"Goodness," I thought; "here's a predicament," but I didn't know what to do. I remembered a western adage, "When you don't know a thing to do, don't do a thing." I only said: "Tell Bezkya to go home, go to bed, and stay there till to-morrow, then come here again."

Away went the Indian to his lodge. I felt rather uneasy that day and night, and the next morning looked with some eagerness for the return of Bezkya. But he did not come and I began to grow unhappy. I wanted some evidence that I had not done him an injury. I wished to see him, but professional etiquette forbade me betraying myself by calling on him. Noon came and no Bezkya; late afternoon, and then I sallied forth, not to seek him, but to pass near his lodge, as though I were going to the Hudson's Bay store. And there, to my horror, about the lodge I saw a group of squaws, with shawls over their heads, whispering, together. As I went by, all turned as one of them pointed at me, and again they whispered.

"Oh, heavens!" I thought; "I've killed the old man." But still I would not go in. That night I did not sleep for worrying about it. Next morning I was on the point of sending Billy to learn the state of affairs, when who should come staggering up but old Bezkya. He was on two crutches now, his complexion was a dirty gray, and his feeble knees were shaking, but he told Billy—yes, unmistakably this time—to tell the Okimow that that was great medicine I had given him, and he wanted a dose just like it for his wife.

CHAPTER XIII

FORT SMITH AND THE SOCIAL QUEEN

Several times during our river journey I heard reference to an extraordinary woman in the lower country, one who gave herself great airs, put on style, who was so stuck up, indeed, that she had "two pots, one for tea, one for coffee." Such incredible pomposity and arrogance naturally invited sarcastic comment from all the world, and I was told I should doubtless see this remarkable person at Fort Smith.

After the return from Buffalo hunt No. 2, and pending arrangements for hunt No. 3, 1 saw more of Fort Smith than I wished for, but endeavoured to turn the time to account by copying out interesting chapters from the rough semi-illegible, perishable manuscript accounts of northern life called "old-timers." The results of this library research work appear under the chapter heads to which they belong.

At each of these northern posts there were interesting experiences in store for me, as one who had read all the books of northern travel and dreamed for half a lifetime of the north; and that was—almost daily meeting with famous men. I suppose it would be similar if one of these men were to go to London or Washington and have some one tell him: that gentle old man there is Lord Roberts, or that meek, shy, retiring person is Speaker Cannon; this on the first bench is Lloyd-George, or that with the piercing eyes is Aldrich, the uncrowned King of America. So it was a frequent and delightful experience to meet with men whose names have figured in books of travel for a generation. This was Roderick MacFarlane, who founded Fort Anderson, discovered the MacFarlane Rabbit, etc.; here was John Schott, who guided Caspar Whitney; that was Hanbury's head man; here was Murdo McKay, who travelled with Warburton Pike in the Barrens and starved with him on Peace River; and so with many more.

Very few of these men had any idea of the interest attaching to their observations. Their notion of values centres chiefly on things remote from their daily life. It was very surprising to see how completely one may be outside of the country he lives in. Thus I once met a man who had lived sixteen years in northern Ontario, had had his chickens stolen every year by Foxes, and never in his life had seen a Fox. I know many men who live in Wolf country, and hear them at least every week, but have never seen one in twenty years' experience. Quite recently I saw a score of folk who had lived in the porcupiniest part of the Adirondacks for many summers and yet never saw a Porcupine, and did not know what it was when I brought one into their camp. So it was not surprising to me to find that although living in a country that swarmed with Moose, in a village which consumes at least a hundred Moose per annum, there were at Fort Smith several of the Hudson's Bay men that had lived on Moose meat all their lives and yet had never seen a live Moose. It sounds like a New Yorker saying he had never seen a stray cat. But I was simply dumfounded by a final development in the same line.

Quite the most abundant carpet in the forest here is the uva-ursi or bear-berry. Its beautiful evergreen leaves and bright red berries cover a quarter of the ground in dry woods and are found in great acre beds. It furnishes a staple of food to all wild things, birds and beasts, including Foxes, Martens, and Coyotes; it is one of the most abundant of the forest products, and not one hundred yards from the fort are solid patches as big as farms, and yet when I brought in a spray to sketch it one day several of the Hudson's Bay officers said: "Where in the world did you get that? It must be very rare, for I never yet saw it in this country." A similar remark was made about a phoebe-bird. "It was never before seen in the country"; and yet there is a pair nesting every quarter of a mile from Athabaska Landing to Great Slave Lake.