The
many Blackbears, or some tamarack swamp showing signs and proofs
that hereabouts a family of Moose had fed to-day, or by a broad
and broken trail that told of a Buffalo band passing weeks ago.
And while we gazed at scribbled records, blots, and marks, the loud
"slap plong" of a Beaver showed from time to time that the thrifty
ones had dived at our approach.
On the way up Jarvis had gone first in the small canoe; he saw 2
Bears, 3 Beaver, and 1 Lynx; I saw nothing but birds. On the way
down, being alone, the luck came my way.
At the first camp, after he left, we heard a loud "plong" in the
water near the boat. Bezkya glided to the spot; I followed - here
was a large Beaver swimming. The Indian fired, the Beaver plunged,
and we saw nothing more of it. He told Billy, who told me, that it
was dead, because it did not slap with its tail as it went down.
Next night another splashed by our boat.
This morning as we paddled we saw a little stream, very muddy,
trickling into the river. Bezkya said, "Beaver at work on his dam
there." Now that we were really heading for flour, our Indian showed
up well. He was a strong paddler, silent but apparently cheerful,
ready at all times to work. As a hunter and guide he was of course
first class. About 10.30 we came on a large Beaver sunning himself
on a perch built of mud just above the water. He looked like a
huge chestnut Muskrat. He plunged at once but came up again yards
farther down, took another look and dived, to be seen no more.
At noon we reached our old camp, the last where all had been
together. Here we put up a monument on a tree, and were mortified
to think we had not done so at our farthest camp.
There were numbers of Yellowlegs breeding here; we were surprised
to see them resting on trees or flying from one branch to another.
A Great Gray-owl sitting on a stump was a conspicuous feature of
our landscape view; his white choker shone like a parson's.
Early in the morning we saw a Kingbird. This was our northernmost
record for the species.
We pressed on all day, stopping only for our usual supper of Moose
and tea, and about 7 the boys were ready to go on again. They
paddled till dark at 10. Camped in the rain, but every one was
well pleased, for we had made 40 miles that day and were that much
nearer to flour.
This journey had brought us down the Nyarling and 15 miles down
the Buffalo.
