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Nevertheless, the four youthful haulers seemed to be of opinion that it was wiser for them to claim a share in the bone now under discussion than to await a future moment when its sustenance might be derived second-hand from their maternal relative. They growled ancf tugged at the bone almost in the mouth of their hungry nurse, and rolled over each other and over the bone in a mixture of infantile ferocity and feebleness most laughable to look at.
The expression of their mother's face was one of hungry perplexity. Here was a clear case of injustice on the part of the offspring: they still looked to her for support, and yet they also sought to share her support—this precious bone; nay, they even presumed upon her feelings to rush in and take it by force, knowing that from her alone could they secure it without being severely bitten.
A bright idea seemed suddenly to strike the brain of one of the puppies: he relinquished his attempts at the bone and devoted himself to his more legitimate province of deriving nourishment from his mother; but I could not determine whether this manoeuvre was only a ruse to detain her for the benefit of his three brethren yet struggling for the bone, or simply an effort to improve the occasion with reference to a I square meal" on his own account.
Arguing from these and similar scenes witnessed among dogs generally in the north, and having regard to the excellent proportion attained by the dog whose history began at Deer's Lake, I can safely aver that his mother must have been of a free and generous nature to him in his early youth. But whatever may have been the conditions of that earlier life, it must suffice for us to know that four winters of hauling and four summers of repose had passed over him ere fate determined that the name of the dog and his doings should fall upon the ear of the big outside world.
It was the winter of For three months the great northern forest had lain prone beneath snow, ice, and bitter cold. Many a storm had swept over the immense waste, piling the dry snow into huge drifts by the banks of frozen rivers; silting up willow islands, covering the wreck of fallen vegetation in the dark pine woods, and 10 FAR OUT. The scene is in the neighbourhood of the fur fort called Cumberland, on the shore of Pine Island Lake, near the lower Saskatchewan Biver. It is the hour of. Along the white bed of a tortuous river, fast frozen beneath five feet of ice, and deep drifted in snow, came three dog-trains; twelve dogs in all.
The bells upon the dog-harness ring and jangle clearly in the keen frosty air, for the thermometer is standing at some twenty-five degrees below zero.
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A white steam rises from the breaths of dogs and men, and great icicles hang on the beards of the travellers, whose fur caps are frosted over with ice dust fine as flour. The pace is about four and a half miles an hour, and its rapid movement has done more to make the blood course freely through their bodies than capote or mittaine or fur-cap could ever achieve on such a morning.
Suddenly, from a bend in the river channel, there became visible on the left shore a solitary Indian wigwam ; a thin column of smoke issues from the opening in the pointed roof, a dog barks vigorously toward the new comers from the bank in front; all at once the train dogs quicken their pace to a sharp trot, the men break into a run, and in a few minutes the sledges are abreast of the wigwam; then the leading dogs make a wild lurch to leave the river and ascend the bank, with a view to a rest, and perhaps A DOG AND HIS DOINGS.
The three men ascend the river bank and enter, one by one, on their hands and knees, the low opening of the Indian wigwam. The scene inside is a curious one. Through the opening in the roof the light comes fully in; a fire is burning on the ground in the centre ; its smoke, only half escaping through the aperture above, hangs in the upper part of the tent, and it is only by sitting on the ground that one can escape its influence and see-with ease and comfort.
At the further side of the fire from the doorway sits an old withered, wrinkled Indian, who scarcely regards the new-comers, but continues to sing a low, monotonous song; a young woman and two children are squatted- near. The new-comers sit on some dried rushes around the fire; the old man, having shaken hands with them one by one, continues his dirge. The leader of the party asks his followers what the old man is singing about.
I His son, this woman's husband, and the father of these two children died here two days since; and last night a dog-train came from the fort Cumberland , and took the body away for burial in the graveyard there. What did he die of? He died of cold caught in chasing a black fox, which had carried away one of his traps. He was a good hunter. I What is he singing? There was now a trail on the ice, and the dogs followed it with rapid steps. Soon the river opened upon a large lake; the sleds bounded briskly over the hard drifted surface of the snow, which bore the trace of a recent dog-train upon it; then there appeared, far off in front, the misty outline of buildings grouped together on the dim opposite shore of the lake.
Quicker went the dogs, faster beat and clanged the bells, until, leaving the ice, the dogs dragged their loads into an irregular open space surrounded by wooden houses, in the centre of which other dogs and men stood watching the new-comers.
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Thus he presented a singular contrast of solicitude and swagger; the upturned tail wagged to man and shook menace to beast almost at the same instant; the face by turns glared and grimaced, and the ground was trod by a sort of light springy motion, which indicated a desire to give his paw to anybody who might take the trouble to ask for it, or to show his jaw to any and every dog who looked in his direction. There have been ingenious German artists who have succeeded in, producing similar effects in the portraits of some of their great national heroes. Looked at from one side, the picture presents to the beholder the graceful outline of a ballet-dancer, or of a rustic maiden; regarded from the front, the lowering lineaments of Bismarck, the wrinkled ferocity of Moltke, or the Mosaic ramrodism of the German Emperor's face and figure strike grimly upon the eye.
This, however, must be what is termed " high art"— in the case of the bushy-tailed dog at Cumberland Fort it can only be regarded as low nature. But to proceed. The general appearance of this dog and his grotesque goings on quickly caught the eye of the leader of the party, and inquiries followed as to his name and ownership j these were soon answered. Thus at Cumberland, on Pine Island Lake, was first introduced to the writer of these pages an animal destined hereafter to fill a prominent part in long and varied scenes of toil and travel.
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And now, having brought to a point of contact at the fur fort called Cumberland the life of this dog and of his future owner, it will be better for the smoothness of the narrative, and the truer weaving together of two threads of life, to continue our story in the personal pronoun. I became the possessor of Cerf Volant. He was the "foregoer," or leader, of three other dogs, who bore the names of Tigre, Muskeymote, and Cariboo; the first a good and trusty hauler, the two others wild and shaggy dogs, of savage disposition and unkempt aspect.
The financial 'operation which resulted in transferring these dogs to my possession was of a nature to surpass all other operations of the kind ever known in the north—in other words, more money was on this occasion asked and given for this train of four dogs than the oldest inhabitant had ever remembered in similar transactions ; but had that sum been three times what it was, and had that triple amount been demanded for the single "fore- NWWWWWWK A DOG AND HIS DOINGS.
The long journey, which had begun three months earlier, was, at the time we write of, drawing to a close.
Five hundred miles yet remained to be traversed ere the point from which I had started in October would be again reached, and this distance, lying as it did for the most part over vast stretches of frozen lake, promised to be traversible without greater difficulty than that of cold and hardship; for over these large lakes the very force and violence of the winds have made the mere labour of travel comparatively easy.
The snow closely packed upon the ice forms a hardened surface, upon which the snow-shoe leaves but scant impression, and the dogs and sleds run lightly over the smooth and dazzling highway which cold and storm have laid across the vast spaces of these inland seas. It was the 31st of January when I set out with my new train for this last stage of five hundred miles. The cold was very great; the country as desolate as frozen swamp, spreading in endless succession for eighty miles' distance, could make it; but the story of that journey has been already told in another place, and its introduction here is only necessary in order to carry on the history of the "foregoing" dog into times and through events which have found, no record.
Twenty days passed away; the marsh and the lakes had been crossed. There had been days of bitter blast, and nights of still, cold rigour, and cosy camps on islands drifted deep in snow, where the tall pine-tree stood to shadow back the glow of the fire lit beneath it, and to shelter the wayfarers whose passing footsteps had broken, for one short night, the quiet of these lonely isles. And now it was all over! I had got back again to house and fireside, bed and board. True, it was only four months since I had left these adjuncts of civilisation, but time in those matters has only a relative significance, and distance had so lengthened out the vista of these hundred and twenty days that it seemed half a lifetime had been spent in the wilderness.
I took up my quarters in an unoccupied house lying about six miles from Fort Garry, in order to quickly complete some official reports relative to my journey. I had as attendant an old pensioner; as companions my four dogs. The pensioner dwelt in the kitchen, the dogs occupied a large stable. I had the rest of the house to myself. When not suffering from a too liberal allowance of Hudson's Bay rum, the pensioner was wont to devote his leisure moments in the evening to endeavouring to elucidate, with my assistance, some problems that perplexed him.
IT themagruffs," as he used to term the telegraph, was ever a fruitful source of conversation with him. For the rest, he cooked for me and for the dogs, kept my fire alight, and fulfilled that truest of all services by leaving me to myself as often as I pleased. At times I gave the dogs a run over the snow, or put them in harness and ran them to the Fort for exercise or business.
But even the border civilisation of the Bed Biver Settlement had many temptations for Cerf Volant and his comrades. There were some farmsteads in the neighbourhood of my house, and ducks and turkeys and a cock were things as completely beyond the comprehensions of my team as the telegraph had been puzzling to my attendant; with this difference, however—that while the old soldier lost his head over the mystery of the electric wire, the cock and his companions invariably lost their heads to my team's inability to comprehend their true functions in civilisation.
More than once was the mid-day scamper up the roadway in front of my house attended with wild ' scenes of flutter and confusion in straw-yard and byre into which my dogs had penetrated, and more than once were my repeated calls by name of each dog answered by the reappearance of these " missing links" between civilisation and savagery in a state of hilarious joy over the capture and decapitation of these puzzling poultry.
A Hudson's Bay officer about to start for Norway House, on the north shore of Lake Winnepeg, became the purchaser of the team and cariole, and Cerf Volant passed from my possession to resume his old place in a Hudson's Bay fort. I parted from the dog with keen regret: he stood alone among his comrades not only as a hauler but as a friend. The work of our lives is the real test of our natures.
Any man can be jolly or good-tempered at his dinner, or during his leisure moments : but if the daily routine of his work leaves no frown upon his nature, if his heart does not close or harden beneath the hourly hammering of his toil, then you may swear there lurks no cranny of discontent in his being—there is no nook of selfishness in his heart. So was it with this dog. He alone was ever jolly at his post; he hauled through all the hours of a long day without slack of collar trace or stint of effort: but the ear was ever ready to turn responsive to a kindly call, the tail to wag a welcome within the tight-drawn traces of his toil; and when the evening came, and the collar was laid aside, and the last strap unbuckled, not fighter did he shake from him the dry powdery snow than the vestiges of his long day's work.
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Companion in the camp, faithful servant during the day—what more could man desire? The day of departure came. I drove through the single street of Winnepeg village on my way south. Cerf Volant was leading, a half-breed driver ran behind the sled. I Cerf Volant, old dog! He turned in his harness at the well-known voice, there was a crack of the half-breed's whip like a pistol shot, and the dog, realising that a mighty change had passed over his life and fortunes, bent his head to the collar and trotted on bravely towards the north. The last link of the lone spaces was gone! A YEAB and a half had passed away.
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The reality of the wilderness had become a dream. Idealised by distance and separation—the camp, the lonely meadow, the dim pine woods, the snow-capped mountains, the mighty hush of nature as the great solitude sank at sunset into the sleep of night—all had come back to me in a thousand scenes of memory; and in the midst of the rush and roar of a great city, I had seen, as though in another world, the long vista of unnumbered meadows lying at the gateway of the sunset.
I had heard the voice of lonely lakes and pines that whispered into the ear of night the melody of unmade music. I would go back to it again. Why not?
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Is there anything on earth better than this wilderness? Is there aught in this short life of ours with less of that pleasure which is sure to turn to pain? The gold of this wilderness is nature's own ; ring it, change it, spend it, hoard it, there lies not in its millions or in its fractions one atom of alloy. I got back to the old scenes again. It was the early autumn; the oak woods along the Bed Biver shores were beginning to yellow under the breath of the north wind; the mosquitoes were all gone; the wild ducks were settling on the prairie pools and the reedy "sloughs" of half-dried water-courses; the grouse were beginning to "pack"; the warm balmy days were followed by fresh cold nights; and the prairies, basking in the mellow sunshine of September, stretched in unbroken line from the oak woods of the river to the distant verge of the western horizon.
About a hundred and fifty miles south of Fort Garry there stood, on the Bed Biver bank, a small Hudson Bay post in the territory of Dakota. The wave of immigration had in my absence flowed fast over this fertile valley of the Bed Biver, and the huts and shanties of settlers "were now dotted along the trail that led north towards British territory; the great hungry tide from overcharged Europe was, in fact, eating deeper into the lone land, and month by month the wilderness was losing ground before its sharp and restless surge.
But the wilderness had sent its best and truest representative to meet and greet me on the very shore of its lost dominion.