The next
afternoon we made the exit rapids of Casba Lake. Preble was preparing
to portage them, but asked Weeso, "Can we run them?"
Weeso landed, walked to a view-point, took a squinting look and
said, "Ugh!" (Yes). Preble rejoined, "All right! If he says he can,
he surely can. That's the Indian of it. A white man takes risks;
an Indian will not; if it is risky he'll go around." So we ran the
rapids in safety.
Lighter each day, as the food was consumed, our elegant canoe went
faster. When not detained by heavy seas 30 or 40 miles a day was
our journey. On August 30 we made our last 6 miles in one hour and
6 1/2 minutes. On September 2, in spite of head-winds, we made 36
miles in 8 1/4 hours and in the evening we skimmed over the glassy
surface of Artillery Lake, among its many beautiful islands and
once more landed at our old ground - the camp in the Last Woods.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE FIRST WOODS
How shall I set forth the feelings it stirred? None but the shipwrecked
sailor, long drifting on the open sea, but come at last to land,
can fully know the thrill it gave us. We were like starving Indians
suddenly surrounded by Caribou. Wood - timber - fuel - galore! It was
hard to realise - but there it was, all about us, and in the morning
we were awakened by the sweet, sweet, home-like song of the Robins
in the trees, singing their "Cheerup, cheerily," just as they do
it in Ontario and Connecticut. Our cache was all right; so, our
stock of luxuries was replenished. We now had unlimited food as well
as unlimited firewood; what more could any one ask? Yet there was
more. The weather was lovely; perfect summer days, and the mosquitoes
were gone, yes, now actually nets and flybars were discarded for
good. On every side was animal life in abundance; the shimmering
lake with its Loons and islands would fit exactly the Indian's dream
of the heavenly hunting-grounds. These were the happy halcyon days
of the trip, and we stayed a week to rest and revel in the joys
about us.
In the morning I took a long walk over the familiar hills; the
various skeletons we had left were picked bare, evidently by Gulls
and Ravens, as no bones were broken and even the sinews were left.
There were many fresh tracks of single Caribou going here and
there, but no trails of large bands. I sent Weeso off to the Indian
village, two miles south. He returned to say that it was deserted
and that, therefore, the folk had gone after the Caribou, which
doubtless were now in the woods south of Artillery Lake. Again the
old man was wholly astray in his Caribou forecast.
