The Greatest Works of Emerson Hough – 19 Books in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Emerson Hough
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south a little bit, on this side of the Smoky, you’d see some of the prettiest prairies that ever lay out of doors, all ready for the plow. I suppose my people some time will have to use the plow too.”
“Yes,” assented Rob, “I remember Mackenzie’s story, how very beautiful he found this country soon after he started west on his trip.”
“My people, the Crees, took this country from others long ago,” said Alex, rather proudly. “They came up the old war-trail from Little Slave Lake to the mouth of the Smoky, where the Peace River Landing is now. They fought the Beavers and the Stoneys clear to the edges of the Rockies, where we are now. They’ve held the land ever since, and managed to make a living on it, with or without the white man’s help. Some of us will change, but men like At-tick, the old Indian who brought Jess across the trail, and like old Picheu, below here, aren’t apt to change very much.”
John was once more puzzling at the map which the boys had made for themselves, following the old Mackenzie records. “I can’t figure out just where Mackenzie started from on his trip, but he says it was longitude 117° 35′ 15″, latitude 56° 09′. Now, that doesn’t check up with our map at all. That would make his start not very far from the fort, or what they call the Peace River Landing to-day, I should think. But he only mentions a ‘small stream coming from the east,’ although Moise says the Smoky is quite a river.”
“Most people think Mackenzie started from Fort Chippewayan,” said Alex, “but as a matter of fact, he wintered far southwest of there, on the Peace River, somewhere between three hundred and four hundred miles south and west of Fort Vermilion, as I gather from the length of time it took him to get to the edge of the Rockies, where we are now. He mentions the banks getting higher as he went south and west. When you get a couple of hundred miles north of the Landing the banks begin to get low, although at the Landing they’re still almost a thousand feet high above the water-level, at least eight hundred feet, I should say.”
“Well,” said Rob, “we know something about this country ourselves now, and we’ll make a map of it some time, perhaps — a better one than we have now.”
“Yes,” said Jesse, “but who can draw in that horse-trail from Hudson’s Hope to the head of the steamboat transport? I’d like to see that trail!”
“I suppose we could get on the steamboat some time before long if we wanted to,” said John.
“No,” said Alex, “hardly again this summer, for she’s made her last trip with supplies up to Fort St. John by now.”
“We don’t want any steamboat, nor anything else,” said Rob, “except to go on down on our own hook, the way we started. Let’s be as wild as we can!”
“We’re apt to see more game from here down than we have any place on the trip,” said Alex. “You know, I told you this was the Land of Plenty.”
“Bimeby plenty bear,” said Moise. “This boy Billy, he’ll tol’ me ol’ Picheu he’ll keel two bear this last week, an’ he’ll say plenty bear now all on river, on the willows.”
“Well, at any rate,” said Alex, “old Picheu himself is coming.”
“How do you know?” asked Jesse.
“I hear the setting-pole.”
Presently, as Alex had said, the dugout showed its nose around the bend. At-tick and Billy, Jesse’s two friends, were on the tracking line, and in the stern of the dugout, doing most of the labor of getting up-stream, was an old, wrinkle-faced, gray-haired and gray-bearded man, old Picheu himself, in his time one of the most famous among the hunters of the Crees, as the boys later learned. He spoke no English, but stood like some old Japanese war-god on the bank, looking intently from one to the other as they now finished their preparations for re-embarking. He seemed glad to take the money which Rob paid him for the dugout and shook hands pleasantly all around, to show his satisfaction.
The boys saw that what Moise had said about the dugout was quite true. It was a long craft, hewed out of a single log, which looked at first crankier than it really was. It had great carrying capacity, and the boys put a good part of the load in it, which seemed only to steady it the more. It was determined that Rob and Moise should go ahead in this boat, as they previously had done in the Mary Ann, the others to follow with the Jaybird.
Soon all the camp equipment was stowed aboard, and the men stood at the edge of the water ready to start. Their old friends made no comment and expressed little concern one way or the other, but as Rob turned when he was on the point of stepping into the leading boat he saw Billy standing at the edge of the water. He spoke some brief word to Alex.
“He wants to say to Mr. Jess,” interpreted Alex, “that he would like to make him a present of this pair of moccasins, if he would take them from him.”
“Would I take them!” exclaimed Jesse; “I should say I would, and thank him for them very much. I’d like to give him something of mine, this handkerchief, maybe, for him to remember me by.”
“He says,” continued Alex, “that when you get home he wishes you would write to him in care of the priest at St. John. He says he hopes you’ll have plenty of shooting down the river. He says he would like to go to the States when he gets rich. He says his people will talk about you all around the camp-fire, a great many times, telling how you crossed the mountains, where so few white men ever have been.”
“I’ll tell you what, boys,” said Rob, “let’s line up and give them all a cheer.”
So the three boys stood in a row at the waterside, after they had shaken hands once more with the friends they were leaving, and gave them three cheers and a tiger, waving their hats in salutation. Even old Picheu smiled happily at this. Then the boys sprang aboard, and the boats pushed out into the current.
XXIV
THE WHITE MAN’S COUNTRY
They were passing now between very high banks, broken now and then by rock faces. The currents averaged extremely strong, and there were at times runs of roughish water. But gradually the stream now was beginning to widen and to show an occasional island, so that on the whole they found their journey less dangerous than it had been before. The dugout, although not very light under the paddle, proved very tractable, and made a splendid boat for this sort of travel.
“You’d think from the look of this country,” said John to Alex, “that we were the first ever to cross it.”
“No,” said the old hunter, “I wish we were; but that is far from the truth to-day. This spring, before I started west to meet you, there were a dozen wagons passed through the Landing on one day — every one of them with a plow lashed to the wagon-box. The farmers are coming. If you should stop at Dunvegan you’d hardly know you were in Mackenzie’s old country, I’m afraid. And now the buffalo and the elk are all gone, where there used to be so many. It is coming now to be the white man’s country.”
“You’ll have to come up to Alaska, where we live, Alex,” said John. “We’ve got plenty of wild country back inside of Alaska yet. But even there the outside hunters are killing off the bear and moose mighty fast.”
“Yes,” said Alex, “for sport, for their heads, and not for the meat! My people kill for meat alone, and they could live here forever and the game would still be as thick as ever it was. It’s the whites who destroy the new countries.”
“I’m beginning to like this country more and more,” said Jesse, frankly. “Back in the mountains sometimes I was pretty badly scared, the water roared so much all the time. But here the country looks easier, and the water isn’t so strong. I think we’ll have the best part of our trip now.”
At that instant the sound of a rifle-shot rang out from some point below them on the river. The dugout had just swung