Camp was made among the trees of an elevated bank above a small brook.
Already the Indian women had pitched the shelters, spreading squares of
canvas, strips of birch-bark or tanned skins over roughly improvised
lean-to poles. A half dozen tiny fires, too, they had built, over which
some were at the moment engaged in hanging as many kettles. Several of
the younger women were cleaning fish and threading them on switches.
Others brought in the small twigs for fuel. Among them could be seen
May-may-gwán, the young Ojibway girl, gliding here and there, eyes
downcast, inexpressibly graceful in contrast with the Crees.
At once on landing the men took up their share of the work. Like the
birds of the air and the beasts of the wood their first thoughts turned
to the assurance of food. Two young fellows stretched a gill-net across
the mouth of the creek. Others scattered in search of favourable spots
in which to set the musk-rat traps, to hang snares for rabbits and
grouse.
Soon the camp took on the air of age, of long establishment, that is so
suddenly to be won in the forest. The kettles began to bubble; the
impaled fish to turn brown. A delicious odour of open-air cooking
permeated the air. Men filled pipes and smoked in contemplation;
children warmed themselves as near the tiny fires as they dared. Out of
the dense blackness of the forest from time to time staggered what at
first looked to be an uncouth and misshapen monster, but which presently
resolved itself into an Indian leaning under a burden of spruce-boughs,
so smoothly laid along the haft of a long forked stick that the bearer
of the burden could sling it across his shoulder like a bale of hay. As
he threw it to the ground, a delicate spice-like aroma disengaged itself
to mingle with the smell of cooking. Just at the edge of camp sat the
wolf-dogs, their yellow eyes gleaming, waiting in patience for their
tardy share.
After the meal the women drew apart. Dick's eyes roved in vain, seeking
a glimpse of the Ojibway girl. He was too familiar with Indian
etiquette to make an advance, and in fact his interest was but
languidly aroused.
The men sat about the larger fire smoking. It was the hour of
relaxation. In the blaze their handsome or strong-lined brown faces
lighted good-humouredly. They talked and laughed in low tones, the long
syllables of their language lisping and hissing in strange analogy to
the noises of the fire or the forest or the rapids or some other natural
thing. Their speech was of the chances of the woods and the approaching
visit to their Ojibway brothers in the south. For this they had brought
their grand ceremonial robes of deerskin, now stowed securely in bags.
The white men were silent. In a little while the pipes were finished.
The camp was asleep. Through the ashes and the embers prowled the
wolf-dogs, but half-fed, seeking scraps. Soon they took to the beach in
search of cast-up fish. There they wandered all night long under the
moon voicing their immemorial wrongs to the silenced forest.
Almost at first streak of dawn the women were abroad. Shortly after, the
men visited their traps and lifted the nets. In this land and season of
plenty the catch had been good. The snares had strangled three hares;
the steel traps had caught five muskrats, which are very good eating in
spite of their appearance; the net had intercepted a number of pickerel,
suckers, and river whitefish. This, with the meat of the caribou, shot
by Three Fingers the day before, and the supplies brought from the Post,
made ample provision.
Nevertheless, when the camp had been struck and the canoes loaded, the
order of march was reversed. Now the men took the lead by a good margin,
and the women and children followed. For in the wooded country game
drinks early.
Before setting out, however, old Haukemah blazed a fair clean place on a
fir-tree, and with hard charcoal from the fire marked on it these
characters:
[Illustration: random characters]
"Can you read Injun writin'?" asked Dick. "I can't."
"Yes," replied Sam, "learned her when I was snowed up one winter with
Scar-Face down by the Burwash Lake country." He squinted his eyes,
reading the syllables slowly.
"'Abichi-kā-menót Moosamík-kā-jā yank. Missowā edookan owāsi sek
negi--' Why, it's Ojibway, not Cree," he exclaimed. "They're just leaving
a record. 'Good journey from Moose Factory. Big game has been seen.'
Funny how plumb curious an Injun is. They ain't one could come along here
and see th' signs of this camp and rest easy 'till he'd figgered out how
many they were, and where they were going, and what they were doing, and
all about it. These records are a kind-hearted try to save other Injuns
that come along a whole lot of trouble. That's why old Haukemah wrote it
in Ojibway 'stead of Cree: this is by rights Ojibway country."
"We'd better pike out, if we don't want to get back with th' squaws,"
suggested Dick.
About two hours before noon, while the men's squadron was paddling
slowly along a flat bank overgrown with grass and bushes, Dick and Sam
perceived a sudden excitement in the leading canoes. Haukemah stopped,
then cautiously backed until well behind the screen of the point. The
other canoes followed his example. In a moment they were all headed down
stream, creeping along noiselessly without lifting their paddles from
the water.
"They've seen some game beyant the point," whispered Dick. "Wonder what
it is?"
But instead of pausing when out of earshot for the purpose of uncasing
the guns or landing a stalking party, the Indians crept, gradually from
the shore, caught the current, and shot away down stream in the
direction from which they had come.
"It's a bear," said Sam, quietly. "They've gone to get their war-paint
on."
The men rested the bow of their canoe lightly against the shore, and
waited. In a short time the Indian canoes reappeared.
"Say, they've surely got th' dry goods!" commented Dick, amused.
In the short interval that had elapsed, the Indians had intercepted
their women, unpacked their baggage, and arrayed themselves in their
finest dress of ceremony. Buckskin elaborately embroidered with beads
and silks in the flower pattern, ornaments of brass and silver, sacred
skins of the beaver, broad dashes of ochre and vermilion on the naked
skin, twisted streamers of coloured wool--all added to the barbaric
gorgeousness of the old-time savage in his native state. Each bowsman
carried a long brass-bound forty-five "trade-gun," warranted to kill up
to ten yards.
"It's surely a nifty outfit!" commented Sam, half admiringly.
A half dozen of the younger men were landed. At once they disappeared in
the underbrush. Although the two white men strained their keen senses
they were unable to distinguish by sight or sound the progress of the
party through the bushes.
"I guess they're hunters, all right," conceded Dick.
The other men waited like bronze statues. After a long interval a
pine-warbler uttered its lisping note. Immediately the paddles dipped in
the silent deer-stalker's stroke, and the cavalcade crept forward around
the point.
Dick swept the shore with his eye, but saw nothing. Then all heard
plainly a half-smothered grunt of satisfaction, followed by a deep drawn
breath. Phantom-like, without apparently the slightest directing motion,
the bows of the canoes swung like wind-vanes to point toward a little
heap of driftlogs under the shadow of an elder bush. The bear was
wallowing in the cool, wet sand, and evidently enjoying it. A moment
later he stuck his head over the pile of driftwood, and indulged in a
leisurely survey of the river.
His eye was introspective, vacant, his mouth was half open, and his
tongue lolled out so comically that Dick almost laughed aloud. No one
moved by so much as a hand's breadth. The bear dropped back to his
cooling sand with a sigh of voluptuous pleasure. The canoes drew a
little nearer.
Now old Haukemah rose to his height in the bow of his canoe, and began
to speak rapidly in a low voice. Immediately the animal bobbed into
sight again, his wicked little eyes snapping with intelligence. It took
him some moments to determine what these motionless, bright-coloured
objects might be. Then he turned toward the land, but stopped short as
his awakened senses brought him the reek of the young men who had
hemmed in his shoreward escape. He was not yet thoroughly alarmed, so
stood there swaying uneasily back and forth, after the manner of bears,
while Haukemah spoke swiftly in the soft Cree tongue.
"Oh, makwá, our little brother," he said, "we come to you not in anger,
nor in disrespect. We come to do you a kindness. Here is hunger and cold
and enemies. In the Afterland is only happiness. So if we shoot you, oh
makwá, our little brother, be not angry with us."
He raised his trade-gun and pulled the trigger. A scattering volley
broke from the other canoes and from the young men concealed in the
bushes.
Now a trade-gun is a gun meant to trade. It is a section of what looks
to be gas-pipe, bound by brass bands to a long, clumsy, wooden stick
that extends within an inch of the end of the barrel. It is supposed to
shoot ball or shot. As a matter of fact the marksman's success depends
more on his luck than his skill. Were it not for the Woods-Indian's
extraordinary powers of still-hunting so that he can generally approach
very near to his game, his success would be small indeed.
With the shock of a dozen little bullets the bear went down, snarling
and biting and scattering the sand, but was immediately afoot again. A
black bear is not a particularly dangerous beast in ordinary
circumstances--but occasionally he contributes quite a surprise to the
experience of those who encounter him. This bear was badly wounded and
cruelly frightened. His keen sense of smell informed him that the bushes
contained enemies--how many he did not know, but they were concealed,
unknown, and therefore dreadful. In front of him was something definite.
Before the astonished Indians could back water, he had dashed into the
shallows, and planted his paws on the bow of old Haukemah's canoe.
A simultaneous cry of alarm burst from the other Indians. Some began
frantically to recharge their muzzle-loading trade-guns; others dashed
toward the spot as rapidly as paddle or moccasin could bring them.
Haukemah himself roused valiantly to the defence, but was promptly upset
and pounced upon by the enraged animal. A smother of spray enveloped the
scene. Dick Herron rose suddenly to his feet and shot. The bear
collapsed into the muddied water, his head doubled under, a thin stream
of arterial blood stringing away down the current. Haukemah and his
steersman rose dripping. A short pause of silence ensued.
"Well, you are a wonder!" ejaculated Sam Bolton at last. "How in thunder
did you do that? I couldn't make nothing out of _that_ tangle--at least
nothing clear enough to shoot at!"
"Luck," replied Dick, briefly. "I took a snap shot, and happened to make
it."
"You ran mighty big chances of winning old Haukemah," objected Sam.
"Sure! But I didn't," answered Dick, conclusively.
The Indians gathered to examine in respectful admiration. Dick's bullet
had passed from ear to ear. To them it was wonderful shooting, as indeed
it would have been had it indicated anything but the most reckless luck.
Haukemah was somewhat disgusted at the wetting of his finery, but the
bear is a sacred animal, and even ceremonial dress and an explanation of
the motives that demanded his death might not be sufficient to appease
his divinity. The women's squadron appeared about the bend, and added
their cries of rejoicing to those of their husbands and brothers.
The beautiful buckskin garments were hastily exchanged for ordinary
apparel. By dint of much wading, tugging, and rolling the carcass was
teased to the dry beach. There the body was securely anchored by the
paws to small trees, and the work of skinning and butchering began.
Not a shred was wasted. Whatever flesh would not be consumed within a
few days they cut into very thin strips and hung across poles to dry.
Scraps went to the dogs, who were for once well fed. Three of the older
squaws went to work with bone scrapers to tan the hide. In this season,
while the fur was not as long as it would be later, it was fine and new.
The other squaws pitched camp. No right-minded Indian would dream of
travelling further with such a feast in prospect.
While these things were preparing, the older men cleaned and washed the
bear's skull very carefully. Then they cut a tall pole, on the end of
which they fastened the skull, and finished by planting the whole affair
securely near the running water. When the skull should have remained
there for the space of twelve moons, the sacred spirit of the departed
beast would be appeased. For that reason Haukemah would not here leave
his customary hieroglyphic record when he should break camp. If an enemy
should happen along, he could do harm to Haukemah simply by overturning
the trophy, whereas an unidentified skull might belong to a friend, and
so would be let alone on the chance. For that reason, too, when they
broke camp the following day, the expert trailers took pains to
obliterate the more characteristic indications of their stay.
Now abruptly the weather changed. The sky became overcast with low, gray
clouds hurrying from the northwest. It grew cold. After a few hours of
indecision it began to rain, dashing the chill water in savage gusts.
Amidships in each canoe the household goods were protected carefully by
means of the wigwam covers, but the people themselves sat patiently,
exposed to the force of the storm. Water streamed from their hair, over
their high cheeks, to drip upon their already sodden clothing. The
buckskin of their moccasins sucked water like so many sponges. They
stepped indifferently in and out of the river,--for as to their legs,
necessarily much exposed, they could get no wetter--and it was very
cold. Whenever they landed the grass and bushes completed the soaking.
By night each and every member of the band, including the two white men,
were as wet as though they had plunged over-head in the stream. Only
there was this difference: river-water could have been warmed gradually
by the contact of woolen clothes with the body, but the chill of
rain-water was constantly renewed.
Nor was there much comfort in the prospect when, weary and cold, they
finally drew their canoes ashore for the evening's camp. The forest was
dripping, the ground soggy, each separate twig and branch cold and
slippery to the hand. The accumulated water of a day showered down at
the slightest movement. A damp wind seemed to rise from the earth
itself.
Half measures or timid shrinkings would not do. Every one had to plunge
boldly into the woods, had to seize and drag forth, at whatever cost of
shower-bath the wilderness might levy, all the dead wood he could find.
Then the value of the birch-bark envelope about the powdery touch-wood
became evident. The fire, at first small and steamy, grew each instant.
Soon a dozen little blazes sprang up, only to be extinguished as soon as
they had partially dried the site of wigwams. Hot tea was swallowed
gratefully, duffel hung before the flames. Nobody dried completely, but
everybody steamed, and even in the pouring rain this little warmth was
comfort by force of contrast. The sleeping blankets were damp, the
clothes were damp, the ground was damp, the air was damp; but, after
all, discomfort is a little thing and a temporary, and can be borne. In
the retrospect it is nothing at all. Such is the indian's philosophy,
and that is why in a rain he generally travels instead of lying in camp.
The storm lasted four days. Then the wind shifted to the north, bringing
clearing skies.
Up to now the river had been swift in places, but always by dint of
tracking or poling the canoes had been forced against the quick water.
Early one forenoon, however, Haukemah lifted carefully the bow of his
canoe and slid it up the bank.