La Ronde also brought the provoking intelligence that all the valuable horses we sent back to Fort Garry, in charge of Voudrie and Zear, had perished on the road through the carelessness of these worthless fellows.
Shortly after we were all comfortably asleep, we were aroused by the yelping of dogs, and presently heard some one stealthily entering the hut. It was pitch dark, and Milton hastily jumped out of bed and struck a light, which disclosed the Hunter, his father-in-law, and the whole family. They had heard of La Ronde’s return from the two young Indians who had visited us that day, and lost no time in coming to welcome him, and share in the good things which he had brought. We were very sulky at the disturbance, and they slunk quietly to sleep on the floor, dreadfully ashamed of themselves.
La Ronde continued seriously ill for several days, but when he became convalescent, we resumed the trapper’s life, varying it at times by spearing musk-rats, now in full season, and although somewhat strong flavoured, by no means despicable food. These animals are very numerous on all the lakes, and their houses of reeds dot the surface of the ice in winter like so many haycocks. They build these as soon as the water is frozen over, lining them with soft moss and grasses, and storing them with the aquatic plants on which they feed. A hole through the ice communicates with the water beneath, and at various distances breathing holes are kept open, covered with smaller mounds of cut reeds, about the size of mole-hills. As long as the frost remains severe the musk-rat’s house is impregnable; but when the sun shines on it with greater power, enemies force an entrance through the softening walls. The fox, the wolverine, and the mink prey upon the musk-rats towards the end of winter; and the Indian, armed with a long, slender spear, barbed at the point, approaches stealthily the family dwelling, and plunging the weapon through the middle of it, often impales two or three at a single thrust.
When the skunk-skin which served us as a weather-glass informed us through our noses that the thaw was at hand,[6] we looked eagerly forward to the prospect of hunting moose. We had found many tracks within a few miles of our house, and expected to have some good sport with the assistance of Rover. The surface of the snow thawed by the sun during the day is frozen into a firm crust by the night-frosts of the early spring. This is strong enough to bear a man on snow-shoes, or a dog of no great size, but breaks through beneath the small feet and gigantic weight of the moose. When pursued by a dog, the animal tries to escape; but sinking through up to the hocks at every stride, and wounded about the legs by the sharp ice, he soon turns to bay, and is easily shot by the hunter when he comes up. This is almost the only way, except by watching their bathing-places in the rivers and lakes in summer, that this wary animal can be killed by any but the most skilful hunters. Few half-breeds, and not every Indian, is expert enough to track and kill a moose under ordinary circumstances, and it is a saying amongst them that a man may follow moose all his life, and never even catch sight of one. Frequenting the thickest forests, where he can only be seen when close at hand, his sense of hearing is so acute that the snapping of the smallest twig or the crackling of a dry leaf is sufficient to give him warning. A windy day offers the best chance of approaching him, when the noises of the woods drown the sound of the hunter’s stealthy footsteps. The moose adopts a cunning stratagem to guard against surprise. When about to rest, he walks in a circle and lies down within it, close to the commencement of the curve. Thus the hunter following the track unconsciously passes close beside him as he lies concealed, and whilst his pursuer follows the trail ahead, he dashes away on one side unseen. This year, however, on the 30th of March, the thaw set in suddenly and completely, so that no firm crust formed on the snow, and our anticipations of sport were altogether disappointed.
Cheadle was at this time far away in the woods with Bruneau, and immediately started homewards. They were only able to travel at night, when it was frosty, for snow-shoes are useless in a thaw. On the second evening these broke down, from being continually wet, and they were obliged to flounder along as they could without them. Nothing can be more fatiguing than walking through deep snow at the commencement of the thaw. The thin crust on the surface will bear the weight of a man in some places, and you walk on triumphantly for a few yards, and then are suddenly shaken to pieces by crashing through up to your middle. Struggling on, wading through the mass until you come to another stronger portion, you step on to it, and are again let down with a run. Travelling like this all night brought them to the edge of the lake, only two miles from the hut. But they were too exhausted to proceed further, and lighting a good fire, lay down and slept for several hours, after which they were sufficiently restored to be equal to the walk home across the lake.
We now prepared to leave our winter quarters, as soon as the snow had disappeared sufficiently to admit of travelling with carts. The first thing to do was to find the horses, which had been turned loose at the commencement of the winter. We had seen them or their tracks from time to time, and knew in what direction they had wandered. La Ronde followed their trail without difficulty, and discovered them about eight or ten miles away. We were very much astonished at their fine condition when he drove them back to La Belle Prairie. Although very thin when the snow began to fall, and two of them had been used for sleigh work in the early part of the winter, they were now perfect balls of fat, and as wild and full of spirit as if fed on corn—a most unusual condition for Indian horses. The pasture is so nutritious that animals fatten rapidly even in winter—when they have to scratch away the snow to feed—if they find woods to shelter them from the piercing winds. No horses are more hardy or enduring than those of this country, yet their only food is the grass of the prairies and the vetches of the copses. The milch cows and draught oxen at Red River, and in Minnesota, feeding on grass alone, were generally in nearly as fine condition as the stall-fed cattle of the Baker Street Show.
On the 3rd of April we loaded our carts and turned our backs on La Belle Prairie, not without feelings of regret. Our Indian friends were all away, and we reluctantly set out without saying good-bye to either the Hunter or Misquapamayoo. On the 6th of April we reached the Saskatchewan, which we found still firmly frozen over, and crossed on the ice. At Carlton we found Treemiss, on his way back to England, and he started with La Ronde the next day for Red River. We sent Rover with them, as we were afraid of losing him after reaching British Columbia—a mistake we have never ceased to regret. As our guide forward we engaged Baptiste Supernat, a tall, powerful, French half-breed, who professed to know the route we intended to follow as far as Tête Jaune’s Cache, on the western side of the main ridge of the Rocky Mountains. After resting three days at the Fort, we re-crossed the river on the ice, already beginning to break up, and journeyed quietly along the northern bank, towards Fort Pitt. We took two carts and two horses with us, and as Baptiste was our only attendant, one of us drove, while the other walked ahead to look for game. The weather was beautifully bright and fine, and the snow had almost gone. Flocks of ducks and geese passed continually, and the whistling of their wings, as they flew overhead on their way northwards, went on incessantly all night, almost preventing sleep. The country we passed through was of the usual rich character—mingled woods, rolling prairies, and lakes and streams—except for one day’s journey, when we crossed a bleak and barren tract. This was a level plain, backed by an amphitheatre of bare, rugged hills. But beyond this, at a place called the Source, from a river which springs out of the ground there, the country resumed its former character.
Baptiste proved, like all his race, very talkative, and told us many curious stories, in the truth of which, perhaps, not very great faith could be placed. One of these tales was the following:—Many years ago, but within the memory of people still living, an Indian found a piece of native iron in the neighbourhood of Edmonton, which he carried out to the plains, and placed on the top of a hill. Since that time it had regularly increased in size, and was now so large that no man could lift it! The only thing which makes this tale worth mentioning, is that it obtains universal credence amongst the half-breeds. Many of them profess to have seen it, and one man told us he had visited it twice. On the first occasion he lifted it with ease; on the second, several years afterwards, he was utterly unable to move it! The man most solemnly assured us this was perfectly true.
Baptiste also told us that many years ago a nugget of gold was brought to Mr. Rowand, of Edmonton, by an Indian, who stated he had found it near the foot of the Rocky Mountains. The gold was forwarded to the Company in England, and the Indian strictly enjoined to tell no man, lest something evil should happen unto him.
At Jack Fish Lake we met Gaytchi Mohkamarn and some Wood Crees of our acquaintance. The former apologised for eating our meat in the winter, urging the dire necessity which compelled him. After accompanying us for a day, they left us, seeming really sorry that they would see us no more. The principal difficulty we met with in this part of our journey was the crossing of rivers, which were now bank full from the melted snows. We generally adopted the plan of making a small raft, on which one of us crossed; then, with a rope from either bank, we hauled the raft backwards and forwards, until the baggage was all ferried over. The horses were made to swim the stream, and the carts dragged across. This we found rather miserable work, standing up to our knees in the icy water, sometimes in the chilly evening, or the raw cold of early morning.