Part 11 (2/2)

Things were getting serious now, since all our food consisted of 1 Crane, 1 tin of brawn, 1 pound of bread, 2 pounds of pork, with some tea, coffee, and sugar, not more than one square meal for the crowd, and we were 5 men far from supplies, unless our hunting proved successful, and going farther every day.

Next morning (July 9) each man had coffee, one lady's finger of bread, and a single small slice of bacon. Hitherto from choice I had not eaten bacon in this country, although it was a regular staple served at each meal. But now, with proper human perversity, I developed an extraordinary appet.i.te for bacon. It seemed quite the most delicious gift of G.o.d to man. Given bacon, and I was ready to forgo all other foods. Nevertheless, we had divided the last of it. I cut my slice in two, revelled in half, then secretly wrapped the other piece in paper and hid it in the watch-pocket of my vest, thinking ”the time is in sight when the whole crowd will be thankful to have that sc.r.a.p of bacon among them.” (As a matter of fact, they never got it, for five days later we found a starving dog and he was so utterly miserable that he conjured that sc.r.a.p from the pocket next my heart.)

We were face to face with something like starvation now; the game seemed to shun us and our store of victuals was done. Yet no one talked of giving up or going back. We set out to reach the Buffalo country, and reach it we would.

That morning we got 7 little Teal, so our lunch was sure, but straight Teal without accompaniments is not very satisfying; we all went very hungry. And with one mind we all thought and talked about the good dinners or specially fine food we once had had.

Selig's dream of bliss was a porterhouse steak with a gla.s.s of foaming beer; Jarvis thought champagne and roast turkey spelt heaven just then; I thought of my home breakfasts and the Beaux-Arts at New York; but Billy said he would he perfectly happy if he could have one whole bannock all to himself. Preble said nothing.

CHAPTER XIX

WHITE MAN AND RED. MEAT, BUT NOTHING MORE

There was plenty of hollow hilarity but no word of turning back.

But hold! yes, there was. There was one visage that darkened more each day, and finally the gloomy thoughts broke forth in words from the lips of--our Indian guide. His recent sullen silence was now changed to open and rebellious upbraiding.

He didn't come here to starve. He could do that at home. He was induced to come by a promise of plenty of flour. ”All of which was perfectly true. But,” he went on, ”We were still 11 days from the Buffalo and we were near the head of navigation; it was a case of tramp through the swamp with our beds and guns, living on the country as we went, and if we didn't have luck the Coyotes and Ravens would.”

Before we had time to discuss this prospect, a deciding step was announced, by Jarvis, He was under positive orders to catch the steamer Wrigley at Fort Resolution on the evening of July 10. It was now mid-day of July 9, and only by leaving at once and travelling all night could he cover the intervening 60 miles.

So then and there we divided the remnants of food evenly, for ”Bezkya was a moose-hunter.”

Then Major Jarvis and Corporal Selig boarded the smaller canoe.

We shook hands warmly, and I at least had a lump in my throat; they were such good fellows in camp, and to part this way when we especially felt bound to stick together, going each of us on a journey of privation and peril, seemed especially hard; and we were so hungry. But we were living our lives. They rounded the bend, we waved goodbye, and I have never seen them since.

Hitherto I was a guest; now I was in sole command, and called a council of war. Billy was stanch and ready to go anywhere at any cost. So was Preble. Bezkya was sulky and rebellious. Physically, I had been at the point of a total breakdown when I left home; the outdoor life had been slowly restoring me, but the last few days had weakened me sadly and I was not fit for a long expedition on foot. But of one thing I was sure, we must halt till we got food.

A high wind was blowing and promised some respite to the Moose from the little enemy that sings except when he stings, so I invited Bezkya to gird up his loins and make another try for Moose.

Nothing loath, he set off with Billy. I marked them well as they went, one lithe, sinewy, active, animal-eyed; the other solid and st.u.r.dy, following doggedly, keeping up by sheer blundering strength.

I could not but admire them, each in his kind.

Two hours later I heard two shots, and toward evening the boys came back slowly, tired but happy, burdened with the meat, for Bezkya was a moosehunter.

Many shekels and gladly would I have given to have been on that moose hunt. Had I seen it I could have told it. These men, that do it so well, never can tell it. Yet in the days that followed I picked up a few significant phrases that gave glimpses of its action.

Through the crooked land of endless swamp this son of the woods had set out ”straightaway west.” A big track appeared crossing a pool, seeming fresh. ”No! he go by yesterday; water in track not muddy.” Another track was found. ”Yes, pretty good; see bite alder.

Alder turn red in two hours; only half red.” Follow long. ”Look out, Billy; no go there; wrong wind. Yes, he pa.s.s one hour; see bit willow still white. Stop; he pa.s.s half-hour; see gra.s.s still bend. He lie down soon. How know? Oh, me know. Stand here, Billy.

He sleep in thick willow there.”

Then the slow crawl in absolute stillness, the long wait, the betrayal of the huge beast by the ear that wagged furiously to shake off the winged bloodsuckers. The shot, the rush, the b.l.o.o.d.y trail, the pause in the opening to sense the foe, the shots from both hunters, and the death.

Next day we set out in the canoe for the Moose, which lay conveniently on the river bank. After pus.h.i.+ng through the alders and poling up the dwindling stream for a couple of hours we reached the place two miles up, by the stream. It was a big bull with no bell, horns only two-thirds grown but 46 inches across, the tips soft and springy; one could stick a knife through them anywhere outside of the basal half.

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