On the Edge of the Arctic Part 21

The hunt was to be for caribou back over the hills in the direction of the Barren Lands. In the end Colonel Howell agreed that the party might advance two days' travel into the wilderness but that it must return to camp on the evening of the fourth day.

Less than an hour's preparation was necessary and when Philip and the three boys left camp one morning, the expedition had little appearance of the usual, heavily laden winter hunters. Each member of the party was on snowshoes, and behind them they drew a small sled containing their camp equipment. It was hardly more than a packload for a strong Indian but the sled was taken in the hope that it might bring in a return load of fresh meat.

Philip and Norman carried rifles carefully protected in mooseskin cases.

Paul carried nothing but his camera and an automatic revolver. Roy took the first turn at the sled. The morning was fair but cold, and the bright sun had no effect upon the snow-laden trees.

When the enthusiastic hunters reached the Fort McMurray settlement just below the camp they left the river and struck inland. Within an hour they had pa.s.sed through the pines and poplars fringing the river and had reached the summit of a "hog-back" range of hills beyond which there was known to be a little valley running at right angles to the course of the river.

When the four travelers reached the top of the "hog-back" and saw the frozen snow-covered valley before them, like children out for a lark, Philip no less active than the others, they coasted into the valley.

Until the sun was high above them they made their way along the frozen creek toward the head of the wide defile. About noon, camp was made, tea was brewed and, partly behind the protection of a little frozen waterfall, bannock and cold meat were added to the hot tea. No time was lost in cooking.

With faces and ears protected by their heavy caps, and with heavy mittens to guard their fingers against frost bite, not one of the party complained of the intense cold.

"It's all right," explained Philip, "unless the wind comes up, and if it does we'll have to go into camp."

But in the valley no wind arose to make any trouble. The party set forward to reach the head of the valley before time to go into camp. They did this by three o'clock and then, mounting an elevation and pa.s.sing through a thin fringe of dwarf pines, the boys found themselves on a wind-swept plateau where the snow clung with difficulty.

They had seen plenty of deer, rabbits and small game during the day but had done no shooting. They were after caribou or moose. The first look over the desolate plateau, where not even trees broke the landscape, was far from inviting. As the sun began to go down and little was to be seen other than a few rocky irregularities and a thin covering of snow with drifts here and there like white islands, camp prospects were not as inviting as they had seemed in the valley behind them.

"Come on," exclaimed Roy, as the party paused on the edge of the heights.

"This begins to look like the real thing."

"Maybe some moose," was Philip's rejoinder. "No moose track on de valley below."

"Hear that?" exclaimed Roy. "Everybody get busy. I reckon we can't go any farther inland to-night than that heap o' rock way over there." He pointed to a barren elevation on the already darkening horizon. "You hunters," he added, indicating Norman and Philip, "ought to spread out and look for game tracks in the swales to the right and left. But don't go too far. Work your way in toward those rocks before night. You'll find us there. Come on, Paul," he added with unusual enthusiasm, considering that it was rapidly growing colder in the open country, "there's probably no wood over there. You and I'll get some here and meet the hunters at the rock pile."

While Norman and the Indian started out, Roy loosened the axe and drew the sled back into the pine scrub to look for fallen timber. This was a tedious process and it was even more of a task to load the firewood onto the sled.

"The tent'll fix us all right," explained Roy as he backed against the wind and began to dump his firewood on the snow. "But first we've got to make a camp site. Take off your snowshoes."

Where the wind had been cutting over the tops of the rocks a sort of vacuum had been formed behind the ridge and into this the snow had been piled up to a depth of four or five feet. With a snowshoe, each boy tackled this bank. Soon they had dug a pit in it about ten by ten feet.

By throwing the loose snow around the edge of this they created a wall about seven feet high.

"Now I'll show you a trick I read about," exclaimed Roy.

From the pine grove on the edge of the plateau he had dragged the slender trunk of a poplar tree about twelve feet long. This he now threw over the opening in the snow, making a sort of a ridge pole, and then with Paul's a.s.sistance unrolled the tent and spread it across. While Paul held the edges of the somewhat awkward canvas in place on top of the snow wall Roy piled snow on the ends of the canvas and just as it was too dark to see more the excavation was thoroughly roofed except in one corner where the irregular canvas did not fit.

"We need that for a chimney opening anyway," exclaimed Roy.

Before a fire could be started, however, there was the sound of a rifle off to the south, to which Paul responded with a pistol shot. Then the camp makers carried their wood into the snow house and while Paul attended to their scanty food supply and arranged the sleeping bags as rugs on the crisp snow floor, Roy started a fire. The blaze emphasized the darkness without and, realizing that their companions had no signal, the two boys split up a torch with the axe and carried it outside where, while they could keep it alight, it might serve as a beacon.

But this was not necessary. Both the Indian and Norman came in, guided by Paul's revolver shot. Neither reported signs of game. Both were elated over the house which was already so warm within that the heavy coats and mittens could be discarded.

"I s'pose supper's all ready," exclaimed Norman after he had got his numbed limbs warmed.

"No," answered Roy, "I've just been waiting for you so we could have it all fresh and hot. I'm going to prepare it myself and everything's going to be in trapper style. It won't be much but it's all you need and it's according to the rules and regulations. I've already got my hot water.

Now I'll get the bannocks ready."

"Didn't you bring those I made for you?" asked Philip, the camp cook and hunter.

"I prefer to make 'em myself," answered Roy, "just as the Indians make 'em in the woods."

Philip smiled and Norman and Paul looked somewhat disappointed but neither made objection.

"Here's my flour," explained Roy who had already rolled up his sweater sleeves and produced an old flour bag with a few pounds of flour in the bottom of it. "I mixed the baking powder with the flour before we left camp so as to save time," he explained.

"Seems to me we've got all night," interrupted Norman. "They don't do that to save time--you're mixed. They do that to save carrying the baking powder in a separate package."

"Anyway," retorted Roy, "it's the way real trappers do."

He had rolled the sides of the sack down to make a kind of receptacle at the bottom of which lay his flour. Then with a piece of wood he pried off the top of the tea kettle and was about to pour some boiling water onto the flour when Philip with a grunt stopped him.

"Non," exclaimed the Indian. "You spoil him."

Over Roy's feeble protest the Indian scooped up snow and deposited it in the boiling water until the fluid was somewhat cooler. Then he pa.s.sed the kettle to the waiting Roy who began to mix his Indian bread. But had Philip allowed Roy to proceed in his generous application of water, his proposed bannocks would have resulted in flour paste. In the end, because Roy had to get his pork ready, the volunteer cook permitted Philip to finish the fashioning of a bannock as big as the frying pan,--the only cooking utensil that Roy had thought necessary to bring with them.

"Now," exclaimed Roy, as he deposited a generous piece of salt pork in the frying pan, "I'll show you how the hungry trapper makes a supper fit for a king."

As the pork began to sizzle in the pan those who were eagerly watching the amateur cook saw the piece separating into thin sections.

"You see, that's what we trappers always do," explained Roy rather proudly. "You can't slice pork when it's frozen solid. I sliced my pork before we left camp this morning."

By this time the rashers of pork were swimming about in the hot fat like doughnuts in bubbling lard.

"It certainly smells all right," exclaimed Paul, as the appetizing odor from the frying meat filled the snow cave. "Hurry up and give us a piece."

Roy made no reply but busied himself stirring the bits of meat with the point of his knife.

"Is the bread ready?" the cook asked, turning to Philip.

The Indian only pointed to the big ball of dough flattened out like a gigantic pancake and ready for the skillet.

There upon Roy seized the handle of his frying pan, shifted the skillet to one side and, resting it on the snow, began to flip the bits of salt pork onto the snow floor.

"Here, what are you doing?" shouted Norman.

"You don't eat those sc.r.a.ps," announced Roy positively. "The only good in pork is the fat and the fat's all in the skillet. We trappers give these sc.r.a.ps to the dogs--only we ain't got any dogs."

"Well I'll be a dog all right," exclaimed Norman and as fast as Roy flipped the brown rashers out with his knife point Norman and Paul grabbed them up.

"There ain't any need of doin' that," snorted Roy. "I tell you there ain't any good in those things and it's against all the rules anyhow.

You'll get all the fat you want when our bannock's done."

"Well, then, why don't you start it?" asked Paul. "I suppose it'll take it an hour to cook. And your fat's getting cold anyway."

"That's where you show your ignorance," retorted Roy. "I suppose you fellows think I don't know my business. If I'd put that bannock right into this hot fat it would have fried like a doughnut. I've got to get this grease soaked up in my bread. That's why I'm lettin' the grease get cool."

With this he took the flat looking loaf from the Indian's hands and slipped it into the already nearly full frying pan. But Roy knew his limitations. As he lifted the pan back upon the coals and the grease began to sizzle and snap he knew that he had exhausted his culinary knowledge.