CHAPTER XIV.
An Evening Guest—Not Mother's Bread.
I have previously mentioned the presence of nine dogs at an Indian camp, where members of our party spent a night. One of these animals is deserving of special mention, for the reason that he was a stranger among a strange people, and he was evidently so against his own choice. He had at one time been a fine, large mastiff. His history was never learned in full, but from an account of the animal, gained by questioning the Indians who had him in captivity, it was learned that the dog had belonged at some lumber camp. It often happens that the midday meal for most of the men in a large logging crew must be taken out on a sled, usually drawn by a single horse, for a distance of not infrequently three or four miles from the cook's camp. This is the work of the cookee; and, at the logging camp where the mastiff had belonged, the animal had been used instead of a horse, to pull the load of the midday meal out to the men at work. In what manner he had been left behind when the camp broke in the spring, was not learned.
"The memorable fire ... which swept Hinckley". (Page [160].)
He was about the size of two or three ordinary Indian dogs, and was correspondingly less sprightly in his movements. He was very poor when members of our party first saw him. Indian dogs never get enough to eat, and this poor fellow with his large frame, had the appearance of not receiving any more for his portion of food than an average Indian dog, if as much. He looked as though he were hungry, and probably was, every day. The particular action that impressed itself upon every member of our party, was this animal's almost human desire for sympathy that he sought from this party of white men, when he and they first met at the Indian camp. He wagged his tail and passed from one member of our party to another, with an expression of unusual joy. He rubbed against us and almost begged to be caressed. Every man of our party pitied him and would gladly have sent him out to the white man's country, had it been at all practicable to have done so.
Later in the fall, I was camped for a single night, some three hundred yards distant from the Indian encampment, on the shore of a lake that I must cross the following morning. While I was preparing my evening meal, this mastiff made his appearance, wagging his tail, and wishing by his actions to say, "I am glad to see you, and have come to call on you." It is the custom of the land hunter, as well as other frontiersmen, when paddling his canoe across a lake, to throw out a trolling line; and not infrequently, in those northern lakes, a catch of several fish may thus be made. On that day, such had been my experience, and I had in my possession, several fine wall-eyed pike that I intended to take through to the main camp, which I should reach on the following day. I also had a small bag of corn meal, which I sometimes used as a substitute for oatmeal, in cooking a porridge for my own use. While preparing my supper, I took the largest kettle, filled it with water, and placed it over the fire. I then cut into small pieces, a number of the fish, and put them in the kettle to boil. Later I added some corn meal and cooked all together. When it was sufficiently done, I removed one-half of the pail's contents and spread it out on a large piece of birch bark to cool. When it had cooled sufficiently, I invited my welcome guest, the mastiff, to partake of the food. Every mouthful eaten was accompanied by a friendly wag of the animal's tail. The portion remaining in the pail I hung on a limb, high enough up in the tree to be out of reach. The dog remained about the camp, and when I lay down in my blankets for the night, he curled down at my feet and there remained until morning.
While I was preparing my own breakfast, I took the pail from the tree and placed it over a small fire, that I might give my guest a warm breakfast. I spread out on the same birch bark, all that remained in the pail, and it was eaten to the last morsel by the grateful animal.