Bob Hunt in Canada

by George W. Orton

"Well," said Bob, "though Joe told me the story in his own very laconic fashion, I am sure that it was much more interesting than I can make it. I'll do the best I can, however."

"All right, then," said Bill, "go ahead."

"When Joe was a young man he once came hunting far north of this country in the company of an old Montagnais chief named Howling Wolf. They started out late in November, expecting to get back about Christmas time. They went up the Portneuf River, which was frozen over then, and made good progress. They had very good success from the start. Contrary to what they had generally experienced, the further north they went the better was the hunting. They were led on by this unexpected factor to go much farther north than they had ever been before. They had three dog teams along and were provisioned for a three months' trip. Their good fortune lured them on and it was almost Christmas before they awoke to the fact that they must soon get started home or they might get into serious trouble because of lack of provisions.

"Let's see if we can get some deer meat so that we can stay longer," said Howling Wolf one day. Joe consented and they went out with this idea in view. They were very successful. They both brought in a deer and at the end of a week, they had quite a lot of meat on hand. Things thus went along until shortly after Christmas, as sometimes happens, the game suddenly became scarce. They could not get a deer or even a rabbit. In addition, the winter came on in earnest. One heavy fall of snow was followed by another and they were kept close to their quarters. The heavy weather continued and they determined to make for the south just as soon as it became possible to do so.

"About the tenth of January, they left for the south. They made good progress, though their provisions became lower and lower. At last they were on very short rations and it was under these conditions that Howling Wolf had the misfortune to break his leg. Joe bound up the leg as best he could, but the injured man made progress all the slower. As Joe found that the extra burden slowed down the dogs so much in the heavy snow, he determined to cache one load of pelts, make use of the extra dogs and hurry on. Food was very low and if they should hit a week's storm he could easily see that he would have the greatest difficulty getting out to Escoumains.

"As bad luck would have it, a regular blizzard came on and for four days, Joe and Howling Wolf had to lie low in a rude shelter that Joe had hastily thrown up when overtaken by the blizzard. It was impossible to keep a fire burning as the snow came down in icy particles that made wandering from camp a foolhardy undertaking. Howling Wolf on several occasions begged Joe to leave him there and go on his way. Like the Indian that he was, he felt that the storm gods were against them and he had given up.

"Before they left their improvised shelter, Joe had to sacrifice three of the dogs to furnish food for the other dogs. Joe also stated that he made his first hearty meal for several days on some dog steaks that he had kept for himself and Howling Wolf. At last they got away, but on the very next night they were attacked by a large band of wolves, and though they succeeded in driving them off it was only at the expense of almost their last cartridges and the loss of three more dogs. Joe spoke again of the heroism of Howling Wolf, who sat up in his sledge and shot at the wolves, though they threatened to overwhelm him and Joe on more than one rush that they made. Joe said nothing of himself but one's imagination can easily picture these two hardy hunters, sheltered only by their sledges, making a fight for life against a large pack of hungry wolves.

"When the storm was over and the wolves had been driven off, there were over a dozen dead wolves lying around. Joe stated that knowing that he could not get the pelts out, he had been compelled to leave the wolves unskinned. In fact, the most vivid impression made on Joe by this fight for his very life seemed to lie in the fact that twelve fine wolf skins had to be left there. The further loss of the dogs made it necessary for Joe to cache all the rest of his pelts. He did this very reluctantly, for he felt that unless he could get back before the winter was over, he would lose all the fine skins they had gotten by their hard work. Then, with hardly any grub and only a few cartridges, one dog team and a big heavy Indian with a broken leg as a load, Joe started off for Escoumains, at least one hundred and twenty miles away.

"When Joe told me this, he did so in just as matter-of-fact a way as if it were the most ordinary occurrence for a man to find himself far to the north in the depth of winter, practically without grub and without ammunition. The latter was really practically useless anyway, for the heavy snow seemed to have sent everything alive into their winter burrows. Joe could not take time to go hunting anyway, but he felt it would be useless, for though he kept his eyes alert, he did not cross a single track. Bad luck seemed to follow their journey out just as good luck had urged them further and further north.

"Another heavy storm came on and for three days Joe was compelled to lie quiet waiting for the weather to break. By this time the grub had entirely disappeared and only two dogs were left. Though the storm stopped in the middle of the night, Joe got his two Eskimo huskies out of their snow beds, hitched himself to the sledge also and started on. By the end of that day they had covered nearly thirty miles, according to Joe's reckoning, and both he and the dogs were practically exhausted. There was no food for man nor beast, so Joe once more had recourse to the dogs. He had to kill one of his favorite dogs. This was the only part of the story in which Joe showed any trace of excitement or sentiment. The killing of that favorite dog was evidently a very hard task for Joe.