Читать книгу The Untamed American Spirit: Historical Novels & Western Adventures - Emerson Hough - Страница 104

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Arrived at Peace River Landing, the young hunters found everything quite as Alex said it would be, their belongings perfectly safe and untouched in the tent where they had left them. Uncle Dick, who now took charge of the party, agreed with them that it was an excellent thing to make Alex and Moise presents of the canoes, and to give Moise the remainder of the supplies which would not be required on their brief trip to Little Slave Lake by wagon.

At this time the telephone line had been completed from Little Slave Lake to Peace River Landing, and the factor at the latter post had sent word for two wagons and teams to come up for these passengers, outbound. There was little difficulty in throwing their light equipment, with their many trophies and curiosities, into one of the wagons, and arranging with the other to carry out the Jaybird, which, a little bit battered but practically unhurt, now continued the last stage of its somewhat eventful journey over the old Mackenzie trail — Alex, as may be supposed, watching it with very jealous eye so that it should get no harm in the long traverse.

Alex was thus to accompany the party for a few days, but Moise, who lived at the Landing, now must say good-by. This he did still smiling, though by no means glad to lose the company of his young friends.

“You’ll come back some more bimeby,” said he. “Any man he’ll drink the water on this river one time, he’ll couldn’t live no more without once each year he’ll come back an’ drink some more on that river! I’ll see you again, an’ bimeby you’ll get so you’ll could carry seex hondred poun’ half a mile an’ not set it down. Moise, he’ll wait for you.”

When they reached the top of the steep hill which rises back of Peace River Landing, almost a thousand feet above the river which runs below, they all stopped and looked back, waiting for the wagons to toil up the slope, and waiting also to take in once more the beauty of the scene which lay below them. The deep valley, forking here, lay pronounced in the dark outlines of its forest growth. It still was morning, and a light mist lay along the surface of the river. In the distance banks of purple shadows lay, and over all the sun was beginning to cast a softening light. The boys turned away to trudge on along the trail with a feeling almost of sadness at leaving a place so beautiful.

“It is as Moise says, though!” broke out Rob, answering what seemed to be the unspoken question in the minds of his fellows — “we’ll have to come back again some time. It’s a man’s country.”

Hardened by their long experience in the open, the boys were able to give even Uncle Dick, seasoned as he was, something of an argument at footwork on the trail, and they used wagons by no means all the time in the hundred miles which lie between Peace River Landing and Little Slave Lake — a journey which required them to camp out for two nights in the open. By this time the nights were cold, and on the height of land between these two waterways the water froze almost an inch in the water-pails at night, although the sun in the daytime was as warm as ever. To their great comfort, the mosquito nuisance was now quite absent; so, happy and a little hungry, at length they rode into the scattered settlement of Grouard, or Little Slave Lake, passing on the way to the lower town one more of the old-time posts of the Hudson Bay Company.

“You see here,” said Uncle Dick, as they paused at the edge of the water which lay at the end street, “only an arm of the lake proper. The steamer can’t get through this little channel, but ties up about eight miles from here. I suppose we ought to go aboard to-night.”

“If you will allow me, sir,” said Alex, stepping forward at this time, “I might give the boys a little duck-shoot this evening on their way down to the boat.”

“Why not?” said Uncle Dick, enthusiastically. “I don’t know but I’d like a mallard or so for myself, although I can’t join you to-night, as I’m too busy. Can you get guns and ammunition, Alex?”

“Oh yes,” replied the old hunter, “easily. And I’ll show the young gentlemen more ducks to-night than they ever saw in all their lives before. The Jaybird will carry all of us, if we’re careful, and I’ll just paddle them down along the edge of the marsh. After we’ve made our shoot, we’ll come on down to the boat after dark, or thereabout.”

“Fine!” said Uncle Dick. “That’ll give me time to get my business completed here, and I’ll go down to the boat by wagon along shore.”

This arrangement pleased the boys very much, for they knew in a general way that the lake on whose shores they now were arrived was one of the greatest breeding-places for wild fowl on the continent. Besides this, they wished to remain with Alex as long as possible, for all of them had become very fond of the quiet and dignified man who had been their guide and companion for so long.

The four of them had no trouble in finishing the portage of the Jaybird and her cargo from the wagon to navigable water, and finally they set off, paddling for the marshes which made off toward the main lake.

They had traveled perhaps three or four miles when Alex concluded to yield to the importunities of the boys to get ashore. They were eager to do this, because continually now they saw great bands and streams of wild fowl coming in from every direction to alight in the marshes — more ducks, as Alex had said, than they had thought there were in all the world. Most of them were mallards, and from many places in the marsh they could hear the quacking and squawking of yet other ducks hidden in the high grass.

“We haven’t any waders,” said Alex, “and I think you’ll find the water pretty cold, but you’ll soon get used it to. Come ahead, then.”

They pushed their canoe into the cover of the reeds and grasses, and disembarking, waded on out toward the outer edge of the marsh, where the water was not quite so deep, yet where they could get cover in rushes and clumps of grass. Alex posted them in a line across a narrow quarter of the marsh, so that each gun would be perhaps a hundred yards from his neighbor, Jesse, the shortest of the party, taking the shallowest water nearest to the road beyond the marsh.

They had not long to wait, for the air seemed to them quite full of hurrying bands of fowl, so close that they could see their eyes dart glances from side to side, their long necks stretched out, their red feet hugged tight up to their feathers.

It is not to be supposed that any one of our young hunters was an expert wild-fowl shot, for skill in that art comes only with a considerable experience. Moreover, they were not provided with the best of guns and ammunition, but only such as the Post was accustomed to sell to the half-breeds of that country. In spite of all handicaps, however, the sport was keen enough to please them, and successful enough as well, for once in a while one of them would succeed in knocking out of a passing flock one or more of the great birds, which splashed famously in the water of the marsh. Sometimes they were unable to find their birds after they had fallen, but they learned to hurry at once to a crippled bird and secure it before it could escape and hide in the grasses. Presently they had at their feet almost a dozen fine mallards. In that country, where the ducks abound, there had as yet been no shooting done at them, so that they were not really as wild as they are when they reach the southern latitudes. Neither were their feathers so thick as they are later in the season, when their flight is stronger. The shooting was not so difficult as not to afford plenty of excitement for our young hunters, who called out in glee from one to the other, commenting on this, the last of their many sporting experiences in the north.

They found that Alex, although he had never boasted of his skill, was a very wonderful shot on wild fowl; in fact, he rarely fired at all unless certain he was going to kill his bird, and when he dropped the bird it nearly always was stone-dead.

After a time Rob, hearing what he supposed to be the quacking of a duck in the grass behind him, started back to find what he fancied was the hidden mallard. He saw Alex looking at him curiously, and once more heard the quacking.

“Why, it’s you who’ve been doing that all the time, Alex!” exclaimed Rob. “I see now why those ducks would come closer to you than to me — you were calling them!”

Alex tried to show Rob how to quack like a duck without using any artificial means, but Rob did not quite get the knack of it that evening. For a time, however, after the other boys had come over also, they all squatted in the grass near to Alex, and found much pleasure in seeing him decoy the ducks, and do good, clean shooting when they were well within reach.

At last Alex said, “I think this will do for the evening, if you don’t mind. It’s time we were getting on down to the steamer.”

The boys had with them their string of ducks, and Alex had piled up nearly two dozen of his own.

“What are we going to do with all of these?” said Rob. “They’re heavy, and our boat’s pretty full right now.”

“How many shall you want on the boat?” inquired Alex.

“Well,” said Rob, “I don’t know, but from the number of ducks we’ve seen I don’t suppose they’re much of a rarity there any more than they are with you. Why don’t you keep these ducks yourself, Alex, for your family?”

“Very well,” said Alex, “suppose you take half dozen or so, and let me get the others when I come back — I’ll pile them up on this muskrat house here, and pick them up after I have left you at the steamer. You see,” continued he, “my people live about two miles on the other side of the town, closer to the Hudson Bay post. I must go back and get acquainted with my family.”

“Have you any children, Alex?” asked Rob.

“Five,” said Alex. “Two boys about as big as you, and three little girls. They all go to school.”

“I wish we had known that,” said Rob, “when we came through town, for we ought to have called on your family. Never mind, we’ll do that the next time we’re up here.”

They paddled on now quietly and steadily along the edge of the marshes, passed continually by stirring bands of wild fowl, now indistinct in the dusk. At last they saw the lights of the steamer which was to carry them to the other extremity of Little Slave Lake.

And so at last, after they had gone aboard, it became necessary to part with Alex in turn. Rob called his friends apart for a little whispered conversation. After a time they all went up to Alex carrying certain articles in their hands.

“If you please, Alex,” said Rob, “we want to give your children some little things we don’t need any more ourselves. Here’s our pocket-knives, and some handkerchiefs, and what toffy John has left, and a few little things. Please take them to your boys, and to the girls, if they’ll have them, and say we want to come and see them some time.”

“That’s very nice,” said Alex. “I thank you very much.”

He shook each of them by the hand quietly, and then, dropping lightly into the Jaybird as she lay alongside, paddled off steadily into the darkness, with Indian dignity now, saying no further word of farewell.