Rain began at 6 and continued a heavy storm all night. In the morning
it was still in full blast, so no one rose until 9.30, when Billy,
starved out of his warm bed, got up to make breakfast. Soon I
heard him calling: "Mr. Seton, here's a big Wolf in camp!" "Bring
him in here," I said. Then a rifle-shot was heard, another, and
Billy appeared, dragging a huge White Wolf. (He is now to be seen
in the American Museum.)
All that day and the next night the storm raged. Even the presence
of Caribou bands did not stimulate us enough to face the sleet.
Next day it was dry, but too windy to travel.
Billy now did something that illustrates at once the preciousness
of firewood, and the pluck, strength, and reliability of my cook.
During his recent tramp he found a low, rocky hollow full of large,
dead willows. It was eight miles back; nevertheless he set out,
of his own free will; tramped the eight miles, that wet, blustery
day, and returned in five and one-half hours, bearing on his back
a heavy load, over 100 pounds of most acceptable firewood. Sixteen
miles afoot for a load of wood! But it seemed well worth it as we
revelled in the blessed blaze.
Next day two interesting observations were made; down by the shore
I found the midden-heap of a Lemming family. It contained about
four hundred pellets: their colour and dryness, with the absence
of grass, showed that they dated from winter.
In the evening the four of us witnessed the tragic end of a
Lap-longspur. Pursued by a fierce Skua Gull, it unfortunately dashed
out over the lake. In vain then it darted up and down, here and
there, high and low; the Skua followed even more quickly. A second
Skua came flying to help, but was not needed. With a falcon-like
swoop, the pirate seized the Longspur in his bill and bore it away
to be devoured at the nearest perch.
At 7.30 A. M., August 24, 1907, surrounded by scattering Caribou,
we pushed off from our camp at Sand Hill Bay and began the return
journey.
At Wolf-den Point we discovered a large and ancient wolf-den in the
rocks; also abundance of winter sign of Musk-ox. That day we made
forty miles and camped for the night on the Sand Hill Mountain in
Tha-na-koie, the channel that joins Aylmer and Clinton-Colden. Here
we were detained by high winds until the 28th.
This island is a favourite Caribou crossing, and Billy and Weeso
had pitched their tents right on the place selected by the Caribou
for their highway. Next day, while scanning the country from the
top of the mount, I saw three Caribou trotting along. They swam the
river and came toward me. As Billy and Weeso were in their tents
having an afternoon nap, I thought it would be a good joke to stampede
the Caribou on top of them, so waited behind a rock, intending to
jump out as soon as they were past me. They followed the main trail
at a trot, and I leaped out with "horrid yells" when they passed
my rock, but now the unexpected happened. "In case of doubt take
to the water" is Caribou wisdom, so, instead of dashing madly into
the tents, they made three desperate down leaps and plunged into
the deep water, then calmly swam for the other shore, a quarter
of a mile away.
This island proved a good place for small mammals. Here Preble
got our first specimen of the White Lemming. Large islands usually
prove better for small mammals than the mainland. They have the
same conditions to support life, but being moated by the water are
usually without the larger predatory quadrupeds.
The great central inland of Clinton-Colden proved the best place
of all for Groundsquirrels. Here we actually found them in colonies.
On the 29th and 30th we paddled and surveyed without ceasing and
camped beyond the rapid at the exit of Clinton-Colden. The next
afternoon we made the exit rapids of Casba Lake. Preble was preparing
to portage them, but asked Weeso, "Can we run them?"
Weeso landed, walked to a view-point, took a squinting look and
said, "Ugh!" (Yes). Preble rejoined, "All right! If he says he can,
he surely can. That's the Indian of it. A white man takes risks;
an Indian will not; if it is risky he'll go around." So we ran the
rapids in safety.
Lighter each day, as the food was consumed, our elegant canoe went
faster. When not detained by heavy seas 30 or 40 miles a day was
our journey. On August 30 we made our last 6 miles in one hour and
6 1/2 minutes. On September 2, in spite of head-winds, we made 36
miles in 8 1/4 hours and in the evening we skimmed over the glassy
surface of Artillery Lake, among its many beautiful islands and
once more landed at our old ground - the camp in the Last Woods.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE FIRST WOODS
How shall I set forth the feelings it stirred? None but the shipwrecked
sailor, long drifting on the open sea, but come at last to land,
can fully know the thrill it gave us. We were like starving Indians
suddenly surrounded by Caribou. Wood - timber - fuel - galore! It was
hard to realise - but there it was, all about us, and in the morning
we were awakened by the sweet, sweet, home-like song of the Robins
in the trees, singing their "Cheerup, cheerily," just as they do
it in Ontario and Connecticut.
