Ever since our bear
chase back near Grand Lake my imagination turned every black spot I
saw on the hills into a bear, to the great amusement of the men.
But no bear appeared.
Soon mist gathered on the hills, and the specks on the plain below
began to move faster and grow larger. Job led the way with a
canoe. He stopped to rest at the foot of the bank, while George
came past and up to the top at great speed.
"The showers are coming. We shall have to hurry or you will get
wet," he said.
Every day my admiration and respect for the men grew. They were
gentle and considerate, not only of me, but of each other as well.
They had jolly good times together, and withal were most efficient.
Gilbert was proving a great worker, and enjoyed himself much with
the men. He was just a merry, happy-hearted boy. Joe was quiet
and thoughtful, with a low, rather musical voice, and a pretty,
soft Scotch accent for all his Russian name. He spoke English
quite easily and well. Job did not say much in English. He was
very reserved where I was concerned. I wanted to ask him a
thousand questions, but I did not dare. George was always the
gentle, fun-loving, sunny-tempered man my husband had admired.
Our camp was perhaps 100 feet above the river which here came down
from the northeast round the foot of Bald Mountain, and less than
half a mile below us bent away to the southeast. At the bend a
tributary stream came in from the northwest to merge itself in the
stronger tide, and together they flowed straight on at the foot of
a long, dark-wooded ridge. Here at this stream our portage route
led out from the river.
When the showers had passed we had supper, and as we sat at our
meal the sun came out again, throwing a golden glow over all.
Clouds lay like delicate veils along the hill-sides, sometimes
dipping almost to their feet. Walking back along the edge of the
terrace I watched till they gathered thick again and darkness came
down over all. It was very wild and beautiful, but as an
exquisite, loved form from which the spirit has fled. The sense of
life, of mystery, and magic seemed gone, and I wondered if the time
could come when beauty would cease to be pain.
When I returned to camp the men had gone to their tent. A tiny
fire was still burning, and I sat watching it till the rain came
and drove me to my little shelter again.
CHAPTER VI
CROSS COUNTRY TO SEAL LAKE WATERS
It was still raining Tuesday morning, and camp was not moved till
afternoon, when we crossed the river. Though smooth here, it
flowed with fearful rapidity, and in midstream carried the canoe,
as if it had been a feather, at locomotive speed. Three-quarters
of a mile above where we crossed the course of the river bent away
to the east, and we could see the water leaping and tossing in a
wild rapid as it came round through the opening in the hills. I
had a great wish to see the fifteen miles of it which flows between
this point and Seal Lake. I would have given much not to have to
leave the river at all, but above that point it could not be
travelled in the canoes, and I dared not take the time to portage
which indeed would also have been impossible.
The region we were now to traverse, I learned from Gilbert, was
great marten country, and so I named the tributary stream we
followed, Wapustan [Marten] River. Our way led along a
continuation of the river terrace we had travelled since leaving
the head of North Pole Rapid. During the earliest part of that
day's march it was particularly hard work to get over the
windfalls. At first it seemed as if I could not; but after a
struggle they were passed, and we had again a bear trail to follow.
On the way we passed great beds of blossoming cloudberries, which
with blossoms of the bunchberry, the Labrador tea, and the pale
laurel, made up the list of flowers found so far. Towards evening
we stopped to make camp at the edge of rougher country, a mile and
a quarter up the Wapustan. The map grew slowly during these days,
and the desire to reach Seal Lake grew stronger and stronger.
Near the camp was a big boulder, and lying round and over it were
numbers of wigwam poles. They were very old, and looked as if it
might have been many years since they had been used. George said
it was a winter camp. In the winter time the Indians, in making
their camps, dig down into the snow to a rock to build their fire.
At a number of places on our journey we found poles lying round a
boulder in this way.
When camp was nearly made, Job came in triumphantly waving an axe
over his head. He and Joe had taken some of the outfit forward as
far as Duncan M'Lean's tilt, and there had found an axe. There was
great rejoicing over it. Job said he should carry the axe with the
sugar after this.
I had been shooting at an owl that afternoon - from a distance that
made it quite safe for the owl; and while the men prepared supper I
cleaned my revolver. I was greasing it and putting some of the
grease into the barrel when George said:
