The Greatest Works of Emerson Hough – 19 Books in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Emerson Hough
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is making the trip so pleasant for me. I’m having a good time figuring it out with you. I know this river must run north between those two ranges of mountains, and it must turn to the east somewhere north of here. But I’ve never been west of Fort St. John.”
“I don’t like the look of this river down there,” said Jesse, stepping to the point of the bar, and gazing down the stream up which came the sullen roar of heavy rapids.
“Those rapeed, she’ll been all right,” said Moise. “Never fear, we go through heem all right. To-morrow, two, three, day we’ll go through those rapeed like the bird!”
“We can walk around them, Jesse, if we don’t want to run them,” said Rob, reassuringly. “Of course it’s rather creepy going into heavy water that you don’t know anything about — I don’t like that myself. But just think how much worse it must have been for Sir Alexander and his men, who were coming up this river, and on the high water at that. Why, all this country was overflowed, and one time, down below here, all the men wanted to quit, it was such hard work. He must have been a brave man to keep them going on through.”
“He was a great man,” added Alex. “A tired man is hard to argue with, but he got them to keep on trying, and kept them at their work.”
“Grub pile!” sang Moise once more, and a moment later all were gathered again around the little fire where Moise had quickly prepared the evening meal.
“I’m just about starved,” said John. “I’ve been wanting something to eat all afternoon.”
They all laughed at John’s appetite, which never failed, and Moise gave him two large pieces of trout from the frying-pan. “I’ll suppose those feesh he’ll seem good to you,” said Moise.
“I should say they were good!” remarked Jesse, approvingly. “I like them better all the time.”
“S’pose we no get feesh in the north,” began Moise, “everybody she’ll been starve.”
“That’s right,” said Alex. “The traders couldn’t have traveled in this country without their nets. They got fish enough each night to last them the next day almost anywhere they stopped. You see, sometimes the buffalo or the caribou are somewhere else, but fish can’t get out of the river or the lake, and we always know where to look for them.”
“The dorè, she’ll be good feesh,” continued Moise, “but we’ll not got dorè here. Maybe so whitefeesh over east, maybe so pickerel.”
“You remember how we liked codfish better than salmon up in Alaska when we were on Kadiak Island?” asked Rob. “I wonder if we’ll like trout very long at a time?”
“Whitefeesh she’ll be all right,” Moise smiled. “Man an’ dog both he’ll eat whitefeesh.”
“Well, it’s all right about fish,” Rob remarked, after a time, “but how about the hunt we were talking about? I promised Uncle Dick I’d bring him some bearskins.”
“Black bear or grizzlies?” asked Alex, smiling.
“Grizzly.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” demurred Alex. “Of course I don’t deny you may have killed a bear or so up in Alaska, but down here most of us are willing to let grizzlies alone when we see them.”
“This white-face bear, he’ll be bad,” Moise nodded vigorously.
“Are there many in here?” asked John, curiously, looking at the dense woods.
“I don’t know,” Alex replied. “I’ve seen a few tracks along the bars, but most of those are made by black bear. Injuns don’t look for grizzlies very much. I don’t suppose there’s over six or eight grizzly skins traded out of Fort St. John in a whole year.”
“Injuns no like for keel grizzly,” said Moise. “This grizzly, he’ll be chief. He’ll be dead man, too, maybe. Those grizzly he’ll be onkle of mine, maybe so. All Injun he’ll not want for keel grizzly. Some Injun can talk to grizzly, an’ some time grizzly he’ll talk to Injun, too, heem.”
“Now, Moise,” said Rob, “do you really think an animal can talk?”
“Of course he’ll talk. More beside, all animal he’ll talk with spirits, an’ man, not often he can talk with spirits himself. Yes, animal he’ll talk with spirit right along, heem.”
“What does he mean, Alex?” asked Rob.
“Well,” said Alex, gravely, “I’m half Injun too, and you know, Injuns don’t think just the way white people do. Among our people it was always thought that animals were wiser than white men think them. Some have said that they get wisdom from the spirits — I don’t know about that.”
“Do you know how those cross fox he’ll get his mark on his back that way?” asked Moise of Rob.
“No, only I suppose they were always that way.”
“You know those fox?”
“We all know them,” interrupted John. “There’s a lot of them up in Alaska — reddish, with smoky black marks on the back and shoulders, and a black tail with a white tip. They’re worth money, too, sometimes.”
“Maybe Moise will tell you a story about how the fox got marked,” said Alex quietly.
“Oh, go ahead, Moise,” said all the boys. “We’d like to hear that.”
“Well, one tam,” said Moise, reaching to the fire to get a coal for his pipe, and leaning back against a blanket-roll, “all fox that ron wild was red, like some fox is red to-day. But those tam was some good fox an’ some bad fox. Then Wiesacajac, he’ll get mad with some fox an’ mark heem that way. He’ll been bad fox, that’s how he get mark.”
“Wiesacajac?” asked Rob. “What do you mean by that?”
“He means one of the wood-spirits of the Cree Indians,” answered Alex, quietly. “You know, the Injuns have a general belief in the Great Spirit. Well, Wiesacajac is a busy spirit of the woods, and is usually good-natured.”
“Do you believe in him?” asked Jesse. “I thought you went to church, Alex?”
“The Company likes us all to go to church when we’re in the settlements,” said Alex, “and I do regularly. But you see, my mother was Injun, and she kept to the old ways. It’s hard for me to understand it, about the old ways and the new ones both. But my mother and her people all believed in Wiesacajac, and thought he was around all the time and was able to play jokes on the people if he felt like it. Usually he was good-natured. But, Moise, go on and tell about how the fox got his mark.”
Moise, assuming a little additional dignity, as became an Indian teller of stories, now went on with his tale.
“Listen, I speak!” he began. “One tam, long ago, Wiesacajac, he’ll be sit all alone by a lake off north of this river. Wiesacajac, he’ll been hongree, but he’ll not be mad. He’ll be laugh, an’ talk by heemself an’ have good tam, because he’ll just keel himself some nice fat goose.
“Now, Wiesacajac, he’ll do the way the people do, an’ he’ll go for roast this goose in the sand, under the ashes where he’ll make his fire. He’ll take this goose an’ bury heem so, all cover’ up with ashes an’ coals — like this, you see — but he’ll leave the two leg of those foots stick up through the ground where the goose is bury.
“Wiesacajac he’ll feel those goose all over with his breast-bone, an’ he’ll say, ‘Ah, ha! he’ll been fat goose; bimeby he’ll be good for eat.’ But he’ll know if you watch goose he’ll not get done. So bimeby Wiesacajac he’ll walk off away in the wood for to let those goose get brown in the ashes. This’ll be fine day — beau temps — an’ he’ll be happy, for he’ll got meat in camp. So bimeby he’ll sit down on log an’ look at those sky an’ those wind, an’ maybe he’ll light his pipe, I