Indians have the reputation of being always of a serious turn of mind.
My experience is to the contrary. They talk incessantly, laugh at any
joke and love to play tricks on each other.
One night on Isle a la Crosse Lake, we had pitched camp near the tepee
of a Chippewayan family. The weather was beautiful, the mosquitoes were
gone—there was not a cloud in the sky.
The father, an old Indian with long, grey hair, decided to sleep in the
open. He rolled himself up in his blanket in the bottom of his canoe and
was soon asleep—snoring peacefully under a full moon, millions of stars
and the shimmer of the northern lights low down on the horizon.
As soon as my two Indians saw that, they crept to the lake, filled a
large kettle full of water, returned noiselessly and poured the contents
of the kettle very gently in the canoe. Three times they did that
without waking the sleeper. Then they hid in the bush and waited.
[Illustration: Indians around a campfire]
In a few minutes the old man grunted, shifted, turned round again, and
then sat up hurriedly. First, he felt the bottom of the canoe with both
hands and discovered several inches of water that had soaked through his
blankets and clothes. After that, he looked up towards the sky. He
searched silently for clouds and signs of rain. The moon was still
there—as brilliant as ever. So were the stars! He got out of the canoe,
felt himself all over again, bent down a second time to feel the water
then, walking away a few paces, he gazed long and searchingly above him
and turned around so as to inspect thoroughly the four points of the
compass.
That was too much for the two Indians hiding in the bush. One started to
grunt, the other to groan. In a second the old man understood the joke
and burst out laughing, slapping his wet thighs with his two bony hands.
Two hours later the three men were squatting in front of a fire,
drinking tea and talking. Every now and again I would hear a peal of
laughter. They were still making merry over the joke.