WHITE MAN AND RED. MEAT, BUT NOTHING MORE
There was plenty of hollow hilarity but no word of turning back.
But hold! yes, there was. There was one visage that darkened more
each day, and finally the gloomy thoughts broke forth in words
from the lips of--our Indian guide. His recent sullen silence was
now changed to open and rebellious upbraiding.
He didn't come here to starve. He could do that at home. He was
induced to come by a promise of plenty of flour. "All of which was
perfectly true. But," he went on, "We were still 11 days from the
Buffalo and we were near the head of navigation; it was a case
of tramp through the swamp with our beds and guns, living on the
country as we went, and if we didn't have luck the Coyotes and
Ravens would."
Before we had time to discuss this prospect, a deciding step was
announced, by Jarvis, He was under positive orders to catch the
steamer Wrigley at Fort Resolution on the evening of July 10. It was
now mid-day of July 9, and only by leaving at once and travelling
all night could he cover the intervening 60 miles.
So then and there we divided the remnants of food evenly, for
"Bezkya was a moose-hunter."
Then Major Jarvis and Corporal Selig boarded the smaller canoe.
We shook hands warmly, and I at least had a lump in my throat;
they were such good fellows in camp, and to part this way when
we especially felt bound to stick together, going each of us on a
journey of privation and peril, seemed especially hard; and we were
so hungry. But we were living our lives. They rounded the bend, we
waved goodbye, and I have never seen them since.
Hitherto I was a guest; now I was in sole command, and called a
council of war. Billy was stanch and ready to go anywhere at any
cost. So was Preble. Bezkya was sulky and rebellious. Physically,
I had been at the point of a total breakdown when I left home; the
outdoor life had been slowly restoring me, but the last few days
had weakened me sadly and I was not fit for a long expedition on
foot. But of one thing I was sure, we must halt till we got food.
A high wind was blowing and promised some respite to the Moose from
the little enemy that sings except when he stings, so I invited
Bezkya to gird up his loins and make another try for Moose.
Nothing loath, he set off with Billy. I marked them well as they
went, one lithe, sinewy, active, animal-eyed; the other solid and
sturdy, following doggedly, keeping up by sheer blundering strength.
I could not but admire them, each in his kind.
Two hours later I heard two shots, and toward evening the boys came
back slowly, tired but happy, burdened with the meat, for Bezkya
was a moosehunter.
Many shekels and gladly would I have given to have been on that
moose hunt. Had I seen it I could have told it. These men, that
do it so well, never can tell it. Yet in the days that followed
I picked up a few significant phrases that gave glimpses of its
action.
Through the crooked land of endless swamp this son of the woods
had set out "straightaway west." A big track appeared crossing a
pool, seeming fresh. "No! he go by yesterday; water in track not
muddy." Another track was found. "Yes, pretty good; see bite alder.
Alder turn red in two hours; only half red." Follow long. "Look
out, Billy; no go there; wrong wind. Yes, he pass one hour; see
bit willow still white. Stop; he pass half-hour; see grass still
bend. He lie down soon. How know? Oh, me know. Stand here, Billy.
He sleep in thick willow there."
Then the slow crawl in absolute stillness, the long wait, the
betrayal of the huge beast by the ear that wagged furiously to
shake off the winged bloodsuckers. The shot, the rush, the bloody
trail, the pause in the opening to sense the foe, the shots from
both hunters, and the death.
Next day we set out in the canoe for the Moose, which lay conveniently
on the river bank. After pushing through the alders and poling up
the dwindling stream for a couple of hours we reached the place
two miles up, by the stream. It was a big bull with no bell, horns
only two-thirds grown but 46 inches across, the tips soft and
springy; one could stick a knife through them anywhere outside of
the basal half.
Bezkya says they are good to eat in this stage; but we had about
700 pounds of good meat so did not try. The velvet on the horns is
marked by a series of concentric curved lines of white hair, across
the lines of growth; these, I take it, correspond with times of
check by chill or hardship.
We loaded our canoe with meat and pushed on toward the Buffalo
country for two miles more up the river. Navigation now became very
difficult on account of alders in the stream. Bezkya says that only
a few hundred yards farther and the river comes from underground.
This did not prove quite correct, for I went half a mile farther
by land and found no change.
Here, however, we did find some Buffalo tracks; one went through
our camp, and farther on were many, but all dated from the spring
and were evidently six weeks old.
There were no recent tracks, which was discouraging, and the air
of gloom over our camp grew heavier. The weather had been bad ever
since we left Fort Smith, cloudy or showery. This morning for the
first time the day dawned with a clear sky, but by noon it was
cloudy and soon again raining. Our diet consisted of nothing but
Moose meat and tea; we had neither sugar nor salt, and the craving
for farinaceous food was strong and growing. We were what the.
natives call "flour hungry"; our three-times-a-day prospect of Moose,
Moose, Moose was becoming loathsome. Bezkya was openly rebellious
once more, and even my two trusties were very, very glum. Still,
the thought of giving up was horrible, so I made a proposition:
"Bezkya, you go out scouting on, foot and see if you can locate a
band. I'll give you five dollars extra if you show me one Buffalo."
At length he agreed to go provided I would set out for Fort
Resolution at once unless he found Buffalo near. This was leaving
it all in his hands. While I was considering, Preble said: "I tell
you this delay is playing the mischief with our Barren-Ground trip;
we should have started for the north ten days ago," which was in
truth enough to settle the matter.
I knew perfectly well beforehand what Bezkya's report would be.
At 6.30 he returned to say he found nothing but old tracks. There
were no Buffalo nearer than two days' travel on foot, and he should
like to return at once to Fort Resolution.
There was no further ground for debate; every one and everything
now was against me. Again I had to swallow the nauseating draught
of defeat and retreat.
"We start northward first thing in the morning," I said briefly,
and our third Buffalo hunt was over.
These, then, were the results so far as Buffalo were concerned:
Old tracks as far down as last camp, plenty of old tracks here and
westward, but the Buffalo, as before on so many occasions, were
two days' travel to the westward.
During all this time I had lost no good opportunity of impressing
on the men the sinfulness of leaving a camp-fire burning and of
taking life unnecessarily; and now, I learned of fruit from this
seeding. That night Bezkya was in a better humour, for obvious
reasons; he talked freely and told me how that day he came on a
large Blackbear which at once took to a tree. The Indian had his
rifle, but thought, "I can kill him, yet I can't stop to skin him
or use his meat," so left him in peace.
This is really a remarkable incident, almost unique. I am glad
to believe that I had something to do with causing such unusual
forbearance.