“This winter had been a severe one; death had struck heavily into the tribe; in these three wigwams six women had died. It was true each brave still had three or four wives left, but moose were plenty, and a man with six helpmates could be rich in dry meat and moose leather. Tea was the pressing want. Without tea the meat of the moose was insipid; without tea and tobacco the loss of even the fifth or sixth rib became a serious affair.”
I endeavoured to find out the cause of this mortality among the poor hunters, and it was not far to seek. Constitutions enfeebled by close intermarriage, and by the hardships attending upon wild life in these northern regions, were fast wearing out. At the present rate of mortality the tribe of the Beavers will soon be extinct, and with them will have disappeared the best and the simplest of the nomad tribes of the north.
“At-tal-loo” was made happy with tea and tobacco, and we went our way. Another doughty chief, named “Twa-poos,” probably also regarded tea as the elixir of life, and the true source of happiness; but as my servitor still continued to regard my stock of the luxury as a very excellent medium for the accumulation of stray marten skins for his own benefit, it was perhaps as well that I should only know “Twa-poos” through the channel of hearsay.
On the morning of the 25th of March we emerged from the tortuous little Buffalo River upon the majestic channel of the Peace. Its banks were now deeply furrowed beneath the prairie level, its broad surface rolled away to the south-west, 500 yards from shore to shore. The afternoon came forth bright and warm; from a high ridge on the left shore a far-stretching view lay rolled before us—the Eagle Hills, the glistening river, the wide expanse of dark forest and white prairie; and above, a sky which had caught the hue and touch of spring, while winter still stood intrenched on plain and river.
Late that evening we reached the hut of a Cree Indian. A snow-storm closed the twilight, and all sought shelter in the house: it was eight feet by twelve, in superficial size, yet nineteen persons lay down to rest in it, a Cree and his wife, an Assineboine and his wife, eight or ten children, and any number of Swampy, Ojibbeway, and half-breeds. Whenever the creaky door opened, a dozen dogs found ingress, and dodged under and over the men, women, and children in hopeless confusion.
The Assineboine squaw seemed to devote all her energies to the expulsion of the intruders; the infants rolled over the puppy dogs, the puppy dogs scrambled over the infants, and outside in the snow and on the low roof Cerf-vola and his friends did battle with a host of Indian dogs. So the night passed away. Next morning there was no track. We waded deep in the snow, and made but slow progress. Things had reached a climax with my crew; they had apparently made up their minds to make a long, slow journey. They wanted to camp at any Indian lodge they saw, to start late and to camp early, to eat, smoke, and talk, to do everything in fact but travel.
I was still nearly 150 miles from Dunvegan, and as much more from that mountain range whose defiles I hoped to reach ere the ice road on which I travelled had turned to a rushing stream. Already the sun shone strong in the early afternoon, and the surface snow grew moist under his warm rays, and here were my men ready to seek any excuse for loitering on the way.
About noon one day we reached a camp of Crees on the south shore of the river. Moose-meat was getting scarce, so I asked my yellow rascal to procure some tit-bits from the camp in exchange for tea. The whole party at once vanished into the tents, while I remained with the dogs upon the river. Presently my friend reappeared; he “could only get a rib-piece or a tough leg.” “Then don’t take them,” I said. I saw the rascal was at his old work, so taking some tea and tobacco, I went up myself to the tents; meantime the men, women, and children had all come out to the shore. I held up the tea and pointed to the moose-meat; in an instant the scene changed—briskets, tongues, and moose-noses were brought out, and I could have loaded my dogs with tit-bits had I wished; still I pretended to find another motive for my henchman’s conduct. “See,” I said to him, “I make a better trader with Indians than you do. They would only give you the tough bits; I can get noses enough to load my dogs with.”
But the camp possessed an attraction still more enticing; early that morning I had observed the Indians and half-breeds arraying themselves in their gayest trappings. The half-breed usually in dressing himself devotes the largest share of attention to the decoration of his legs; beads, buckles, and embroidered ribbons flutter from his leggings, and his garters are resplendent with coloured worsted or porcupine-quill work.
These items of finery had all been donned this morning in camp, the long hair had been carefully smeared with bear’s fat, and then I had not long to wait for an explanation of all this adornment. In one of the three Cree tents there dwelt two good-looking squaws; we entered this tent, the mats were unrolled, the fire replenished, and the squaws set to work to cook a moose nose and tongue for my dinner. Dinner over, the difficulty began; the quarters were excellent in the estimation of my men. It would be the wildest insanity to think of quitting such a paradise of love and food under at least a twenty-four hours’ delay.