ON A NEW TACK
As soon as Ray had recovered from his fright he seized his gun and ran
after Ganawa. He wondered why Ganawa had not fired, but now he saw the
Indian point to a tall pine, from which two bear cubs were coming down,
just as a boy comes down out of a tree, feet first.
“There, my son,” said Ganawa, “you see why the bear attacked you and
the dog. She was afraid you would harm her cubs. You must never kill a
mother animal that has young. We must not harm these bears. We do not
need the meat, and killing them would bring us bad luck.”
It took fully a week before the berries were dry enough so they could
be kept in two large birch-bark tubs, which Ganawa had made, and which
each held about half a bushel, although the lads were sure they had
picked at least four bushels. Blueberries hold their moisture with a
wonderful tenacity. Ripe berries will remain fresh and plump on the
vines for about two weeks, and even after they have been picked it
takes much time and patience to dry them; but after they are well
dried, they will keep all winter. Blueberries and wild rice and maple
sugar were the only wild vegetable foods which the Indians of the Great
Lakes region could gather in large quantities.
“My sons,” said Ganawa in the evening, when all the berries had been
dried, “we must decide what we shall do. If you, my sons, are very
homesick for your own people, then you should not stay with me through
the winter for we may never find your friend, even if we search for him
again after winter has passed.”
Ganawa was silent, but Bruce saw that he expected an answer, and Bruce
replied frankly, saying: “My father, it is true that your white sons
were homesick when we travelled far north to the great level spruce
forest. At that time we were very tired, because the mosquitoes and
black flies had worried us so much, the black flies during the day and
the mosquitoes during the night. But now the nights are cool and the
hungry flies and mosquitoes are gone. We are no longer tired and
homesick, we are strong and we wish to stay with our father as long as
he will keep us and search for our lost friend.”
Ganawa sat in silence for some time, his eyes fastened on the hills
down-stream as if he were trying to look into the future. “My sons,” he
said at last, “we have searched the big lakes to the north of this
river. There is one large lake and many small ones south of this river.
If we do not find your lost friend on one of them and find no sign of
his camp, then I cannot tell you where to look for him.
“But now the nights are getting cold. Very soon the leaves on the
poplars and birches will turn yellow. The north wind will blow them
down and will bring snow and storms from the great sea beyond the
spruce forest.
“My sons, we must find a camp for the winter. It must be sheltered from
the storms and it must be in a place where we can find food, a place
near which we can catch fish and find game. There is a lake about one
league south of this camp. To this lake we should carry our canoe and
all our things and then we should make a good camp for the winter.”
Both white lads were much surprised at the confidence with which Ganawa
travelled across the forest toward the winter camp. There was no trail,
but he seemed to be guided by a ridge of high granite cliffs, which ran
in a general north and south direction. In making a portage on a trail,
Ganawa generally carried the canoe alone, but on this long portage he
put one end on his shoulder and Bruce carried the other end, the canoe
resting bottom side up on the shoulders of the two men. In this way the
leader could look ahead and pick out the best going through a country
of many rocks, fallen timber and patches of thick brush and small bushy
timber.
When they had been going about two hours, with many short rests, they
struck a well-marked moose trail leading down a gentle slope to their
right, while to their left the high cliff of red granite arose steep
and bold only a few rods away. As they followed this trail Ray noticed
that it did not branch or grow dim, and suddenly they stepped into a
small clearing with several sets of tepee-poles, and before them a
beautiful lake spread out between two ranges of well-timbered rocky
hills.
“Anjigami! Anjigami!” Ganawa called. “My father and I camped here once
many years ago, and I have never forgotten the lake and its green
hills. Here we must make a good camp for the winter. There are plenty
of fish in this lake and there are some moose in the country, and on
streams and small lakes not far away we should find plenty of beaver.”
The three men had to make two more trips to the Michipicoten to bring
their blankets, meat, berries, and other things. They tried to make
Tawny stay at the new camp, but he did not seem to comprehend what was
wanted of him, and in the evening after a total march of about fifteen
miles, he was footsore. They had learned that it was useless to tie him
with any kind of rope. If Tawny were left alone, he would always gnaw
off his rope and follow the men, although he learned to stay far enough
behind to be unseen. On the return trip he went ahead, and when they
arrived Tawny would be lying quietly with his head on his paws, but his
appearance and the gnawed rope told the story.
“My little son,” Ganawa said, laughing, “Ohnemoosh is a great liar. He
thinks he can fool us. We have no white man’s chain, but some day I may
show you how to tie up Ohnemoosh so he has to stay in camp.”