The snow lay deep beside the Black River of the Northwest Territory, and
upon its surface, where the ice was yet thick, for it was February and
weeks must pass before in the semi-arctic climate there would be signs
of spring. In the forests, which at intervals approach the river, the
snow was as deep as elsewhere, but there was not the desolation of the
plains, for in the wood were many wild creatures, and man was there as
well; not man of a very advanced type, it is true, but man rugged and
dirty, and philosophic. In the shadow of the evergreens, upon a point
extending far into the water, stood the tepees of a group of Indians,
hardy hunters and dependents in a vague sort of way of the great fur
company which took its name from Hudson's Bay.
Squatted beside the fire of pine knots and smoking silently in one of
the tepees was Red Dog, a man of no mean quality among the little tribe.
He had faculties. He had also various idiosyncrasies. He was undeniably
the best hunter and trapper and trainer of dogs to sledge, as well as
the most expert upon snowshoes of all the Indians living upon the point,
and he was, furthermore, one of the dirtiest of them and the biggest
drunkard whenever opportunity afforded. Fortunately for him and for his
squaw, Bigbeam, as she had been facetiously named by an agent of the
company, the opportunities for getting drunk were rare, for the company
is conservative in the distribution of that which makes bad hunters.
Given an abundance of firewater and tobacco, Red Dog was the happiest
Indian between the northern boundary of the United States and Lake Gary;
deprived of them both he hunted vigorously, thinking all the while of
the coming hour when, after a long journey and much travail, he should
be in what was his idea of heaven again. To-day, though, the rifle
bought from the company stood idle beside the ridge-pole, the sledge
dogs snarled and fought upon the snow outside, and Bigbeam, squat and
broad as became her name, looked askance at her lord as she prepared the
moose meat, uncertain of his temper, for his face was cloudy. Red Dog
was, in fact, perplexed, and was planning deeply.
Good reason was there for Red Dog's thought. Events of the immediate
future were of moment to him and all his fellows, among whom, though no
chief was formally acknowledged, he was recognized as leader; for had he
not at one time been with the company as a hired hunter? Had he not once
gone with a fur-carrying party even to Hudson's Bay, and thence to the
far south and even to Quebec? And did he not know the ways of the
company, and could not he talk a French patois which enabled him to be
understood at the stations? Now, as fitting representative of himself
and of his clan, a great responsibility had come upon him, and he was
lost in as anxious thought as could come to a biped of his quality.
Like a more or less benevolent devil-fish, the Hudson Bay Company has
ever reached out its tentacles for new territory where furs abound. Such
a region once discovered, a great log house is built there, and furs are
bought from the Indians who hunt within the adjacent region. This is, of
course, a vast convenience for the Indians, who are thus enabled to
exchange their winter catch of peltries for what they need, without a
journey of sometimes hundreds of miles to the nearest trading post.
Hence, under the wise treatment of Indians by the British, there has
long been competition between separate Indian bands to secure the
location of a new post within their own territory. Thus came the strait
of Red Dog. A new post had been decided upon, but there was doubt at
company headquarters as to whether it should be at Red Dog's point or a
hundred miles to the westward, where, it was asserted by Little Peter,
head man of a tribe there, the creeks were fairly clogged with otter,
the woods were swarming with silver foxes and sable, and as for moose,
they were thick as were once the buffalo to the south. Red Dog had told
his own story as well, but the factor at the post toward Fort Defiance
was still undecided. He had told Red Dog and his rival that he would
decide the matter the coming spring when they came down the river with
their furs for the spring trading. The best fur region was what he
sought. He would decide the matter from the relative quality of the
catch.
So Red Dog had hunted and trapped vigorously, and would ordinarily have
been satisfied with the outcome, for his band had found one of the best
fur-bearing regions of the river valley, and the new post was deserved
there upon its merits. This, however, the factor did not know. The issue
depended upon the relatively good showing made by Red Dog and Little
Peter. Despite his name, Little Peter was a full-blooded Indian and like
Red Dog, he was shrewd.
Red Dog smoked long, and the lines upon his forehead grew deeper as he
thought and schemed. At times his glance, bent most of the time upon the
fire before him, would be raised to seek the great bale of furs, the
product of his winter's catch. The meal was eaten, the hours passed, and
then, with a grunt, he ordered Bigbeam to open the package, which work
she performed with great deftness, for who but she had cleaned the skins
and bound them most compactly? They were spread upon the dirt floor, a
rich and luxurious display. No Russian princess, no Tartar king, no
monarch of the south, ever saw anything finer for consideration. There
were the smooth, silken skins of the cross fox, of the blue fox, that
strange, deeply silken-furred creature, the blend of which is a puzzle
to the naturalists; of the silver fox, which ranges so far southward
that the farmers and the farmers' sons of the northern tier of the
United States follow him fiercely with dog and gun because of the value
of his coating; of the otter, most graceful of all creatures of land or
water, and in the far north with fur which is a poem; of the sable,
which creeps farther south than many people know of; of the grim
wolverine, black and yellow-white and thickly and densely furred, and of
the great gray wolf of nearly the Arctic circle, a wolf so grizzly and
so long and high and gaunt and strong of limb that he tears sometimes
from the sledge ranges the best dog of all their pack and leaps easily
away into the forest with him; a beast who transcends in real being even
the old looming gray wolf of mediaeval story who once haunted northern
Germany and the British Isles and the Scandinavian forests, and who made
such impress upon men's minds that the legend of the werewolf had its
birth. There were thick skins of the moose and there was much dried
meat. All these, save the meat, contributed to make expansive the
display which Bigbeam, utilizing all the floor space, laid before the
eyes of Red Dog.
The showing made Red Dog even more anxiously contemplative. He thought
of the long, weary way to the present trading post, and of how it would
be equally long and weary were a new post to be located in the hunting
grounds of Little Peter. He knew how soft was the snow when it began to
melt in early spring, how the snow shoes sank deeply and became a burden
to lift, how the sledge runners no longer slid along the surface, and
the floundering dogs tired after half a day's journey; he thought how
full the river was of jagged ice cakes in the spring, and how perilous
was the passage of a deeply-laden canoe. Surely the new post must not go
to Little Peter. And Red Dog was most crafty.
There must have been, however attenuated, a fiber of French blood
throughout the being of Red Dog. It would have been odd, indeed, had the
case been otherwise, for the half-breeds penetrated long ago through the
far northwest, and the blood underneath does not always show itself
through the copper skin. Anyhow, Red Dog gazed interestedly and fixedly
upon the gloriously soft carpet before him, and there came to his brain
a sense of the wonderfully contrasting coloring. He rose to his feet and
arranged and rearranged the pelts to please his fancy. At last he
secured a combination which made him pause. He returned to his seat and
gazed long and earnestly upon the picture before him; then he turned his
eyes downward and thought as long again. Bigbeam came to him and
muttered words regarding some affair of the teepee. He did not answer
her, but, as she passed silently toward the doorway, he raised his eyes
and noted her broad expanse of back in the doorway to which the far
distant blue sky gave a distinct and striking outline. He shouted to her
gutturally and hoarsely to stand there as she was, and the woman stopped
herself in the doorway; then Red Dog bent his head and thought again. He
thought of a window he had seen in far Quebec, where soft and brilliant
furs were shown upon a flat surface to the most advantage. Why could he
not with such display most impress McGlenn, the Scotch factor, with the
importance of his hunting ground, and where could better display be made
than upon the broad back of his squat squaw Bigbeam? He would make her
sew the furs together in a mighty cloak, and she should ride the river
with him when the ice broke and the spring tides bore them down in their
great canoe to the factor's place toward Fort Reliance.
And the cloak was made. Talk of the wrappings of your princesses, of the
shallow-ermine-girded trappings of your queens--they were but yearning
things, but imitations, as compared with this great cloak of the
bounteous Bigbeam.
In the center of the field of this wondrous cloak lay white as snow the
skin of an ermine of the far north, and about it were arranged sables so
deep in color that the contrast was almost blackness, but for the play
of light and shade upon the shining fur. About the sables came contrast
again of the skins of silver fox, alternating with those of the otter,
and about all this glorious center piece, set at right angles, were
arranged the skins of the marten, the blue fox, the mink, the otter and
the beaver. It was a magnificent combination, bizarre in its contrasts
but wonderfully striking, and with a richness which can scarcely be
described, for the knowing Red Dog selected only the thickest and
glossiest and most valuable of his furs. He gazed upon the display with
a grunt of satisfaction.
Red Dog rose to his feet and called sharply to his squaw, who entered
the tent again with a celerity remarkable in one of her construction.
The Indian glanced meaningly at the dog whip which hung upon the center
pole, and there was rapid conversation. For days afterward Bigbeam was
busy sewing together the furs, as Red Dog had arranged them, and
attaching thongs of buckskin so that the wonderful garment could be tied
at her neck and waist.
Spring came at last, and Red Dog and Bigbeam set off upon their journey
to the factor's, as did other Indians from other localities for five
hundred miles about. It was a dreadful journey, the hardships of which
were undergone with characteristic Indian stoicism. There were
break-downs of the sledges, there were blizzards in which the travelers
almost perished, there was sickness among the dogs; and when finally the
point was reached where the river was fairly open, and where the big
canoe, _cached_ from the preceding season, could be launched and the
load bestowed within it, there followed miserable adventures and
misadventures, until, limping and pinched of face, the Indian and his
squaw drew their boat to land upon the shore beside the trading post.
The trading posts of the Northwest Territory vary little in their manner
of construction. They are built of logs as long as can be conveniently
obtained, and consist of three divisions, the front a store with a rude
counter, behind this the living-rooms of the factor and his assistants,
and in the rear the great storeroom for the year's supplies. The front
or trading room is usually well lighted by windows set in the side, for
it is well to have good light when fine furs are to be passed upon. The
trading room of McGlenn offered no exception to the rule, and his window
seats were good resting places for the casual barterer.
Indians were thronging about and in the post as Red Dog and Bigbeam
lugged their bale of furs up the bank and into the big room. There was
jabbering among the bucks, while the squaws stood silently about, and
among the most violent of the jabberers was Little Peter, who had
already talked with the factor and by magnificent lying had almost
convinced him that his own territory was the best for a new post.
Unfortunately, though, for Little Peter, his efforts and those of his
band had been somewhat lax during the winter, and the catch they
brought did not in all respects sustain his story. Red Dog and Bigbeam
mingled with the other Indians, and Red Dog was soon engaged in a
violent controversy with his rival, while Bigbeam stood silent among the
squaws. But Bigbeam was very tired; she had wielded the paddle for many
days, she had lost sleep and her eyelids were heavy; nature was too
strong; she edged away from the line of squaws, settled down into one of
the window seats, her broad back filling completely its lower half, and
drifted away into such dreamland as comes to the burdened and
uncomplaining Indian women of the Northwest.
Down a pathway leading beside the storehouse came McGlenn, the factor,
and his assistant, Johnson. They reached the window wherein Bigbeam was
reposing and stopped in their tracks! They could not believe their eyes!
Were they in Bond or Regent Street again! Never had they seen such
magnificent display of costly furs before, never one so barbaric, unique
and striking, and, withal, so honest in its richness! They did not
hesitate a moment. They rushed around to the main entrance, tore their
way profanely through the dense groups of Indians, and reached the
window wherein they had seen displayed the marvel. Then they started
back appalled! The interior appearance of that window afforded, perhaps,
as vivid and complaining contrast to its exterior as had ever been
presented since views had rivalry. The thongs about the neck of the
swart Bigbeam had become undone, and her normal front filled all the
window's broad interior. That front, to put it mildly, though
picturesque, was not attractive. It afforded an area of greasy and dirty
brown cuticle and of moose skin, if possible dirtier and greasier still.
The two white men could not understand themselves. Was there witchcraft
about; had they been drinking too much of the Scotch whisky in the
stores? They forced their way outside and looked at the window again,
and discovered that they were sane. There, pressed closely against the
window by the weight of the sleeping Bigbeam, still extended in all its
glory the wonderful robe of furs. Again they entered the post and
unceremoniously pulled from her pleasant resting place the helpmate of
Red Dog, the hunter. The cloak was seized upon and the two men hurried
with it to the inner apartments, where it was studied carefully and with
vigorous expressions of admiration.
"He's got it!" exclaimed McGlenn. "He's got it, the foxy rascal! It's
only a trick of Red Dog's; but the buck who knows furs as well as that
and who lives in a region where such furs can be found, and who's been
sharp enough to utilize his squaw for a scheme like this, deserves the
new post anyhow. You'll have to go up there, Johnson, and take some of
the voyageurs with you, as soon as the river is open to the head, and
establish a new post there. There'll be profit in it." Then Red Dog was
ordered to come in.
How, recognizing the effect already produced upon the factor by
Bigbeam's cloak, Red Dog waxed eloquent in description of the fur
producing facilities of his region cannot here be described at length.
From the picture he drew vehemently in bad French-Canadian language it
would appear that the otter and the beaver fought together for mere
breathing places in the streams, that the sable and the marten and the
ermine were household pets, and that as for the foxes, blue and silver
gray, they were so numerous that the spruce grouse had learned to build
their nests in trees! Turning his regard from his own country, he
referred to that of Little Peter. He described Little Peter as a
desperate character with a black heart and with no skill at all in the
capture of wild things. As to Little Peter's country, it was absurd to
talk about it! It was a desolate waste of rocks and shrub, whereon even
the little snowbirds could not live, and where the few bad Indians who
found a home there subsisted upon roots alone. It was a great oration.
The factor and his assistant listened and laughed and made allowances,
but did not alter the decision reached. Red Dog was told that the new
post would be established in his own hunting grounds. As a special
favor, he was given a quart bottle of whisky and ordered sternly to
conduct himself as well as he could under the circumstances. Never was
prouder Indian than Red Dog when he emerged from the storeroom. Before
the day had ended, his furs were all disposed of, including the
marvelous cloak, and in his big canoe were stored away quantities of
powder and bullets and tobacco, and other things appertaining to the
comfort of the North-western Indian. In place of her cloak of furs
Bigbeam wore a blanket so gorgeous of coloring that even the brilliantly
hued wood ducks envied her as they swept by overhead. In the bottom of
the canoe lay Red Dog. He had secured more whisky, and was as the dead
who know not. He would awake on the morrow with a headache, perhaps, but
with a proud consciousness that he had accomplished the feat of a
statesman for himself and for his band. Bigbeam rowed steadily toward
home, crooning some barbarous old half-song of her race. She was very
happy.