It was on one of the trips we made at this time that we were stopping for the day in Ka-kake's camp, which was situated beside a pound for catching buffalo, when, hearing of another cluster of lodges some ten or twelve miles distant, I made a run over to see the people, and while coming back the same afternoon I ran across a fine herd of buffalo. As my leader was obedient to the word, I thought "now is my chance to run that herd over to the pound." I had no load whatever on the sled, so I gripped the ground-lashing with both hands and feet, and sent the dogs after the herd, or rather to one side of it. My dogs went into the hunt most heartily, and sometimes brought me dangerously near to the flying mass. Then I would get them under control again, and on we went from side to side, but always nearing the point of timber where the pound was. Presently we came within the lines of "dumb-watchers," and now these helped us, and I kept looking, when I could spare a glance, to see some move in camp. But as the lodges were behind the bluff, and the Indians did not look for buffalo at the time, no one saw us until it was too late to prepare and run the herd into the pound; so, after bringing the buffalo close up to camp, I had the bitterness of seeing them break through the "head sentinels" and dash away.
But what a ride I had that afternoon, my big dogs jumping together, and with long leaps making the sled leap also. It required a firm grip to stay on that narrow sled, and also dexterous poising to keep right side up. Down hills, across valleys, over knolls, jumping the rough frozen snow where thousands of buffalo had rooted and tramped only a few days before, certainly that was a toboggan ride with a race against a herd of buffalo thrown in; and the only disappointment was that after bringing the bunch to the pound, the Indians were not there to receive them.
When Ka-kake came in that evening he loudly lamented that we had not been seen in time, for, said he, "It would have given a name to this part of the country and to my camp, and men would have pointed to this as the place where John brought buffalo into the pound with his dog-train."
One day in February, 1866, while I was at home, my mother, coming down stairs, congratulated me on the birth of a daughter, and when I knew that mother and child were well I mentally and consciously made a step forward in being. It was as God would have it. We gave our first-born the good old Scotch name of Flora, which also belonged to my youngest sister.
About the middle of March father made another pastoral visit to Edmonton, and as we remained over for Monday, I went out to St. Albert, the Roman Catholic Mission north of Edmonton, to find, if I could, some domestic chickens, as mother had often expressed a strong desire for some. It took me all day to drive about twenty-five miles and find the chickens and buy them, the latter two enterprises being the most difficult of the three. At last I purchased three birds, two hens and a cock, paying for them eight shillings each—six dollars to start a poultry farm in our part of the country!
Wild-duck eggs were very good in their place, but unfortunately for cooking purposes these were generally some way on in the process of incubation before we obtained them, and mother with her eastern ideas did long for a few fresh eggs occasionally.
I was quite proud of my purchase, but was rather taken aback when at the supper table that evening the august Chief Factor inquired of me what I had paid for those chickens, and when I told him eight shillings each, he pooh-poohed the whole thing; and while I was not prepared for such criticism, I could but answer that this was largely a matter of sentiment, that I had often been where if I had it I would have given all that to hear a cock crow. The old gentleman gave me up as incorrigible. However, to the credit of humanity it must be said that we are not all Peters. The crow of a cock or the tinkling of a cow-bell often have been as sweetest music in the ear of a poor lost traveller.
CHAPTER XV.
David and I visit Lac la Biche—High-priced seed wheat—Our party sets out for Pigeon Lake—Old Joseph—Paul Chian—Samson—Our larder depleted—We organize a hunt—Precarious living—Old Paul proves himself a skilful guide—Samson tells of a tragic murder by Blackfeet—We move cautiously—Broiled owlets as a delicacy—I shoot an elk—Little Paul's flint-lock hangs fire—Samson's brilliant hunting feats—Feasting on antlers.