Mr. O’B. hastily drew back his hand stretched out to take the pistol, considered—hesitated—and at last decided that perhaps he had better not meddle with so dangerous a weapon. He contented himself with taking the large axe to bed with him, although it may be doubted whether he would have used it very effectually if occasion had required. We were all much excited at The Assiniboine’s story, and at once resolved to go in pursuit of the bears at daybreak next morning. As soon as it became light we prepared for the hunt. The woman and boy were to accompany us in order to search for the beaver which Assiniboine had killed the night before, Mr. O’B., to his infinite dismay, being left alone in charge of the camp. He remonstrated strongly, and dilated upon the probability of the bears taking advantage of our absence to attack the undefended position. Finding we were inflexible, “Delirant reges, plectuntur Achivi,” said Mr. O’B. disconsolately, and immediately retired within the lodge, let down the door, made up a tremendous fire to scare away the enemy, and remained seated, with the axe by his side, in anxious expectation until our return. We proceeded under the guidance of The Assiniboine to the scene of his adventure the previous evening. There we found every detail of his narrative confirmed—the rotten trunks torn asunder, the huge footprints of the bears in the soft soil or long grass, worn into a beaten track where they had so repeatedly charged up to him, his own track as he took the circuitous route to his second position behind the logs; and leading away from the place, the marks of the three bears going off at speed. It appeared, however, that they had not left the neighbourhood until that morning, for we found very fresh tracks crossing the stream, and on the opposite bank, a wet line marked by the drippings from the shaggy coats of the animals after emerging from the water.
We followed on, The Assiniboine leading, at a great pace, yet with wonderful stillness, through the thick underwood, finding from time to time fresher and still fresher signs—a rotten log newly torn open, a bees’ nest just dug up, and footmarks in which the grass seemed still rising after the removal of the pressure. We were in a high state of excitement, stealthily advancing, with guns cocked and bated breath, expecting every moment to see their terrible forms close to us, when we came upon a hard, grassless stretch of ground, where the men were unable to follow the tracks, and, after a long search, were, much to our chagrin, compelled to give up the pursuit.
Milton and Baptiste returned to camp to pack up and proceed on the journey, Cheadle and Assiniboine being bent on following a fresh moose-track which we had crossed. They rejoined the party before nightfall, without having succeeded in finding the animal they had followed.
When Milton arrived near the camp, he observed Mr. O’B.’s head cautiously protruded from the lodge door, taking an observation, and when he perceived that human beings, and not bears, were approaching, he ventured forth, welcoming them with great glee, and discoursing on the dreadful suspense he had endured during their absence.
On the following day, when Cheadle was about to start ahead of the party, for the sake of meeting with game, Mr. O’B. warned him to be very careful, advising him to load both barrels with ball, and carry his gun on full cock, ready for emergency. Cheadle, however, told him it was necessary to have one barrel loaded with small shot for the feathered game, and marched off laughing, Mr. O’B. looking after him with an expression of pity, and shaking his head ominously. Milton and the rest travelled on nearly the whole day, wondering that they did not find Cheadle at mid-day, as usual, waiting for them in some convenient camping ground. Cursing his folly for leading them so far, they at last pulled up in despair, and waited, in the belief that he must have lost his way. Mr. O’B., however, took a different view. “My lord,” said he to Milton, “you may depend upon it the Doctor has met those bears. I’ve warned him repeatedly against the rashness of walking alone in this way. It was only this very morning, as you heard, I advised him to be careful, and load both barrels with ball. But he only laughed at me, and walked off with his gun on half-cock, carelessly thrown over his shoulder. And now you see the terrible consequences. There is not the slightest doubt that he has been surprised by those three bears, and torn to pieces, poor fellow!” Mr. O’B.’s prophecies of evil were, however, upset by the appearance of the missing man. He had lost his way in a series of swamps, and with some difficulty retraced his steps to the right track. Then he had a long, stern chase to catch the rest, who had, in the meantime, passed on before him.
A short stage in the afternoon, passing through firmer ground, still thickly covered with pines, and ankle-deep in a profusion of oak and beech fern, brought us to the banks of the McLeod, where we camped for the night.
The McLeod is a fine stream, about 150 yards broad, flowing over a rocky, pebbly bed, and clear and shallow like the Pembina. The channel of the latter where we crossed it was clean cut through soft strata, with perpendicular cliffs on either side; whilst the banks of the McLeod are wider apart, rising steeply, but not vertically, to a greater height, and richly clothed with pine and aspen. The McLeod is subject to great floods at certain seasons, as evidenced by the great boulders strewn high along the shore, and the collections of driftwood accumulated at different points and turns of the river. On the following day we forded it without difficulty, and sending the men forward with the pack animals, hitched our horses to a tree, and stopped to prospect for gold.
After washing two or three pans of “dirt,” we found but slight and doubtful traces of the precious metal, and re-ascended the bank to follow our party. Our horses had, however, broken loose and disappeared, but after a short distance, we discovered Milton’s, pulled up by the bridle, which had caught on a stump. The other horse was not to be found. We came up with the train, resting at a beaver swamp, and found that Cheadle’s horse had joined the rest, but without bridle. The large axe, too, had tumbled out of one of the packs, and we were compelled to delay a couple of hours whilst the men went back in search of the missing articles. The bridle was found, but the axe—far more important, since it was the only large one we possessed—we did not recover.
The heat was very great, and the mosquitoes and gad-flies—called “bull-dogs” by the half-breeds—tormented the horses to such an extent that, in spite of the large green-wood fire which we made for their benefit—the smoke keeping off the insects—they were unable to feed, and rushed madly about in their distress. The “bull-dog,” or tabanus, is a large fly, about twice the size of a “bluebottle,” with a long body, banded with yellow, like that of the wasp, and its mouth is armed with a formidable cutting apparatus of four lancets. They are very numerous in wooded or swampy country, and are very fierce and persistent in their attacks on both men and animals. The “bull-dog” settles lightly and unnoticed on any exposed portion of the skin, and the first warning of his presence is a sharp stab, like that of a needle, which makes the sufferer wince again. There is, however, no after-irritation or swelling, as is the case with the sting of a mosquito. The horses suffer dreadfully from these creatures in the summer, and their necks—a part which they cannot reach with either head or tail to brush off their tormentors—are covered with great clusters of these vampires, and dripping with blood.
After crossing the McLeod, we continued to follow the western bank pretty closely, the road being worse than any we had yet encountered, the ground very boggy, and the pines closely set. The trail is merely cut of sufficient width to allow of one horse with his pack to pass, and this is encumbered with roots and fallen trees, for the travellers in this region never delay to remove any obstructions a horse can possibly be forced to jump or scramble over. The mossy crust having been broken through by repeated tramplings, the horses sink up to their hocks in the boggy substratum, while the thick wall of timber on either side prevents any escape to firmer ground. A day’s journey on the road to Jasper House generally consists of floundering through bogs, varied by jumps and plunges over the timber which lies strewn, piled, and interlaced across the path and on every side. The horses stick fast in the mire, tumble crashing amongst the logs, or, driven to desperation, plunge amongst the thickly-growing trees at the side, where they are generally quickly brought up by the wedging of their packs in some narrow passage between contiguous trunks.