Pathfinding on Plain and Prairie / Stirring Scenes of Life in the Canadian North-west

by John McDougall

CHAPTER IX.

Our great camp a study of native types—I attend a "wolf feast"—A disgusting orgie—Paul and I start for home—Our horses stampede—Difficult tracking—Enormous herd of buffalo—Home again and all well—Party of half-breeds from the Red River settlement at our Mission—Father returns, bringing a brother and sister from Ontario.

In two or three days our camp grew immensely, and many distinct types of men were at hand for one to study and become acquainted with. The absorbing theme was the approaching festival. For this warriors were preparing, and many devotees were praying; for this every conjurer in the camp was making medicine, and day and night the tapping of drums and the intoning of religious songs went on. Morning and evening we also sang our hymns and held our services, and were ardently studying this new strange life—every day acquiring a better grip of the language and beginning to waken up to the largeness of its vocabulary.

One day I was invited to a "wolf feast." Being a learner I went, and was both shocked and amused at what I saw. About two dozen sat around in the large buffalo lodge, and before each one a big wooden dish of thick soup was placed. This soup was made by boiling slices of fat buffalo meat and wild lily roots together. Neither Maskepetoon nor myself took part. When each guest was served an old medicine-man began to chant in an unknown tongue, accompanying himself by swinging his rattles. By and by all who were to partake joined in the song of blessing. This over, each one drew his big bowl to him and at a signal put both hands into the hot soup, and feeling all through it for chunks of meat, pulled these to pieces and then began to cram the contents of the dish down his throat. While doing this, each one made a noise like the growling of a wolf. And now the race was fast and furious as to who should soonest swallow all that was given to him. The growling and snarling and gulping was terrible, and I was glad when it was over and one and another turned his wooden dish over. I had seen a wolf feast, but, as I told my friend the old Chief, I did not wish to see another. It was almost as nauseating as a drunken carousal amongst the cultured white men in the east! I noticed that it was only a certain class of these pagan men who thus brutalized themselves—that even in those early days the larger percentage of the Indians held aloof from such beastly orgies. Muddy Bull, mine host, laughed when I told him what I had seen, and said that only a few of his people ever thus disgraced themselves.

While the camp was all excitement in preparation for the annual festival, word was brought in that the buffalo had gone into the north between us and the Mission. This made it possible for war parties to go north also; and from what I heard in camp I began to be anxious about our folk at home. Finally I conferred with Maskepetoon and he said that it might be better for me to go in to the Mission. So I left the oxen and carts with Muddy Bull, held an evening service with our people, and then as darkness was coming on one night Paul and I left the large camp and took our course northward.

We went out in the dark because signs of the enemy had been noted, and as our party was small we did not want to be seen by those hostile to us. Steadily and in silence we rode, taking a straight course for Victoria. Some time after midnight we stopped on a hill to rest our horses. We had one horse packed with dried provisions, stored in two large saddle-bags, and unpacking and unsaddling I tied the end of the lariat which was on my horse's neck to these saddle-bags, and with my gun at hand stretched myself beside them, while our horses fed around us. The night was very cloudy and dark, and both Paul and I dozed. Suddenly our horses stampeded and made back towards the camp. Seizing our guns we ran after them, but when we could not hear the sound of their hoofs any longer we sat down and waited for daylight. Whether it was hostiles or wolves or buffalo which had stampeded our horses we could not tell; there was nothing to do but wait for daylight, and be ready for anything that might turn up in the meantime. So we sat in silence and in profound darkness, for the clouds had thickened. Soon the rain came down, and in a very short time we were completely drenched. Several times there were noises near us, but these came from buffalo who were on the move past. After what appeared an interminable time, morning broke dark and cloudy, and we began a search for our horses.

As the day grew lighter we found that great herds of buffalo had passed through the country, and it seemed as if every inch of ground was tracked up. The grass was cropped close, and for hours we walked to and fro, never far from where the last sound of our flying steeds had come. At last I caught sight of a buffalo chip which had been broken by something dragging over it, and then I found another, and concluded that my horse was dragging the saddle-bags behind him in his flight.

I signalled to Paul, and he, after examining this clue, came to the same conclusion, and slowly we followed this our only sign. Slowly from one buffalo chip to another we travelled, and when baffled one would stay with the last trace and the other go on and look for another, and finding this we continued our anxious search until about noon, when we came upon all but one of our horses. As my saddle-horse was still fast to the saddle-bags, the first thing we did was to take out some dried meat to appease our ravenous appetites. Then we retraced our way to the place we had stayed during the night. Finding our outfit intact, we saddled up and continued our journey, hoping that the one stray horse would be found later by some friendly hunters. This actually did take place, for some months later I found the horse at Edmonton, to which place he had been brought by some French half-breeds who had recognized him.

Now once more we were on our journey north. During the afternoon I had a revelation given me as to the number and nomadic character of the buffalo. I had by this time spent three years on the plains in the buffalo country, had seen great herds of these wild cattle, and thought I knew something about them. My food had consisted almost altogether of their meat. My bed, travelling or at home, was over and under their robes. But that afternoon, as we steadily trotted northward across country, and ever and anon broke into a canter, I saw more buffalo than I had ever dreamed of before. The woods and plains were full of them. During the afternoon we came to a large round plain, perhaps ten miles across, and as I sat my horse on the summit of a knoll looking over this plain, it did not seem possible to pack another buffalo into the space. The whole prairie was one dense mass, and as Paul and I rode around this large herd I could not but feel that my ideas concerning buffalo and the capability of this country to sustain them were very much enlarged. I had in the three years seen hundreds of thousands of buffalo, had travelled thousands of miles over new trails, but I had seen only a small number of the great herds, and but a very small portion of the great North-West. Truly these were God's cattle upon a thousand hills, and truly this greater Canada is an immense country.