[Contents]CHAPTER XIVA PUZZLEThus far the three travellers had enjoyed a long spell of that perfect fair weather, which during some seasons is common in the North Country, while at other seasons summer comes near missing the great wilderness which lies between Lake Superior and Hudson Bay.By the time Ganawa and the lads had each finished a pink-fleshed broiled trout for supper the western sky was overcast and they could see the reflection of distant lightning on the far-away clouds, although above them the stars were shining, and a westerly wind soughed somewhat uncannily through the tops of spruces and birches and played about the crowns of old white pines which far overtopped the dense mixed forest of spruce, birch, balsam, fir, and white cedar, which campers and fishermen may find over[114]much of the great North Shore country to this day.“My father,” Ray had asked, “why are there only a few big pines in the forest?”Ganawa thought a few moments before he answered. “I cannot tell you, my son. As long as I remember, and during the time of my father, this was always a country of a few big pine-trees, but south of the Big Lake, where there was for a long time the country of the Chippewas, there are large forests of very big pine-trees.”The question which Ray asked of Ganawa is somewhat of a puzzle even to the scientific foresters and naturalists of to-day. If one asks the oldest present-day Indians for information, he receives about the same answer which Ganawa gave to Ray. As long as the oldest of them remembers and far back into the time of their grandfathers, isolated giant white pines have towered over the other forest trees that do not grow to the size of giants.In some regions, as those in the poplar[115]forests of the Big Fork country in Minnesota, and in the Itasca Forest, the big pines are probably the only trees that survived a destructive fire between seventy-five or a hundred years ago. Of the time of these fires neither white men nor Indians have now any definite recollection, but unfortunately forest fires have not been rare in this great region of variable rainfall and much wind.North of Lake Superior and in the Michipicoten country, the big pines may really tell another story. Perhaps they are an advance guard in the northward spread of the forest trees, after all that vast region had been covered by ice. Some of these big white pines are very old. They have been slow growers. Three hundred narrow rings of growth are not rare, and if one could carefully examine the rings close to the ground he might find four hundred. These rings mean that the trees are between three hundred and four hundred years old. There is no doubt that many of these lone giants[116]were struggling seedlings or even lustily growing youths when John Smith was saved by Pocahontas and when the Pilgrims landed on the coast of Massachusetts. Careful investigation might even show that some of these lone sentinels were already beginning to reach up to the sunlight when Columbus landed on San Salvador.It may be that the red squirrels retarded the spread of the white pines northward. In regions, where these pines are not numerous, the squirrels are likely to strip every cone and eat practically every seed.Ganawa knew of this habit of the red squirrels and he also told Ray that perhaps the winters were too long north of the Big Lake. “About thirty leagues farther north,” he told the lads, “begins the great forest of the spruce, and no white pines grow there, but only spruce-trees; and where the land is high and sandy, the jack-pine grows, the pine that keeps its little crooked cones for many years. And there is only one other tree that you would find plentiful, if[117]you would paddle your canoe down one of the rivers which flow into the cold salt water bay; that tree is the poplar, whose leaves whisper and talk in every little wind. The poplars grow on good soil near the rivers, where a fire has killed the other trees.”By this time Ray was glad to slip away into his blankets. A small fire was burning in the tepee to keep the place dry and warm and also to prevent any mosquitoes from coming in at the top; for almost every year through June and July the mosquitoes are a fearful pest through the whole Great Lakes region, and they are often worse north of the lakes than south of them.Bruce and Ganawa sat for an hour or more at the camp-fire, which Bruce kept supplied with green birch logs, while they talked over the events of the day and discussed plans for finding a clue to the whereabouts of Jack Dutton.“We must look sharp along the river for signs of a white man’s camp,” said Ganawa, “and if we do not find any, then we must[118]go to another river or to some lakes where the hunting is good for fur animals. And we may find some Indians that can tell us where a white man made a camp, but this country is very big and very few Indians live in it, and only few of them travel through the region on their way to the English traders who live far to the north on the shore of the salt water.”By this time the storm had come up from the west, not with the violence that often accompanies rainstorms on the plains and along the Missouri, but quietly, with almost no wind. Bruce poured water on the camp-fire and for a short time he stood in the darkness enjoying the view of the hills and the wild forest as it was illumined from time to time by the lightning that played back and forth on the clouds, and he listened to the thunder which rumbled and crashed and echoed from hill to hill, and it seemed as if at times the very rocks were trembling. Then a steady roaring noise began, and Bruce wondered what it was, as it seemed[119]to be approaching rapidly. It was a heavy rain moving eastward without any wind, and when the first big drops began to play on the tepee, Bruce slipped inside and carefully closed the tepee flap behind him.Ray was sound asleep, and Ganawa, who had experienced many storms in a wild forest, also seemed to be asleep. But Bruce lay awake for some time listening to the play of the rain on the tepee and to its strange music on the river and in the trees, a music which people who always live in cities and white men’s houses never hear. Thus wondering and half dreaming about the vast uninhabited region, the big trout in the pool, and the strange unknown man or beast which had made the dog so madly excited, Bruce also fell asleep.When Ray went to bed the dog had also curled up in his place and the two had been asleep now for several hours. To rain, thunder, and wind, Tawny paid no attention; they were sounds that meant nothing to him. In the morning the wild forest appeared[120]in all its summer glory under a clear blue sky. White-throats were whistling, the song of the hermit-thrushes rang from the thickets with its peculiar ecstasy, and the bumblebees were at work among the white flowers of the wild raspberries.After the brush had dried off, the three campers went down to examine the trail below the big pool; but if there had been any tracks or marks, the heavy rain had obliterated them all. Tawny sniffed at the ground here and there, but found nothing to excite him. However, he seemed to know what the investigation was about, for again and again he looked at his human companions with a funny quizzical expression, as if he would say: “This is the place where he was last night. If you will just tell me where he is now, I will go after him.”[121]
[Contents]CHAPTER XIVA PUZZLEThus far the three travellers had enjoyed a long spell of that perfect fair weather, which during some seasons is common in the North Country, while at other seasons summer comes near missing the great wilderness which lies between Lake Superior and Hudson Bay.By the time Ganawa and the lads had each finished a pink-fleshed broiled trout for supper the western sky was overcast and they could see the reflection of distant lightning on the far-away clouds, although above them the stars were shining, and a westerly wind soughed somewhat uncannily through the tops of spruces and birches and played about the crowns of old white pines which far overtopped the dense mixed forest of spruce, birch, balsam, fir, and white cedar, which campers and fishermen may find over[114]much of the great North Shore country to this day.“My father,” Ray had asked, “why are there only a few big pines in the forest?”Ganawa thought a few moments before he answered. “I cannot tell you, my son. As long as I remember, and during the time of my father, this was always a country of a few big pine-trees, but south of the Big Lake, where there was for a long time the country of the Chippewas, there are large forests of very big pine-trees.”The question which Ray asked of Ganawa is somewhat of a puzzle even to the scientific foresters and naturalists of to-day. If one asks the oldest present-day Indians for information, he receives about the same answer which Ganawa gave to Ray. As long as the oldest of them remembers and far back into the time of their grandfathers, isolated giant white pines have towered over the other forest trees that do not grow to the size of giants.In some regions, as those in the poplar[115]forests of the Big Fork country in Minnesota, and in the Itasca Forest, the big pines are probably the only trees that survived a destructive fire between seventy-five or a hundred years ago. Of the time of these fires neither white men nor Indians have now any definite recollection, but unfortunately forest fires have not been rare in this great region of variable rainfall and much wind.North of Lake Superior and in the Michipicoten country, the big pines may really tell another story. Perhaps they are an advance guard in the northward spread of the forest trees, after all that vast region had been covered by ice. Some of these big white pines are very old. They have been slow growers. Three hundred narrow rings of growth are not rare, and if one could carefully examine the rings close to the ground he might find four hundred. These rings mean that the trees are between three hundred and four hundred years old. There is no doubt that many of these lone giants[116]were struggling seedlings or even lustily growing youths when John Smith was saved by Pocahontas and when the Pilgrims landed on the coast of Massachusetts. Careful investigation might even show that some of these lone sentinels were already beginning to reach up to the sunlight when Columbus landed on San Salvador.It may be that the red squirrels retarded the spread of the white pines northward. In regions, where these pines are not numerous, the squirrels are likely to strip every cone and eat practically every seed.Ganawa knew of this habit of the red squirrels and he also told Ray that perhaps the winters were too long north of the Big Lake. “About thirty leagues farther north,” he told the lads, “begins the great forest of the spruce, and no white pines grow there, but only spruce-trees; and where the land is high and sandy, the jack-pine grows, the pine that keeps its little crooked cones for many years. And there is only one other tree that you would find plentiful, if[117]you would paddle your canoe down one of the rivers which flow into the cold salt water bay; that tree is the poplar, whose leaves whisper and talk in every little wind. The poplars grow on good soil near the rivers, where a fire has killed the other trees.”By this time Ray was glad to slip away into his blankets. A small fire was burning in the tepee to keep the place dry and warm and also to prevent any mosquitoes from coming in at the top; for almost every year through June and July the mosquitoes are a fearful pest through the whole Great Lakes region, and they are often worse north of the lakes than south of them.Bruce and Ganawa sat for an hour or more at the camp-fire, which Bruce kept supplied with green birch logs, while they talked over the events of the day and discussed plans for finding a clue to the whereabouts of Jack Dutton.“We must look sharp along the river for signs of a white man’s camp,” said Ganawa, “and if we do not find any, then we must[118]go to another river or to some lakes where the hunting is good for fur animals. And we may find some Indians that can tell us where a white man made a camp, but this country is very big and very few Indians live in it, and only few of them travel through the region on their way to the English traders who live far to the north on the shore of the salt water.”By this time the storm had come up from the west, not with the violence that often accompanies rainstorms on the plains and along the Missouri, but quietly, with almost no wind. Bruce poured water on the camp-fire and for a short time he stood in the darkness enjoying the view of the hills and the wild forest as it was illumined from time to time by the lightning that played back and forth on the clouds, and he listened to the thunder which rumbled and crashed and echoed from hill to hill, and it seemed as if at times the very rocks were trembling. Then a steady roaring noise began, and Bruce wondered what it was, as it seemed[119]to be approaching rapidly. It was a heavy rain moving eastward without any wind, and when the first big drops began to play on the tepee, Bruce slipped inside and carefully closed the tepee flap behind him.Ray was sound asleep, and Ganawa, who had experienced many storms in a wild forest, also seemed to be asleep. But Bruce lay awake for some time listening to the play of the rain on the tepee and to its strange music on the river and in the trees, a music which people who always live in cities and white men’s houses never hear. Thus wondering and half dreaming about the vast uninhabited region, the big trout in the pool, and the strange unknown man or beast which had made the dog so madly excited, Bruce also fell asleep.When Ray went to bed the dog had also curled up in his place and the two had been asleep now for several hours. To rain, thunder, and wind, Tawny paid no attention; they were sounds that meant nothing to him. In the morning the wild forest appeared[120]in all its summer glory under a clear blue sky. White-throats were whistling, the song of the hermit-thrushes rang from the thickets with its peculiar ecstasy, and the bumblebees were at work among the white flowers of the wild raspberries.After the brush had dried off, the three campers went down to examine the trail below the big pool; but if there had been any tracks or marks, the heavy rain had obliterated them all. Tawny sniffed at the ground here and there, but found nothing to excite him. However, he seemed to know what the investigation was about, for again and again he looked at his human companions with a funny quizzical expression, as if he would say: “This is the place where he was last night. If you will just tell me where he is now, I will go after him.”[121]
CHAPTER XIVA PUZZLE
Thus far the three travellers had enjoyed a long spell of that perfect fair weather, which during some seasons is common in the North Country, while at other seasons summer comes near missing the great wilderness which lies between Lake Superior and Hudson Bay.By the time Ganawa and the lads had each finished a pink-fleshed broiled trout for supper the western sky was overcast and they could see the reflection of distant lightning on the far-away clouds, although above them the stars were shining, and a westerly wind soughed somewhat uncannily through the tops of spruces and birches and played about the crowns of old white pines which far overtopped the dense mixed forest of spruce, birch, balsam, fir, and white cedar, which campers and fishermen may find over[114]much of the great North Shore country to this day.“My father,” Ray had asked, “why are there only a few big pines in the forest?”Ganawa thought a few moments before he answered. “I cannot tell you, my son. As long as I remember, and during the time of my father, this was always a country of a few big pine-trees, but south of the Big Lake, where there was for a long time the country of the Chippewas, there are large forests of very big pine-trees.”The question which Ray asked of Ganawa is somewhat of a puzzle even to the scientific foresters and naturalists of to-day. If one asks the oldest present-day Indians for information, he receives about the same answer which Ganawa gave to Ray. As long as the oldest of them remembers and far back into the time of their grandfathers, isolated giant white pines have towered over the other forest trees that do not grow to the size of giants.In some regions, as those in the poplar[115]forests of the Big Fork country in Minnesota, and in the Itasca Forest, the big pines are probably the only trees that survived a destructive fire between seventy-five or a hundred years ago. Of the time of these fires neither white men nor Indians have now any definite recollection, but unfortunately forest fires have not been rare in this great region of variable rainfall and much wind.North of Lake Superior and in the Michipicoten country, the big pines may really tell another story. Perhaps they are an advance guard in the northward spread of the forest trees, after all that vast region had been covered by ice. Some of these big white pines are very old. They have been slow growers. Three hundred narrow rings of growth are not rare, and if one could carefully examine the rings close to the ground he might find four hundred. These rings mean that the trees are between three hundred and four hundred years old. There is no doubt that many of these lone giants[116]were struggling seedlings or even lustily growing youths when John Smith was saved by Pocahontas and when the Pilgrims landed on the coast of Massachusetts. Careful investigation might even show that some of these lone sentinels were already beginning to reach up to the sunlight when Columbus landed on San Salvador.It may be that the red squirrels retarded the spread of the white pines northward. In regions, where these pines are not numerous, the squirrels are likely to strip every cone and eat practically every seed.Ganawa knew of this habit of the red squirrels and he also told Ray that perhaps the winters were too long north of the Big Lake. “About thirty leagues farther north,” he told the lads, “begins the great forest of the spruce, and no white pines grow there, but only spruce-trees; and where the land is high and sandy, the jack-pine grows, the pine that keeps its little crooked cones for many years. And there is only one other tree that you would find plentiful, if[117]you would paddle your canoe down one of the rivers which flow into the cold salt water bay; that tree is the poplar, whose leaves whisper and talk in every little wind. The poplars grow on good soil near the rivers, where a fire has killed the other trees.”By this time Ray was glad to slip away into his blankets. A small fire was burning in the tepee to keep the place dry and warm and also to prevent any mosquitoes from coming in at the top; for almost every year through June and July the mosquitoes are a fearful pest through the whole Great Lakes region, and they are often worse north of the lakes than south of them.Bruce and Ganawa sat for an hour or more at the camp-fire, which Bruce kept supplied with green birch logs, while they talked over the events of the day and discussed plans for finding a clue to the whereabouts of Jack Dutton.“We must look sharp along the river for signs of a white man’s camp,” said Ganawa, “and if we do not find any, then we must[118]go to another river or to some lakes where the hunting is good for fur animals. And we may find some Indians that can tell us where a white man made a camp, but this country is very big and very few Indians live in it, and only few of them travel through the region on their way to the English traders who live far to the north on the shore of the salt water.”By this time the storm had come up from the west, not with the violence that often accompanies rainstorms on the plains and along the Missouri, but quietly, with almost no wind. Bruce poured water on the camp-fire and for a short time he stood in the darkness enjoying the view of the hills and the wild forest as it was illumined from time to time by the lightning that played back and forth on the clouds, and he listened to the thunder which rumbled and crashed and echoed from hill to hill, and it seemed as if at times the very rocks were trembling. Then a steady roaring noise began, and Bruce wondered what it was, as it seemed[119]to be approaching rapidly. It was a heavy rain moving eastward without any wind, and when the first big drops began to play on the tepee, Bruce slipped inside and carefully closed the tepee flap behind him.Ray was sound asleep, and Ganawa, who had experienced many storms in a wild forest, also seemed to be asleep. But Bruce lay awake for some time listening to the play of the rain on the tepee and to its strange music on the river and in the trees, a music which people who always live in cities and white men’s houses never hear. Thus wondering and half dreaming about the vast uninhabited region, the big trout in the pool, and the strange unknown man or beast which had made the dog so madly excited, Bruce also fell asleep.When Ray went to bed the dog had also curled up in his place and the two had been asleep now for several hours. To rain, thunder, and wind, Tawny paid no attention; they were sounds that meant nothing to him. In the morning the wild forest appeared[120]in all its summer glory under a clear blue sky. White-throats were whistling, the song of the hermit-thrushes rang from the thickets with its peculiar ecstasy, and the bumblebees were at work among the white flowers of the wild raspberries.After the brush had dried off, the three campers went down to examine the trail below the big pool; but if there had been any tracks or marks, the heavy rain had obliterated them all. Tawny sniffed at the ground here and there, but found nothing to excite him. However, he seemed to know what the investigation was about, for again and again he looked at his human companions with a funny quizzical expression, as if he would say: “This is the place where he was last night. If you will just tell me where he is now, I will go after him.”[121]
Thus far the three travellers had enjoyed a long spell of that perfect fair weather, which during some seasons is common in the North Country, while at other seasons summer comes near missing the great wilderness which lies between Lake Superior and Hudson Bay.
By the time Ganawa and the lads had each finished a pink-fleshed broiled trout for supper the western sky was overcast and they could see the reflection of distant lightning on the far-away clouds, although above them the stars were shining, and a westerly wind soughed somewhat uncannily through the tops of spruces and birches and played about the crowns of old white pines which far overtopped the dense mixed forest of spruce, birch, balsam, fir, and white cedar, which campers and fishermen may find over[114]much of the great North Shore country to this day.
“My father,” Ray had asked, “why are there only a few big pines in the forest?”
Ganawa thought a few moments before he answered. “I cannot tell you, my son. As long as I remember, and during the time of my father, this was always a country of a few big pine-trees, but south of the Big Lake, where there was for a long time the country of the Chippewas, there are large forests of very big pine-trees.”
The question which Ray asked of Ganawa is somewhat of a puzzle even to the scientific foresters and naturalists of to-day. If one asks the oldest present-day Indians for information, he receives about the same answer which Ganawa gave to Ray. As long as the oldest of them remembers and far back into the time of their grandfathers, isolated giant white pines have towered over the other forest trees that do not grow to the size of giants.
In some regions, as those in the poplar[115]forests of the Big Fork country in Minnesota, and in the Itasca Forest, the big pines are probably the only trees that survived a destructive fire between seventy-five or a hundred years ago. Of the time of these fires neither white men nor Indians have now any definite recollection, but unfortunately forest fires have not been rare in this great region of variable rainfall and much wind.
North of Lake Superior and in the Michipicoten country, the big pines may really tell another story. Perhaps they are an advance guard in the northward spread of the forest trees, after all that vast region had been covered by ice. Some of these big white pines are very old. They have been slow growers. Three hundred narrow rings of growth are not rare, and if one could carefully examine the rings close to the ground he might find four hundred. These rings mean that the trees are between three hundred and four hundred years old. There is no doubt that many of these lone giants[116]were struggling seedlings or even lustily growing youths when John Smith was saved by Pocahontas and when the Pilgrims landed on the coast of Massachusetts. Careful investigation might even show that some of these lone sentinels were already beginning to reach up to the sunlight when Columbus landed on San Salvador.
It may be that the red squirrels retarded the spread of the white pines northward. In regions, where these pines are not numerous, the squirrels are likely to strip every cone and eat practically every seed.
Ganawa knew of this habit of the red squirrels and he also told Ray that perhaps the winters were too long north of the Big Lake. “About thirty leagues farther north,” he told the lads, “begins the great forest of the spruce, and no white pines grow there, but only spruce-trees; and where the land is high and sandy, the jack-pine grows, the pine that keeps its little crooked cones for many years. And there is only one other tree that you would find plentiful, if[117]you would paddle your canoe down one of the rivers which flow into the cold salt water bay; that tree is the poplar, whose leaves whisper and talk in every little wind. The poplars grow on good soil near the rivers, where a fire has killed the other trees.”
By this time Ray was glad to slip away into his blankets. A small fire was burning in the tepee to keep the place dry and warm and also to prevent any mosquitoes from coming in at the top; for almost every year through June and July the mosquitoes are a fearful pest through the whole Great Lakes region, and they are often worse north of the lakes than south of them.
Bruce and Ganawa sat for an hour or more at the camp-fire, which Bruce kept supplied with green birch logs, while they talked over the events of the day and discussed plans for finding a clue to the whereabouts of Jack Dutton.
“We must look sharp along the river for signs of a white man’s camp,” said Ganawa, “and if we do not find any, then we must[118]go to another river or to some lakes where the hunting is good for fur animals. And we may find some Indians that can tell us where a white man made a camp, but this country is very big and very few Indians live in it, and only few of them travel through the region on their way to the English traders who live far to the north on the shore of the salt water.”
By this time the storm had come up from the west, not with the violence that often accompanies rainstorms on the plains and along the Missouri, but quietly, with almost no wind. Bruce poured water on the camp-fire and for a short time he stood in the darkness enjoying the view of the hills and the wild forest as it was illumined from time to time by the lightning that played back and forth on the clouds, and he listened to the thunder which rumbled and crashed and echoed from hill to hill, and it seemed as if at times the very rocks were trembling. Then a steady roaring noise began, and Bruce wondered what it was, as it seemed[119]to be approaching rapidly. It was a heavy rain moving eastward without any wind, and when the first big drops began to play on the tepee, Bruce slipped inside and carefully closed the tepee flap behind him.
Ray was sound asleep, and Ganawa, who had experienced many storms in a wild forest, also seemed to be asleep. But Bruce lay awake for some time listening to the play of the rain on the tepee and to its strange music on the river and in the trees, a music which people who always live in cities and white men’s houses never hear. Thus wondering and half dreaming about the vast uninhabited region, the big trout in the pool, and the strange unknown man or beast which had made the dog so madly excited, Bruce also fell asleep.
When Ray went to bed the dog had also curled up in his place and the two had been asleep now for several hours. To rain, thunder, and wind, Tawny paid no attention; they were sounds that meant nothing to him. In the morning the wild forest appeared[120]in all its summer glory under a clear blue sky. White-throats were whistling, the song of the hermit-thrushes rang from the thickets with its peculiar ecstasy, and the bumblebees were at work among the white flowers of the wild raspberries.
After the brush had dried off, the three campers went down to examine the trail below the big pool; but if there had been any tracks or marks, the heavy rain had obliterated them all. Tawny sniffed at the ground here and there, but found nothing to excite him. However, he seemed to know what the investigation was about, for again and again he looked at his human companions with a funny quizzical expression, as if he would say: “This is the place where he was last night. If you will just tell me where he is now, I will go after him.”[121]