When Ganawa told his white sons what he had learned, Ray was much discouraged. “I told you,” he said to Bruce when the two had gone to catch trout, “I told you, Bruce, we could never find anybody in this country. Every time we go anywhere, the country and the lake look bigger and wilder to me. We might find a big island, if it is not too far from shore, but how can you find a camp when nobody knows where it is? None of the Indians know where Jack Dutton is now. And perhaps the stories they have told Ganawa are not true; you know not all stories you hear among white people are true.”
To one who has never lived in a wild and [[39]]thinly populated country it would seem that Ray’s conclusion was right, but the facts are that it is much more difficult to disappear in a wild country than it is in a big city. There are so few people in a wild country that a stranger, coming in or passing through, is remembered for a long time by everybody who has seen him. In the same way, both whites and Indians who live in these regions know of each other, although their camps or homes may be more than a hundred miles apart and they may seldom or never see each other.
When Bruce told Ganawa of the fears of the young white boy, the old hunter looked at the lad with a serious but friendly smile.
“My little son,” he told him, “you must not forget that in the country of the Big Lake there are not as many people as there are in the white man’s country. My friends in this camp have told me much, and they have not told me lies. To-morrow or next day, when the wind has gone down, we shall start for the river Michipicoten. If we find [[40]]some of the Ininiwac people there, they may be able to tell us where your white brother is camping, and it may be that we shall find him very soon.”
The wind went down next day, but Ganawa did not say anything of starting north. A hunter had come to camp with some moose meat and the women had caught plenty of fish in their nets; lake trout, pickerel, and some big brook trout, bigger than Ray had ever seen. These brook trout had come into Lake Superior out of the stream. Such brook trout are found along the shores of Lake Superior to this day. They thrive in the cold, clear water along the shore, and in places where there is little or no fishing they are at times very numerous. White fishermen at the present time call them “coasters.”
As far as Bruce and Ray could tell, Ganawa and his friends did nothing all day but eat moose meat and visit. “Indians certainly have a good time,” remarked Ray to Bruce. [[41]]
“Yes,” admitted Bruce, “playing Indian is not so bad in summer, but it must be a tough life in winter.”
At the close of the third day, Ganawa and his friends had eaten up most of the moose meat and Ganawa told his white sons that in the morning they would leave, provided the lake was quiet.
“Bruce, you had better ask our father,” Ray whispered to his friend, “to take plenty of meat along. You know we were all starved when we came to this camp, and I heard our father say that it is twenty-five leagues to the place we are going. Twenty-five leagues, that is seventy-five miles, so you see it will take us two or three days.”
The next morning Ganawa started at break of day without apparently thinking of eating any breakfast. This was the usual way for Indians to travel, and the voyageurs of the Hudson Bay Company and the Northwest Company adopted the same method of travel.