28 



THE ARCTIC PRAIRIES 



The woods were donning their vernal green and re- 

 sounded with the calls of birds now. The mosquito 

 plague of the region had not yet appeared, and there 

 was little lacking to crown with a halo the memory of 

 those days on the Missouri of the North. 



Native quadrupeds seemed scarce, and we were all 

 agog when one of the men saw a black fox trotting 

 along the opposite bank. However, it turned out to 



Fort McKay 



be one of the many stray dogs of the country. He 

 followed us a mile or more, stopping at times to leap 

 at fish that showed near the shore. When we landed 

 for lunch he swam the broad stream and hung about 

 at a distance. As this was twenty miles from any 

 settlement, he was doubtless hungry, so I left a boun- 

 tiful lunch for him, and when we moved away, he 

 claimed his own. 



At Fort McKay I saw a little half-breed boy shoot- 

 ing with a bow and displaying extraordinary marks- 

 manship. At sixty feet he could hit the bottom of a 

 tomato tin nearly every time; and even more surpris- 

 ing was the fact that he held the arrow with what is 

 known as the Mediterranean hold. When, months 

 later, I again stopped at this place, I saw another boy 



