This is really a remarkable incident, almost unique. I am glad to believe that I had something to do with causing such unusual forbearance.
CHAPTER XX
ON THE NYARLING
All night it rained; in the morning it was dull, foggy, and showery. Everything was very depressing, especially in view of this second defeat. The steady diet of Moose and tea was debilitating; my legs trembled under me. I fear I should be a poor one to stand starvation, if so slight a brunt should play such havoc with my strength.
We set out early to retrace the course of the Nyarling, which in spite of associated annoyances and disappointments will ever shine forth in my memory as the "Beautiful River."
It is hard, indeed, for words to do it justice. The charm of a stream is always within three feet of the surface and ten feet of the bank. The broad Slave, then, by its size wins in majesty but must lose most all its charm; the Buffalo, being fifty feet wide, has some waste water; but the Nyarling, half the size, has its birthright compounded and intensified in manifold degree. The water is clear, two or three feet deep at the edge of the grassy banks, seven to ten feet in mid-channel, without bars or obstructions except the two log-jambs noted, and these might easily be removed. The current is about one mile and a half an hour, so that canoes can readily pass up or down; the scenery varies continually and is always beautiful. Everything that I have said of the Little Buffalo applies to the Nyarling with fourfold force, because of its more varied scenery and greater range of bird and other life. Sometimes, like the larger stream, it presents a long, straight vista of a quarter-mile through a solemn aisle in the forest of mighty spruce trees that tower a hundred feet in height, all black with gloom, green with health, and gray with moss.
Sometimes its channel winds in and out of open grassy meadows that are dotted with clumps of rounded trees, as in an English park. Now it narrows to a deep and sinuous bed, through alders so rank and reaching that they meet overhead and form a shade of golden green; and again it widens out into reedy lakes, the summer home of countless Ducks, Geese, Tattlers Terns, Peetweets, Gulls, Rails, Blackbirds, and half a hundred of the lesser tribes. Sometimes the foreground is rounded masses of kinnikinnik in snowy flower, or again a far-strung growth of the needle bloom, richest and reddest of its tribe—the Athabaska rose. At times it is skirted by tall poplar woods where the claw-marks on the trunks are witness of the many Blackbears, or some tamarack swamp showing signs and proofs that hereabouts a family of Moose had fed to-day, or by a broad and broken trail that told of a Buffalo band passing weeks ago. And while we gazed at scribbled records, blots, and marks, the loud "slap plong" of a Beaver showed from time to time that the thrifty ones had dived at our approach.
On the way up Jarvis had gone first in the small canoe; he saw 2 Bears, 3 Beaver, and 1 Lynx; I saw nothing but birds. On the way down, being alone, the luck came my way.
At the first camp, after he left, we heard a loud "plong" in the water near the boat. Bezkya glided to the spot; I followed—here was a large Beaver swimming. The Indian fired, the Beaver plunged, and we saw nothing more of it. He told Billy, who told me, that it was dead, because it did not slap with its tail as it went down. Next night another splashed by our boat.
This morning as we paddled we saw a little stream, very muddy, trickling into the river. Bezkya said, "Beaver at work on his dam there." Now that we were really heading for flour, our Indian showed up well. He was a strong paddler, silent but apparently cheerful, ready at all times to work. As a hunter and guide he was of course first class. About 10.30 we came on a large Beaver sunning himself on a perch built of mud just above the water. He looked like a huge chestnut Muskrat. He plunged at once but came up again yards farther down, took another look and dived, to be seen no more.