Unlike the founder of
the family, Sousi has no children of his own. But he has reared a
dozen waifs under prompting of his own kind heart. He is quite a
character - does not drink or smoke, and I never heard him swear.
This is not because he does not know how, for he is conversant with
the vigor of all the five languages of the country, and the garment
of his thought is like Joseph's coat - Ethnologically speaking, its
breadth and substance are French, but it bears patches of English,
with flowers and frills, strophes, and classical allusions of Cree
and Chipewyan - the last being the language of his present "home
circle."
There was one more peculiarity of our guide that struck me forcibly.
He was forever considering his horse. Whenever the trail was very
bad, and half of it was, Sousi dismounted and walked - the horse
usually following freely, for the pair were close friends.
This, then, was the dark villain against whom we had been warned.
How he lived up to his reputation will be seen later.
After four hours' march through a level, swampy country, forested
with black and white spruce, black and white poplar, birch, willow,
and tamarack, we came to Salt River, a clear, beautiful stream,
but of weak, salty brine.
Not far away in the woods was a sweet spring, and here we camped
for the night. Close by, on a place recently burnt over, I found
the nest of a Green-winged Teal. All cover was gone and the nest
much singed, but the down had protected the 10 eggs. The old one
fluttered off, played lame, and tried to lead me away. I covered
up the eggs and an hour later found she had returned and resumed
her post.
That night, as I sat by the fire musing, I went over my life when
I was a boy in Manitoba, just too late to see the Buffalo, recalling
how I used to lie in some old Buffalo wallow and peer out over the
prairie through the fringe of spring anemones and long to see the
big brown forms on the plains. Once in those days I got a sensation,
for I did see them. They turned out to be a herd of common cattle,
but still I got the thrill.
Now I was on a real Buffalo hunt, some twenty-five years too late.
Will it come? Am I really to see the Wild Buffalo on its native
plains? It is too good to be true; too much like tipping back the
sands of time.
CHAPTER VII
THE BUFFALO HUNT
We left camp on Salt River at 7.45 in the morning and travelled
till 11 o'clock, covering six miles. It was all through the same
level country, in which willow swamps alternated with poplar and
spruce ridges. At 11 it began to rain, so we camped on a slope under
some fine, big white spruces till it cleared, and then continued
westward. The country now undulated somewhat and was varied with
openings.
Sousi says that when first he saw this region, 30 years ago, it
was all open prairie, with timber only in hollows and about water.
This is borne out by the facts that all the large trees are in such
places, and that all the level open stretches are covered with
sapling growths of aspen and fir. This will make a glorious settlement
some day. In plants, trees, birds, soil, climate, and apparently
all conditions, it is like Manitoba.
We found the skeleton of a cow Buffalo, apparently devoured
by Wolves years ago, because all the big bones were there and the
skull unbroken.
About two in the afternoon we came up a 200-foot rise to a beautiful
upland country, in which the forests were diversified with open
glades, and which everywhere showed a most singular feature. The
ground is pitted all over with funnel-shaped holes, from 6 to 40
feet deep, and of equal width across the rim; none of them contained
water. I saw one 100 feet across and about 50 feet deep; some expose
limestone; in one place we saw granite.
At first I took these for extinct geysers, but later I learned that
the whole plateau called Salt Mountain is pitted over with them.
Brine is running out of the mountain in great quantities, which
means that the upper strata are being undermined as the salt washes
out, and, as these crack, the funnels are formed no doubt by the
loose deposits settling.
In the dry woods Bear tracks became extremely numerous; the whole
country, indeed, was marked with the various signs. Practically
every big tree has bearclaw markings on it, and every few yards
there is evidence that the diet of the bears just now is chiefly
berries of Uva ursi.
As we rode along Sousi prattled cheerfully in his various tongues;
but his steady flow of conversation abruptly ended when, about 2
P. M., we came suddenly on some Buffalo tracks, days old, but still
Buffalo tracks. All at once and completely he was the hunter. He
leaped from his horse and led away like a hound.
Ere long, of course, the trail was crossed by two fresher ones;
then we found some dry wallows and several very fresh tracks. We
tied up the horses in an old funnel pit and set about an elaborate
hunt. Jarvis minded the stock, I set out with Sousi, after he had
tried the wind by tossing up some grass. But he stopped, drew a
finger-nail sharply across my canvas coat, so that it gave a little
shriek, and said "Va pa," which is "Cela ne va pas" reduced to its
bony framework. I doffed the offending coat and we went forward as
shown on the map.
