This, it proved, was because the Caribou go far
north at horn-dropping time, and they have practically no bones
that the Wolves cannot crush with their teeth.
Although old tracks were myriad-many, there were no new ones. Weeso
said, however, "In about four days the shores of this lake will
be alive with Caribou." It will show the erratic nature of these
animals when I say that the old man was all wrong; they did not
appear there in numbers until many weeks later, probably not for
two months.
Here, at the foot of Artillery Lake, we were near the last of the
timber, and, strange to say, we found some trees of remarkably large
growth. One, a tamarac, was the largest and last seen; the other,
a spruce - Pike's Lobstick - was 55 inches in girth, 1 foot from the
ground.
At this camp Weeso complained that he was feeling very sick; had
pains in his back. I could not make out what was the matter with
him, but Billy said sagaciously, "I think if you give him any kind
of a pill he will be all right. It doesn't matter what, so long as
it's a pill."
Of course "cathartic" is good blind play in case of doubt. He got
a big, fierce rhubarb, and all went well.
CHAPTER XXX
CARIBOU-LAND AT LAST
On the morning of August 1 we launched on Artillery Lake, feeling,
for the tenth time, that now we really were on the crowning stretch of
our journey, that at last we were entering the land of the Caribou.
Over the deep, tranquil waters of the lake we went, scanning the
painted shores with their dwindling remnants of forest. There is
something inspiring about the profundity of transparency in these
lakes, where they are 15 feet deep their bottoms are no more
obscured than in an ordinary eastern brook at 6 inches. On looking
down into the far-below world, one gets the sensation of flight as
one skims overhead in the swift canoe. And how swift that elegant
canoe was in a clear run I was only now finding out. All my
previous estimates had been too low. Here I had the absolute gauge
of Tyrrell's maps and found that we four paddling could send her,
not 3 1/2, but 4 1/2 or 5 miles an hour, with a possibility of 6
when we made an effort. As we spun along the south-east coast of
the lake, the country grew less rugged; the continuous steep granite
hills were replaced by lower buttes with long grassy plains between;
and as I took them in, I marvelled at their name - the Barrens; bare
of trees, yes, but the plains were covered with rich, rank grass,
more like New England meadows. There were stretches where the herbage
was rank as on the Indiana prairies, and the average pasture of
the bleaker parts was better than the best of central Wyoming. A
cattleman of the West would think himself made if he could be sure
of such pastures on his range, yet these are the Barren Grounds.
At 3 we passed the splendid landmark of Beaver Lodge Mountain. Its
rosy-red granite cliffs contrast wonderfully with its emerald cap
of verdant grass and mosses, that cover it in tropical luxuriance,
and the rippling lake about it was of Mediterranean hues.
We covered the last 9 miles in 1 hour and 53 minutes, passed the
deserted Indian village, and landed at Last Woods by 8.30 P. M.
The edge of the timber is the dividing line between the Hudsonian
and the Arctic zones, It is the beginning of the country we had
come to see; we were now in the land of the Caribou.
At this point we were prepared to spend several days, leave a cache,
gather a bundle of choice firewood, then enter on the treeless
plains.
That night it stormed; all were tired; there was no reason to bestir
ourselves; it was 10 when we arose. Half an hour later Billy came
to my tent and said, "Mr. Seton, here's some deer." I rushed to
the door, and there, with my own eyes, I saw on a ridge a mile away
four great, Caribou standing against the sky.
We made for a near hill and met Preble returning; he also had seen
them. From a higher view-point the 4 proved part of a band of 120.
Then other bands came in view, 16, 61, 3, 200, and so on; each valley
had a scattering few, all travelling slowly southward or standing
to enjoy the cool breeze that ended the torment of the flies. About
1,000 were in sight. These were my first Caribou, the first fruits
of 3,000 miles of travel.
Weeso got greatly excited; these were the forerunners of the vast
herd. He said, "Plenty Caribou now," and grinned like a happy child.
I went in one direction, taking only my camera. At least 20 Caribou
trotted within 50 feet of me.
Billy and Weeso took their rifles intent on venison, but the Caribou
avoided them and 6 or 8 shots were heard before they got a young
buck.
All that day I revelled in Caribou, no enormous herds but always
a few in sight.
The next day Weeso and I went to the top ridge eastward. He with
rifle, I with camera. He has a vague idea of the camera's use, but
told Billy privately that "the rifle was much better for Caribou."
He could not understand why I should restrain him from blazing away
as long as the ammunition held out.
