Top of the hill where, as he went leisurely along, his big form
clearly outlined against the sky, he proved too great a temptation.
Suddenly the canoe shot out across the river, and on the other
shore ran into the mouth of a little stream at the foot of a big
sand-hill.
Job hurried off with the rifle, and George and I followed as I was
able. We had to cross a broad belt of tangled willows, and to know
what that means, one must do it; but the prospect of at least
getting on the edge of a bear chase is great inducement when once
you become a little excited, and I scrambled through. The hill was
steep and thickly strewn with windfalls about which the new growth
had sprung up. Its top was like the thin edge of a wedge, and the
farther side dropped, a steep sand-bank, to the stream which flowed
at its foot. When we were hardly more than half-way up, there was
the sound of a shot and a funny, little shrill cry from Job. Bruin
had been climbing the sand-bank, and was nearly at the top when Job
fired. The bullet evidently struck him for, doubling up, his head
between his legs, he rolled over and over to the foot of the bank.
When I reached the top of the hill he was on his legs again and
running down along the edge of the stream. There had been only one
cartridge in the rifle, and Job rushed down the hill to the canoe
for more.
Joe and Gilbert had crossed the river meantime and were landing
near our canoe. The stream turned abruptly round the foot of the
hill close to them, and I wondered what would happen when Bruin
appeared suddenly round the bend. Evidently Bruin had the best
eyes - or nose - for, on coming to the bend, he turned suddenly and
started back up-stream; but again changing his mind he made up over
the hill where we had first seen him. I was still panting and
trembling with the exertion of my climb, but I took out my revolver
and sent a few shots after him. It is hardly needful to say they
did not hurt the bear. When Job and Gilbert came up with the
rifles to where we were standing he was just disappearing over the
top of the hill, having apparently been little injured, and so the
chase was not followed up.
Our camp that night was on a high sand-bank on the north shore of
the river. The place chosen looked rough and unpromising to me,
for the ground was thickly strewn with windfalls. All this part of
the country had been burned over many years ago, and was very
desolate looking. The men, however, pronounced the place "Ma-losh-
an! Ma-losh-an!" (fine! fine!) and in less than an hour the tents
were pitched and made comfortable. New experiences seemed to be
coming thick and fast, for we had supper of porcupine down on the
rocks at the shore. I did not like it.
I used my air mattress that night, building it up at the head with
my dunnage bag, and at the foot with boughs. My hot-water bottle
was also called into requisition, for it was cold. They were both
better than I had hoped, and I slept as comfortably as if in the
most luxurious apartment.
CHAPTER III
CLIMBING THE RAPIDS
The call "All aboard," came at about six o'clock on Thursday
morning. We had breakfast, and started at 8 A.M. A cold northwest
wind was blowing, and an occasional light shower fell. The sand-
hills on either side of the river grew higher as we went up, with
always the willows along the water edge. Miles ahead we could see
Mounts Sawyer and Elizabeth rising blue and fine above the other
hills, and thus standing up from the desolation of the burnt lands
all about; they came as a foreword of what was awaiting us further
on.
Not far from camp we took another porcupine. There were beaver
signs too, willows cut off and floating downstream along the shore.
Leaning over, Job picked one up and handed it back to me to show me
how cleverly they do their work. A rabbit ran up from the water
edge. Now it was a muskrat lying in among the willows. He was
evidently trying to decide which way to go, and in a moment or two
began swimming straight towards the pistols that were being loaded
for him. I was a little startled and exclaimed "Why, what's the
matter with him? Is he hurt?" Whereupon the men laughed so
heartily that the rat almost escaped. I did not understand that it
was the swift current which was carrying him against his will
directly towards us, and could only think that he must have been
sick, or hurt perhaps, to make him do so strange a thing. From
that time forward, "What's the matter with him? Is he hurt?"
became a byword in camp.
Thirteen miles above Grand Lake we reached the portage route by
which the Indians avoid the roughest part of the river. It leads
out on the north bank opposite the mouth of the Red Wine River,
passing up to the higher country, through a chain of lakes, and
entering the river again at Seal Lake. By this route the Indians
reach Seal Lake from Northwest River in less than two weeks, taking
just twenty-one days to make the journey through to Lake
Michikamau.
The trappers told us that, going by the river, it would take a
month to reach Seal Lake. I wished very much to keep to the river
route, because Mr. Hubbard would have had to do so had he not
missed the way, there being no Indians within reach, at the time he
made his journey, from whom we could obtain information.
