Within a couple of days we were once more a united family and mother's joy was full. I was particularly pleased to note the manner of both my sister and brother towards my wife. The fact of her being a native did not in anywise affect the kindliness of their conduct towards her, for which I was very thankful.
CHAPTER X.
We return to Pigeon Lake—"Scarred Thigh" exchanged for "Blackfoot"—Planting Gospel seed—We organize a buffalo hunt—A moose chase—The buffalo as a "path-finder"—We encounter a hostile camp—All night on guard—My friend Mark's daring exploit—Wood Stonies visit the Mission—Gambling, polygamy and superstition among the Indians.
Now that father was home again I and my party were at liberty to start back to Pigeon Lake, which we did under instructions to remain there until the Indians should start out for the winter, when we were to return to Victoria. I was very sorry to part with Paul at this time, he having decided to go to the plains with the colony of half-breeds for the fall provision hunt. Also with him I separated from "Scarred Thigh," my horse for the last three years.
My readers in "SADDLE, SLED AND SNOWSHOE" will remember that I mentioned a horse called "Blackfoot," taken in battle, and the winner of many a long race. This horse had come to Paul through his wife. He had been stolen from him by those who thought that might was right, but Paul, being a plucky fellow, had taken him back, and as he had more or less trouble guarding the horse, I happened to suggest to him one day that we might make an exchange. He gladly accepted my offer, and now instead of "Scarred Thigh" I had the noted "Blackfoot." Nevertheless I was sorry to see the little sorrel go. Many a glorious gallop we had had together, and I had grown to love the gentle fellow. But Paul was a natural gentleman, and he also must be considered. In the meantime Muddy Bull had come in from the plains with our oxen and carts, the latter loaded with fine dried provisions. Quite a large camp also had come to the Mission, and from these father traded more provisions. Thus we did not start empty-handed on our return trip to the Western Mission at the lake.
Westward we rolled with our carts, every encampment our home for the time. Reaching the spot where we were detained by storm and sickness during the spring, we left the carts and packed on through the woods to the lake, where very soon our people began to settle down around us. Our gardens under the continued neglect now promised little result for the earlier efforts; but the fish in the lakes were exceedingly plentiful, and upon these we almost altogether subsisted. Our dried provisions we were obliged to share with the wandering people who came to us from the north and west, and who had not been out on the plains as we had. We held meetings twice a day on week-days, and, I might almost say, all day Sunday. What our ministrations lacked in quality they fully made up in quantity. And some of those simple services were blessed seasons where souls were born into the kingdom of our Christ. The conjurer might sing and drum as he would, and the intensely conservative pagan decry us as he pleased, our work kept growing as the weeks passed in quick succession, one camp going and another coming to take its place, and we putting in our best efforts to sow the seeds of Christianity.
Presently some Mountain Stonies came to us, men whom I had never seen before. Among them was Mark, of whom I will have more to say as my narrative progresses. These brought word of buffalo near where the village of Lacombe now is, on the line of the Calgary and Edmonton Railway, and as my friend Jacob and his stalwart brothers and cousins were with us at the time, we concluded to take a run out for meat.
Mrs. McDougall remained at the Mission with a few of the older people, and the most of the rest started off early one day. With these I sent my pack-horses and necessary outfit, and with Jacob, Mark and others I followed in the afternoon. Our course was around the north end of Pigeon Lake, then over the "divide" to Battle Lake, and thence down the Battle River. My companions and I had not yet reached the head of the lake, when we saw a big buck moose plunge into the water across the bay and strike out straight for a point of timber which was between us and the Mission. The huge animal was making quick time, and his great antlers and long ears were high out of the water as with strong strokes he cut through the lake.
The nature of the ground where we were was such that we could make better time on foot than with horses. Accordingly we left our mounts, and ran back a distance of about a mile to intercept the moose. I was on the spot some time before the next best, and as the big buck was coming straight for where I was in hiding, I fully expected to have the first shot; but while he was still more than a hundred yards away, and fairly rushing through the water by the force of his swimming power, and even as I stood behind a tree admiring the noble fellow, suddenly there came a shot from down the shore and the moose fell over almost without a struggle, being fairly hit just under the butt of his big antler. I jumped out on the beach, and looking in the direction of the report saw my friend Jacob quietly loading his old flint-lock, a significant smile overspreading his face. I shouted to him, "If you did take my shot you made a very good one;" to which he answered, "It was enough for you to have left us in the race," and thus we were mutually appeased and complimented.