CHAPTER 9.
THE LAND OF THE MUSK-OX
A far cry it was from bright June at Port Chippewayan to dim October onGreat Slave Lake.
Two long, laborious months Rea and Jones threaded the crooked shores ofthe great inland sea, to halt at the extreme northern end, where aplunging rivulet formed the source of a river. Here they found a stonechimney and fireplace standing among the darkened, decayed ruins of acabin.
"We mustn't lose no time," said Rea. "I feel the winter in the wind.An' see how dark the days are gettin' on us."
"I'm for hunting musk-oxen," replied Jones.
"Man, we're facin' the northern night; we're in the land of themidnight sun. Soon we'll be shut in for seven months. A cabin we want,an' wood, an' meat."
A forest of stunted spruce trees edged on the lake, and soon its drearysolitudes rang to the strokes of axes. The trees were small and uniformin size. Black stumps protruded, here and there, from the ground,showing work of the steel in time gone by. Jones observed that theliving trees were no larger in diameter than the stumps, and questionedRea in regard to the difference in age.
"Cut twenty-five, mebbe fifty years ago," said the trapper.
"But the living trees are no bigger."
"Trees an' things don't grow fast in the north land."
They erected a fifteen-foot cabin round the stone chimney, roofed itwith poles and branches of spruce and a layer of sand. In digging nearthe fireplace Jones unearthed a rusty file and the head of a whiskykeg, upon which was a sunken word in unintelligible letters.
"We've found the place," said Rea. "Frank built a cabin here in 1819.An' in 1833 Captain Back wintered here when he was in search of CaptainRoss of the vessel Fury. It was those explorin' parties thet cut thetrees. I seen Indian sign out there, made last winter, I reckon; butIndians never cut down no trees."
The hunters completed the cabin, piled cords of firewood outside,stowed away the kegs of dried fish and fruits, the sacks of flour,boxes of crackers, canned meats and vegetables, sugar, salt, coffee,tobacco--all of the cargo; then took the boat apart and carried it upthe bank, which labor took them less than a week.
Jones found sleeping in the cabin, despite the fire, uncomfortablycold, because of the wide chinks between the logs. It was hardly betterthan sleeping under the swaying spruces. When he essayed to stop up thecrack, a task by no means easy, considering the lack of material--Realaughed his short "Ho! Ho!" and stopped him with the word, "Wait."Every morning the green ice extended farther out into the lake; the sunpaled dim and dimmer; the nights grew colder. On October 8th thethermometer registered several degrees below zero; it fell a littlemore next night and continued to fall.
"Ho! Ho!" cried Rea. "She's struck the toboggan, an' presently she'llcommence to slide. Come on, Buff, we've work to do."
He caught up a bucket, made for their hole in the ice, rebroke asix-inch layer, the freeze of a few hours, and filling his bucket,returned to the cabin. Jones had no inkling of the trapper's intention,and wonderingly he soused his bucket full of water and followed.
By the time he had reached the cabin, a matter of some thirty or fortygood paces, the water no longer splashed from his pail, for a thin filmof ice prevented. Rea stood fifteen feet from the cabin, his back tothe wind, and threw the water. Some of it froze in the air, most of itfroze on the logs. The simple plan of the trapper to incase the cabinwith ice was easily divined. All day the men worked, easing only whenthe cabin resembled a glistening mound. It had not a sharp corner nor acrevice. Inside it was warm and snug, and as light as when the chinkswere open.
A slight moderation of the weather brought the snow. Such snow! Ablinding white flutter of grey flakes, as large as feathers! All daythey rustle softly; all night they swirled, sweeping, seeping brushingagainst the cabin. "Ho! Ho!" roared Rea. "'Tis good; let her snow, an'the reindeer will migrate. We'll have fresh meat." The sun shone again,but not brightly. A nipping wind came down out of the frigid north andcrusted the snows. The third night following the storm, when thehunters lay snug under their blankets, a commotion outside aroused them.
"Indians," said Rea, "come north for reindeer."
Half the night, shouting and yelling, barking dogs, hauling of sledsand cracking of dried-skin tepees murdered sleep for those in thecabin. In the morning the level plain and edge of the forest held anIndian village. Caribou hides, strung on forked poles, constitutedtent-like habitations with no distinguishable doors. Fires smoked inthe holes in the snow. Not till late in the day did any life manifestitself round the tepees, and then a group of children, poorly clad inragged pieces of blankets and skins, gaped at Jones. He saw theirpinched, brown faces, staring, hungry eyes, naked legs and throats, andnoted particularly their dwarfish size. When he spoke they fledprecipitously a little way, then turned. He called again, and all ranexcept one small lad. Jones went into the cabin and came out with ahandful of sugar in square lumps.
"Yellow Knife Indians," said Rea. "A starved tribe! We're in for it."
Jones made motions to the lad, but he remained still, as if transfixed,and his black eyes stared wonderingly.
"Molar nasu (white man good)," said Rea.
The lad came out of his trance and looked back at his companions, whoedged nearer. Jones ate a lump of sugar, then handed one to the littleIndian. He took it gingerly, put it into his mouth and immediatelyjumped up and down.
"Hoppiesharnpoolie! Hoppiesharnpoolie!" he shouted to his brothers andsisters. They came on the run.
"Think he means sweet salt," interpreted Rea. "Of course these beggarsnever tasted sugar."
The band of youngsters trooped round Jones, and after tasting the whitelumps, shrieked in such delight that the braves and squaws shuffled outof the tepees.
In all his days Jones had never seen such miserable Indians. Dirtyblankets hid all their person, except straggling black hair, hungry,wolfish eyes and moccasined feet. They crowded into the path before thecabin door and mumbled and stared and waited. No dignity, nobrightness, no suggestion of friendliness marked this peculiar attitude.
"Starved!" exclaimed Rea. "They've come to the lake to invoke the GreatSpirit to send the reindeer. Buff, whatever you do, don't feed them. Ifyou do, we'll have them on our hands all winter. It's cruel, but, man,we're in the north!"
Notwithstanding the practical trapper's admonition Jones could notresist the pleading of the children. He could not stand by and see themstarve. After ascertaining there was absolutely nothing to eat in thetepees, he invited the little ones into the cabin, and made a great potof soup, into which he dropped compressed biscuits. The savage childrenwere like wildcats. Jones had to call in Rea to assist him in keepingthe famished little aborigines from tearing each other to pieces. Whenfinally they were all fed, they had to be driven out of the cabin.
"That's new to me," said Jones. "Poor little beggars!"
Rea doubtfully shook his shaggy head.
Next day Jones traded with the Yellow Knives. He had a goodly supply ofbaubles, besides blankets, gloves and boxes of canned goods, which hehad brought for such trading. He secured a dozen of the large-boned,white and black Indian dogs, huskies, Rea called them--two long sledswith harness and several pairs of snowshoes. This trade made Jones rubhis hands in satisfaction, for during all the long journey north he hadfailed to barter for such cardinal necessities to the success of hisventure.
"Better have doled out the grub to them in rations," grumbled Rea.
Twenty-four hours sufficed to show Jones the wisdom of the trapper'swords, for in just that time the crazed, ignorant savages had gluttedthe generous store of food, which should have lasted them for weeks.The next day they were begging at the cabin door. Rea cursed andthreatened them with his fists, but they returned again and again.
Days passed. All the time, in light and dark, the Indians filled theair with dismal chant and doleful incantations to the Great Spirit, andthe tum! tum! tum! tum! of tomtoms, a specific feature of their wildprayer for food.
But the whit
e monotony of the rolling land and level lake remainedunbroken. The reindeer did not come. The days became shorter, dimmer,darker. The mercury kept on the slide.
Forty degrees below zero did not trouble the Indians. They stamped tillthey dropped, and sang till their voices vanished, and beat the tomtomseverlastingly. Jones fed the children once each day, against thetrapper's advice.
One day, while Rea was absent, a dozen braves succeeded in forcing anentrance, and clamored so fiercely, and threatened so desperately, thatJones was on the point of giving them food when the door opened toadmit Rea.
With a glance he saw the situation. He dropped the bucket he carried,threw the door wide open and commenced action. Because of his greatbulk he seemed slow, but every blow of his sledge-hammer fist knocked abrave against the wall, or through the door into the snow. When hecould reach two savages at once, by way of diversion, he swung theirheads together with a crack. They dropped like dead things. Then hehandled them as if they were sacks of corn, pitching them out into thesnow. In two minutes the cabin was clear. He banged the door andslipped the bar in place.
"Buff, I'm goin' to get mad at these thievin' red, skins some day," hesaid gruffly. The expanse of his chest heaved slightly, like the slowswell of a calm ocean, but there was no other indication of unusualexertion.
Jones laughed, and again gave thanks for the comradeship of thisstrange man.
Shortly afterward, he went out for wood, and as usual scanned theexpanse of the lake. The sun shone mistier and warmer, and frostfeathers floated in the air. Sky and sun and plain and lake--all weregray. Jones fancied he saw a distant moving mass of darker shade thanthe gray background. He called the trapper.
"Caribou," said Rea instantly. "The vanguard of the migration. Hear theIndians! Hear their cry: "Aton! Aton!" they mean reindeer. The idiotshave scared the herd with their infernal racket, an' no meat will theyget. The caribou will keep to the ice, an' man or Indian can't stalkthem there."
For a few moments his companion surveyed the lake and shore with aplainsman's eye, then dashed within, to reappear with a Winchester ineach hand. Through the crowd of bewailing, bemoaning Indians; he sped,to the low, dying bank. The hard crust of snow upheld him. The graycloud was a thousand yards out upon the lake and moving southeast. Ifthe caribou did not swerve from this course they would pass close to aprojecting point of land, a half-mile up the lake. So, keeping a waryeye upon them, the hunter ran swiftly. He had not hunted antelope andbuffalo on the plains all his life without learning how to approachmoving game. As long as the caribou were in action, they could not tellwhether he moved or was motionless. In order to tell if an object wasinanimate or not, they must stop to see, of which fact the keen huntertook advantage. Suddenly he saw the gray mass slow down and bunch up.He stopped running, to stand like a stump. When the reindeer movedagain, he moved, and when they slackened again, he stopped and becamemotionless. As they kept to their course, he worked gradually closerand closer. Soon he distinguished gray, bobbing heads. When the leadershowed signs of halting in his slow trot the hunter again became astatue. He saw they were easy to deceive; and, daringly confident ofsuccess, he encroached on the ice and closed up the gap till not morethan two hundred yards separated him from the gray, bobbing, antleredmass.
Jones dropped on one knee. A moment only his eyes lingered admiringlyon the wild and beautiful spectacle; then he swept one of the rifles toa level. Old habit made the little beaded sight cover first the statelyleader. Bang! The gray monarch leaped straight forward, forehoofs up,antlered head back, to fall dead with a crash. Then for a few momentsthe Winchester spat a deadly stream of fire, and when emptied wasthrown down for the other gun, which in the steady, sure hands of thehunter belched death to the caribou.
The herd rushed on, leaving the white surface of the lake gray with astruggling, kicking, bellowing heap. When Jones reached the caribou hesaw several trying to rise on crippled legs. With his knife he killedthese, not without some hazard to himself. Most of the fallen ones werealready dead, and the others soon lay still. Beautiful gray creaturesthey were, almost white, with wide-reaching, symmetrical horns.
A medley of yells arose from the shore, and Rea appeared running withtwo sleds, with the whole tribe of Yellow Knives pouring out of theforest behind him.
"Buff, you're jest what old Jim said you was," thundered Rea, as hesurveyed the gray pile. "Here's winter meat, an' I'd not have given abiscuit for all the meat I thought you'd get."
"Thirty shots in less than thirty seconds," said Jones, "An' I'll betevery ball I sent touched hair. How many reindeer?"
"Twenty! twenty! Buff, or I've forgot how to count. I guess mebbe youcan't handle them shootin' arms. Ho! here comes the howlin' redskins."
Rea whipped out a bowie knife and began disemboweling the reindeer. Hehad not proceeded far in his task when the crazed savages were aroundhim. Every one carried a basket or receptacle, which he swung aloft,and they sang, prayed, rejoiced on their knees. Jones turned away fromthe sickening scenes that convinced him these savages were littlebetter than cannibals. Rea cursed them, and tumbled them over, andthreatened them with the big bowie. An altercation ensued, heated onhis side, frenzied on theirs. Thinking some treachery might befall hiscomrade, Jones ran into the thick of the group.
"Share with them, Rea, share with them."
Whereupon the giant hauled out ten smoking carcasses. Bursting into ababel of savage glee and tumbling over one another, the Indians pulledthe caribou to the shore.
"Thievin' fools," growled Rea, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Saidthey'd prevailed on the Great Spirit to send the reindeer. Why, they'dnever smelled warm meat but for you. Now, Buff, they'll gorge everyhair, hide an' hoof of their share in less than a week. Thet's the lastwe do for the damned cannibals. Didn't you see them eatin' of the rawinnards?--faugh! I'm calculatin' we'll see no more reindeer. It's latefor the migration. The big herd has driven southward. But we're lucky,thanks to your prairie trainin'. Come on now with the sleds, or we'llhave a pack of wolves to fight."
By loading three reindeer on each sled, the hunters were not long intransporting them to the cabin. "Buff, there ain't much doubt aboutthem keepin' nice and cool," said Rea. "They'll freeze, an' we can skinthem when we want."
That night the starved wolf dogs gorged themselves till they could notrise from the snow. Likewise the Yellow Knives feasted. How long theten reindeer might have served the wasteful tribe, Rea and Jones neverfound out. The next day two Indians arrived with dog-trains, and theiradvent was hailed with another feast, and a pow-wow that lasted intothe night.
"Guess we're goin' to get rid of our blasted hungry neighbors," saidRea, coming in next morning with the water pail, "An' I'll be durned,Buff, if I don't believe them crazy heathen have been told about you.Them Indians was messengers. Grab your gun, an' let's walk over andsee."
The Yellow Knives were breaking camp, and the hunters were at onceconscious of the difference in their bearing. Rea addressed severalbraves, but got no reply. He laid his broad hand on the old wrinkledchief, who repulsed him, and turned his back. With a growl, the trapperspun the Indian round, and spoke as many words of the language as heknew. He got a cold response, which ended in the ragged old chiefstarting up, stretching a long, dark arm northward, and with eyes fixedin fanatical subjection, shouting: "Naza! Naza! Naza!"
"Heathen!" Rea shook his gun in the faces of the messengers. "It'll gobad with you to come Nazain' any longer on our trail. Come, Buff, clearout before I get mad."
When they were once more in the cabin, Rea told Jones that themessengers had been sent to warn the Yellow Knives not to aid the whitehunters in any way. That night the dogs were kept inside, and the mentook turns in watching. Morning showed a broad trail southward. Andwith the going of the Yellow Knives the mercury dropped to fifty, andthe long, twilight winter night fell.
So with this agreeable riddance and plenty of meat and fuel to cheerthem, the hunters sat down in their snug cabin to wait many months fordaylight.
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bsp; Those few intervals when the wind did not blow were the only times Reaand Jones got out of doors. To the plainsman, new to the north, the dimgray world about him was of exceeding interest. Out of the twilightshone a wan, round, lusterless ring that Rea said was the sun. Thesilence and desolation were heart-numbing.
"Where are the wolves?" asked Jones of Rea.
"Wolves can't live on snow. They're farther south after caribou, orfarther north after musk-ox."
In those few still intervals Jones remained out as long as he dared,with the mercury sinking to -sixty degrees. He turned from the wonderof the unreal, remote sun, to the marvel in the north--Auroraborealis--ever-present, ever-changing, ever-beautiful! and he gazed inrapt attention.
"Polar lights," said Rea, as if he were speaking of biscuits. "You'llfreeze. It's gettin' cold."
Cold it became, to the matter of -seventy degrees. Frost covered thewalls of the cabin and the roof, except just over the fire. Thereindeer were harder than iron. A knife or an ax or a steel-trap burnedas if it had been heated in fire, and stuck to the hand. The huntersexperienced trouble in breathing; the air hurt their lungs.
The months dragged. Rea grew more silent day by day, and as he satbefore the fire his wide shoulders sagged lower and lower. Jones,unaccustomed to the waiting, the restraint, the barrier of the north,worked on guns, sleds, harness, till he felt he would go mad. Then tosave his mind he constructed a windmill of caribou hides and ponderedover it trying to invent, to put into practical use an idea he had onceconceived.
Hour after hour he lay under his blankets unable to sleep, and listenedto the north wind. Sometimes Rea mumbled in his slumbers; once hisgiant form started up, and he muttered a woman's name. Shadows from thefire flickered on the walls, visionary, spectral shadows, cold andgray, fitting the north. At such times he longed with all the power ofhis soul to be among those scenes far southward, which he called home.For days Rea never spoke a word, only gazed into the fire, ate andslept. Jones, drifting far from his real self, feared the strange moodof the trapper and sought to break it, but without avail. More and morehe reproached himself, and singularly on the one fact that, as he didnot smoke himself, he had brought only a small store of tobacco. Rea,inordinate and inveterate smoker, had puffed away all the weed inclouds of white, then had relapsed into gloom.