WDODCRA 



,343 



the river. I waited for him to go down the 

 steep bank to the edge of the water where 

 he could get an unobstructed view up and 

 down stream, and perhaps see the canoe 

 {canoe he called it except when he talked in 

 Indian, and then he called it cheema), but 

 go to the edge of the water he did not. 

 Instead he looked around at me inquiringly 

 and said, " Aren't you coming?" So I 

 went to where he was, and then followed him 

 down the bank, and there was the canoe. 

 He had not only struck the river near where 

 we had left the canoe; he had hit it 

 exactly. I pondered over this, and 

 after awhile asked him how he had done it. 

 "Why," said he in his subdued voice, "I 

 followed in the back trail." 



Soon after this incident we paddled down 

 one river and up another toward a place 

 where the guides thought there would be 

 good moose shooting. But alas! There 

 were other "niniwok" there ahead of us. 

 They showed us a tine head which they had 

 secured, but reported a scarcity of game. 

 So on the next day but one we turned our 

 faces toward the country we had just left, 

 portaged around, some falls, put our canoes in 

 the millrace below, and sped down the stream . 

 Great bergs of foam were floating on the 

 surface. Into these the guides would direct 

 the canoes and cleave them in two. Soon 

 we were at the side stream again, and had 

 to portage once more, this time for half a 

 mile through the forest to avoid the rapids; 

 then came more paddling interrupted by 

 short portages around log jams, and by and 

 by we were gliding upon long uninterrupted 

 stretches of placid river flowing between 

 beautiful banks ploughed with deep gullies 

 by the moose as they had slid down into the 

 water to cross the stream, and showing 

 every now and then among the trees the 

 bright wood of saplings bare of bark — the 

 work of beaver. In the soft mud upon 

 which the water lapped were the tracks of 

 innumerable creatures of the wilderness. 

 "Where was it," said the voice from the 

 stern of my canoe, "we saw the 'moosk 

 rat?'" I confessed that I did not know. 

 Each turn of the river showed only the wil- 

 derness, and each turn was like every other. 

 I could not have told within miles, even had 

 I thought it an event worth trying to re- 

 member, where I had seen the little animal 



swimming in the water. A silence of half 

 an hour followed as we steadily plied our 

 paddles. Then the soft voice from the stern 

 quietly said, "It was here that we saw the 

 'moosk rat.'" I mention the incident only 

 as showing on what the mind of this native 

 of the wilderness was dwelling. It is in- 

 structive. 



One night, a little later on, we went 

 out after dark. It was a beautiful night 

 and the moon was up. We paddled down 

 the river two miles or so, then pulled the 

 canoe part way up the steep bank, hoisted 

 ourselves up the rest of the way to the top 

 and stood in the forest. Pierre looked up 

 among the trees to mark his position, and I 

 did the same. Then we started off with the 

 moon over our left breast and walked for a 

 long time. As I write, I can picture that 

 silent forest a hundred leagues away, un- 

 trodden since the snow came by the foot of 

 man, lying as it lay that night, tranquil and 

 vast beneath the moon. At the end of the 

 walking we sat down in a favorable place 

 and waited. While we waited we experi- 

 mented with the rifle and tried to fix birch 

 bark on the front sight so that we could see 

 to aim in the dark. But it was of no use. 

 We tried matches, which, because of the 

 brimstone, ought to do well, but they did 

 not. There isn't anything that is very help- 

 ful in making the sights visible unless it is a 

 jack. After awhile we began to be chilly 

 and started back toward the canoe. We 

 now kept the moon almost behind us, thus 

 making allowance for the distance it had 

 traveled while we had been waiting. The 

 course led us through rough country, 

 among windfalls. In the moonlight I could 

 see where the bears had been at work among 

 the logs, and, had I been alone, I should 

 have gone more cautiously, for I remem- 

 bered the alliterative advice of a Montana 

 guide who once took me into the Teton 

 country: "Be careful in going where there 

 are bears," said he, "to see that one doesn't 

 rise up and slap you to sleep." However, 

 Pierre forged ahead at a tremendous rate, 

 regardless of possible bears, and I followed 

 him. He was taking just about the course 

 that I should have followed. He was keep- 

 ing the moon behind him and he was going 

 toward a hill which, just after we had left 

 the canoe, I had noted on the other side of 



