
with the music of autumnal revelry, as they winged their way to southern
lands. Every view was beautiful; all the sounds were cheerful. An
absolute calm prevailed, so that the lake-like expanse in front of the
fort formed a perfect mirror in which the cliffs and brilliant foliage
of the opposite banks were clearly reflected.
"We will go down to the bend o' the ruver," said MacSweenie, as they
launched their canoe, "an' hide in the bushes there. It iss a grand
spote for birds to fly over, an' there's plenty o' ducks an' geese, so
we may count on soon gettin' enough to fill the larder to overflow."
"Ay, there's plenty o' birds," remarked Mowat, with the absent air of a
man whose mind is running on some other theme.
MacSweenie was a keen sportsman, and dearly loved a day with his gun.
As a boy, on his own Highland hills, he had been addicted to sporting a
good deal without the formality of a licence, and the absolute freedom
from conventional trammels in the wild North was a source of much
gratulation to him. Perhaps he enjoyed his outings all the more that he
was a stern disciplinarian--so deeply impressed with a sense of duty
that he would neither allow himself nor his men to indulge in sport of
any kind until business had been thoroughly disposed of.
"It hes often seemed to me," he said, steering towards the bend of the
river above referred to, "that ceevilisation was a sort o' mistake. Did
ye ever think o' that, Tonal'?"
"I can't say that I ever did. But if it is a mistake, it's a very
successful one--to judge from the way it has spread."
"That iss true, Tonal', an' more's the peety. I cannot but think that
man was meant to be a huntin' animal, and to get his victuals in that
way. What for wass he gifted wi' the power to hunt, if it wass not so?
An' think what enjoyment he hes in the chase until ceevilisation takes
all the speerit out o' him. H'm! It never took the speerit out o' me,
whatever."
"Maybe there wasn't enough o' ceevilisation in the place where you was
brought up," suggested the interpreter.
"Ha! ye hev me there, Tonal'," returned the trader, with a short laugh.
"Weel, I must admit that ye're not far wrong. The muddle o' the
Grampians iss but a wildish place, an' it wass there my father had his
sheep-farm an' that I first made the acquaintance o' the muir-cock an'
the grouse. O man! but there's no place like the Heeland hills after
a', though the wild-woods here iss not that bad. Tonal', man, catch
hold o' that bush an' draw close in to the bank. There's a flock
comin', an' they're fleein' low."
The last words were spoken in a hoarse whisper, for they had just turned
the bend of the river, and MacSweenie had caught sight of a flock of
wild-geese, flying low, as he said, and crossing over the land, which at
that place jutted out into the stream.
Mowat, though naturally sluggish, was quick in action when circumstances
required him to be so. The canoe was drawn close under an overhanging
bush, and quite concealed by it. The two men, laying down the paddles,
took up their guns and examined the priming to see that it was dry, long
before the flock drew near. Then they sat motionless and silent,
crouching a little and looking upwards.
The unsuspicious flock of wild-geese came over the point in that curious
angular formation in which they usually travel--an old grey gander, as
usual, leading. A deep trumpet-note now and then told of their
approach. Then the soft stroke of their great wings was heard. Next
moment the flock appeared over the edge of the bush that concealed their
human foes. At the same instant sportsmen and geese beheld each other.
The guns flew to the shoulders of the former; the angle was thrown into
dire confusion, and the woods and cliffs reverberated with two shots,
which crashed forth at the same moment.
Trumpeting and screaming, the scattered flock passed on, and the hunters
pushed out from the bank to pick up two plump birds which lay dead upon
the water.
But those two shots did more than carry death and confusion into the
ranks of the grey geese. They caused surprise and something like wild
excitement in the hearts of a number of Eskimos who, in their kayaks,
happened to be at that moment pushing up the Ukon River, pioneered by a
birch-bark canoe, which was propelled by an Indian man and woman.
Submitting to authority while among the ice-floes of the polar seas,
Nazinred had, as we have seen, consented to take his place humbly among
the women and children in one of the oomiaks. Anteek and one of his
companions were permitted to paddle the birch-bark canoe, to their very
great satisfaction, until Whale River was reached. But the moment the
party entered on the lakes and rivers of the land, Nazinred ordered
Adolay to take the bow paddle of his native craft, himself took the
steering paddle, and from that moment he had quietly assumed the office
of guide to the expedition.
"Fire-spouters!" exclaimed Cheenbuk, on hearing the shots of the
traders' guns.
"Yes--my countrymen," replied Nazinred.
The kayak of Cheenbuk was about half a length behind the canoe, else the
Eskimo would have seen that though the Indian's voice was low and calm,
his black eyes glittered with excitement.
"It is not like the gun of the Dogribs," remarked Adolay, glancing back
at her father.
"Why does Adolay think so?"
"Because there is too much noise. You have yourself told me, father,
that the Indian uses a smaller charge both of powder and shot than the
white trader, as he cannot afford to waste it. I never heard the guns
of our men speak so loud. Perhaps we are going to meet white men."
The chief regarded his daughter with a pleased smile and a look of
pride.
"Adolay observes well," he said; "she is like her mother. The sound was
loud because the charges were big--also because two guns were fired at
once."
"I heard only one," returned the girl.
"That is because you have not heard much firing of guns. Adolay is not
yet as old as her father. The traders from the great fresh lake must
have come to our land, and that is the reason why our people have
forsaken the old home."
As he spoke the flotilla rounded a point on the river, and came in sight
of MacSweenie's canoe making for the land after having picked up the
geese.
An impartial observer would not have found it easy to determine which
party expressed more surprise.
"Fire-spouters!" shouted the new arrivals.
"Eskimos!" exclaimed Mowat.
"Savitches--whatever!" said MacSweenie. "Wow! but this _iss_ goot luck!
Gif way, my boy, an' we will meet them more than half-way."
Suddenly the trader ceased to paddle, and raised a hand to shade his
eyes from the sun.
"Tonal', man!" he growled with a Gaelic expletive which it is impossible
to spell, "iss that a birch-bark canoe that I am seein'?"
"It is that," answered the interpreter, "an' I do believe that--that--"
"Man! Tonal'," interrupted the trader, as he dipped his paddle
violently into the water. "It's wishin' I am that I may never see the
Grampians again in this world if yon iss not Nazinred himself wi' his
daater in the bow! It iss my belief there will be rechoicing in the
Dogrib camp this night--though wi' such a band o' Eskimos there will be
no small risk o' fechtin' also!"
By this time the canoe and flotilla were so near that Nazinred
recognised the trader, and threw up a hand in salutation, whereupon
MacSweenie and Mowat, taking off their caps, treated the party to a
rousing British cheer, which was so congenial to the lively Eskimos that
they burst into a sympathetic howl, mingled with laughter and some fair
attempts to imitate the cheer, while they splashed up the water with
their paddles, and otherwise conducted themselves jovially.
Of course Nazinred would not condescend to conduct so undignified, but
in his way he expressed great satisfaction at the happy meeting.
Then all the paddles were dipped again with vigour and the whole party
made for the fort--the two canoes leading.