At the first camp, after he left, we heard a loud "plong" in the
water near the boat. Bezkya glided to the spot; I followed - here
was a large Beaver swimming. The Indian fired, the Beaver plunged,
and we saw nothing more of it. He told Billy, who told me, that it
was dead, because it did not slap with its tail as it went down.
Next night another splashed by our boat.
This morning as we paddled we saw a little stream, very muddy,
trickling into the river. Bezkya said, "Beaver at work on his dam
there." Now that we were really heading for flour, our Indian showed
up well. He was a strong paddler, silent but apparently cheerful,
ready at all times to work. As a hunter and guide he was of course
first class. About 10.30 we came on a large Beaver sunning himself
on a perch built of mud just above the water. He looked like a
huge chestnut Muskrat. He plunged at once but came up again yards
farther down, took another look and dived, to be seen no more.
At noon we reached our old camp, the last where all had been
together. Here we put up a monument on a tree, and were mortified
to think we had not done so at our farthest camp.
There were numbers of Yellowlegs breeding here; we were surprised
to see them resting on trees or flying from one branch to another.
A Great Gray-owl sitting on a stump was a conspicuous feature of
our landscape view; his white choker shone like a parson's.
Early in the morning we saw a Kingbird. This was our northernmost
record for the species.
We pressed on all day, stopping only for our usual supper of Moose
and tea, and about 7 the boys were ready to go on again. They
paddled till dark at 10. Camped in the rain, but every one was
well pleased, for we had made 40 miles that day and were that much
nearer to flour.
This journey had brought us down the Nyarling and 15 miles down
the Buffalo.
It rained all night; next morning the sun came out once or twice but
gave it up, and clouds with rain sprinklings kept on. We had struck
a long spell of wet; it was very trying, and fatal to photographic
work.
After a delicious, appetising, and inspiring breakfast of straight
Moose, without even salt, and raw tea, we pushed on along the line
of least resistance, i.e., toward flour.
A flock of half a dozen Bohemian Waxwings were seen catching flies
among the tall spruce tops; probably all were males enjoying a stag
party while their wives were home tending eggs or young.
Billy shot a female Bufflehead Duck; she was so small-only 8 inches
in slack girth - that she could easily have entered an ordinary
Woodpecker hole. So that it is likely the species nest in the abandoned
holes of the Flicker. A Redtailed Hawk had its nest on a leaning
spruce above the water. It was a most striking and picturesque
object; doubtless the owner was very well pleased with it, but a
pair of Robins militant attacked him whenever he tried to go near
it.
A Beaver appeared swimming ahead; Bezkya seized his rifle and
removed the top of its head, thereby spoiling a splendid skull but
securing a pelt and a new kind of meat. Although I was now paying
his wages the Beaver did not belong to me. According to the custom
of the country it belonged to Bezkya. He owed me nothing but service
as a guide. Next meal we had Beaver tail roasted and boiled; it
was very delicious, but rather rich and heavy.
At 3.45 we reached Great Slave Lake, but found the sea so high
that it would have been very dangerous to attempt crossing to Fort
Resolution, faintly to be seen a dozen miles away.
We waited till 7, then ventured forth; it was only 11 miles across
and we could send that canoe at 5 1/2 miles an hour, but the wind
and waves against us were so strong that it took 3 1/2 hours to
make the passage. At 10.30 we landed at Resolution and pitched our
tent among 30 teepees with 200 huge dogs that barked, scratched,
howled, yelled, and fought around, in, and over the tent-ropes
all night long. Oh, how different from the tranquil woods of the
Nyarling!
CHAPTER XXI
FORT RESOLUTION AND ITS FOLK
Early next morning Preble called on his old acquaintance, Chief
Trader C. Harding, in charge of the post. Whenever we have gone to
H. B. Co. officials to do business with them, as officers of the
company, we have found them the keenest of the keen; but whenever
it is their personal affair, they are hospitality out-hospitalled.
They give without stint; they lavish their kindness on the stranger
from the big world. In a few minutes Preble hastened back to say
that we were to go to breakfast at once.
That breakfast, presided over by a charming woman and a genial,
generous man, was one that will not be forgotten while I live.
Think of it, after the hard scrabble on the Nyarling! We had real
porridge and cream, coffee with veritable sugar and milk, and
authentic butter, light rolls made of actual flour, unquestionable
bacon and potatoes, with jam and toast - the really, truly things - and
we had as much as we could eat! We behaved rather badly - intemperately,
I fear - we stopped only when forced to do it, and yet both of us
came away with appetites.
It was clear that I must get some larger craft than my canoe to
cross the lake from Fort Resolution and take the 1,300 pounds of
provisions that had come on the steamer.
