Part 17 (1/2)
there we would sit, me in the west pine, me pardner in the east pine, an' the black brute right in between.
”About breakfast time me an' the Injun was feelin' mighty hungry.
There we sat cussin' our luck an' castin' longin' glances down at the grub bag. By the time I'd caught me wind a great idea strikes me.
Durin' the next heat I would rush out. So I sings out my intentions to me pardner; an' he says he thinks we can do it. So while he was carryin' Her Majesty's mail I was to try an' grab the grub bag.
”We got ready, an' dropped down them pines so fast that we both hits groun' before the bear knows what's doin'. Then I leaves that tree like as if all the animals in the woods was after me. I got on so much speed that by the time I grabs the grub bag I was goin' so fast that I couldn't turn roun' without slackin' down. That's where I loses a terrible amount o' time, an' I was beginnin' to think it was all up with me. By the time I got headed roun' agen for the tree, I sees that the bear is comin' down with his back to me. When he hits groun' he sees the Injun dancin' roun' the foot o' the west pine; so he makes for the redskin, an' chases him up while I climbs the east pine.
”Then we all went roun' an' roun' for maybe fifty laps, an' the way we wore the bark off them trees an' trod down the gra.s.s between 'em was a caution. By-an'-by the bear gets so dizzy that he bucks up the birch agen, an' sure enuff that stops the performance.
”I didn't need any breakfast bell to remind me to open the grub bag. I just reaches in an' pulls out some busted bannock an' throws a chunk over to Old-pot-head's son, an' without even sayin' grace, we starts in. Every little while I'd toss another chunk of bread over to me pardner an' just out o' sheer spite I'd chuck it so that it would go sailin' thro' the air right in front o' the bear's snout. That makes him mad. So he tried to catch the stuff as it flies by; but I just puts on a little more curve, an' that makes him madder still, an' he ups an' comes for me.
”Then we all knocks off breakfast an' goes for another canter. But it don't do no good, 'ceptin' that we all gets puffed out agen. After a bit, the bear stops to ketch his breath, an' then me an' me pardner goes on with our breakfast.
”With the bear exercisin' us the way he did, we had to take our breakfast in a good many courses. That makes it so long drawn out that we gets mighty thirsty. The Injun asks me if the cups is in the grub bag. I puts me han' in an' feels, but they ain't there. Then I remembers that we left them down by the fire. We didn't either of us care to risk snakin' a cup, so I tells me pardner that the next time we goes roun' we'd best try an' grab a handful o' water. We didn't have long to wait, for the bear soon gets another move on; an' then away we all goes sailin' roun' agen. Every time me an' the Injun canters past the pool, we just makes a sudden dip an' grabs up a handful o' water an' throws it in.
”It took so much exercise to get so little water that I thought I'd die of thirst while I was tryin' to drink me fill. When the bear caught on to what we was doin', it just made him madder an' madder; an' he lights out after us at such a breathless clip that we had to fairly gallop up them pines, an' slide down the birch faster than ever. It wasn't long before nearly every b.u.t.ton was wore off, an' our clothes was so ripped up an' torn down that I'd blush every time I'd ketch the bear lookin'
at me. An' every time we ran 'long the groun' from one tree to another, me an' me pardner had to use both hands on our garments in order to keep up our--er--respectability. However, the bear didn't have the laff on us altogether, for he had gone up an' down them trees so often an' so fast that he had worn all the hair off his stomach.
”After a while we all gets tuckered out agen; an' while we rests in the trees me an' me pardner talks about the weather, lettin' on that there ain't no bear anywheres nigh. So the time pa.s.sed. As we didn't recollect just how much grub we had at the start, or how much water there was in the pool first off, we couldn't for the life of us reckon just how long we'd been there. Neither me nor Old-pot-head's son would care to take our oaths whether we'd been there a night an' half a day, or half a dozen nights an' days; the night time an' the day time was so mixed up together that we hadn't time to separate 'em. We were sure, tho', that our grub was givin' out, the water was dryin' up, an' death was gettin' good an' ready for us.
”We was in such a terrible tight place that I begins to think o' takin'
off me s.h.i.+rt an' flyin' it from the top o' the tallest pine as a signal o' distress; for we was worse off than if we'd been s.h.i.+pwrecked. Talk about bein' cast adrift on a raft! Why, it wasn't in it with bein'
fixed the way we was. We just stayed in one spot with no chance of ever driftin' to'rds help. As long as the bear kept tab on us there wasn't no sign of our ever gettin' a wink o' sleep. And more, besides starvin' to death, we had to face bein' frozen; for our clothes was all wore off, an' winter was comin' on mighty fast.
”At last, when me an' Old-pot-head's son had about given up hope, an'
was just pickin' out which would be the easiest death, what should we see but somethin' bobbin' in an' out among the bushes. Say, it was another bear! When it comes a little closer, we makes out it was a little lady bear. No sooner does our old stern-chaser spy her than he slides down to the groun', an' risin' up on his hind legs, throws out his chest, an' c.o.c.ks his eye at her, for all the world like a man when he sees a pretty girl comin' his way. But when her dainty little ladys.h.i.+p ketches sight of his bald-headed stomach, she just tosses up her nose with disgust, an' wheels roun' an' makes for the tall timbers with our affectionate friend limpin' the best he can after her.
”An' that's the last we sees o' the bear that tried to hold up the Company's packet.”
After the laughter had died down, Chief Factor Thompson yawned:
”Well, gentlemen, it's getting on. I must be turning in or my men will be late in getting under way in the morning.”
G.o.d AND THE WILD MEN
Drowsiness had indeed overtaken the camp. But now I must digress a moment to tell you something that the public--at least the public that has derived its knowledge of northern wilderness life from fiction--may find it hard to believe. And this is what I want to say: that every one in that whole brigade of wild men of the wilderness, from the lowest dog-driver right up to the Chief Factor--when each had fixed his bed in readiness for the night--knelt down, and with bowed head, said his evening prayer to The Master of Life. Moreover, the fact that two clergymen were present had nothing whatever to do with it, for the ”barbarians” of the forest would have done just the same had no priest been there--just as I have seen them do scores and scores of times. In fact, in some sections of the forest the native wilderness man--red, white, or half-breed--who does not, is not the rule, but the exception.
Then, too--unless one's ears are closed to such sounds--one may occasionally hear the voyageurs of the ”North canoe” and the ”York boat” brigades, while straining on the tracking line, singing, among other hymns:
Onward, Christian soldiers, Marching as to war, With the Cross of Jesus, Going on before.
And, furthermore, I wonder if the fiction-reading public will believe that the majority of the men in the fur brigades always partake of the holy sacrament before departing upon their voyages? Nevertheless, it is the truth--though of course truth does not agree with the orgies of gun-play that spring from the weird imaginations of the stay-at-home authors, who, in their wild fancy, people the wilderness with characters from the putrescence of civilization. It is time these authors were enlightened, for a man, native to the wilderness, is a better man . . . more honest, more chivalrous, more generous, and--at heart, though he talks less about it--more G.o.d-respecting . . . than the man born in the city. That is something the public should never forget; for if the public remembers that, then the authors of wilderness stories will soon have to change their discordant tune.
Yes, it is true, every one of those wild men said his evening prayer and then, with his blanket wrapped about him, lay down upon his thick, springy mattress of fir-brush, with his feet toward the fire, and slumbered as only a decent, hard-working man can. Out among the dancing shadows that flitted among the snow-mantled bushes and heavily laden trees a hundred and fifty eyes glared in the brooding darkness--as though all the wolves in the forest were gathering there.
Later, when the sound of heavy breathing was heard round the fires, a fierce, wolfish-looking dog, bolder than the rest, left its snowy bed to hunt for more sheltered quarters. There was a whine, a snarl, then the sound of clas.h.i.+ng teeth. In a moment every dog leaped up with bristling hair. Instantly bedlam reigned. Over seventy dogs waged the wildest kind of war and the distant woods reechoed the horrible din. A dozen blanketed mounds rose up, and many long lashes whistled through the air. The seething ma.s.s broke away and flew howling and yelping into outer darkness followed by a roar of curses--but only in civilized tongues.
Presently all was still again. The men lay down, and the dogs, one by one, came slinking back to their resting places. But in a couple of hours one of the half-frozen brutes silently rose up, cautiously stepped among the sleeping men, and lay couched close to a smouldering fire. Another followed and then another until most of the dogs had left their beds. Growing bolder, a couple of the beasts fought for a warmer spot. In their tussle they sprawled over one of the men, but a few l.u.s.ty blows from a handy frying-pan restored calm. As the night wore on some of the dogs, not contented with sleeping beside the men, curled up on top of their unconscious masters. Then for hours nothing but the heavy breathing and snoring in camp and the howling of distant wolves was heard. Slumber had at last overtaken the wild men of the wilderness--who always made it a rule to kneel down every night, and ask G.o.d to bless their little children at home.
Now, though time still sped on, silence possessed the forest--until: