Riding ahead in his yellow caftan and black
burnoose was Pierre Squirrel on his spirited charger, looking most
picturesque. But remembering that his yellow caftan was a mosquito
net, his black burnoose a Hudson's Bay coat, and his charger an
ornery Indian Cayuse, robbed the picture of most of its poetry.
We marched westerly 7 miles through fine, dry, jack-pine wood,
then, 3 miles through mixed poplar, pine, and spruce, And came to
the Slave River opposite Point Gravois. Thence we went a mile or
so into similar woods, and after another stretch of muskegs. We
camped for lunch at 11.45, having covered 12 miles.
At two we set out, and reached Salt River at three, but did not
cross there. It is a magnificent stream, 200 feet wide, with hard
banks and fine timber on each side; but its waters are brackish.
We travelled north-westerly, or northerly, along the east banks
for an hour, but at length away from it on a wide prairie, a mile
or more across here, but evidently extending much farther behind
interruptions of willow clumps. Probably these prairies join, with
those we saw on the Beaulieu trip. They are wet now, though a horse
can go anywhere, and the grass is good. We camped about six on a dry
place back from the river. At night I was much interested to hear
at intervals the familiar Kick-kick-kick-kick of the Yellow Rail
in the adjoining swamps. This must be its northmost range; we did
not actually see it.
Here I caught a garter-snake. Preble says it is the same form as
that at Edmonton. Our guide was as much surprised to see me take
it in my hands, as he was to see me let it go unharmed.
Next morning, after a short hour's travel, we came again to Salt
River and proceeded to cross. Evidently Squirrel had selected the
wrong place, for the sticky mud seemed bottomless, and we came near
losing two of the horses.
After two hours we all got across and went on, but most of the horses
had shown up poorly, as spiritless creatures, not yet recovered
from the effects of a hard winter.
Our road now lay over the high upland of the Salt Mountain, among
its dry and beautiful woods. The trip would have been glorious but
for the awful things that I am not allowed to mention outside of
Chapter IX.
Pierre proved a pleasant and intelligent companion; he did his
best, but more than once shook his head and said: "Chevaux no good."
We covered 15 miles before night, and all day we got glimpses of
some animal on our track, 300 yards behind in the woods. It might
easily have been a Wolf, but at night he sneaked into camp a forlorn
and starving Indian dog. Next day we reached the long looked-for
Little Buffalo River. Several times of late Pierre had commented on
the slowness of our horses and enlarged on the awful Muskega that
covered the country west of the Little Buffalo. Now he spoke out
frankly and said we had been 21 days coming 40 miles when the road
was good; we were now coming to very bad roads and had to go as
far again. These horses could not do it, and get him back to Fort
Smith for July 1 - and back at any price he must be.
He was willing to take the whole outfit half a day farther westward,
or, if we preferred it, he would go afoot or on horseback with the
pick of the men and horses for a hasty dash forward; but to take
the whole outfit on to the Buffalo country and get back on time
was not possible.
This was a bad shake. We held a council of war, and the things that
were said of that Indian should have riled him if he understood.
He preserved his calm demeanour; probably this was one of the
convenient times when all his English forsook him. We were simply
raging: to be half-way to our goal, with abundance of provisions,
fine weather, good health and everything promising well, and then
to be balked because our guide wanted to go back. I felt as savage
as the others, but on calmer reflection pointed out that Pierre
told us before starting that he must be back for Treaty Day, and
even now he was ready to do his best.
Then in a calm of the storm (which he continued to ignore) Pierre
turned to me and said: "Why don't you go back and try the canoe
route? You can go down the Great River to Grand Detour, then portage
8 miles over to the Buffalo, go down this to the Nyarling, then up
the Nyarling into the heart of the Buffalo country; 21 days will
do it, and it will be easy, for there is plenty of water and no
rapids," and he drew a fairly exact map which showed that he knew
the country thoroughly.
There was nothing to be gained by going half a day farther.
To break up our party did not fit in at all with our plans, so, after
another brief stormy debate in which the guide took no part, we
turned without crossing the Little Buffalo, and silently, savagely,
began the homeward journey; as also did the little Indian dog.
Next morning we crossed the Salt River at a lower place where was
a fine, hard bottom. That afternoon we travelled for 6 miles through
a beautiful and level country, covered with a forest of large poplars,
not very thick; it will some day be an ideal cattle-range, for it
had rank grass everywhere, and was varied by occasional belts of
jack-pine.
