*CHAPTER VI.*
_*SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER.*_
Pe-na-Koam insisted upon examining Wilfred's hands and feet, and tendingto them after her native fashion. She would not suffer him to leave thehut, but ventured out herself, for the storm was followed by a day ofglorious sunshine. She returned with her lap full of a peculiar kind ofmoss, which she had scraped from under the snow. In her hand shecarried a bunch of fine brown fibres.
"Wattape!" she exclaimed, holding them up before him, with such evidentpleasure he thought it was something to eat; but no, the moss went intothe kettle to boil for dinner, but the wattape was laid carefully aside.
The squaw had been used to toil from morning to night, doing all thework of her little world, whilst her warrior, when under shelter, sleptor smoked by the fire. She expected no help from Wilfred within thehut, but she wanted to incite him to go and hunt. She took asharp-pointed stick and drew a bow and arrow on the floor. Then shemade sundry figures. which he took for traps; but he could only shakehis head. He was thinking of a visit to the owl's tree. But when theyhad eaten the moss, Pe-na-Koam drew out a piece of skin from under herblanket, and spreading it on the floor laid her fingers beseechingly onhis hunting-knife. With this she cut him out a pair of gloves,fingerless it is true, shaped like a baby's first glove, but oh! sowarm. Wilfred now discovered the use of the wattape, as she drew outone long thread after another, and began to sew the gloves together withit, pricking the holes through which she passed it with a quill sheproduced from some part of her dress.
Wilfred took up the brown tangle and examined it closely. It had beentorn from the fine fibrous root of the pine. He stood still to watchher, wondering whether there was anything he could do. He took thestick she had used and drew the rough figure of a man fishing on theearthen floor. He felt sure they must be near some stream or lakelet.The Indians would never have left her beyond the reach of water. Thewrinkled face lit up with hopeful smiles. Away she worked morediligently than ever.
Wilfred built up the fire to give her a better blaze. They had woodenough to last them through to-morrow. Before it was all burnt up hemust try to get in some more. The use was returning to his hands. Hetook up some of the soft mud, made by the melting of the snow on theearthen floor, and tried to stop up the cracks in the bark which formedthe walls of the hut.
They both worked on in silence, hour after hour, as if there were not amoment to lose. At last the gloves were finished. The Far-off-Dawnconsidered her blanket, and decided a piece might be spared off everycorner. Out of these she cut a pair of socks. The Indians themselvesoften wear three or four pairs of such blanket socks at once in the verycoldest of the weather. But Wilfred could find nothing in the hut outof which to make a fishing line. The only thing he could do was to paya visit to the white owl's larder. He was afraid to touch Maxica'strap. He did not think he could manage it. Poor boy, his spirit wasfailing him for want of food. Yet he determined to go and see if therewas anything to be found. Wilfred got up with an air of resolution, andbegan to arrange the sling for his foot. But the Far-off-Dawn soon madehim understand he must not go without his socks, which she was hurryingto finish.
"I believe I am changing into a snail," thought Wilfred; "I do nothingbut crawl about. Yet twenty slips brought the snail to the top of hiswall. Twenty slips and twenty climbs--that is something to think of."
The moon was rising. The owl would leave her haunt to seek for prey.
"Now it strikes me," exclaimed Wilfred, "why she always perches on aleafless tree. Her blinking eyes are dazzled by the flicker of theleaves: but they are nearly gone now, she will have a good choice. Shemay not go far a-field, if she does forsake her last night's roost."This reflection was wondrously consolatory.
The squaw had kept her kettle filled with melting snow all day, so thatthey could both have a cup of hot water whenever they liked. TheFar-off-Dawn was as anxious to equip him for his foraging expedition ashe was to take it. The socks were finished; she had worked hard, andWilfred knew it. He began to think there was something encouraging inher very name--the Far-off-Dawn. Was it not what they were waiting for?It was an earnest that their night would end.
She made him put both the blanket socks on the swollen foot, and thenpersuaded him to exchange his boots for her moccasins, which were a muchbetter protection against the snow. The strip of fur, no longer neededto protect his toes, was wound round and round his wrists.
Then the squaw folded her blanket over his shoulder, and started him,pointing out as well as she could the streamlet and the pool which hadsupplied her with water when she was strong enough to fetch it.
Both knew their lives depended upon his success. Yula was by his side.Wilfred turned back with a great piece of bark, to cover up the hole inthe roof of the hut to keep the squaw warm. She had wrapped the skinover her feet and was lying before the fire, trying to sleep in her dumbdespair. She had discovered there was no line and hook forthcoming fromany one of his many pockets. How then could he catch the fish withwhich she knew the Canadian waters everywhere abounded?
Pe-na-Koam had pointed out the place of the pool so earnestly thatWilfred thought, "I will go there first; perhaps it was there she foundthe moss."
The northern lights were flashing overhead, shooting long lines ofroseate glory towards the zenith, as if some unseen angel's hand werestringing heaven's own harp. But the full chord which flowed beneathits touch was light instead of music.
Wilfred stood silent, rapt in admiring wonder, as he gazed upon thoseglowing splendours, forgetting everything beside. Yula recalled him tothe work in hand. He hobbled on as fast as he could. He was drawingnear the pool, for tall rushes bent and shivered above the all-coveringsnow, and pines and willows rocked in the night wind overhead. Anotherwary step, and the pool lay stretched before him like a silver shield.
A colony of beavers had made their home in this quiet spot, buildingtheir mounds of earth like a dam across the water. But the busy workerswere all settling within doors to their winter sleep--drawbridges drawnup, and gates barred against intruders. "You are wiseheads," thoughtWilfred, "and I almost wish I could do the same--work all summer likebees, and sleep all winter like dormice; but then the winter is solong."
"Would not it be a grand thing to take home a beaver, Yula?" heexclaimed, suddenly remembering his gloves in their late reducedcondition, and longing for another cup of the unpalatable soup; for thekeen air sharpened the keener appetite, until he felt as if he couldhave eaten the said gloves, boiled or unboiled.
But how to get at the clever sleepers under their well-built dome wasthe difficulty, almost the impossibility.
"Yula, it can't be done--that is by you and me, old boy," he sighed."We have not got their house-door key for certain. We shall have to putup with the moss, and think ourselves lucky if we find it."
The edge of the pool was already fringed with ice, and many a shallowbasin where it had overflowed its banks was already frozen over.Wilfred was brushing away the crisp snow in his search for moss, when hecaught sight of a big white fish, made prisoner by the ice in an awkwardcorner, where the rising flood had one day scooped a tiny reservoir.Making Yula sit down in peace and quietness, and remember manners, heset to work. He soon broke the ice with a blow from the handle of hisknife, and took out the fish. As he expected, the hungry dog stoodready to devour it; but Wilfred, suspecting his intention, tied it up inthe blanket, and swung it over his shoulder. Fortune did not favour himwith such another find, although he searched about the edge of the lakeuntil it grew so slippery he was afraid of falling in. He had now toretrace his steps, following the marks in the snow back to the hut.
The joy of Pe-na-Koam was unbounded when he untied the blanket and slidthe fish into her hands.
The prospect of the hot supper it would provide for them nerved Wilfredto go a little further and try to reach the big owl's roost, for fearanother snow should bury the path Maxica h
ad made to it. Once lost hemight never find it again. The owl was still their most trusty friendand most formidable foe. Thanks to the kindly labours of Maxica's pole,Wilfred could trudge along much faster now; but before he reached thehollow tree, strange noises broke the all-pervading stillness. Therewas a barking of dogs in the distance, to which Yula replied with allthe energy in his nature. There was a tramping as of many feet, and ofhorses, coming nearer and nearer with a lumbering thud on the ground,deadened and muffled by the snow, but far too plain not to attract allWilfred's attention.
There was a confusion of sounds, as of a concourse of people; too manyfor a party of hunters, unless the winter camp of which Diome had spokenwas assembling. Oh joy! if this could be. Wilfred was working himselfinto a state of excitement scarcely less than Yula's.
He hurried on to the roosting-tree, for it carried him nearer still tothe trampling and the hum.
What could it mean? Yula was before him, paws up, climbing the old deadtrunk, bent still lower by the recent storm. A snatch, and he hadsomething out of that hole in the riven bark. Wilfred scrambled on, forfear his dog should forestall him. The night was clear around him, hesaw the aurora flashes come and go. Yula had lain down at the foot ofthe tree, devouring his prize. Wilfred's hand, fumbling in itsfingerless gloves, at last found the welcome hole. It was full oncemore. Soft feathers and furs: a gopher--the small groundsquirrel--crammed against some little snow-birds.
Wilfred gave the squirrel to his dog, for he had many fears the squawwould be unwilling to give him anything but water in their dearth offood. The snow-birds he transferred to his pocket, looking nervouslyround as he did so; but there was no owl in sight. The white breasts ofthe snow-birds were round and plump; but they were little things, notmuch bigger than sparrows, and remembering Maxica's caution, he dare nottake them all.
His hand went lower: a few mice--he could leave them behind him withoutany reluctance. But stop, he had not got to the bottom yet. Betterthan ever: he had felt the webbed feet of a wild duck. Mrs. Owl wasnearly forgiven the awful scare of the preceding night. Growing bolderin his elation, Wilfred seated himself on the roots of the tree, fromwhich Yula's ascent had cleared the snow. He began to prepare his game,putting back the skin and feathers to conceal his depredations from thesavage tenant, lest she should change her domicile altogether.
"I hope she can't count," said Wilfred, who knew not how to leave thespot without ascertaining the cause of the sounds, which kept himvibrating between hope and fear.
Suddenly Yula sprang forward with a bound and rushed over thesnow-covered waste with frantic fury.
"The Blackfeet! the Blackfeet!" gasped Wilfred, dropping like lightninginto the badger hole where Maxica had hidden him from the owl'svengeance. A singular cavalcade came in sight: forty or fifty Indianwarriors, armed with their bows and guns and scalping-knives, the chiefswith their eagles' feathers nodding as they marched. Behind themtrotted a still greater number of ponies, on which their squaws wereriding man fashion, each with her pappoose or baby tucked up as warm asit could be in its deer-skin, and strapped safely to its wooden cradle,which its mother carried on her back.
Every pony was dragging after it what the Indians call a travoy--thatis, two fir poles, the thin ends of which are harnessed to the pony'sshoulders, while the butt ends drag on the ground; another piece of woodis fastened across them, making a sort of truck, on which the skins andhousehold goods are piled. The bigger children were seated on the top ofmany a well-laden travoy, so that the squaws came on but slowly.
Wilfred was right in his conjecture: they were the Blackfeet Maxicafeared to encounter, coming up to trade with the nearest Hudson BayCompany's fort. They were bringing piles of furs and robes of skin, andbags of pemmican, to exchange for shot and blankets, sugar and tea,beads, and such other things as Indians desire to possess. They alwayscame up in large parties, because they were crossing the hunting-groundsof their enemies the Crees. They had a numerous following of dogs, andmany a family of squalling puppies, on the children's laps.
The grave, stern, savage aspect of the men, the ugly, anxious, carewornfaces of the toiling women, filled Wilfred with alarm. Maxica in hissemi-blindness might well fear to be the one against so many. Wilfreddared not even call back Yula, for fear of attracting their attention.They were passing on to encamp by the pool he had just quitted.Friendly or unfriendly, Yula was barking and snarling in the midst ofthe new-comers.
"Was his Yula, his Yula chummie, going to leave him?" asked Wilfred inhis dismay. "What if he had belonged originally to this roving tribe,and they should take him away!" This thought cut deeper into Wilfred'sheart than anything else at that moment. He crept out of his badgerhole, and crawled along the ditch-like path, afraid to show his headabove the snow, and still more afraid to remain where he was, for fearof the owl's return.
He kept up a hope that Yula might come back of his own accord. He wassoon at the birch-bark hut, but no Yula had turned up.
He tumbled in, breathless and panting. Pe-na-Koam was sure he had beenfrightened, but thought only of the owl. She had run a stick throughthe tail of the fish, and was broiling it in the front of the fire. Thecheery light flickered and danced along the misshapen walls, whichseemed to lean more and more each day from the pressure of the snowoutside them.
"The blessed snow!" exclaimed Wilfred. "It hides us so completely noone can see there is a hut at all, unless the smoke betrays us."
How was he to make the squaw understand the dreaded Blackfeet were here?He snatched up their drawing stick, as he called it, and began to sketchin a rough and rapid fashion the moving Indian camp which he had seen.A man with a bow in his hand, with a succession of strokes behind him todenote his following, and a horse's head with the poles of the travoy,were quite sufficient to enlighten the aged woman. She graspedWilfred's hand and shook it. Then she raised her other arm, as if tostrike, and looked inquiringly in his face. Friend or foe? That wasthe all-important question neither could answer.
Before he returned his moccasins to their rightful owner, Wilfred limpedout of the hut and hung up the contents of his blanket game-bag in thenearest pine. They were already frozen.
Not knowing what might happen if their refuge were discovered, theyseated themselves before the fire to enjoy the supper Wilfred hadsecured. The fish was nearly the size of a salmon trout. The squawremoved the sticks from which it depended a little further from thescorch of the fire, and fell to--pulling off the fish in flakes from oneside of the backbone, and signing to Wilfred to help himself in similarfashion from the other.
"Fingers were made before forks," thought the boy, his hunger overcomingall reluctance to satisfy it in such a heathenish way. But the oldsquaw's brow was clouded and her thoughts were troubled. She wastrembling for Wilfred's safety.
She knew by the number of dashes on the floor the party was large--aband of her own people; no other tribe journeyed as they did, moving thewhole camp at once. Other camps dispersed, not more than a dozenfamilies keeping together.
If they took the boy for a Cree or the friend of a Cree, they wouldcount him an enemy. Before the fish had vanished her plan was made.
She brought Wilfred his boots, and took back her moccasins. As the boypulled off the soft skin sock, which drew to the shape of his footwithout any pressure that could hurt his sprain, feeling far more like aglove than a shoe, he wondered at the skill which had made it. He heldit to the fire to examine the beautiful silk embroidery on the leggingattached to it. His respect for his companion was considerablyincreased. It was difficult to believe that beads and dyed porcupinequills and bright-coloured skeins of silk had been the delight of herlife. But just now she was intent upon getting possession of hishunting-knife. With this she began to cut up the firewood into chipsand shavings. Wilfred thought he should be the best at that sort ofwork, and went to her help, not knowing what she intended to do with it.
In her nervous haste she seemed at first glad of his assistance. Th
enshe pulled the wood out of his hand, stuck the knife in his belt, andimplored him by gestures to sit down in a hole in the floor closeagainst the wall, talking to him rapidly in her soft Indian tongue, asif she were entreating him to be patient.
Wilfred thought this was a queer kind of game, which he did not halflike, and had a good mind to turn crusty. But the tears came into heraged eyes. She clasped her hands imploringly, kissed him on both cheeks,as if to assure him of her good intentions, looked to the door, and laida finger on his lips impressively. In the midst of this pantomime itstruck Wilfred suddenly "she wants to hide me." Soon the billet stackwas built over him with careful skill, and the chips and shavings flungon the top.
Lost in the Wilds: A Canadian Story Page 6
