Pat was a big white dog with a short bobtail. He also had a peculiar twist of the head and a squint of the eye which gave him a wise, knowing appearance. If he had lived in these latter days, and become possessed of eye-glasses, doubtless he would have been given a degree! The shrewd fellow seemed to know that his master was on an important mission, and the dignity of leading a train the owner and driver of which was on his way to be married, was fully apparent to "His Dogness." His demeanor en route and around camp was simply taking. Pat and his master gave us endless fun on that trip. When these would come up, which was generally after camp was made, the Chief Factor, the Chairman of the Hudson's Bay Missions, and the rest of our party became all attention, and Pat and his master were the centre of joke and fun. Their account of the morning's or afternoon's run (I say their, for Pat would by nod and look confirm his master's recital) was sure to "bring the house down." We were unanimously thankful during the days and nights of that very cold trip for the stimulating presence of Pat and our short-limbed bridegroom-elect.
During our second afternoon's run, while making through a rough country, we came to an exceedingly sidling place in the trail. Having sent my own load past and helped father over it, I thought I would wait and see what our rearguard was doing. After some time I heard "Marse, Pat!" coming from the little Scot's big lungs (for have you not noticed that Nature in the nice balance of her equity generally gives the little man a big pair of lungs), and soon Pat hove in sight, his tongue protruding, and the breath from his big mouth making little clouds of frozen vapor in the sharp cold air. The cunning old dog was making the appearance of doing it all, but all the while I could see that his traces were slack.
Soon dogs and sled were on the sidling road down the hill, and over went the cariole and down the slope rolled its contents. Pat and his companions felt the load lighten, and just then remembered that they were far behind, and in vain my friend shouted "Whoa, Pat, whoa!" On went the train, and now I came upon the scene. The bridegroom-elect shouted, "Catch those dogs, John! I say, John, stop those dogs!" Laughing as I ran, I caught and pulled Pat up, righted the cariole and held the train while the little Celt gathered up the fragments, which I saw largely consisted of presents from Edmonton friends to the marriage supper, now nearly two days nearer in view than when we started.
Nicely cut roasts of beef and pork, bottles of wine, and sundry parcels lay around in sweet confusion. It took some time to gather them up and pack them in place in that parchment-sided, primitive vehicle; and all this time his owner was discoursing on Pat's good qualities—"were it not for his big load he would take the lead," etc. After a time everything was adjusted again, and on we went, camping that night among the rolling hills west of Blindman's River.
Another "stingo" night and away long before day. Roads heavy, snow deep, day so cloudy and stormy that the promised view of the Rockies failed to realize. There were some of us in the party who had travelled far and wide in the North-West for from five to fifteen years, and as yet had not seen the mountains. We were now looking keenly for the first glimpse of them, but the third night came, and still because of cloud and storm we had not beheld them.
Our camp that night was made on the wooded summit of a foot-hill. We were climbing the world fast. If it had been moonlight or clear daylight we would have looked upon a sea of mountains, but darkness and storm and smoke were our portion instead. The smoke from our camp-fire found no vacuum in the overhanging atmosphere, but on the contrary was pressed to the ground about our camp. In fact the conditions were such that I think of that "hill summit camp" as one of the more disagreeable experiences of my frontier life. Gladly we left it while hours of the long night were still unspent, and as daylight came we were ascending another big foot-hill, from the summit of which I first beheld the glorious old Rockies.
Spellbound and in rapture I gazed upon the sublime spectacle before me. How supremely beyond my largest imaginings those lofty ranges stood revealed to the delighted senses. The clouds had disappeared, and in clear, distinct outline hundreds of snow-clad peaks stood out as if cut by a mighty diamond upon the dimly lighted morning sky. The beauty of the scene intensely moved me. The majesty and power apparent were most satisfying to my soul. The God who made these made me also: I felt exultant in the thought. But now the morning sun had clearly risen, and as I looked the highest peaks were illumined as by electric touch, and scores of great beacon-fires seemed to have sprung into instantaneous being. And the great picture quickly grew. Snow-clad summit and glacier glint and granite wall and forest growth speedily became transformed as with the touches of a million brushes. Halos of light, radiant and grandly bright, spread themselves upon the mighty canvas. In rapture I beheld and worshipped. I had seen a glimpse of the glory of the Eternal, and still I lived. As I reluctantly left the scene and ran to catch up with our party over the foot-hills and across the wide valley beyond, I was elated above measure. What matter the cost in travel and cold and extreme hardship, I had seen the mountains, and the sight would be a perennial blessing in my life.
When I came up to our party they were already descending the sloping bank of the Saskatchewan. Miles of this, and then an almost perpendicular jump or slide, and we were on the ice of the river, following up which for a couple of miles we reached the temporary fort.
It was early morn, but up went the flag, and the little metropolis was all excitement in consequence of our arrival. The Chief Factor in those days was supreme in his own district. And what a district! From below the junction of the two Saskatchewans it stretched to the Columbia, and from the forty-ninth parallel it extended to the north tributaries of the Peace River. Father's field was still larger, in that it stretched eastward down to below Oxford House and close to Hudson Bay.
No wonder the roughly built but strongly made fort was en fete when such ecclesiastical and commercial dignity came suddenly upon it. Our welcome was hearty, and that of our "rearguard" doubly so. We were fortunate in meeting here numbers of Mountain Stonies and Blackfeet, hardy, muscular mountaineers and wild plain Indians, both comparatively new types to me.