Part 1 (2/2)
Having concluded a contract to become partic.i.p.ants in this unique affair, Norman Grant and Roy Moulton developed an interest in it that they did not know they possessed. To them most of it was an old story. But, having superintended the erection of an aerodrome on the edge of the open field inside the race track, they were surprised at the interest they began to take in the many curious people who soon began to arrive and install themselves in tents and cabins.
The exhibition was to last one week. On Monday morning of Stampede week, while the two boys were engaged in installing the aeroplane, Roy suddenly disappeared. He was gone over a half hour and when he returned, flushed with some new enthusiasm, he found his chum Norman much disgruntled. The machine had been set up before Roy left and he had stolen away while Norman was working with the engine.
”Everything all right?” asked Roy a little guiltily as he observed his companion seated on a box, a half scowl on his face.
”I guess so,” answered Grant without a smile. ”At least, I did all I could, _alone_.”
”I didn't think there was much to do,” exclaimed Roy apologetically. ”I had something I wanted to do--I'd have asked you to go, but I didn't think you'd care. I've been to see those La b.i.+.c.he rivermen.”
”Where's La b.i.+.c.he, and what rivermen?”
”Oh, you know, Lac la b.i.+.c.he, way up country, where the rivermen come from.”
”I don't know anything about 'em--you mean 'scow men'?”
”Of course,” answered Roy, taking off his coat. ”I wanted to see 'em and I knew they got in last night. I've met all kind of Indians, but these old boatmen don't get down this way very often.”
”Why'd you think I didn't care?” asked the other boy. ”If you mean a real old batteau steersman, I never saw one either. I reckon I'd have gone a few hundred yards to see one of 'em if he's the real goods. Since the steamboats came in, I thought they'd all played out. Are these fellows half-breeds or full-bloods?”
”Don't make any mistake about 'em!” responded Roy eagerly. ”I've seen all kinds of Indians but these are some I never did see. They're all right, too. If there's anything about a canoe or a flatboat that they don't know, I guess n.o.body can tell it to 'em.”
”They'll have a fine time doing any paddling or steering around here in this race track,” suggested Norman gruffly. ”How are they goin' to show 'em off? But what do they look like?”
”They're not wearing Indian togs much,” explained Roy, taking a seat by his friend, ”and I've never seen real old full-blood Indian rivermen, but I know these fellows look like 'em. But I'd change their names if I was going to put 'em on the program.”
”Don't sound Indian enough?” suggested Norman. ”Full-bloods never do seem to have real Indian names. Seems like all the loafin' half-breeds take the best names.”
”Anyway,” went on Roy, ”these men are John Martin, or old 'Moosetooth,'
and William La b.i.+.c.he.”
”Moosetooth and La b.i.+.c.he are all right,” commented Norman. ”Do they wear shoes?”
”No,” explained Roy, ”they're in moccasins--plain mooseskin wrapped around the ankles. You'd know 'em by that. And they both carry the Cree tobacco pouch, with the long ta.s.sels hanging out of their hip pocket--so they can find the pouch in the dark, I suppose.”
”And black Stetson hats?” added Norman, ”with big silver b.u.t.tons all around the leather band?”
”Sure!” answered the other boy. ”But you ought to see their arms. Neither one of 'em is big, but if you saw their arms you'd know how they swing those twenty-foot steering oars. I got a hankerin' after those fellows.
Any man who can stand in the stern of an old Hudson Bay Company 'sturgeon head' and steer it through fifteen hundred miles o' rivers and lakes, clear down to the Arctic Ocean, and then walk back if necessary, has got it all over the kind of Indians I know.”
Norman looked at him a few moments and then got up and motioned him out of the aerodrome. He swung the big doors together, locked them, and then exclaimed:
”I don't care to get excited over every old greasy Indian that comes along but lead me to old Moosetooth.”
Roy, who was well pleased over so easily placating his chum, at once led the way around the race track and through the fringe of tepees, tents and other shelters being erected for the housing of the fast gathering arrivals. At last he stood before a group of mooseskin tepees in which were gathered several families of Cree Indians. These people had been brought from the present famous Indian encampment on the sh.o.r.es of Lac la b.i.+.c.he, just south of Athabasca River, where it turns on its long northward journey to the Arctic Ocean.
It is the men of this region who are sought by the great fur companies, by adventurers and sportsmen and by all those traffickers who use the great riverway to the north. And it is from them that the skilled canoe men and the experienced flatboat steersmen are selected for the conduct of the precious flotillas on these northern waters.
<script>