Ungava Bob Part 28

January and February were excessively cold months and during that period, when the fur bearing animals keep very close to their lairs, the catch was indifferent. But with the more moderate weather that began with March and continued until May the harvest was a rich one, for it was one of those seasons, after a year of unusual scarcity, as the previous two years had been, when the fur bearing animals come in some inexplicable way in great numbers, and food game also is plentiful.

At length the hunting season closed, when the mild weather with daily thaws arrived. The fur that was now caught was deteriorating to such an extent that it was not wise to continue catching it. The traps on the various trails were sprung and hung upon trees or placed upon rocks, where they could be readily found again, and d.i.c.k and Ed joined Bill at the river tilt, where the boat had been cached to await the breaking up of the river, and here enjoyed a respite from their labours.

Ptarmigans in flocks of hundreds fed upon the tender tops of the willows that lined the river banks, and these supplied them with an abundance of fresh meat, varied occasionally by rabbits, two or three porcupines and a lynx that d.i.c.k shot one day near the tilt. This lynx meat they roasted by an open fire outside the tilt, and considered it a great treat. It may be said that the roasted lynx resembles in flavour and texture prime veal, and it is indeed, when properly cooked, delicious; and the hunter knows how to cook it properly.

Trout, too, which they caught through the ice, were plentiful. They had brought with them when coming to the trails in the autumn, tackle for the purpose of securing fish at this time. The lines were very stout, thick ones, and the hooks were large. A good-sized piece of lead, melted and moulded around the stem of the hook near the eye, weighted it heavily, and it was baited with a piece of fat pork and a small piece of red cloth or yarn, tied below the lead. The rod was a stout stick three feet in length and an inch thick.

With this equipment the hook was dropped into the hole and moved up and down slowly, until a fish took hold, when it was immediately pulled out. The trout were very sluggish at this season of the year and made no fight, and were therefore readily landed. The most of them weighed from two to five pounds each, and indeed any smaller than that were spurned and thrown back into the hole "t' grow up," as Ed put it.

One evening a rain set in and for four days and nights it never ceased. It poured down as if the gates of the eternal reservoirs of heaven had been opened and the flood let loose to drown the world. The snow became a sea of slush and miniature rivers ran down to join forces with the larger stream.

At first the waters overflowed the ice, but at last it gave way to the irresistible force that a.s.sailed it, and giving way began to move upon the current in great unwieldly ma.s.ses.

The river rose to its brim and burst its banks. Trees were uprooted, and mingling with the ice surged down towards the sea upon the crest of the unleashed, untamed torrent. The break-up that the men were awaiting had come.

"'Tis sure a fearsome sight," remarked Bill one day when the storm was at its height, as he returned from "a look outside" to join d.i.c.k and Ed, who sat smoking their pipes in silence in the tilt.

"An' how'd un like t' be ridin' one o' them cakes o' ice out there, an' no way o' reachin' sh.o.r.e?" asked Ed.

"I wouldn't be ridin' un from choice, an' if I were ridin' un I'm thinkin' 'twould be my last ride," answered Bill.

"Once I were ridin' un, an' ridin' un from choice," said Ed, with the air of one who had a story to tell.

"No you weren't never ridin' un. What un tell such things for, Ed?"

broke in d.i.c.k. "Un has dreams an' tells un for happenin's, I'm thinkin'."

Ed ignored the interruption as though he had not heard it, and proceeded to relate to Bill his wonderful adventure.

"Once," said he,--"'twere five year ago--I were waitin' at my lower tilt for th' break-up t' come, an' has my boat hauled up t' what I thinks is a safe place, when I gets up one mornin' t' find th' water come up extra high in th' night an' th' boat gone wi' th' ice. That leaves me in a rare bad fix, wi' nothin' t' do, seems t' me, but wait for th' water t' settle, an' cruise down th' river afoot.

"I'm not fancyin' th' cruise, an' I watches th' ice an' wonders, when I marks chance cakes o' ice driftin' down close t' sh.o.r.e an' touchin'

land now an' agin as un goes, could I ride un. Th' longer I watches un th' more I thinks 'twould be a fine way t' ride on un, an' at last I makes up my pack an' cuts a good pole, an' watches my chance, which soon comes. A big cake comes rollin' down an' I steps aboard un an'

away I goes.

"'Twere fine for a little while, an' I says, 'Ed, now _you_ knows th'

thing t' do in a tight place.'

"'Twere a rare pretty sight watchin' th' sh.o.r.e slippin' past, an' I forgets as 'tis a piece o' ice I'm ridin' till I happens t' look around an' finds th' cake o' ice, likewise myself, in th' middle o'

th' river, an' no way o' gettin' ash.o.r.e. The's nothin' t' do but hang on, an' I hangs.

"Then I sees th' Gull Island Rapids an' I 'most loses my nerve. 'Tis a fearsome torrent at best, as un knows, but now wi' high flood 'tis like ten o' unself at low water. Th' waves beats up twenty foot high."

Ed paused here to light his pipe which had a way of always going out when he reached the most dramatic point in his stories. When it was finally going again, he continued:

"Lucky 'twere for me th' rocks were all covered. In we goes, me an'

th' ice, an' I hangs on an' shuts my eyes. When I opens un we're floatin' peaceful an' steady below th' rapids, an' I feels like breathin' agin.

"Then we runs th' Porcupine Rapids, an' I begins t' think I has th'

Muskrat Falls t' run too which would be th' endin' o' me, sure. But I ain't. I uses my pole, an' works up t' sh.o.r.e, an' just as we gets th'

rush o' th' water above th' falls, I lands.

"That were how I rid th' river on a' ice cake."

"Where'd ye land, now?" asked d.i.c.k. "This side o' th' river or t'

other?"

"This side o' un," answered Ed, complacently.

"'Tis sheer rock this side, an' no holt t' land on," said d.i.c.k, triumphantly.

"'Th' water were t' th' top o' th' rock," explained Ed.

"Then," said d.i.c.k, with the air of one who has trapped another, "th'

hull country were flooded an' there were no falls."

Ed looked at him for a moment disdainfully.

"I were on th' ice six days, an' _I knows_."

The men were held in waiting for several days after the storm ceased for the river to clear of debris and sink again to something like its normal volume, before it was considered safe for them to begin the voyage out. Then on a fair June morning the boat was laden with the outfit and fur.

"Poor Bob," said d.i.c.k, as Bob's things were placed in the boat. "Th'

poor lad were so hopeful when we were comin' in t' th' trails, an'

now un's gone. 'Twill be hard t' meet his mother an Richard."

"Aye, 'twill be hard," a.s.sented Ed. "She'll be takin' un rare hard.

Our comin' home'll be bringin' his goin' away plain t' she again."

"An' Emily, too," spoke up Bill. "They were thinkin' so much o' each other."

Then the journey was begun, full of danger and excitement as they shot through rushing rapids and on down the river towards Eskimo Bay, where great and unexpected tidings awaited them.

XXVI

BACK AT WOLF BIGHT

Bob's apparent death was a sore shock to Richard Gray. When Douglas found him on the trail and broke the news to him as gently as possible, he seemed at first hardly to comprehend it. He was stunned.

He said little, but followed Douglas back to the cabin like one in a mesmeric sleep. A few days before he had gone away happy and buoyant, now he shuffled back like an old man.

Mechanically he looked at the remains and examined the gun and the axe--Ed had brought out but one of the axes found by the rock with the remains--and said, "Th' gun's not Bob's. Th' axe were his."

"Th' gun's not Bob's!" exclaimed Mrs. Gray "Th' clothes is not Bob's!

Now I knows 'tis not my boy we've found."

"Yes, Mary," said he broken-heartedly. "Tis Bob th' wolves got. Our poor lad is gone. No one else could ha' had his things."