It was already too late in the season to attempt further distribution
of supplies with the canoe. Therefore, the boat and canoe were carried
to a safe distance above the river, and a shelter of logs erected over
them, that they might not be crushed under the weight of snow
presently to come.
Two days later the lakes were clogged with ice, and a week later the
first fall of snow that was to remain throughout the winter fell to a
depth of several inches.
Then came an interval of waiting, but not of idleness, for Ungava Bob
or Ed Matheson. Their new tilts were unsupplied with stretching boards
for furs and many other necessities, in the preparation of which they
occupied themselves at the river tilt, while the others lent a hand;
though nearly every day Dick Blake or Bill Campbell accompanied Shad
on hunting expeditions which resulted in keeping the larder well
supplied with geese, ducks--now in their southward flight--ptarmigans,
and an occasional porcupine.
The birds were all fat and in splendid condition. The ptarmigans, now
changing their mottled brown-and-white coat for the pure white plumage
of winter, were gathered into large flocks, and easily had. A
considerable number were killed with the first blast of frosty
weather, and, together with a few ducks and geese, stored where they
would freeze and keep sweet for future use.
With the last week of October active trapping began, when fur, though
not yet at its best, was in excellent condition.
With November winter fell upon the land in all its sub-Arctic rigour.
For a day and a night a blizzard raged, so blinding, so terrific, and
with the temperature so low that none dared venture out; and when the
weather cleared, the snow, grown so deep that snowshoes were essential
in travel, no longer melted under the mid-day sun.
Socks of heavy woollen duffel were now necessary to protect the feet,
and buckskin moccasins, with knee-high leggings, took the place of
sealskin boots.
In the final distribution of supplies among the tilts, long, narrow
Indian toboggans were brought into service, and the loads hauled upon
the toboggans.
Martens and foxes were the animals chiefly sought at this season.
There were two methods followed in setting the marten traps. Where a
tree of sufficient diameter was available, it was cut off as high as
the trapper could wield his axe above the snow, and a notch about four
inches deep and fourteen inches high cut some distance below the top
of the stump and several feet above the snow. The bottom of this notch
was given a level surface with the axe, the trap set upon it, and the
bait hung in the side of the notch a foot above the trap. At other
times an enclosure was made with spruce boughs, and in a narrow
opening the trap was set, with the bait within the enclosure.
Fox traps were set upon the marshes, and baited with rabbits which had
been hung in the tilt until they began to smell badly, or with other
scraps of flesh. The trap securely fastened by its chain to a block of
wood or the base of willow brush, was carefully concealed under a thin
crust of snow.
The usual routine followed by Ungava Bob, after his trail was once in
order and his traps set, was to leave the river tilt on Monday
morning, and by a wide circuit around lake shores and marshes,
embracing a distance of some fifteen miles, reach his tilt at the far
end of the first lake at night. On Tuesday another wide circle of
traps around contiguous lakes brought him back again at night to the
same tilt. On Wednesday his trail led him to the tilt on the last lake
of the old portage trail.
His original intention had been to continue from this tilt to the tilt
which the Indians had robbed, and thence to the last tilt on Ed
Matheson's trail, some fifteen miles to the northeast. But after the
appearance of the Indians it had been deemed unsafe and inadvisable to
do this, and the tilt on the river above the portage trail was,
therefore, temporarily abandoned.
With this modification, his Thursday circuit of traps was so arranged
that it brought him back at night to the tilt on the last lake, and on
Friday he proceeded to Ed Matheson's last tilt. This arrangement
carried him during the five days over seventy-five miles of trail
along which his traps were distributed.
Ed Matheson's trail was so arranged that he also arrived at his last
tilt on Friday evening, and he and Bob thus shared the tilt each
fortnight from Friday until Monday.
Saturdays were occupied in making repairs and in doing the thousand
and one odd jobs always at hand, Sunday in rest, and on Monday the
return journey began which brought them to the river tilt on the
following Friday, unless by chance they were delayed by storms.
This was the point of fortnightly rendezvous for the four
trappers--the junction point of all their trails. Dick Blake's and
Bill Campbell's trails took them in opposite directions, and during
their period of absence from the river tilt neither saw any of his
companions.
The fortnightly reunion at the river tilt was naturally an occasion
they all looked forward to. It gave an opportunity to compare notes
upon their success, to recount experiences, and to satisfy for a time
the human craving for companionship.
Shad made the first outward journey with Bob, and returned with Ed
Matheson. Then he made a round with Dick Blake, and finally a round
with Bill Campbell.
Every feature of the work was new and interesting to Shad Trowbridge,
and for a time he enjoyed it hugely. But presently it dropped into a
dreary, monotonous routine. The vast, unbroken solitude, the endless
tramping over endless snow, day after day, and the lack of adventure
to which he had looked forward, served presently to make him moody and
irritable.
Shad had hoped for sport with his rifle, but no big game had been
seen--not so much as the track of a caribou. Long before this the last
goose and duck had passed southward. Not a bird save the ever-present
jay had been encountered in upward of three weeks. Even the rabbits,
whose tracks had criss-crossed the early snow in every direction and
packed it down along the willow brush, had unaccountably disappeared.
The stock of fresh meat, save a pair of geese and three pairs of
ptarmigans reserved for a Christmas feast, was exhausted.
These were extraordinary conditions. The men declared that never
before in their experience had they observed so complete a
disappearance of game. Caribou were usually rather numerous in
November. In previous years ptarmigans and spruce grouse had been so
plentiful that they were easily killed when needed. One year in every
nine rabbits were said to vanish, but otherwise the total absence of
game was inexplicable.
It was a condition, too, that caused uneasiness. The flour and pork
brought into the country by the trappers was far from adequate to
supply their needs. Sufficient wild game to at least double their
provision supply was an absolute essential if they were to continue on
the trails. Thus far the early game had supplied their requirements,
but the prospects for the future were disquieting.
At the end of the first week in December, Bill Campbell and Shad
returned from their fortnight on the trail to find their friends
already at the river tilt and discussing the situation.
"What you havin', this cruise, Bill?" asked Dick, when the greetings
were over.
"Th' worst cruise I ever has," Bill replied, as he drew off his
adicky. "One white fox--nothin' else, an' no footin' now t' speak of.
Shad an' me never see a hair or feather barrin' th' fox I catches, an'
he were a poor un."
"I gets one marten an' a red, up an' back," said Dick. "Ed gets
nothin', an' Bob gets one marten. 'Tis a wonderful bad showin'."
"Aye, a wonderful bad showin', gettin' never a hair, an' that's what I
gets," declared Ed, in disgust. "If th' next cruise don't show a
wonderful lot better, I starts for th' Bay th' mornin' after
Christmas, an' I'll not be comin' back till th' middle o' February,
whatever."
The dough bread, fried pork, and tea, which Ed and Bob had been
preparing, were ready, and, the meal disposed of, pipes were lighted
and the discussion of the all-important question was resumed.
"'Tisn't th' havin' a poor cruise now an' again's what's botherin'
me," began Ed, "but they ain't no footin'; and where they ain't no
footin', they ain't nothin'; an' where they ain't nothin', they ain't
no use huntin' it."
"They ain't even a pa'tridge t' be killed for th' pot," complained
Bill.
"No, an' we'll be seein' th' end of our grub, with nothin' t' help
out, by th' end o' February, whatever," Ed dolefully prophesied.
"Isn't there danger of scurvy if we have nothing but salt pork to
eat?" asked Shad.
"That they is, sure as shootin'," agreed Ed.
"If you'd like to go along with me, Shad," suggested Bob, who up to
this time had said little, "we'll take a flat-sled with your tent an'
a tent stove, an' a couple weeks' grub, an' go down t' th' nu'th'ard
an' see if we can't run onto some deer. Th' deer's somewheres, an' if
they ain't here they must be t' th' nu'th'ard."
"Of course I'll go with you, Bob," said Shad, delighted with the
prospect of individual action and new experiences.
"An' you may be runnin' into some o' th' Mountaineers an' Nascaupees
down north, an' let un know about th' tradin' next year," suggested
Dick. "If you tells one Injun, th' hull passel o' both tribes'll know
about un. Things travels wonderful fast among th' Injuns."
The following day two toboggans were packed with the provisions and
equipment sufficient for a two weeks' absence, together with a
considerable quantity of tea in addition to their probable
requirements, and some plug tobacco, designed as gifts for the
Indians.
Long before daylight on Monday morning adieus were said and the two
young adventurers turned into the frozen, silent wastes to the
northward, Bob in the lead making a rapid pace, Shad following, and
each hauling his toboggan.