Part 16 (1/2)

”Then if Bob were killed, mother, he'll sure be comin' t' see us. His angel'd never be restin' easy in heaven wi'out comin' t' see us, for he knows how sore we longs t' see un.”

The mother drew the child to her heart and sobbed.

XV

IN THE WIGWAM OF SISHETAKUs.h.i.+N

Day after day the Indians travelled to the northward, drawing their goods after them on toboggans, over frozen rivers and lakes, or through an ever scantier growth of trees. With every mile they traversed Bob's heart grew heavier in his bosom, for he was constantly going farther from home, and the prospect of return was fading away with each sunset. He knew that they were moving northward, for always the North Star lay before them when they halted for the night, and always a wilder, more unnatural country surrounded them. Finally a westerly turn was taken, and he wondered what their goal might be.

Cold and bitter was the weather. The great limitless wilderness was frozen into a deathlike silence, and solemn and awful was the vast expanse of white that lay everywhere around them. They, they alone, it seemed, lived in all the dreary world. The icy hand of January had crushed all other creatures into oblivion. No deer, no animals of any kind crossed their trail. Their food was going rapidly, and they were now reduced to a scanty ration of jerked venison.

At last they halted one day by the side of a brook and pitched their wigwam. Then leaving the women to cut wood and put the camp in order, the two Indians shouldered their guns and axes, and made signs to Bob to follow them, which he gladly did.

They ascended the frozen stream for several miles, when suddenly they came upon a beaver dam and the dome-shaped house of the animals themselves, nearly hidden under the deep covering of snow. The house had apparently been located earlier in the season, for now the Indians went directly to it as a place they were familiar with.

Here they began at once to clear away the snow from the ice at one side of the house, using their snow-shoes as shovels. When this was done, a pole was cut, and to the end of the pole a long iron spike was fastened. With this improvised implement Sishetakus.h.i.+n began to pick away the ice where the snow had been cleared from it, while Mookoomahn cut more poles.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”It was dangerous work”]

Though the ice was fully four feet thick Sishetakus.h.i.+n soon reached the water. Then the other poles that Mookoomahn had cut were driven in close to the house.

Bob understood that this was done to prevent the escape of the animals, and that they were closing the door, which was situated so far down that it would always be below the point where ice would form, so that the beavers could go in and out at will.

After these preparations were completed the Indians cleared the snow from the top of the beaver house, and then broke an opening into the house itself. Into this aperture Sishetakus.h.i.+n peered for a moment, then his hand shot down, and like a flash reappeared holding a beaver by the hind legs, and before the animal had recovered sufficiently from its surprise to bring its sharp teeth into action in self-defense, the Indian struck it a stinging blow over the head and killed it. Then in like manner another animal was captured and killed.

It was dangerous work and called for agility and self-possession, for had the Indian made a miscalculation or been one second too slow the beaver's teeth, which crush as well as cut, would have severed his wrist or arm.

There were two more beavers--a male and a female--in the house, but these were left undisturbed to raise a new family, and the stakes that had closed the door were removed.

This method of catching beavers was quite new to Bob, who had always seen his father and the other hunters of the Bay capture them in steel traps. It was his first lesson in the Indian method of hunting.

That evening the flesh of the beavers went into the kettle, and their oily tails--the greatest tidbit of all--were fried in a pan. The Indians made a feast time of it, and never ceased eating the livelong night. This day of plenty came in cheerful contrast to the cheerless nights with scanty suppers following the weary days of plodding that had preceded. The glowing fire in the centre, the appetizing smell of the kettle and sizzling fat in the pan, and the relaxation and mellow warmth as they reclined upon the boughs brought a sense of real comfort and content.

The next day they remained in camp and rested, but the following morning resumed the dreary march to the westward.

After many more days of travelling--Bob had lost all measure of time--they reached the sh.o.r.es of a great lake that stretched away until in the far distance its smooth white surface and the sky were joined. The Indians pointed at the expanse of snow-covered ice, and repeated many times, ”Pet.i.tsikapau--Pet.i.tsikapau,” and Bob decided that this must be what they called the lake; but the name was wholly unfamiliar to him. In like manner they had indicated that a river they had travelled upon for some distance farther back, after crossing a smaller lake, was called ”Ashuanipi,” but he had never heard of it before.

The wigwam was pitched upon the sh.o.r.es of Pet.i.tsikapau Lake, where there was a thick growth of willows upon the tender tops of which hundreds of ptarmigans--the snow-white grouse of the arctic--were feeding; and rabbits had the snow tramped flat amongst the underbrush, offering an abundance of fresh food to the hunters, a welcome change from the unvaried fare of dried venison.

Bob drew from the elaborate preparations that were made that they were to stop here for a considerable time. Snow was banked high against the skin covering of the wigwam to keep out the wind more effectually, an unusually thick bed of spruce boughs was spread within, and a good supply of wood was cut and neatly piled outside.

The women did all the heavy work and drudgery about camp, and it troubled Bob not a little to see them working while the men were idle.

Several times he attempted to help them, but his efforts were met with such a storm of protestations and disapproval, not only from the men, but the women also, that he finally refrained.

”'Tis strange now th' women isn't wantin' t' be helped,” Bob remarked to himself. ”Mother's always likin' t' have me help she.”

It was quite evident that the men considered this camp work beneath their dignity as hunters, and neither did they wish Bob, to whom they had apparently taken a great fancy, to do the work of a squaw. They had, to all appearances, accepted him as one of the family and treated him in all respects as such, and, he noted this with growing apprehension, as though he were always to remain with them.

They began now to initiate him into the mysteries of their trapping methods, which were quite different from those with which he was accustomed. Instead of the steel trap they used the deadfall--wa-nee-gan--and the snare--nug-wah-gun--and Bob won the quick commendation and plainly shown admiration of the Indians by the facility with which he learned to make and use them, and his prompt success in capturing his fair share of martens, which were fairly numerous in the woods back of the lake.