TAY-BUN-ANE-JE-GAY. 275 



It would have been almost impossible to run these lines 

 before the swamps were frozen. I saw corner stakes set 

 and "witness trees" marked, and when the man removed 

 his hand from the top of the stake it fell. There were 

 no stones to be found for markers; but the trees told the 

 story, and the exact place of the stake could be found. 



I can't say when it was that we met a train of Red 

 River settlers on their way from Pembina perhaps it 

 was on our way up, but it was an event. We heard the 

 creaking of their carts for at least ten miles before we 

 met. There were eighteen carts in the train drawn by 

 ponies, and not a bit of iron in the whole outfit! Not 

 even a nail. The wheels had wooden tires held by 

 wooden pins, and if one gave out there was the forest to 

 furnish material. Some of the carts had a ham rind 

 under the axle, but that was a foolish concession to the 

 god of silence. The others shrieked and wailed like lost 

 spirits, and miles before we met them we were wondering 

 what could make such unearthly sounds. We halted 

 and talked with the priest who was in charge of the ex- 

 pedition, and seemed to be the only man in the party who 

 could speak English. The other men were French, In- 

 dians and half-breeds, and they spoke such a patois of 

 mixed Ojibway and Canadian French that Crosby 

 couldn't understand a word, and he spoke Boston French 

 fluently. The priest was a jolly old fellow, a well-read 

 man who, it seemed to me, was wasting his life among a 

 very dirty lot; but if he was contented we should be. I 

 listened to him talk of his mission work, and of his hope 

 that there would be a weekly mail up from St. Paul into 

 his frozen region before many years. His people had 

 sold their furs; the Hudson Bay Company had a 

 monopoly of the trade in British America, and they 

 brought nothing to sell. They were going to St. Paul 



