We arranged our carts as a bulwark on one side at a spot where a small hill gave us protection on the other. We gathered and picketed our horses close up, saddling the speediest, and got all our ammunition ready. Then Samson went out to join Mark. Presently the two came in on the jump to tell us that a mirage had deceived everybody, that the trailing party was nothing more formidable than a big pack of wolves! Our alarm thus allayed, we journeyed on, not unmindful, however, of the episode, for I had run around rushing in the horses and placing the carts quite regardless of the numerous beds of cactus, and now the soles of my feet were like fire because of the many small points which had entered them.
The unwritten law as to hunting rights which obtained at that time was as follows: When on the journey from one part of the country to another, say, to and from a Mission station or between Hudson's Bay posts to the herds of buffalo and back, everything killed was common property—that is, all who came to the kill had common share of the meat; but when fairly into the buffalo range, and at the work of making provisions, then each man handled and kept his own hunt. There was also a well understood law that the owner of a buffalo horse also owned whatever was killed from the back of his horse. Many a time after I became proficient in the art of selecting the fat ones, and had gained a reputation as a shot, Indians would bring me their best horses to ride in a hunt. And as I was often in camp merely visiting, many an exciting time I had with the strange horses, and many a man and his whole family came to hear me sing and preach because I had won their admiration by my handling of their pet horse.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Into the timber country again—Craving for vegetable food—Wild rhubarb a treat—I shoot a big beaver—My horse objects to carrying it—A race for the life of my child—Terrific fight between my dogs and a huge wolverine—Reach Pigeon Lake and find father there—Anxiety felt for our party—A meagre bill of fare—A visit to Victoria—I narrowly escape drowning—Father leaves for Ontario, taking with him my three sisters—Francis leaves us to return to Victoria—My varied offices among the Indians.
On the twenty-sixth day from our leaving the points of timber we again entered them, and as all in our party were "forest people," there was joy in every heart. We are tremendously governed by sentiment. Our spirits like the barometer rise and fall, subject to environment. And now with carts and travois and pack-animals loaded, and with our stock and scalps intact, we were once more in the outer stretchings of the great northern woodlands. Moreover, we were so hungry for something vegetable that we eagerly partook of the first edible food that was found. We roasted and boiled and ate freely of what is known as the wild rhubarb, and also ate the inner bark of the poplar and drank the sap.
I remember with what joy I came upon a bed of wild rhubarb as we were approaching the timber. Flinging myself from my horse, I cut a bunch of the rhubarb, and quickly making a willow fire, roasted and ate ravenously of it, and felt it did me good. The same afternoon, as our party was travelling on, I rode away to one side to watch for beaver. The ripple of the water breaking over the dam told me where they were. Fastening my horse I quietly drew near, and by and by heard the splash of one as he came out of his house into the pond. Presently I saw the beaver swimming towards me, and, waiting my chance as he drew near, I shot him.
But now that I had my beaver I found that the horse I rode would not let me place him on his back. I worked for a long time to pacify the sensitive brute, but of no avail. Finally I determined to tie the end of my lariat to the beaver, and mounting first, pull him into the saddle; and after a lot of backing and plunging I finally succeeded in landing the beaver across in front of me, and thus rode on into camp, but determining all the way to take a quieter horse the next time I went beaver hunting.
On we rolled, crossing the streams tributary to the Battle River, and when we had crossed the river, I concluded to send Francis round by the new cart road we had made in coming out, while with my own family I should strike straight in by Bear's Hill for Pigeon Lake and the Mission. All of the Indians who had not carts would come the same way, but follow more slowly.
While on this trip I had two experiences worth relating. I was riding ahead and had my little daughter Flora in the saddle with me. My sleigh dogs, who were now big and fat, were with me. Presently, passing near a shallow lakelet, I caught sight of a moulting goose making for the grass. Dropping my little girl down by the path, and telling her to pick flowers and stay quiet, that "papa would come back soon," I galloped over to the spot where I saw the goose disappear. Of course, all the dogs came with me, and very soon we found the goose. I quickly wrung its neck, and remounting my horse dashed back to where my child was, and away bounded the pack of dogs also. The goose hunt had excited them, and they were racing one another; and now I saw that if I did not reach the child before they did, the strong possibility was the wild brutes would tear the little one to pieces. The race was short and quick, but my intense fear made it seem like an age.