"Can you cook?"
Jimmie couldn"t do anything in a hurry, except chop a log in two, paddle very fast, and shoot quickly, so he said, as was his wont:
"I think--I dun"no"--"
"Well, how much?" came the query.
"Two daul--ars--" said Jimmie.
The transaction was complete. The yellow b.u.t.t went over the fence, and Jimmie shed his coat. He was directed to lend a hand by the bustling sportsmen, and requested to run and find things of which he had never before in his life heard the name.
[Ill.u.s.tration: 42 THE LAWYER HAD BECOME A VOYAGER]
After two days" travel the Abwees were put ash.o.r.e--boxes, bags, rolls of blankets, canoes, Indians, and plunder of many sorts--on a pebbly beach, and the steamer backed off and steamed away. They had reached the "beyond" at last, and the odoriferous little bedrooms, the bustle of the preparation, the cares of their lives, were behind. Then there was a girding up of the loins, a getting out of tump-lines and canvas packs, and the long portage was begun.
The voyagers carried each two hundred pounds as they stalked away into the wilderness, while the attorney-at-law "hefted" his pack, wiped his eyegla.s.ses with his pocket-handkerchief, and tried cheerfully to a.s.sume the responsibilities of "a dead game sport."
"I cannot lift the thing, and how I am going to carry it is more than I know; but I"m a dead game sport, and I am going to try. I do not want to be dead game, but it looks as though I couldn"t help it. Will some gentleman help me to adjust this cargo?"
The night overtook the outfit in an old beaver meadow half-way through the trail. Like all first camps, it was tough. The lean-to tents went up awkwardly. No one could find anything. Late at night the Abwees lay on their backs under the blankets, while the fog settled over the meadow and blotted out the stars.
On the following day the stuff was all gotten through, and by this time the lawyer had become a voyager, willing to carry anything he could stagger under. It is strange how one can accustom himself to "pack." He may never use the tump-line, since it goes across the head, and will unseat his intellect if he does, but with shoulder-straps and a tump-line a man who thinks he is not strong will simply amaze himself inside of a week by what he can do. As for our little canoes, we could trot with them. Each Abwee carried his own belongings and his boat, which ent.i.tled him to the distinction of "a dead game sport," whatever that may mean, while the Indians portaged their larger canoes and our ma.s.s of supplies, making many trips backward and forward in the process.
At the river everything was parcelled out and arranged. The birch-barks were repitched, and every man found out what he was expected to portage and do about camp. After breaking and making camp three times, the outfit could pack up, load the canoes, and move inside of fifteen minutes. At the first camp the lawyer essayed his canoe, and was cautioned that the delicate thing might flirt with him. He stepped in and sat gracefully down in about two feet of water, while the "delicate thing" shook herself saucily at his side. After he had crawled dripping ash.o.r.e and wiped his eye-gla.s.ses, he engaged to sell the "delicate thing" to an Indian for one dollar and a half on a promissory note. The trade was suppressed, and he was urged to try again. A man who has held down a cane-bottom chair conscientiously for fifteen years looks askance at so fickle a thing as a canoe twenty-nine inches in the beam. They are nearly as hard to sit on in the water as a cork; but once one is in the bottom they are stable enough, though they do not submit to liberties or palsied movements. The staid lawyer was filled with horror at the prospect of another go at his polished beauty; but remembering his resolve to be dead game, he abandoned his life to the chances, and got in this time safely.
[Ill.u.s.tration: 43 IT IS STRANGE HOW ONE CAN ACCUSTOM HIMSELF TO "PACK"]
So the Abwees went down the river on a golden morning, their double-blade paddles flashing the sun and sending the drip in a shower on the gla.s.sy water. The smoke from the lawyer"s pipe hung behind him in the quiet air, while the note of the reveille clangored from the little buglette of the Norseman. Jimmie and the big Scotch backwoodsman swayed their bodies in one boat, while the two sinister voyagers dipped their paddles in the big canoe.
The Norseman"s gorge came up, and he yelled back: "Say! this suits me. I am never going back to New York."
Jimmie grinned at the noise; it made him happy. Such a morning, such a water, such a lack of anything to disturb one"s peace! Let man"s better nature revel in the beauties of existence; they inflate his soul. The colors play upon the senses--the reddish-yellow of the birch-barks, the blue of the water, and the silver sheen as it parts at the bows of the canoes; the dark evergreens, the steely rocks with their lichens, the white trunks of the birches, their fluffy tops so greeny green, and over all the gold of a sunny day. It is my religion, this thing, and I do not know how to tell all I feel concerning it.
The rods were taken out, a gang of flies put on and trolled behind--but we have all seen a man fight a five-pound ba.s.s for twenty minutes. The waters fairly swarmed with them, and we could always get enough for the "pot" in a half-hour"s fishing at any time during the trip. The Abwees were canoeing, not hunting or fishing; though, in truth, they did not need to hunt spruce-partridge or fish for ba.s.s in any sporting sense; they simply went out after them, and never stayed over half an hour. On a point we stopped for lunch: the Scotchman always struck the beach a-cooking. He had a "kit," which was a big camp-pail, and inside of it were more dishes than are to be found in some hotels. He broiled the bacon, instead of frying it, and thus we were saved the terrors of indigestion. He had many luxuries in his commissary, among them dried apples, with which he filled a camp-pail one day and put them on to boil. They subsequently got to be about a foot deep all over the camp, while Furguson stood around and regarded the black-magic of the thing with overpowering emotions and Homeric tongue. Furguson was a good genius, big and gentle, and a woodsman root and branch. The Abwees had intended their days in the wilderness to be happy singing flights of time, but with grease and paste in one"s stomach what may not befall the mind when it is bent on nature"s doings?
[Ill.u.s.tration: 44 DOWN THE RIVER ON A GOLDEN MORNING]
And thus it was that the gloomy Indian Jimmie Friday, despite his tuberculosis begotten of insufficient nourishment, was happy in these strange days--even to the extent of looking with wondrous eyes on the nooks which we loved--nooks which previously for him had only sheltered possible "dead-falls" or not, as the discerning eye of the trapper decided the prospects for pelf.
Going ash.o.r.e on a sandy beach, Jimmie wandered down its length, his hunter mind seeking out the footprints of his prey. He stooped down, and then beckoned me to come, which I did.
Pointing at the sand, he said, "You know him?"
"Wolves," I answered.
"Yes--first time I see "em up here--they be follerin" the deers--bad--bad. No can trap "em--verrie smart."
A half-dozen wolves had chased a deer into the water; but wolves do not take to the water, so they had stopped and drank, and then gone rollicking-together up the beach. There were cubs, and one great track as big as a mastiff might make.
"See that--moose track--he go by yesterday;" and Jimmie pointed to enormous footprints in the muck of a marshy place. "Verrie big moose--we make call at next camp--think it is early for call."
At the next camp Jimmie made the usual birch-bark moose-call, and at evening blew it, as he also did on the following morning. This camp was a divine spot on a rise back of a long sandy beach, and we concluded to stop for a day. The Norseman and I each took a man in our canoes and started out to explore. I wanted to observe some musk-rat hotels down in a big marsh, and the Norseman was fishing. The attorney was content to sit on a log by the sh.o.r.es of the lake, smoke lazily, and watch the sun shimmer through the lifting fog. He saw a canoe approaching from across the lake. He gazed vacantly at it, when it grew strange and more unlike a canoe. The paddles did not move, but the phantom craft drew quickly on.
[Ill.u.s.tration: 45 A REAL CAMP]
"Say, Furguson--come here--look at that canoe."
The Scotchman came down, with a pail in one hand, and looked.
"Canoe--h.e.l.l--it"s a moose--and there ain"t a pocket-pistol in this camp," and he fairly jumped up and down.
"You don"t say--you really don"t say!" gasped the lawyer, who now began to exhibit signs of insanity.
"Yes--he"s going to be d----d sociable with us--he"s coming right bang into this camp."
The Indian too came down, but he was long past talking English, and the gutturals came up in lumps, as though he was trying to keep them down.
The moose finally struck a long point of sand and rushes about two hundred yards away, and drew majestically out of the water, his hide dripping, and the sun glistening on his antlers and back.
The three men gazed in spellbound admiration at the picture until the moose was gone. When they had recovered their senses they slowly went up to the camp on the ridge--disgusted and dum-founded.
"I could almost put a cartridge in that old gun-case and kill him,"
sighed the backwoodsman.
"I have never hunted in my life," mused the attorney, "but few men have seen such a sight," and he filled his pipe.
"Hark--listen!" said the Indian. There was a faint cracking, which presently became louder. "He"s coming into camp;" and the Indian nearly died from excitement as he grabbed a hatchet. The three unfortunate men stepped to the back of the tents, and as big a bull moose as walks the lonely woods came up to within one hundred and fifty feet of the camp, and stopped, returning their gaze.
Thus they stood for what they say was a minute, but which seemed like hours. The attorney composedly admired the unusual sight. The Indian and Furguson swore softly but most viciously until the moose moved away. The Indian hurled the hatchet at the retreating figure, with a final curse, and the thing was over.
"Those fellows who are out in their canoes will be sick abed when we tell them what"s been going on in the camp this morning," sighed Mr.
Furguson, as he scoured a cooking-pot.
I fear we would have had that moose on our consciences if we had been there: the game law was not up at the time, but I should have asked for strength from a higher source than my respect for law.
The golden days pa.s.sed and the lake grew great.
[Ill.u.s.tration: 46 ROUGH WATER]
The wind blew at our backs. The waves rolled in restless surges, piling the little canoes on their crests and swallowing them in the troughs.
The canoes thrashed the water as they flew along, half in, half out, but they rode like ducks. The Abwees took off their hats, gripped their double blades, made the water swirl behind them, howled in glee to each other through the rushing storm. To be five miles from sh.o.r.e in a seaway in kayaks like ours was a sensation. We found they stood it well, and grew contented. It was the complement to the golden lazy days when the water was gla.s.s, and the canoes rode upsidedown over its mirror surface.
The Norseman grinned and shook his head in token of his pleasure, much as an epicure might after a sip of superior Burgundy.
"How do you fancy this?" we asked the attorney-at-law.
"I am not going to deliver an opinion until I get ash.o.r.e. I would never have believed that I would be here at my time of life, but one never knows what a ---- fool one can make of one"s self. My gla.s.ses are covered with water, and I can hardly see, but I can"t let go of this paddle to wipe them," shrieked the man of the office chair, in the howl of the weather.
But we made a long journey by the aid of the wind, and grew a contempt for it. How could one imagine the stability of those little boats until one had tried it?
That night we put into a natural harbor and camped on a gravel beach.