Sept, ii, 1909.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
409 
she see me de ol’ woman she drop de lamp an’ 
yell an’ pray. I say, ‘W’at for you yell an’ 
pray?’ She say, ‘W’at for you no res’ quiet? 
We sing your service, an’ monsieur le cure, he 
say plenty mass beside. W’at you wan’?’ 
"I say, ‘Fool woman, you, for waste money. 
I no dead hat all; honly ver’ hungry. Go cook 
me somet’ing queck.’ 
“Den she’s awful glad for see me, but she 
cry an’ mak’ de fool so I hav’ for go an’ cook 
maself for maself. Affer I eat planty I tell 
her all de t’ing w’at happen. Den she tell me 
how she got scare w’en I no come back at Noel, 
an’ bambye she sen’ her brudders for look for 
me. Dey fin’ camp, fin’ gun, fin’ I no mak’ 
snowshoe las’ fall, but not fin’ me, an’ dey say 
demselves: ‘Poor Johnny, hees dead long tam’. 
We go ’ome an’ tell hees ol’ woman, an’ w’en 
snow melt we come back again an’ hunt for 
heem an’ get his t’ing.’ 
“Ol’ woman she not say noding, cos’ I don’ 
catch honly one bear. She’s too glad for get 
her ol’ man back, an’ de cure hees promise mak’ 
mass hall over for me jus’ de same, wid no 
more pay, w’en I’ll be sure dead. 
“Nex’ summer I see ver’ ol’ honcle of me 
who’s one Montagnais, an’ I’ll tell heem hall 
w’at happen. He say, ‘Poor Johnny, I know hall 
’bout dat, me. W’en Nasgaupi* get ver’ ol’ an’ 
winter come on an’ poor ol’ man ’fraid he not 
get ’nough for eat ’cause hees so ver’ ol’, he 
♦A wandering band in the far North. 
T HERE were four of us, not counting How- 
muchy and the camels. First there was 
Joe. Joe was sixty-five (by his own ad¬ 
mission), low-sized, wiry, well-knit, with child¬ 
like blue eyes and a flowing white beard. As 
he looked aboard ship with his white hair and 
beard, and clad in a spotless blue overcoat, Joe 
would have done for an artist’s model of an 
elderly saint. But Joe in his shirt sleeves in 
the bush was a different kind of man. As he 
stood with a pick in his hand, and his hips 
somewhat awry, as is the fashion with old dig¬ 
gers, the contrast between Joe’s saintlike face 
and the language that usually flowed from his 
lips was very marked indeed. When one got 
to know him one could appreciate his many 
good points, but the briefest acquaintanceship 
with Joe in the bush was sufficient to render 
the contrast between his looks and his language 
somewhat startling. 
George was Joe’s mate. George was a me¬ 
dium-sized, well-built Australian of twenty-five 
or thereabouts; wide-awake, kindly, hard-work¬ 
ing; willing to take his share of whatever hard 
knocks were going, and more than his share, 
if necessary. How he came to be Joe’s mate 
was somewhat of a puzzle, considering the dif¬ 
ference in their ages as well as other differences. 
George never used profanity and carried with 
him, as part of his outfit, a small Bible—a part¬ 
ing gift from his mother. 
Dinny was my mate. Dinny was a year or 
watch for bear an’ foller heem. W’en he see 
ol’ bear go for sleep for winter, Nasgaupi he 
go lie down wid de bear an’ dat mak’ heem sleep 
jus’ sam’ lak’ de bear all troo de winter. He 
wak up in de spring, sam’ tam’ as ol’ bear. But 
Nasgaupi he’s always wise, an’ he tak’ his snow- 
shoe wid him an’ somet’ing for heat w’en he 
was wak’ hup.’ ” 
Some days later I asked Johnny if he had 
ever heard of a famous hunter of long ago called 
Rip Van Winkle. He acknowledged with evi¬ 
dent regret that this chasseur’s fame had never 
reached him. “Dat’s not Montagnais for sure, 
dat Reep Van Weenk’ or else Johnny he know 
heem. Yes, Johnny he know hevry hunter w’at’s. 
Montagnais, an’ lot nudder hunter, too. Guess 
dat Reep Van Weenk’ he’s never come dis way, 
or Johnny know him for sure, eh monsieur? 
Mus’ be fine chasseur, all sam’!” 
In making an attack on a bear some Montag¬ 
nais of the real trapper type will readily use a 
small axe if guns are not available. The man¬ 
ner of proceeding is as follows: The hunter 
holds in his right hand the axe, and in his left 
hand a small tree which he thrusts at the bear. 
The bear then grabs the tree, and the Indian, 
if he is an expert, will immediately split the 
bear’s skull with the axe. I have never seen 
this maneuver carried out, but I have the testi¬ 
mony of many reliable witnesses regarding its 
not infrequent performance. 
two younger than George, and about the same 
height and build, but by no means so strong 
and active, which was accounted for by the fact 
that so far he had spent all his working days 
behind the counter of a drug store, whereas 
George had spent his on the farm, part of his 
work being to grow all the vegetables used in 
his father’s house. 
I formed the fourth of the party. In age I 
came about midway between George and Joe, 
but like Dinny, I was unused to outdoor work. 
However, I had a better knowledge of mining 
than Dinny, inasmuch as I knew the difference 
between a pick and a shovel, and could distin¬ 
guish quartz from sandstone. This and similar 
information Dinny had to acquire after leaving 
the steamer. 
It was in the early ’90s, some months after 
Bailey had discovered his famous Coolgardie 
mine. The gold fever was at its height through¬ 
out the Australian colonies, and the westward- 
bound steamers from Sydney and Melbourne 
were crowded with passengers for Perth—or 
rather Freemantle, the port of the gold fields. 
From Perth inland to Southern Cross a narrow- 
gauge railway wound, mostly through primeval 
bush, the journey occupying about fifteen hours. 
From Southern Cross to Coolgardie was a five- 
day tramp. The usual way was to arrange with 
one of the many teams bringing goods into Cool¬ 
gardie to carry one’s belongings, and then tramp 
beside the team, stopping for meals where the 
team stopped, and camping for the night wher¬ 
ever the horses were outspanned. We always 
camped beside a soak. What a soak is will 
appear later. 
Having learned that Joe was an old miner 
and that George was to be his mate, Dinny and 
I thought it would be a good plan to ally our¬ 
selves with them, and form a prospecting party 
of four. So we broached the matter on board 
ship and they agreed to our plan. We consid¬ 
ered ourselves very fortunate in having as one 
of our party an ojd digger who had spent more 
than forty years at the business, and we fore¬ 
saw all kinds of golden discoveries looming in 
the near future. Dinny and I agreed that we 
should travel for a year or two after making 
our pile, but there was a slight difference of 
opinion as to what big city we should visit first, 
Dinny being for New York and I for Tokio. 
Dinny would walk a dozen miles any night for 
a game of poker; I guess that’s why his heart 
was set on New York. 
On reaching Coolgardie we found that the 
correct thing to do—if we wished to go pros¬ 
pecting—was to purchase camels. So we bought 
two camels for five hundred dollars. We could 
only afford so much for that part of our out¬ 
fit, but we found that we could not get two 
good camels for that amount; we were there¬ 
fore obliged to be satisfied with a pair of infe¬ 
rior animals, one being an elderly female camel 
that could not carry a heavy load, and the other 
a juvenile male camel, whose temper was soured 
by some stomach ailment, and who would not 
carry a heavy load. Having purchased the cam¬ 
els we had of course to have a driver, so we 
secured Howmuchy. That was the name by 
which Joe, who did all the bargaining, intro¬ 
duced him to us. I ventured the remark that 
no self-respecting Afghan could have a name 
like that, but Joe said that was what he had 
heard another Afghan call him, and that was 
what he would call him. So our driver came 
to be known all round as Howmuchy. Later 
I asked an Afghan who could read English to 
spell Howmuchy’s name. It was Ahmed Shah. 
As pronounced, however, it was not so unlike 
the name Joe had bestowed on him. 
Howmuchy was, of course, a follower of 
Mohammed, and a priest into the bargain. I 
believe he was a priest because his father was 
a priest, since professions and trades run in 
families in his country. He was a good priest, 
too, and seemed to carry out the tenets of his 
religion with much strictness. For one thing, 
he said his prayers regularly and publicly, morn, 
ing and night. He had other times for private 
devotions but, morning and evening, he went 
through all the requisite forms wherever he 
chanced to be, kneeling and rising and genu¬ 
flecting, and making motions with his hands as 
he faced in the direction where he considered 
Mecca to lie. No matter how long or trying 
the march may have been, Howmuchy, after 
seeing to the welfare of his camels, never sat 
down to his meal until he had first performed 
his devotions. 
Another occasion when he prayed in public 
was when he first saw the new moon. Happen¬ 
ing to be near him at the time, I drew his atten¬ 
tion to the slender silver crescent. Keeping his 
eyes fixed on the moon, he held his hand out 
and asked for some silver. I gave him a six¬ 
pence. Then he said quite a number of prayers 
A Drirvk of Welter 
By J. C. MACNAMARA 
unnvjiB\n*n-\mums(i *1 Ki *n 
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