[Contents]CHAPTER XXFARTHEST NORTHGanawa quickly built a brush lean-to in a place where the campers had a fine view of the lake. There were no mosquitoes and black flies at this camp, and after a good meal of smoked moose meat and sweet tea, Ray rolled up in his blanket and slept all afternoon with Tawny curled up at his feet.The tea and sugar had been a treat; for the supply of both was so limited that they could use these luxuries only on special occasions when they felt that they had deserved some kind of a feast. Any one who has helped to carry a canoe three miles across “the bush,” as present-day woodsmen call this kind of country, will admit that he has earned a treat of some sort.Bruce and Ganawa felt no more inclined to further exertion than Ray, so they sat[160]in the shade, enjoying the gentle westerly breeze and the beautiful panorama of blue water and dark green forest spread out before them.There was very little talk, for each was busy with his own thoughts. Bruce shared to some extent the fatigue and discouragement of Ray. He also had a feeling that they had, so to speak, come to the ends of the earth without finding as much as a real clue to the whereabouts of Jack Dutton. “I reckon I shall never see my old friend again,” he thought. “I have a feeling that he is dead. Death and danger lurk everywhere. One may drown in a storm or in some wild rapids or waterfall almost any day, he may freeze to death, and unless he is a good hunter and fisherman, he might in winter even starve to death; and in summer the terrible pests of mosquitoes and black flies might almost kill a man or drive him crazy. Thank God, there are none of the pests at this camp!” And then Bruce spread his blanket on a bed of lichens and[161]moss that covered the rock, and very soon he was as sound asleep as Ray.The next thing he knew Ganawa was gently shaking him and saying: “Wake up, my son. I have caught a mess of trout in a small stream and it is time that you build a fire and broil them for our evening meal, for the sun will soon sink behind the forest.”The white lads ate their trout with a little salt, but Ganawa ate them just as they came off the green willow sticks without salt. “The Indians cannot get salt in this country,” he said, “unless they buy it of the traders, so we often eat our meat and fish without salt as our fathers did, before the white traders came to our country.”After a long nap and a good supper, the lads felt more cheerful. For a while they sat and watched the most gorgeous sunset they had ever seen. The western sky was covered with scattered clouds, which the sun painted at first with a golden orange which gradually changed to an indescribable red, such as one sees only in the great wild[162]forests, where no smoke and dust fill the air. “It may rain to-night,” said Ganawa rising and looking at some dark low clouds in the west. “My sons, we must make our shelter larger and put more boughs on the roof.”Then for half an hour the three worked diligently on their lean-to. Bruce and Ray cut and carried long boughs of balsam, and Ganawa laid them in place like shingles and tied them with strips of willow bark.When it grew too dark to work, the lads built a camp-fire of driftwood and for an hour or longer they all sat enjoying its gentle warmth and listening to the voices of the forest. Some night-hawks were screaming overhead as they hunted for flying insects over the lake. A bat circled back and forth near the fire and now and then uttered its faint high-pitched squeak. From across the lake came the call of wolves, and kookookehaw, the big owl, made Ray’s hair stand up when he suddenly uttered his unearthly hoot and deep guttural notes almost above[163]the camp-fire, as if he were protesting against the invasion of his realm. These sounds, however, were not unknown to the lads, but there came a new sound which brought Ray to his feet.“Listen!” he called. “There is somebody coming. They are throwing rocks in the lake and slamming the water with a paddle. Let us get away. They may shoot at us if we stay near the fire. I’ll throw some water on the fire.”“Stop, my son,” Ganawa spoke. “They are not going to attack us. They are the beaver people and they are making signals to their friends. The wind has changed and their keen noses have caught the man scent. They do hit the water with paddles, but their tails are the paddles, and then they dive with a plunge which makes a noise, as if a man threw a rock into the water.”It did rain during the night, but the thatch of boughs had been so well built that no rain fell on the sleepers; in fact Ray did not know it had been raining until he saw[164]little pools of water on the rocks next morning.On an ideal summer day the three paddled slowly northward to the outlet of the lake without seeing a sign of other human beings, except a few old Indian camp-sites, as indicated by the usual tepee-poles. At the outlet they spent a day exploring the region. Bruce and Ray each climbed a tall tree from which they could look miles away to the north. The rough rocky hills had disappeared, and as far as their eyes could see the country seemed to be one great monotonous level forest of black spruce, the pulpwood trees of the present time.“My sons,” said Ganawa, “I believe this little Oba River joins the big river Missinaibi far to the north. My father and I once travelled to the English traders on Hudson Bay by way of the Missinaibi. It is a bad river with many falls and rapids, and it took us all summer to make the journey. Your brother is not camping on this lake and I have seen no white streaks of[165]gold rock. To-morrow we start back for the Michipicoten and look for your brother and the gold rock in other places.”The lads were glad to hear these words, for, although after plenty of rest and sleep, they had lost the feeling of fatigue and discouragement, they still felt as if they might travel on and on forever and never get out of the level black spruce forest where one tree looked like another, and where even the small brown creeks wound about as if they were lost in an endless monotony of trees, and thick soft knolls and patches of moss and Labrador tea without a piece of solid ground anywhere for miles and miles.[166]
[Contents]CHAPTER XXFARTHEST NORTHGanawa quickly built a brush lean-to in a place where the campers had a fine view of the lake. There were no mosquitoes and black flies at this camp, and after a good meal of smoked moose meat and sweet tea, Ray rolled up in his blanket and slept all afternoon with Tawny curled up at his feet.The tea and sugar had been a treat; for the supply of both was so limited that they could use these luxuries only on special occasions when they felt that they had deserved some kind of a feast. Any one who has helped to carry a canoe three miles across “the bush,” as present-day woodsmen call this kind of country, will admit that he has earned a treat of some sort.Bruce and Ganawa felt no more inclined to further exertion than Ray, so they sat[160]in the shade, enjoying the gentle westerly breeze and the beautiful panorama of blue water and dark green forest spread out before them.There was very little talk, for each was busy with his own thoughts. Bruce shared to some extent the fatigue and discouragement of Ray. He also had a feeling that they had, so to speak, come to the ends of the earth without finding as much as a real clue to the whereabouts of Jack Dutton. “I reckon I shall never see my old friend again,” he thought. “I have a feeling that he is dead. Death and danger lurk everywhere. One may drown in a storm or in some wild rapids or waterfall almost any day, he may freeze to death, and unless he is a good hunter and fisherman, he might in winter even starve to death; and in summer the terrible pests of mosquitoes and black flies might almost kill a man or drive him crazy. Thank God, there are none of the pests at this camp!” And then Bruce spread his blanket on a bed of lichens and[161]moss that covered the rock, and very soon he was as sound asleep as Ray.The next thing he knew Ganawa was gently shaking him and saying: “Wake up, my son. I have caught a mess of trout in a small stream and it is time that you build a fire and broil them for our evening meal, for the sun will soon sink behind the forest.”The white lads ate their trout with a little salt, but Ganawa ate them just as they came off the green willow sticks without salt. “The Indians cannot get salt in this country,” he said, “unless they buy it of the traders, so we often eat our meat and fish without salt as our fathers did, before the white traders came to our country.”After a long nap and a good supper, the lads felt more cheerful. For a while they sat and watched the most gorgeous sunset they had ever seen. The western sky was covered with scattered clouds, which the sun painted at first with a golden orange which gradually changed to an indescribable red, such as one sees only in the great wild[162]forests, where no smoke and dust fill the air. “It may rain to-night,” said Ganawa rising and looking at some dark low clouds in the west. “My sons, we must make our shelter larger and put more boughs on the roof.”Then for half an hour the three worked diligently on their lean-to. Bruce and Ray cut and carried long boughs of balsam, and Ganawa laid them in place like shingles and tied them with strips of willow bark.When it grew too dark to work, the lads built a camp-fire of driftwood and for an hour or longer they all sat enjoying its gentle warmth and listening to the voices of the forest. Some night-hawks were screaming overhead as they hunted for flying insects over the lake. A bat circled back and forth near the fire and now and then uttered its faint high-pitched squeak. From across the lake came the call of wolves, and kookookehaw, the big owl, made Ray’s hair stand up when he suddenly uttered his unearthly hoot and deep guttural notes almost above[163]the camp-fire, as if he were protesting against the invasion of his realm. These sounds, however, were not unknown to the lads, but there came a new sound which brought Ray to his feet.“Listen!” he called. “There is somebody coming. They are throwing rocks in the lake and slamming the water with a paddle. Let us get away. They may shoot at us if we stay near the fire. I’ll throw some water on the fire.”“Stop, my son,” Ganawa spoke. “They are not going to attack us. They are the beaver people and they are making signals to their friends. The wind has changed and their keen noses have caught the man scent. They do hit the water with paddles, but their tails are the paddles, and then they dive with a plunge which makes a noise, as if a man threw a rock into the water.”It did rain during the night, but the thatch of boughs had been so well built that no rain fell on the sleepers; in fact Ray did not know it had been raining until he saw[164]little pools of water on the rocks next morning.On an ideal summer day the three paddled slowly northward to the outlet of the lake without seeing a sign of other human beings, except a few old Indian camp-sites, as indicated by the usual tepee-poles. At the outlet they spent a day exploring the region. Bruce and Ray each climbed a tall tree from which they could look miles away to the north. The rough rocky hills had disappeared, and as far as their eyes could see the country seemed to be one great monotonous level forest of black spruce, the pulpwood trees of the present time.“My sons,” said Ganawa, “I believe this little Oba River joins the big river Missinaibi far to the north. My father and I once travelled to the English traders on Hudson Bay by way of the Missinaibi. It is a bad river with many falls and rapids, and it took us all summer to make the journey. Your brother is not camping on this lake and I have seen no white streaks of[165]gold rock. To-morrow we start back for the Michipicoten and look for your brother and the gold rock in other places.”The lads were glad to hear these words, for, although after plenty of rest and sleep, they had lost the feeling of fatigue and discouragement, they still felt as if they might travel on and on forever and never get out of the level black spruce forest where one tree looked like another, and where even the small brown creeks wound about as if they were lost in an endless monotony of trees, and thick soft knolls and patches of moss and Labrador tea without a piece of solid ground anywhere for miles and miles.[166]
CHAPTER XXFARTHEST NORTH
Ganawa quickly built a brush lean-to in a place where the campers had a fine view of the lake. There were no mosquitoes and black flies at this camp, and after a good meal of smoked moose meat and sweet tea, Ray rolled up in his blanket and slept all afternoon with Tawny curled up at his feet.The tea and sugar had been a treat; for the supply of both was so limited that they could use these luxuries only on special occasions when they felt that they had deserved some kind of a feast. Any one who has helped to carry a canoe three miles across “the bush,” as present-day woodsmen call this kind of country, will admit that he has earned a treat of some sort.Bruce and Ganawa felt no more inclined to further exertion than Ray, so they sat[160]in the shade, enjoying the gentle westerly breeze and the beautiful panorama of blue water and dark green forest spread out before them.There was very little talk, for each was busy with his own thoughts. Bruce shared to some extent the fatigue and discouragement of Ray. He also had a feeling that they had, so to speak, come to the ends of the earth without finding as much as a real clue to the whereabouts of Jack Dutton. “I reckon I shall never see my old friend again,” he thought. “I have a feeling that he is dead. Death and danger lurk everywhere. One may drown in a storm or in some wild rapids or waterfall almost any day, he may freeze to death, and unless he is a good hunter and fisherman, he might in winter even starve to death; and in summer the terrible pests of mosquitoes and black flies might almost kill a man or drive him crazy. Thank God, there are none of the pests at this camp!” And then Bruce spread his blanket on a bed of lichens and[161]moss that covered the rock, and very soon he was as sound asleep as Ray.The next thing he knew Ganawa was gently shaking him and saying: “Wake up, my son. I have caught a mess of trout in a small stream and it is time that you build a fire and broil them for our evening meal, for the sun will soon sink behind the forest.”The white lads ate their trout with a little salt, but Ganawa ate them just as they came off the green willow sticks without salt. “The Indians cannot get salt in this country,” he said, “unless they buy it of the traders, so we often eat our meat and fish without salt as our fathers did, before the white traders came to our country.”After a long nap and a good supper, the lads felt more cheerful. For a while they sat and watched the most gorgeous sunset they had ever seen. The western sky was covered with scattered clouds, which the sun painted at first with a golden orange which gradually changed to an indescribable red, such as one sees only in the great wild[162]forests, where no smoke and dust fill the air. “It may rain to-night,” said Ganawa rising and looking at some dark low clouds in the west. “My sons, we must make our shelter larger and put more boughs on the roof.”Then for half an hour the three worked diligently on their lean-to. Bruce and Ray cut and carried long boughs of balsam, and Ganawa laid them in place like shingles and tied them with strips of willow bark.When it grew too dark to work, the lads built a camp-fire of driftwood and for an hour or longer they all sat enjoying its gentle warmth and listening to the voices of the forest. Some night-hawks were screaming overhead as they hunted for flying insects over the lake. A bat circled back and forth near the fire and now and then uttered its faint high-pitched squeak. From across the lake came the call of wolves, and kookookehaw, the big owl, made Ray’s hair stand up when he suddenly uttered his unearthly hoot and deep guttural notes almost above[163]the camp-fire, as if he were protesting against the invasion of his realm. These sounds, however, were not unknown to the lads, but there came a new sound which brought Ray to his feet.“Listen!” he called. “There is somebody coming. They are throwing rocks in the lake and slamming the water with a paddle. Let us get away. They may shoot at us if we stay near the fire. I’ll throw some water on the fire.”“Stop, my son,” Ganawa spoke. “They are not going to attack us. They are the beaver people and they are making signals to their friends. The wind has changed and their keen noses have caught the man scent. They do hit the water with paddles, but their tails are the paddles, and then they dive with a plunge which makes a noise, as if a man threw a rock into the water.”It did rain during the night, but the thatch of boughs had been so well built that no rain fell on the sleepers; in fact Ray did not know it had been raining until he saw[164]little pools of water on the rocks next morning.On an ideal summer day the three paddled slowly northward to the outlet of the lake without seeing a sign of other human beings, except a few old Indian camp-sites, as indicated by the usual tepee-poles. At the outlet they spent a day exploring the region. Bruce and Ray each climbed a tall tree from which they could look miles away to the north. The rough rocky hills had disappeared, and as far as their eyes could see the country seemed to be one great monotonous level forest of black spruce, the pulpwood trees of the present time.“My sons,” said Ganawa, “I believe this little Oba River joins the big river Missinaibi far to the north. My father and I once travelled to the English traders on Hudson Bay by way of the Missinaibi. It is a bad river with many falls and rapids, and it took us all summer to make the journey. Your brother is not camping on this lake and I have seen no white streaks of[165]gold rock. To-morrow we start back for the Michipicoten and look for your brother and the gold rock in other places.”The lads were glad to hear these words, for, although after plenty of rest and sleep, they had lost the feeling of fatigue and discouragement, they still felt as if they might travel on and on forever and never get out of the level black spruce forest where one tree looked like another, and where even the small brown creeks wound about as if they were lost in an endless monotony of trees, and thick soft knolls and patches of moss and Labrador tea without a piece of solid ground anywhere for miles and miles.[166]
Ganawa quickly built a brush lean-to in a place where the campers had a fine view of the lake. There were no mosquitoes and black flies at this camp, and after a good meal of smoked moose meat and sweet tea, Ray rolled up in his blanket and slept all afternoon with Tawny curled up at his feet.
The tea and sugar had been a treat; for the supply of both was so limited that they could use these luxuries only on special occasions when they felt that they had deserved some kind of a feast. Any one who has helped to carry a canoe three miles across “the bush,” as present-day woodsmen call this kind of country, will admit that he has earned a treat of some sort.
Bruce and Ganawa felt no more inclined to further exertion than Ray, so they sat[160]in the shade, enjoying the gentle westerly breeze and the beautiful panorama of blue water and dark green forest spread out before them.
There was very little talk, for each was busy with his own thoughts. Bruce shared to some extent the fatigue and discouragement of Ray. He also had a feeling that they had, so to speak, come to the ends of the earth without finding as much as a real clue to the whereabouts of Jack Dutton. “I reckon I shall never see my old friend again,” he thought. “I have a feeling that he is dead. Death and danger lurk everywhere. One may drown in a storm or in some wild rapids or waterfall almost any day, he may freeze to death, and unless he is a good hunter and fisherman, he might in winter even starve to death; and in summer the terrible pests of mosquitoes and black flies might almost kill a man or drive him crazy. Thank God, there are none of the pests at this camp!” And then Bruce spread his blanket on a bed of lichens and[161]moss that covered the rock, and very soon he was as sound asleep as Ray.
The next thing he knew Ganawa was gently shaking him and saying: “Wake up, my son. I have caught a mess of trout in a small stream and it is time that you build a fire and broil them for our evening meal, for the sun will soon sink behind the forest.”
The white lads ate their trout with a little salt, but Ganawa ate them just as they came off the green willow sticks without salt. “The Indians cannot get salt in this country,” he said, “unless they buy it of the traders, so we often eat our meat and fish without salt as our fathers did, before the white traders came to our country.”
After a long nap and a good supper, the lads felt more cheerful. For a while they sat and watched the most gorgeous sunset they had ever seen. The western sky was covered with scattered clouds, which the sun painted at first with a golden orange which gradually changed to an indescribable red, such as one sees only in the great wild[162]forests, where no smoke and dust fill the air. “It may rain to-night,” said Ganawa rising and looking at some dark low clouds in the west. “My sons, we must make our shelter larger and put more boughs on the roof.”
Then for half an hour the three worked diligently on their lean-to. Bruce and Ray cut and carried long boughs of balsam, and Ganawa laid them in place like shingles and tied them with strips of willow bark.
When it grew too dark to work, the lads built a camp-fire of driftwood and for an hour or longer they all sat enjoying its gentle warmth and listening to the voices of the forest. Some night-hawks were screaming overhead as they hunted for flying insects over the lake. A bat circled back and forth near the fire and now and then uttered its faint high-pitched squeak. From across the lake came the call of wolves, and kookookehaw, the big owl, made Ray’s hair stand up when he suddenly uttered his unearthly hoot and deep guttural notes almost above[163]the camp-fire, as if he were protesting against the invasion of his realm. These sounds, however, were not unknown to the lads, but there came a new sound which brought Ray to his feet.
“Listen!” he called. “There is somebody coming. They are throwing rocks in the lake and slamming the water with a paddle. Let us get away. They may shoot at us if we stay near the fire. I’ll throw some water on the fire.”
“Stop, my son,” Ganawa spoke. “They are not going to attack us. They are the beaver people and they are making signals to their friends. The wind has changed and their keen noses have caught the man scent. They do hit the water with paddles, but their tails are the paddles, and then they dive with a plunge which makes a noise, as if a man threw a rock into the water.”
It did rain during the night, but the thatch of boughs had been so well built that no rain fell on the sleepers; in fact Ray did not know it had been raining until he saw[164]little pools of water on the rocks next morning.
On an ideal summer day the three paddled slowly northward to the outlet of the lake without seeing a sign of other human beings, except a few old Indian camp-sites, as indicated by the usual tepee-poles. At the outlet they spent a day exploring the region. Bruce and Ray each climbed a tall tree from which they could look miles away to the north. The rough rocky hills had disappeared, and as far as their eyes could see the country seemed to be one great monotonous level forest of black spruce, the pulpwood trees of the present time.
“My sons,” said Ganawa, “I believe this little Oba River joins the big river Missinaibi far to the north. My father and I once travelled to the English traders on Hudson Bay by way of the Missinaibi. It is a bad river with many falls and rapids, and it took us all summer to make the journey. Your brother is not camping on this lake and I have seen no white streaks of[165]gold rock. To-morrow we start back for the Michipicoten and look for your brother and the gold rock in other places.”
The lads were glad to hear these words, for, although after plenty of rest and sleep, they had lost the feeling of fatigue and discouragement, they still felt as if they might travel on and on forever and never get out of the level black spruce forest where one tree looked like another, and where even the small brown creeks wound about as if they were lost in an endless monotony of trees, and thick soft knolls and patches of moss and Labrador tea without a piece of solid ground anywhere for miles and miles.[166]