Читать книгу The Untamed American Spirit: Historical Novels & Western Adventures - Emerson Hough - Страница 85

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By daylight of the following morning the boys were busy breaking camp and getting their luggage across the bend to the place where they had left the boats below the rapids. They found no very bad water for some little distance, although occasionally there were stretches with steep rocks where the water rippled along very noisily. Again they would meet wide bends where the paddles were useful.

They still were in a wide valley. Far to the east lay the main range of the Rockies, but the mountains were much lower than they are farther to the south. They kept a sharp outlook on both banks, trying to find some landmark which would tell them where they were, and at last, indeed, they found a high, white bank on the right-hand side, which they supposed to have been the one mentioned in the Mackenzie journal, although it was not exactly where Rob’s map said it ought to be. They paused at this place for their first rest, and occupied themselves for a time figuring out, each according to his notion, a map of the country on ahead, which all admitted now was entirely strange to them.

Alex and Moise agreed pretty closely in their description of the country below the Finlay, for they had friends who had made that trip numbers of times. As to the country between this place and the mouth of the Finlay, Rob seemed to be deferred to more than any one else, because he had read carefully and mapped out the country in accordance with the Fraser and Mackenzie journals and such narratives of later travelers as he could find, surveyors, traders, and prospectors.

“Now,” said he presently, “if we should run down two or three hours farther we’d make say fifteen miles, and that ought to bring us about to the spot where Mackenzie climbed the tree to look out over the country. As near as I can get at it, that was pretty near the real divide between the eastern and western waters — that is to say, not far from where the small stream leads back to McLeod Lake, and the McLeod Lake portage across to the Fraser, the way the fur-traders went later on. That’s the Giscombe portage route. It’s a lot easier than the one we’ve taken, too.”

“Well, I don’t see how they ever got boats up this way at all,” said Jesse, looking with wonder at the swiftly moving current which passed at their feet.

“And just to think,” said John, “they didn’t know where they were at all, even as much as we do now; and we’re pretty much lost, if it comes to that.”

“Mackenzie, she’ll been good man,” said Moise. “Maybe so most as good man like my wife hees onkle, Pete Fraser.”

“Well,” said Alex, “we can drop down a way farther and if we don’t meet bad water we’ll get into camp early.”

“‘Drop down’ just about describes it,” said Rob. “It’s like sliding downhill on a sled, almost, isn’t it? I’ll know more about the making of a big river than I ever did before.”

None the less the boys, who had gained confidence with every hour in the care of these skilled boatmen, felt less and less fear as they passed on down the sometimes tumbling and roaring stream which now lay before them. The water was not really dangerous for some distance now, and only in two instances did Alex go ashore and line the boats down at the edge of rapids, although time and again he cautioned Moise, who was something of a daredevil in the canoe, not to undertake any run which looked in the least bad. Moise and Rob, of course, retained their position in the lead boat, the Mary Ann.

“I believe I’ll get the hang of it after a while,” said Rob, as they paused at the head of a rapid lying ahead of the two canoes. “The main thing is to map out your course before you go through, and then hang to it. You can’t take any too sudden turns, and you have to be careful not to strike on a rock — that’s the most dangerous thing, after all, except the big swells at the foot of a fast drop.”

Sometimes, when the shore was strewn with rocks alongside a rapid which interrupted the passing down of the boats, all of the party would be as much in the water as out, wading, shoving and pulling at the boats. They were pretty well chilled when, well on into the afternoon, Alex signified that it was time to make camp for the day.

“Better get out dry socks and moccasins, young gentlemen,” said he. “You’re not quite as tough as Moise yonder.”

Moise, happy and care-free, had not as yet started to make a fire, but was sitting on a rock playing earnestly at a jews’-harp which he carried in his pocket.

Jesse, idly prowling around in the “possible bag” in which Moise carried his personal belongings, tipped out on the ground what looked to be a small chopping-bowl, or wooden dish. “What’s that, Moise?” said he, “and what are all these sticks tied up in a bundle here?”

“I suppose you’ll not know what’s those,” said Moise.

Jesse shook his head.

“That’s what Injun calls his game,” said Moise, laughing.

“His game — what’s that?”

“Those game she’ll been call platter game. All tam in winter Injun will play those game in hees house — he’ll play it here hondred year, two hondred year, I s’pose maybe.”

“I know!” broke in Rob, eagerly. “Mackenzie tells about that very thing. He says that two of his Indians got to fighting over a game of platter at the fort down below here. I wonder if that’s the same thing!”

“It is,” said Alex, “precisely the same. The Crees all play this, although so far as I know it isn’t known east of Lake Superior. Show him how to play, Moise.”

Moise now spread down one of the blankets on the ground and took his seat cross-legged at the side of it, motioning to the boys to sit opposite. He now untied the greasy rag which wrapped up the bundle of sticks, and produced from it eight little pieces of copper, disks, red on one side and tinned or galvanized on the other. These he put in the pan or platter, and shaking them together, tossed them into the air, catching them again in the bowl, which he thumped on the blanket just as they fell.

“S’pose four white an’ four red’ll come out,” said he, “an’ I’m play’ with Alex. He’ll give me eight stick now, for I’ll win. So. Try heem again.”

This time the little disks fell irregularly, and Moise expressed his disgust.

“Five one kin’, three other kin’; no good!” said he. “She’ll have to come up two, four, seex, eight — the hard way for heem to come is all tam the way he’ll win. You see?” he continued on shaking and thumping the bowl and catching the little disks, and as he won or lost, Alex gravely handed him the little sticks, or counters, or received them back from him as the case might be.

This ancient gambling device of the Indians was very simple and the game was soon learned, but the knack of catching the disks in the pan proved quite difficult. John undertook it, with the result that he spilled every one of them out when they fell in the shallow bowl, much to the amusement of Moise.

“You’ll not been Injun,” said Moise. “If any of those pieces he’ll fly out of pan, then you have to give up the pan to the next man. You’ll make a loss that tam. All tam Injun he’ll play those platter game in the house at night,” continued Moise. “Two, four man, she’ll sit on blanket an’ play many hour. His woman she’ll cook meat on the fire. Another man he’ll sit an’ poun’ the drum. You’ll see my drum, I s’pose.”

He now fished out from under his bed one of the singular Cree drums, a shallow, one-sided circle of bent wood covered with tightly stretched moose skin. He showed them how the Indian drummer held this, straining it tight with thongs stretched from finger to thumb, and making the music by drumming with the fingers of the other hand.

“Injun he’ll use those drum sometam to pass time,” said Moise. “Sometam he’ll use heem for pray. S’pose I’ll want ver’ much for get moose — I’ll play on heem an’ seeng. S’pose I want for get grizzly ver’ much — then I seeng ver’ hard for get grizzly. S’pose you’ll seeng an’ play, always you’ll get those game, sure.”

“I don’t see what we’d do without you, Moise,” said John, who was continually rummaging around in Moise’s ditty-bag. “For instance, what’s this funny-looking knife you have here?”

“That’s worth noticing,” said Alex. “You young gentlemen ought to get you one of those knives each before you leave the country. That’s what we call a crooked knife — you see, the end of the blade is turned up.”

“How do you use that sort of thing?” asked John, curiously.

“As any native Injun always uses a knife,” rejoined Alex. “You see how the handle is put on — well, an Injun never whittles away from him, but always pulls the knife toward him. You’ll see, too, that he never sharpens a blade on both sides, but puts all the bevel on one side — look at my big hunting-knife here — it’s only sharpened on one side, and the other is perfectly flat.”

“Well, what makes Indians do that way?” asked John, wonderingly.

“I don’t know,” said Alex, “except that they always have done so. You see, they use files rather than whetstones to sharpen their tools. Maybe they find it easier to put on an edge in this way. Anyhow, if an Injun is making a canoe or a pair of snowshoes, or doing any other whittling work, you will see him use one of these crooked knives, and he’ll always whittle toward him, with his thumb out at the end of the handle. I don’t know who first invented these crooked knives,” continued Alex, musingly, “but they’ve always been that way since my father can remember. As to this big buffalo knife, I suppose the Northwest Company or the Hudson Bay people invented that. They’ve been selling them in the trade for a hundred and fifty years or so.”

“I suppose each country has its own tools and its own ways,” ventured Rob.

“Precisely.”

“I’ve been told,” Rob went on, “that that’s the way the Chinese use a knife or a saw — they pull it to them instead of pushing it away.”

“Well,” said Alex, smiling, “some people say that all of us Injuns came across the narrow salt water far to the northwest. You know, too, don’t you, that the Crees call themselves the First People?”

“They certainly were first in here,” assented Rob; “and, as we’ve said before, it’s hardly fair to call any white man a real discoverer — all this country was known long before a white man ever set foot in it.”