Now the small sack of flour and the side of bacon and the loose
provisions brought from the Post could last but a little time, and the
journey was like to be long. The travellers were to be forced from now
on, just as are the wolves, the eagles, the hawks, the carcajous, and
other predatory creatures of the woods, to give their first thoughts to
the day's sustenance. All other considerations gave way to this. This
was the first, the daily tribute to be wrested from the stubborn grasp
of the North. Winning that, anything was possible; failing that, nothing
could follow but defeat. Therefore, valuable exceedingly were the two
little steel traps and the twelve-foot length of gill-net, the sharp,
thin knives in the beaded sheaths, and especially precious, precious
above all things else, the three hundred rounds of ammunition for the
rifles. They must be guarded and cared for and saved.
Therefore an incident of the early afternoon was more than welcome.
All the morning they had toiled against the current, sometimes poling,
sometimes "tracking" by means of a sixty-foot cod-line. Dick looped this
across his chest and pulled like a horse on the tow-path, while Sam
Bolton sat in the stern with the steering-paddle. The banks were
sometimes precipitous, sometimes stony, sometimes grown to the water's
edge with thick vegetation. Dick had often to wade, often to climb and
scramble, sometimes even to leap from one foothold to another. Only
rarely did he enjoy level footing and the opportunity for a straight
pull. Suddenly in a shallow pool, near the river's edge, and bordered
with waist-high grass, he came upon a flock of black ducks. They were
full grown, but as yet unable to fly. Dick dropped his tow-line and ran
forward with a shout. At once the ducks became confused, scattering in
all directions, squawking madly, spattering the water. The mother flew.
The brood, instead of making for the open river, where it would have
been safe, scuttled into the tall grasses.
Here was the chance for fresh meat without the expenditure of a shot.
Sam Bolton promptly disembarked. To us it would have seemed a simple
matter. But the black duck is an expert at concealment, even in the
open. He can do wonders at it when assisted by the shadows of long
grass. And when too closely approached he can glide away to right and
left like a snake, leaving no rustle to betray his passage. Five minutes
passed before the first was discovered. Then it was only because Dick's
keen eye had detected a faintly stirring grass-blade ten feet away, and
because Dick's quick muscles had brought him like a tiger to the spot.
He held up his victim by the neck.
"Good enough," growled Sam.
And although they had seen nine ducks go into the grass plot, which was
not more than fifty feet across, they succeeded in finding but three.
However, they were satisfied.
In spite of the deliberation of their journeying, the Indians did not
overtake them until nearly dark. It was just above the junction of the
Abítibi. The river was without current, the atmosphere without the
suspicion of a breeze. Down to the very water's edge grew the forest,
so velvet-dark that one could not have guessed where the shadow left off
and the reflection began. Not a ripple disturbed the peace of the water,
nor a harsh sound the twilight peace of the air. Sam and Dick had
paddled for some time close to one bank, and now had paused to enjoy
their pipes and the cool of the evening. Suddenly against the reflected
sky at the lower bend a canoe loomed into sight, and crept smoothly and
noiselessly under the forest shadow of the opposite bank. Another
followed, then another, and another and still another in regular
interval. Not a sound could be heard. In the distance their occupants
gave the illusion of cowled figures,--the Indian women close wrapped in
their shawls, dropping their heads modestly or turning them aside as
their customs commanded them to do on encountering strangers. Against
the evening glow of the reflected sky for a single instant they stood
out in the bright yellow of the new birch-bark, the glow of warm colour
on the women's dress. Then instantaneously, in the darkness of the
opposite bank, they faded wraith-like and tenuous. Like phantoms of the
past they glided by, a river's width away; then vanished around the
upper bend. A moment later the river was empty.
"Th' squaws goin' ahead to start camp," commented Sam Bolton,
indifferently; "we'll have th' bucks along pretty quick."
They drove their paddles strongly, and drifted to the middle of the
river.
Soon became audible shouts, cries, and laughter, the click of canoe
poles. The business of the day was over. Until nearly sundown the men's
canoes had led, silent, circumspect, seeking game at every bend of the
river. Now the squaws had gone on to make camp. No more game was to be
expected. The band relaxed, joking, skylarking, glad to be relieved for
a little while of the strain of attention.
In a moment the canoes appeared, a long, unbroken string, led by
Haukemah. In the bow sat the chief's son, a lad of nine, wielding his
little paddle skilfully, already intelligent to twist the prow sharply
away from submerged rocks, learning to be a canoe-man so that in the
time to come he might go on the Long Trail.
Each canoe contained, besides its two occupants, a variety of household
goods, and a dog or two coiled and motionless, his sharp nose resting
between his outstretched forepaws. The tame crow occupied an ingenious
cage of twisted osiers.
Haukemah greeted the two white men cordially, and stopped paddling to
light his pipe. One by one the other canoes joined them. A faint haze of
tobacco rose from the drifting group.
"My brothers have made a long sun," observed old Haukemah. "We, too,
have hastened. Now we have met, and it is well. Down past the white rock
it became the fortune of Two-fingers to slay a caribou that stood by the
little water[3]. Also had we whitefish the evening before. Past the
Island of the Three Trees were signs of moose." He was telling them the
news, as one who passed the time of day.
[Footnote 3: A spring.]
"We have killed but neenee-sheeb, the duck," replied Dick, holding up
one of the victims by the neck, "nor have we seen the trail of game."
"Ah hah," replied Haukemah, politely.
He picked up his paddle. It was the signal to start.
"Drop in astern," said Dick to his companion in English, "it's the
light of the evening, and I'm going to troll for a pickerel."
One by one the canoes fell into line. Now, late in the day, the travel
was most leisurely. A single strong stroke of the paddle was always
succeeded by a pause of contemplation. Nevertheless the light craft
skimmed on with almost extraordinary buoyancy, and in silent regularity
the wooded points of the river succeeded one another.
Sam busied himself with the trolling-spoon, but as soon as the last
canoe was well beyond hearing he burst out:
"Dick, did you notice the Chippewa?"
"No. What?"
"He understands English."
"How do you know?"
"He was right behind us when you told me you were goin' to try the
fishing, and he moved out th' way before we'd raised our paddles."
"Might have been an accident."
"Perhaps, but I don't believe it. He looked too almighty innocent.
Another thing, did you notice he was alone in his canoe?"
"What of it?"
"Shows he ain't noways popular with th' rest. Generally they pair off.
There's mostly something shady about these renegades."
"Well?"
"Oh, nothing. Only we got to be careful."