*CHAPTER X.*
_*THE DOG-SLED.*_
A cloud of smoke from its many wigwam fires overhung the Indian camp asLouison and Wilfred drew near. The hunter's son, with his quick ear,stole cautiously through the belt of pine trees which sheltered it fromthe north wind, listening for any sounds of awakening life. Yesterday'sadventure had no doubt been followed by a prolonged feast, and men anddogs were still sleeping. A few squaws, upon whom the hard work of theIndian world all devolves, were already astir. Louison thought theywere gathering firewood outside the camp. This was well. Louison hunground about the outskirts, watching their proceedings, until he saw onewoman behind a wigwam gathering snow to fill her kettle. Her pappoosein its wooden cradle was strapped to her back; but she had seen or heardthem, for she paused in her occupation and looked up wondering.
Louison stepped forward.
"Now for your questions, my boy," he said to Wilfred, "and I will playinterpreter."
"Is there an old squaw in your camp named the Far-off-Dawn?"
Wilfred needed no interpreter to explain the "caween" given in reply.
"Tell her, Louison," he hurried on, "she was with me the night beforelast. I thought she left me to follow this trail. If she has notreached this camp, she must be lost in the snow."
"Will not some of your people go and look for her," added Louison, onhis own account, "before you move on?"
"What is the use?" she asked. "Death will have got her by this time.She came to the camp; she was too old to travel. If she is alive, shemay overtake us again. We shall not move on until another sunrising, torest the horses."
"Then I shall go and look for her," said Wilfred resolutely.
"Not you," retorted Louison; "wait a bit." He put his hand in hispockets. They had been well filled with tea and tobacco, in readinessfor any emergency. "Is not there anybody in the camp who will go andlook for her?"
Louison was asking his questions for the sake of the information heelicited, but Wilfred caught at the idea in earnest. "Go and see,"urged Louison, offering her a handful of his tea.
"The!" she repeated. The magic word did wonders. Louison knew if one ofthe men were willing to leave the camp to look for Pe-na-Koam, nofurther mischief was intended. But if they were anticipating arepetition of "the high old time" they had enjoyed yesterday, not one ofthem could be induced to forego their portion in so congenial a lark,for in their eyes it was nothing more.
The squaw took the tea in both her hands, gladly leaving her kettle inthe snow, as she led the way into the camp.
Wilfred, who had only seen the poor little canvas tents of the Crees,looked round him in astonishment. In the centre stood the lodge or moyaof the chief--a wigwam built in true old Indian style, fourteen feethigh at the least. Twelve strong poles were stuck in the ground, rounda circle fifteen feet across. They were tied together at the top, andthe outside was covered with buffalo-skins, painted black and red in allsorts of figures. Eagles seemed perching on the heads of deers, andserpents twisted and coiled beneath the feet of buffaloes. The otherwigwams built around it were in the same style, on a smaller scale, allbrown with smoke.
A goodly array of spears, bows, and shields adorned the outside of themoya; above them the much-coveted rifles were ranged with exceedingpride. The ground between the moya and the tents was littered withchips and bones, among which the dogs were busy. A few children werepelting each other with the snow, or trying to shoot at the busy jayswith a baby of a bow and arrows to match.
Louison pushed aside the fur which hung over the entrance to themoya--the man-hole--and stepped inside. A beautiful fire was burning inthe middle of the tent. The floor was strewed with pine brush, andskins were hung round the inside wall, like a dado. They fitted veryclosely to the ground, so as to keep out all draught. The rabbits andswans, the buzzards and squirrels painted on this dado were so lifelike,Wilfred thought it must be as good as a picture-book to the dear littlepappoose, strapped to its flat board cradle, and set upright against thewall whilst mother was busy. The sleeping-places were divided bywicker-screens, and seemed furnished with plenty of blankets and skins.One or two of them were still occupied; but Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu lay ona bear-skin by the fire, with his numerous pipes arranged beside him.The squaw explained the errand of their early visitors: a woman was lostin the snow, would the chief send one of his people to find her?
The Great Swan looked over his shoulder and said something. A young manrose up from one of the sleeping-places.
Both were asking, "What was the good?"
"She is one of your own people," urged Louison. "We came to tell you."
This was not what Wilfred had said, and it was not all he wanted, but hewas forced to trust it to Louison, although he was uneasy.
He could see plainly enough an Indian would be far more likely to findher than himself, but would they? Would any of them go?
Louison offered a taste of his tobacco to the old chief and the young,by way of good-fellowship.
"They will never do it for that," thought Wilfred growing desperateagain. He had but one thing about him he could offer as an inducement,and that was his knife. He hesitated a moment. He thought ofPe-na-Koam dying in the snow, and held it out to the young chieftain.
The dusky fingers gripped the handle.
"Will you take care of her and bring her here, or give her food andbuild up her hut?" asked Wilfred, making his meaning as plain as hecould, by the help of nods and looks and signs.
The young chief was outside the man-hole in another moment. He slunghis quiver to his belt and took down his bow, flung a stout blanket overhis shoulder, and shouted to his squaw to catch a bronco, the usual namefor the Canadian horse. The kettle was in his hand.
"Can we trust him?" asked Wilfred, as he left the camp by Louison'sside.
"Trust him! yes," answered his companion. "Young Sapoo is one of thoseIndians who never break faith. His word once given, he will keep it tothe death."
"Then I have only to pray that he may be in time," said Wilfred gravely,as he stood still to watch the wild red man galloping back to thebeavers' lakelet.
"Oh, he will be in time," returned Louison cheerily. "All their wigwampoles would be left standing, and plenty of pine brush and firewoodstrewing about. She is sure to have found some shelter before theheaviest fall of snow; that did not come until it was nearly morning."
Gaspe had climbed the lookout to watch for their return.
"Wilfred, _mon cher_," he exclaimed, "you must have a perfect penchantfor running away. How could you give us the slip in such a shabbyfashion? I could not believe Chirag. If the bears were not all droppingoff into their winter sleep, I should have thought some hungry bruin hadbreakfasted upon you."
Gaspe's grandfather had turned carpenter, and was already at workmending his broken doors. Not being a very experienced workman, hisplanking and his panelling did not square. Wood was plentiful, and morethan one piece was thrown aside as a misfit. Both the boys were eagerto assist in the work of restoration. A broken shelf was mended betweenthem--in first-rate workmanly style, as Wilfred really thought. "Wehave done that well," they agreed; and when Mr. De Brunier--who wasstill chipping at his refractory panel--added a note of commendation totheir labours, Gaspe's spirits ran up to the very top of the mentalthermometer.
To recover his balance--for Wilfred unceremoniously declared he was offhis head--Gaspe fell into a musing fit. He wakened up, exclaiming,--
"I'm flying high!"
"Then mind you don't fall," retorted Mr. De Brunier, who himself wascogitating somewhat darkly over Louison's intelligence. "There will beno peace for me," he said, "no security, whilst these Blackfeet are inthe neighbourhood. 'Wait for another sun-rising'--that means anotherforty-eight hours of incessant vigilance for me. It was want ofconfidence did it all. I should teach them to trust me in time, but itcannot be done in a day."
As he moved on, lamenting ove
r the scene of destruction, Gaspe laid ahand on Wilfred's arm. "How are you going to keep pace with the hunterswith that lame foot?" he demanded.
"As the tortoise did with the hare," laughed Wilfred. "Get myself leftbehind often enough, I don't doubt that."
"But I doubt if you will ever get to your home _a la tortoise_,"rejoined Gaspe. "No, walking will never do for you. I am thinking ofmaking you a sled."
"A sledge!" repeated Wilfred in surprise.
"Oh, we drop the 'ge' you add to it in your English dictionaries,"retorted Gaspe. "We only say sled out here. There will be plenty ofboard when grandfather has done his mending. We may have what we want,I'm sure. Your dog is a trained hauler, and why shouldn't we teach mybiggest pup to draw with him? They would drag you after the hunters infine style. We can do it all, even to their jingling bells."
Wilfred, who had been accustomed to the light and graceful carioles andsledges used in the Canadian towns, thought it was flying a bit toohigh. But Gaspe, up in all the rough-and-ready contrivances of thebackwoods, knew what he was about. Louison and Chirag had to beconsulted.
When all the defences were put in order--bolts, bars, and padlocksdoubled and trebled, and a rough but very ponderous double door added tothe storeroom--Mr. De Brunier began to speak of rest.
"The night cometh in which no man can work," he quoted, as if injustification of the necessary stoppage.
The hammer was laid down, and he sank back in his hard chair, as if hewere almost ashamed to indulge in his one solace, the well-filled pipeGaspe was placing so coaxingly in his fingers. A few sedative whiffswere enjoyed in silence; but before the boys were sent off to bed, Gaspehad secured the reversion of all the wooden remains of the carpenteringbout, and as many nails as might be reasonably required.
"Now," said Gaspe, as he tucked himself up by Wilfred's side, and pulledthe coverings well over head and ears, "I'll show you what I can do."
Three days passed quickly by. On the morning of the fourth Louisonwalked in with a long face. The new horse, the gift of the Blackfootchief, had vanished in the night. The camp had moved on, nothing butthe long poles of the wigwams were left standing.
The loss of a horse is such an everyday occurrence in Canada, wherehorses are so often left to take care of themselves, it was by no meansclear that Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu had resumed his gift, but it was highlyprobable.
Notwithstanding, the Company had not been losers by the riotousmarketing, for the furs the Blackfeet had brought in were splendid.
"Yes, we were all on our guard--thanks to you, my little man--or itmight have ended in the demolition of the fort," remarked Mr. DeBrunier. "Now, if there is anything you want for your journey, tell me,and you shall have it."
"Yes, grandfather," interposed Gaspe. "He must have a blanket to sleepin, and there is the harness for the dogs, and a lot of things."
Wilfred grew hot. "Please, sir, thanks; but I don't think I want much.Most of all, perhaps, something to eat."
Mr. De Brunier recommended a good hunch of pemmican, to cut and comeagain. The hunters would let him mess with them if he brought his ownpemmican and a handful of tea to throw into their boiling kettle. Thehunters' camp was about sixty miles from Hungry Hall. They would be twoor three days on the road.
More than one party of hunters had called at the fort already, wantingpowder and ball, matches, and a knife; and when the lynx and marten andwolf skins which they brought were told up, and the few necessaries theyrequired were provided, the gay, careless, improvident fellows wouldinvest in a tasselled cap bright with glittering beads.
The longer Wilfred stayed at the fort, the more Mr. De Brunier hesitatedabout letting the boy start for so long a journey with no betterprotection. Gaspard never failed to paint the danger and magnify thedifficulties of the undertaking, wishing to keep his new friend a littlelonger. But Wilfred was steady to his purpose. He saw no other chanceof getting back to his home. He did not say much when Mr. De Brunierand Gaspe were weighing chances and probabilities, hoping sometravelling party from the north might stop by the way at Hungry Hall andtake him on with them. Such things did happen occasionally.
But Wilfred had a vivid recollection of his cross-country journey withForgill. He could not see that he should be sure of getting home if heaccepted Mr. De Brunier's offer and stayed until the river was frozenand then went down with him to their mid-winter station, trusting to aseat in some of the Company's carts or the Company's sledges to theirnext destination.
Then there would be waiting and trusting again to be sent on anotherstage, and another, and another, until he would at last find himself atFort Garry. "Then," he asked, "what was he to do? If his uncle and auntknew that he was there, they might send Forgill again to fetch him. Butif letters reached Acland's Hut so uncertainly, how was he to let themknow?"
As Wilfred worked the matter out thus in his own mind, he received everyproposition of Mr. De Brunier's with, "Please, sir, I'd rather go toBowkett. He lost me. He will be sure to take me straight home."
"The boy knew his own mind so thoroughly," Mr. De Brunier told Gaspardat last, "they must let him have his own way."
The sled was finished. It was a simple affair--two thin boards aboutfour feet long nailed together edgeways, with a tri-cornered piece ofwood fitted in at the end. Two old skates were screwed on the bottom,and the thing was done. The boys worked together at the harness as theysat round the stove in the evening. The snow was thicker, the frost washarder every night. Ice had settled on the quiet pools, and wasspreading over the quick-running streams, but the dash of the fallsstill resisted its ever-encroaching influence. By-and-by they too mustyield, and the whole face of nature would be locked in its iron clasp.November was wearing away. A sunny morning came now and then to cheerthe little party so soon to separate.
Gaspe proposed a run with the dogs, just to try how they would go intheir new harness, and if, after all, the sled would run as a sledshould.
Other things were set aside, and boys and men gathered in the court.Even Mr. De Brunier stepped out to give his opinion about the puppies.Gaspe had named them from the many tongues of his native Canada.
In his heart Wilfred entertained a secret belief that not one of themwould ever be equal to his Yula. They were Athabascans. They wouldnever be as big for one thing, and no dog ever could be half asintelligent; that was not possible. But he did not give utterance tothese sentiments. It would have looked so ungrateful, when Gaspe wasdesigning the best and biggest for his parting gift. And they werebeauties, all four of them.
There was Le Chevalier, so named because he never appeared, as Gaspedeclared, without his white shirtfront and white gloves. Then there washis bluff old English Boxer, the sturdiest of the four. He looked likea hauler. Kusky-tay-ka-atim-moos, or "the little black dog," accordingto the Cree dialect, had struck up a friendship with Yula, only a littleless warm than that which existed between their respective masters.Then the little schemer with the party-coloured face was Yankee-doodle.
"Try them all in harness, and see which runs the best," suggestedgrandfather, quite glad that his Gaspard should have one bright holidayto checker the leaden dulness of the everyday life at Hungry Hall.
Louison was harnessing the team. He nailed two long strips of leatherto the lowest end of the sled for traces. The dogs' collars were madeof soft leather, and slipped over the head. Each one was ornamentedwith a little tinkling bell under the chin and a tuft of bright ribbonat the back of the ear, and a buckle on either side through which thetraces were passed. A band of leather round the dogs completed theharness, and to this the traces were also securely buckled. The dogsstood one before the other, about a foot apart.
Yula was an experienced hand, and took the collar as a matter of course.Yankee was the first of the puppies to stand in the traces, and hissevere doggie tastes were completely outraged by the amount of fineryGaspe and Louison seemed to think necessary for their proper appearance.
Wilfred was seated
on a folded blanket, with a buffalo-robe tucked overhis feet. Louison flourished a whip in the air to make the dogs start.Away went Yula with something of the velocity of an arrow from a bow,knocking down Gaspe, who thought of holding the back of the sled toguide it.
He scrambled to his feet and ran after it. Yula was careering over thesnow at racehorse speed, ten miles an hour, and poor little Yankee,almost frightened out of his senses, was bent upon making a dash at theribbon waving so enticingly before his eyes. He darted forward. Hehung back. He lurched from side to side. He twisted, he turned. Heupset the equilibrium of the sledge. It banged against a tree on oneside, and all but tilted over on the other. One end went down into abadger hole, leaving Wilfred and his blanket in a heap on the snow, whenYankee, lightened of half his load, fairly leaped upon Yula's back andhopelessly entangled the traces. The boys concealed an uneasy sense ofignominious failure under an assertion calculated to put as good a faceas they could on the matter: "We have not got it quite right yet, but weshall."