DOWN TO FUNDAMENTALS

At 8.30 A. M., 10 miles from the portage, we came to the Clew-ee, or White Fish River; at 6.30 P. M. made the Sass Tessi, or Bear River, and here camped, having covered fully 40 miles.

Now for the first time we were all together, with leisure to question our guide and plan in detail. But all our mirth and hopes were rudely checked by Corporal Selig, who had entire charge of the commissary, announcing that there were only two days' rations left.

In the dead calm that followed this bomb-shell we all did some thinking; then a rapid fire of questions demonstrated the danger of having a guide who does not speak our language.

It seems that when asked how many days' rations we should take on this Buffalo hunt he got the idea how many days to the Buffalo. He said five, meaning five days each way and as much time as we wished there. We were still two days from our goal. Now what should we do? Scurry back to the fort or go ahead and trust to luck? Every man present voted "go ahead on half rations."

We had good, healthy appetites; half rations was veritable hardship; but our hollow insides made hearty laughing. Preble disappeared as soon as we camped, and now at the right time he returned and silently threw at the cook's feet a big 6-pound Pike. It was just right, exactly as it happens in the most satisfactory books and plays. It seems that he always carried a spoon-hook, and went at once to what he rightly judged the best place, a pool at the junction of the two rivers. The first time he threw he captured the big fellow. Later he captured three smaller ones in the same place, but evidently there were no more.

That night we had a glorious feast; every one had as much as he could eat, chiefly fish. Next morning we went on 4 1/2 miles farther, then came to the mouth of the Nyarling Tessi, or Underground River, that joins the Buffalo from the west. This was our stream; this was the highway to the Buffalo country. It was a miniature of the river we were leaving, but a little quicker in current. In about 2 miles we came to a rapid, but were able to paddle up. About 6 miles farther was an immense and ancient log-jamb that filled the stream from bank to bank for 190 yards. What will be the ultimate history of this jamb? It is added to each year, the floods have no power to move it, logs in water practically never rot, there is no prospect of it being removed by natural agencies. I suspect that at its head the river comes out of a succession of such things, whence its name Underground River.,

Around this jamb is an easy portage. We were far now from the haunts of any but Indians on the winter hunt, so were surprised to see on this portage trail the deep imprints of a white man's boot. These were made apparently within a week, by whom I never learned. On the bank not far away we saw a Lynx pursued overhead by two scolding Redsquirrels.

Lunch consisted of what remained of the Pike, but that afternoon Bezkya saw two Brown Cranes on a meadow, and manoeuvring till they were in line killed both with one shot of his rifle at over 100 yards, the best shot I ever knew an Indian to make. Still, two Cranes totalling 16 pounds gross is not enough meat to last five men a week, so we turned to our Moosehunter.

"Yes, he could get a Moose." He went on in the small canoe with Billy; we were to follow, and if we passed his canoe leave a note. Seven miles above the log-jamb, the river forked south and west; here a note from the guide sent us up the South Fork; later we passed his canoe on the bank and knew that he had landed and was surely on his way "to market." What a comfortable feeling it was to remember that Bezkya was a moose-hunter! We left word and travelled till 7, having come 11 miles up from the river's mouth. Our supper that night was Crane, a little piece of bread each, some soup, and some tea.