Winter Adventures of Three Boys in the Great Lone Land

by Egerton Ryerson Young

After dinner the sport was resumed. When no flocks were near, the boys would jump out of their nests and, by some racing and frolicking on the ice, keep themselves warm, as there was much of winter still in the air. The cry of “Niskuk! niskuk!” (“Geese! geese!”) would send them racing back to their respective nests, and it was often as much as they could do to reach their retreats ere the geese were upon them.

A queer accident happened to Frank. As a small flock passed over the nest in which Sam and Memotas were sitting Sam blazed away with his last barrel, just as the geese had gone by. He struck one of them and mortally wounded it, but it had vitality enough left to keep itself up until it reached the nest where Frank and Mustagan were crouched down, watching another flock that was approaching from the other side. Without any warning the goose suddenly dropped dead with a whack on top of Frank, knocking him over most thoroughly and causing his gun to suddenly go off, but fortunately without hitting his Indian companion. A great grey goose weighs something, and so the whack from this dead one nearly knocked Frank senseless. The inmates of the other nests quickly came to his assistance. He was so dazed with the blow that it was decided that he and Sam, who had had about enough of goose-killing to suit them, should go to the camp for the rest of the afternoon. It was wisely thought that Sam’s irrepressible fun and good nature would be the best medicine for Frank for the time being.

That evening, when the shooting was over and all were seated on their comfortable robes around the bright camp fire, there was a lot of talk about Frank’s queer accident. All were thankful that the blow did no more serious harm. Mustagan said that he had shot geese flying over the ice where they had fallen with such force that they had broken clean through ice so strong that men could walk over it with safety.

“What do you think about it, Sam?” said Alec.

“Think about it, do you ask me?” replied Sam. “I have done a deal of thinking about it. I’ve been thinking that was the queerest weapon of offence I ever heard or dreamed of. I have heard of arrows and bullets and darts and clubs and shillalahs and tomahawks and boomerangs, and even thunderbolts, but the idea of hitting a poor, defenceless English lad with a dead goose! it beats me hollow! Sure I can hardly believe my senses. I’ll be denying the whole thing to-morrow, although I saw the complete performance to-day.”

The next morning Frank was fully recovered from this queer blow, and just as eager as ever to take his place in his nest with Mustagan. The wind veered around to the south-east, and so all of the decoys had to be changed. The shooting was good all day, but not equal to the previous one. The Indians were very clever in even calling some flocks back that had been fired into with deadly results. The explanation the Indians gave for the returning of these flocks was that although they still kept together in great numbers the geese had selected their mates, and the shooting of one or other of these pairs had caused the whole flock to return to look them up, in response to the cries of the bereaved survivors.

Sam said that he thought that the elegant voices of the Indians as they cried “Honk! honk!” had more to do with it than any affection in the heart or gizzard of an old goose. This remark of Sam’s was at once challenged, and a number of stories were related to prove that even the despised goose was worthy of a much better record than was generally given her.

Thus, with varied success, several days were spent at the goose grounds. Two or three times the boys succeeded in each bringing down four geese with the four barrels of the two guns. This was considered very clever shooting on the part of young fellows on their first spring’s hunt.

In due time the dog-trains returned from Sagasta-weekee. The last visits to the nests were made, and the closing two hours of the goose hunt were voted by all to have been the best, as the geese were so numerous that at times the guns were hot with the rapid work. The boys would have liked to remain longer, but Mr Ross stated that they had already shot as many geese as they could eat at home or could give away, and that it would not be right to kill any more of such valuable birds. The true hunter thinks not only of present needs, but of the years to come. In times of plenty he remembers there are days and years ahead. This was a satisfactory explanation to all.

The loading up of the geese on the extra sleds was soon accomplished. A good warm supper was eaten, and then at about ten o’clock at night, when the frost had again hardened up the snow that had been so soft and slushy a few hours before, the home journey was begun, and among “the wee small hours beyond the twelve,” the welcome lights in Sagasta-weekee were seen, and the happy, tired excursionists were glad to hurry off and half bury themselves in the beds and pillows filled with the downy feathers of geese killed at the spring hunts of years before.