At Fort Resolution we left the Canadian region of large timber and
entered the stunted spruce, as noted, and at length on the timber
line we saw the final effort of the forests to combat Jack Frost
in his own kingdom. The individual history of each tree is in three
stages:

First, as a low, thick, creeping bush sometimes ten feet across,
but only a foot high. In this stage it continues until rooted enough
and with capital enough to send up a long central shoot; which is
stage No. 2.

This central shoot is like a Noah's Ark pine; in time it becomes
the tree and finally the basal thicket dies, leaving the specimen
in stage No. 3.

A stem of one of the low creepers was cut for examination; it was
11 inches through and 25 years old. Some of these low mats of spruce
have stems 5 inches through. They must be fully 100 years old.

A tall, dead, white spruce at the camp was 30 feet high and 11
inches in diameter at 4 feet from the ground. Its 190 rings were
hard to count, they were so thin. The central ones were thickest,
there being 16 to the inmost inch of radius; on the outside to the
north 50 rings made only 1/2 an inch and 86 made one inch.

Numbers 42 and 43, counting from the outside, were two or three
times as thick as those outside of them and much thicker than the
next within; they must have represented years of unusual summers.
No. 99 also was of great size. What years these corresponded with
one could not guess, as the tree was a long time dead.

Another, a dwarf but 8 feet high, was 12 inches through. It had
205 rings plus a 5-inch hollow which we reckoned at about 100 rings
of growth; 64 rings made only 1 3/8 inches; the outmost of the 64
was 2 inches in from the outside of the wood. Those on the outer
two inches were even smaller, so as to be exceedingly difficult to
count. This tree was at least 300 years old; our estimates varied,
according to the data, from 300 to 325 years.

These, then, are the facts for extremes. In Idaho or Connecticut
it took about 10 years to produce the same amount of timber as took
300 years on the edge of the Arctic Zone.




CHAPTER XXXII

THE TREELESS PLAINS



On August 7 we left Camp Last Woods. Our various specimens, with a
stock of food, were secured, as usual, in a cache high in two trees,
in this case those already used by Tyrrell seven years before, and
guarded by the magic necklace of cod hooks.

By noon (in 3 hours) we made fifteen miles, camping far beyond
Twin Buttes. All day long the boat shot through water crowded with
drowned gnats. These were about 10 to the square inch near shore
and for about twenty yards out, after that 10 to the square foot
for two hundred or three hundred yards still farther from shore,
and for a quarter mile wide they were 10 to the square yard.

This morning the wind turned and blew from the south. At 2 P. M.
we saw a band of some 60 Caribou travelling southward; these were
the first seen for two or three days. After this we saw many odd
ones, and about 3 o'clock a band of 400 or 500. At night we camped
on Casba River, having covered 36 miles in 7 hours and 45 minutes.

The place, we had selected for camp proved to be a Caribou crossing.
As we drew near a dozen of them came from the east and swam across.
A second band of 8 now appeared. We gave chase. They spurted; so
did we. Our canoe was going over 6 miles an hour, and yet was but
slowly overtaking them. They made the water foam around them. Their
heads, necks, shoulders, backs, rumps, and tails were out. I never
before saw land animals move so fast in the water. A fawn in danger
of being left behind reared up on its mother's back and hung on
with forefeet. The leader was a doe or a young buck, I could not
be sure which; the last was a big buck. They soon struck bottom
and bounded along on the shore. It was too dark for a picture.

As we were turning in for the night 30 Caribou came trotting and
snorting through the camp. Half of them crossed the water, but the
rest turned back when Billy shouted.

Later a band of two hundred passed through and around our tents.
In the morning Billy complained that he could not sleep all night
for Caribou travelling by his tent and stumbling over the guy ropes.
From this time on we were nearly always in sight of Caribou, small
bands or scattering groups; one had the feeling that the whole land
was like this, on and on and on, unlimited space with unlimited
wild herds.

A year afterward as I travelled in the fair State of Illinois,
famous for its cattle, I was struck by the idea that one sees far
more Caribou in the north than cattle, in Illinois. This State has
about 56,000 square miles, of land and 3,000,000 cattle; the Arctic
Plains have over 1,000,000 square miles of prairie, which, allowing
for the fact that I saw the best of the range, would set, the Caribou
number at over 30,000,000. There is a, good deal of evidence that
this is not far from the truth.

The reader may recollect the original postulate of my plan. Other
travellers have gone, relying on the abundant Caribou, yet saw none,
so starved. I relied on no Caribou, I took plenty of groceries,
and because I was independent, the Caribou walked into camp nearly
every day, and we lived largely on their meat, saving our groceries
for an emergency, which came in an unexpected form. One morning
when we were grown accustomed to this condition I said to Billy:

"How is the meat?"

"Nearly gone. We'll need another Caribou about Thursday."

"You better get one now to be ready Thursday. I do not like it so
steaming fresh. See, there's a nice little buck on that hillside."

"No, not him; why he is nearly half a mile off. I'd have to pack
him in. Let's wait till one comes in camp."

Which we did, and usually got our meat delivered near the door.'

Caribou meat fresh, and well prepared, has no superior, and the
ideal way of cooking it is of course by roasting.

Fried meat is dried meat,

Boiled meat is spoiled meat,

Roast meat is best meat.

How was it to be roasted at an open fire without continued vigilance?
By a very simple contrivance that I invented at the time and now
offer for the use of all campers.

A wire held the leg; on the top of the wire was a paddle or shingle
of wood; above that, beyond the heat, was a cord.

The wind gives the paddle a push; it winds up the cord, which then
unwinds itself. This goes on without fail and without effort, never
still, and the roast is perfect.

Thus we were living on the fat of many lands and on the choicest
fat of this.

And what a region it is for pasture. At this place it reminds one
of Texas. Open, grassy plains, sparser reaches of sand, long slopes
of mesquite, mesas dotted with cedars and stretches of chapparal
and soapweed. Only, those vegetations here are willow, dwarf birch,
tiny spruce, and ledum, and the country as a whole is far too green
and rich. The emerald verdure of the shore, in not a few places,
carried me back, to the west coast of Ireland.




CHAPTER XXXIII

THE UNKNOWN



The daily observations of route and landmark I can best leave
for record on my maps. I had one great complaint against previous
explorers (except Tyrrell); that is, they left no monuments. Aiming
to give no ground of complaint against us, we made monuments at
all important points. On the, night of August 8 we camped at Cairn
Bay on the west side of Casba Lake, so named because of the five
remarkable glacial cairns or conical stone-piles about it. On the
top of one of these I left a monument, a six-foot pillar of large
stones.

On the afternoon of August 9 we passed the important headland that
I have called "Tyrrell Point." Here we jumped off his map into
the unknown. I had, of course, the small chart drawn by Sir George
Back in 1834, but it was hastily made under great difficulties,
and, with a few exceptions, it seemed impossible to recognize his
landscape features. Next day I explored the east arm of Clinton-Colden
and discovered the tributary that I have called "Laurier River,"
and near its mouth made a cairn enclosing a Caribou antler with
inscription "E. T. Seton, 10 Aug., 1907."

Future travellers on this lake will find, as I did, that the
Conical Butte in the eastern part is an important landmark. It is
a glacial dump about 50 feet above the general level, which again
is 100 feet above the water, visible and recognizable from nearly
all parts of the lake.

Thus we went on day by day, sometimes detained by head or heavy
winds, but making great progress in the calm, which nearly always
came in the evening; 30 and 35 miles a day we went, led on and
stimulated by the thirst to see and know. "I must see what is over
that ridge," "I must make sure that this is an island," or "Maybe
from that lookout I shall see Lake Aylmer, or a band of Caribou,
yes, or even a band of Musk-ox." Always there was some reward, and
nearly always it was a surprise.

From time to time we came on Snowbirds with their young broods,
evidently at home. Ptarmigan abounded. Parry's Groundsquirrel
was found at nearly all points, including the large islands. The
Laplongspur swarmed everywhere; their loud "chee chups" were the
first sounds to greet us each time we neared the land. And out over
all the lake were Loons, Loons, Loons. Four species abound here;
they caterwaul and yodel all day and all night, each in its own
particular speech, From time to time a wild hyena chorus from the
tranquil water in the purple sunset haze suggested, that a pack of
goblin hounds were chivying a goblin buck, but it turned out always
to be a family of Red-throated Loons, yodelling their inspiring
marching song.

One day when at Gravel Mountain, old Weeso came to camp in evident
fear--"far off he had seen a man." In this country a man must mean
an Eskimo; with them the Indian has a long feud; of them he is in
terror. We never learned the truth; I think he was mistaken.

Once or twice the long howl of the White Wolf sounded from the
shore, and every day we saw a few Caribou.

A great many of the single Caribou were on the small islands. In
six cases that came under close observation the animal in question
had a broken leg. A broken leg generally evidences recent inroads
by hunters, but the nearest Indians were 200 miles to the south, and
the nearest Eskimo 300 miles to the north. There was every reason
to believe that we were the only human beings in that vast region,
and certainly we had broken no legs. Every Caribou fired at (8) had
been secured and used. There is only one dangerous large enemy common
in this country; that is the White Wolf. And the more I pondered
it, the more it seemed sure that the Wolves had broken the Caribous'
legs.

How! This is the history of each case: The Caribou is so much swifter
than the Wolves that the latter have no chance in open chase; they
therefore adopt the stratagem of a sneaking surround and a drive
over the rocks or a precipice, where the Caribou, if not actually
killed, is more or less disabled. In some cases only a leg is
broken, and then the Caribou knows his only chance is to reach the
water. Here his wonderful powers of swimming make him easily safe,
so much so that the Wolves make no attempt to follow. The crippled
deer makes for some island sanctuary, where he rests in peace till
his leg is healed, or it may be, in some cases, till the freezing of
the lake brings him again into the power of his floe.

These six, then, were the cripples in hospital, and I hope our
respectful behaviour did not inspire them with a dangerously false
notion of humanity.

On the island that I have called Owl-and-Hare, we saw the first
White Owl and the first Arctic Hare.

In this country when you see a tree, you know perfectly well it is
not a tree; it's the horns of a Caribou. An unusually large affair
of branches appeared on an island in the channel to Aylmer. I landed,
camera in hand; the Caribou was lying down in the open, but there
was a tuft of herbage 30 yards from him, another at 20 yards.
I crawled to the first and made a snapshot, then, flat as a rug,
sneaked my way to the one estimated at 20 yards. The click of the
camera, alarmed the buck; he rose, tried the wind, then lay down
again, giving me another chance. Having used all the films, I now
stood up. The Caribou dashed away and by a slight limp showed that
he was in sanctuary. The 20-yard estimate proved too long; it was
only 16 yards, which put my picture a little out of focus.

There never was a day, and rarely an hour of each day, that we did
not see several Caribou. And yet I never failed to get a thrill
at each fresh one. "There's a Caribou," one says with perennial
intensity that is evidence of perennial pleasure in the sight.
There never was one sighted that did not give us a happy sense of
satisfaction--the thought "This is what we came for."




CHAPTER XXXIV

AYLMER LAKE



One of my objects was to complete the ambiguous shore line of Aylmer
Lake. The first task was to find the lake. So we left the narrows
and pushed on and on, studying the Back map, vainly trying to identify
points, etc. Once or twice we saw gaps ahead that seemed to open
into the great inland sea of Aylmer. But each in turn proved a
mere bay.--On August 12 we left the narrows; on the 13th and 14th
we journeyed westward seeking the open sea. On the morning of the
15th we ran into the final end of the farthest bay we could discover
and camped at the mouth of a large river entering in.

As usual, we landed--Preble, Billy, and I--to study topography,
Weeso to get firewood, and curiously enough, there was more firewood
here than we had seen since leaving Artillery Lake. The reason of
this appeared later.

I was utterly puzzled. We had not yet found Aylmer Lake, and had
discovered an important river that did not seem to be down on any
map.

We went a mile or two independently and studied the land from all
the high hills; evidently we had crossed the only great sheet of
water in the region. About noon, when all had assembled at camp,
I said: "Preble, why, isn't this Lockhart's River, at the western
extremity of Aylmer Lake?" The truth was dawning on me.

He also had been getting light and slowly replied: "I have forty-nine
reasons why it is, and none at all why it isn't."

There could be no doubt of it now. The great open sea of Aylmer was
a myth. Back never saw it; he passed in a fog, and put down with a
query the vague information given him by the Indians. This little
irregular lake, much like Clinton-Colden, was Aylmer. We had covered
its length and were now at its farthest western end, at the mouth
of Lockhart's River.

How I did wish that explorers would post up the names of the
streets; it is almost as bad as in New York City. What a lot of
time we might have saved had we known that Sandy Bay was in Back's
three-fingered peninsula! Resolving to set a good example I left a
monument at the mouth of the river. The kind of stone made it easy
to form a cross on top. This will protect it from wandering Indians;
I do not know of anything that will protect it from wandering white
men.




CHAPTER XXXV

THE MUSK-OX



In the afternoon, Preble, Billy, and I went northward on foot to
look for Musk-ox. A couple of miles from camp I left the others
and went more westerly.

After wandering on for an hour, disturbing Longspurs, Snowbirds,
Pipits, Groundsquirrel, and Caribou, I came on a creature that gave
me new thrills of pleasure. It was only a Polar Hare, the second we
had seen; but its very scarceness here, at least this year, gave
it unusual interest, and the Hare itself helped the feeling by
letting me get near it to study, sketch, and photograph.

It was exactly like a Prairie Hare in all its manners, even to the
method of holding its tail in running, and this is one of the most
marked and distinctive peculiarities of the different kinds.

On the 16th of August we left Lockhart's River, knowing now that
the north arm of the lake was our way. We passed a narrow bay out
of which there seemed to be a current, then, on the next high land,
noted a large brown spot that moved rather quickly along. It was
undoubtedly some animal with short legs, whether a Wolverine a
mile away, or a Musk-ox two miles away, was doubtful. Now did that
canoe put on its six-mile gait, and we soon knew for certain
that the brown thing was a Musk-ox. We were not yet in their country,
but here was one of them to meet us. Quickly we landed. Guns and
cameras were loaded.

"Don't fire till I get some pictures--unless he charges," were the
orders. And then we raced after the great creature grazing from
us.

We had no idea whether he would run away or charge, but knew that
our plan was to remain unseen as long as possible. So, hiding behind
rocks when he looked around, and dashing forward when he grazed,
we came unseen within two hundred yards, and had a good look at
the huge woolly ox. He looked very much like an ordinary Buffalo,
the same in colour, size, and action. I never was more astray in
my preconcept of any animal, for I had expected to see something
like a large brown sheep.

My, first film was fired. Then, for some unknown reason, that
Musk-ox took it into his head to travel fast away from us, not
even stopping to graze; he would soon have been over a rocky ridge.
I nodded to Preble. His rifle rang; the bull wheeled sharp about
with an angry snort and came toward us. His head was up, his eye
blazing, and he looked like a South African Buffalo and a Prairie
Bison combined, and seemed to get bigger at every moment. We were
safely hidden behind rocks, some fifty yards from him now, when I
got my second snap.

Realising the occasion, and knowing my men, I said: "Now, Preble, I
am going to walk up to that bull and get a close picture. He will
certainly charge me, as I shall be nearest and in full view. There
is only one combination that can save my life: that is you and that
rifle."

Then with characteristic loquacity did Preble reply: "Go ahead."

I fixed my camera for twenty yards and quit the sheltering rock.
The bull snorted, shook his head, took aim, and just before the
precious moment was to arrive a heavy shot behind me, rang out, the
bull staggered and fell, shot through the heart, and Weeso cackled
aloud in triumph.

How I cursed the meddling old fool. He had not understood. He
saw, as he supposed, "the Okimow in peril of his life," and acted
according to the dictates of his accursedly poor discretion. Never
again shall he carry a rifle with me.

So the last scene came not, but we had the trophy of a Musk-ox
that weighed nine hundred pounds in life and stood five feet high
at the shoulders--a world's record in point of size.

Now we must camp perforce to save the specimen. Measurements, photos,
sketches, and weights were needed, then the skinning and preparing
would be a heavy task for all. In the many portages afterwards the
skull was part of my burden; its weight was actually forty pounds,
its heaviness was far over a hundred.

What extraordinary luck we were having. It was impossible in our
time limit to reach the summer haunt of the Caribou on the Arctic
Coast, therefore the Caribou came to us in their winter haunt on
the Artillery Lake. We did not expect to reach the real Musk-ox
country on the Lower Back River, so the Musk-ox sought us out on
Aylmer Lake. And yet one more piece of luck is to be recorded. That
night something came in our tent and stole meat. The next night
Billy set a trap and secured the thief--an Arctic Fox in summer
coat. We could not expect to go to him in his summer home, so he
came to us.

While the boys were finishing the dressing of the bull's hide, I,
remembering the current from the last bay, set out on foot over the
land to learn the reason. A couple of miles brought me to a ridge
from which I made the most important geographical discovery of the
journey. Stretching away before me to the far dim north-west was
a great, splendid river--broad, two hundred yards wide in places,
but averaging seventy or eighty yards across--broken by white
rapids and waterfalls, but blue deep in the smoother stretches and
emptying into the bay we had noticed. So far as the record showed,
I surely was the first white man to behold it. I went to the margin;
it was stocked with large trout. I followed it up a couple of miles
and was filled with the delight of discovery. "Earl Grey River"',
I have been privileged to name it after the distinguished statesman,
now Governor-general of Canada.

Then and there I built a cairn, with a record of my visit, and
sitting on a hill with the new river below me, I felt that there
was no longer any question of the expedition's success. The entire
programme was carried out. I had proved the existence of abundance
of Caribou, had explored Aylmer Lake, had discovered two great
rivers, and, finally, had reached the land of the Musk-ox and secured
a record-breaker to bring away. This I felt was the supreme moment
of the journey.

Realizing the farness of my camp, from human abode--it could scarcely
have been farther on the continent--my thoughts flew back to the
dear ones at home, and my comrades, the men of the Camp-fire Club.
I wondered if their thoughts were with me at the time. How they must
envy me the chance of launching into the truly unknown wilderness,
a land still marked on the maps as "unexplored!" How I enjoyed the
thoughts of their sympathy over our probable perils and hardships,
and imagined them crowding around me with hearty greetings on my
safe return! Alas! for the rush of a great city's life and crowds,
I found out later that these, my companions, did not even know that
I had been away from New York.




CHAPTER XXXVI

THE ARCTIC PRAIRIES AND MY FARTHEST NORTH



Camp Musk-Ox provided many other items of interest besides the Great
River, the big Musk-ox, and the Arctic Fox. Here Preble secured a
Groundsquirrel with its cheek-pouches full of mushrooms and shot
a cock Ptarmigan whose crop was crammed with leaves of willow and
birch, though the ground was bright with berries of many kinds. The
last evening we were there a White Wolf followed Billy into camp,
keeping just beyond reach of his shotgun; and, of course, we saw
Caribou every hour or two.

"All aboard," was the cry on the morning of August 19, and once
more we set out. We reached the north arm of the lake, then turned
north-eastward. In the evening I got photos of a Polar Hare, the
third we had seen. The following day (August 20), at noon, we camped
in Sandhill Bay, the north point of Aylmer Lake and the northernmost
point of our travels by canoe. It seems that we were the fourth
party of white men to camp on this spot.


Captain George Back, 1833-34.
Stewart and Anderson, 1855.
Warburton Pike, 1890.
E. T. Seton, 1907.


All day long we had seen small bands of Caribou. A score now appeared
on a sandhill half a mile away; another and another lone specimen
trotted past our camp. One of these stopped and gave us an
extraordinary exhibition of agility in a sort of St. Vitus's jig,
jumping, kicking, and shaking its head; I suspect the nose-worms
were annoying it. While we lunched, a fawn came and gazed curiously
from a distance of 100 yards. In the after-noon Preble returned
from a walk to say that the Caribou were visible in all directions,
but not in great bands.

Next morning I was awakened by a Caribou clattering through camp
within 30 feet of my tent.

After breakfast we set off on foot northward to seek for Musk-ox,
keeping to the eastward of the Great Fish River. The country is
rolling, with occasional rocky ridges and long, level meadows in the
lowlands, practically all of it would be considered horse country;
and nearly every meadow had two or three grazing Caribou.

About noon, when six or seven miles north of Aylmer, we halted
for rest and lunch on the top of the long ridge of glacial dump
that lies to the east of Great Fish River. And now we had a most
complete and spectacular view of the immense open country that we
had come so far to see. It was spread before us like a huge, minute,
and wonderful chart, and plainly marked with the processes of its
shaping-time.

Imagine a region of low archaean hills, extending one thousand
miles each way, subjected for thousands of years to a continual
succession of glaciers, crushing, grinding, planing, smoothing,
ripping up and smoothing again, carrying off whole ranges of broken
hills, in fragments, to dump them at some other point, grind them
again while there, and then push and hustle them out of that region
into some other a few hundred miles farther; there again to tumble
and grind them together, pack them into the hollows, and dump them
in pyramidal piles on plains and uplands. Imagine this going on
for thousands of years, and we shall have the hills lowered and
polished, the valleys more or less filled with broken rocks.

Now the glacial action is succeeded by a time of flood. For another
age all is below water, dammed by the northern ice, and icebergs
breaking from the parent sheet carry bedded in them countless
boulders, with which they go travelling south on the open waters.
As they melt the boulders are dropped; hill and hollow share equally
in this age-long shower of erratics. Nor does it cease till the
progress of the warmer day removes the northern ice-dam, sets free
the flood, and the region of archaean rocks stands bare and dry.

It must have been a dreary spectacle at that time, low, bare hills
of gneiss, granite, etc.; low valleys half-filled with broken rock
and over everything a sprinkling of erratic boulders; no living thing
in sight, nothing green, nothing growing, nothing but evidence of
mighty power used only to destroy. A waste of shattered granite
spotted with hundreds of lakes, thousands of lakelets, millions of
ponds that are marvellously blue, clear, and lifeless.

But a new force is born on the scene; it attacks not this hill or
rock, or that loose stone, but on every point of every stone and
rock in the vast domain, it appears--the lowest form of lichen,
a mere stain of gray. This spreads and by its own corrosive power
eats foothold on the granite; it fructifies in little black velvet
spots. Then one of lilac flecks the pink tones of the granite,
to help the effect. Soon another kind follows--a pale olive-green
lichen that fruits in bumps of rich brown velvet; then another
branching like a tiny tree--there is a ghostly kind like white
chalk rubbed lightly on, and yet another of small green blots, and
one like a sprinkling of scarlet snow; each, in turn, of a higher
and larger type, which in due time prepares the way for mosses
higher still.

In the less exposed places these come forth, seeking the shade,
searching for moisture, they form like small sponges on a coral
reef; but growing, spread and change to meet the changing contours
of the land they win, and with every victory or upward move, adopt
some new refined intensive tint that is the outward and visible
sign of their diverse inner excellences and their triumph. Ever
evolving they spread, until there are great living rugs of strange
textures and oriental tones; broad carpets there are of gray and
green; long luxurious lanes, with lilac mufflers under foot, great
beds of a moss so yellow chrome, so spangled with intense red sprigs,
that they might, in clumsy hands, look raw. There are knee-deep
breadths of polytrichum, which blends in the denser shade into a
moss of delicate crimson plush that baffles description.

Down between the broader masses are bronze-green growths that run
over each slight dip and follow down the rock crannies like streams
of molten brass. Thus the whole land is overlaid with a living,
corrosive mantle of activities as varied as its hues.

For ages these toil on, improving themselves, and improving the
country by filing down the granite and strewing the dust around
each rock.

The frost, too, is at work, breaking up the granite lumps; on every
ridge there is evidence of that--low, rounded piles of stone which
plainly are the remnants of a boulder, shattered by the cold. Thus,
lichen, moss, and frost are toiling to grind the granite surfaces
to dust.

Much of this powdered rock is washed by rain into the lakes and
ponds; in time these cut their exits down, and drain, leaving each
a broad mud-flat. The climate mildens and the south winds cease
not, so that wind-borne grasses soon make green meadows of the
broad lake-bottom flats.

The process climbs the hill-slopes; every little earthy foothold
for a plant is claimed by some new settler, until each low hill is
covered to the top with vegetation graded to its soil, and where
the flowering kinds cannot establish themselves, the lichen pioneers
still maintain their hold. Rarely, in the landscape, now, is any of
the primitive colour of the rocks; even the tall, straight cliffs
of Aylmer are painted and frescoed with lichens that flame and
glitter with purple and orange, silver and gold. How precious and
fertile the ground is made to seem, when every square foot of it
is an exquisite elfin garden made by the little people, at infinite
cost, filled with dainty flowers and still later embellished with
delicate fruit.

One of the wonderful things about these children of the Barrens
is the great size of fruit and flower compared with the plant. The
cranberry, the crowberry, the cloudberry, etc., produce fruit any
one of which might outweigh the herb itself.

Nowhere does one get the impression that these are weeds, as often
happens among the rank growths farther south. The flowers in the
wildest profusion are generally low, always delicate and mostly
in beds of a single species. The Lalique jewelry was the sensation
of the Paris Exposition of 1899. Yet here is Lalique renewed and
changed for every week in the season and lavished on every square
foot of a region that is a million square miles in extent.

Not a cranny in a rock but is seized on at once by the eager little
gardeners in charge and made a bed of bloom, as though every inch
of room were priceless. And yet Nature here exemplifies the law
that our human gardeners are only learning: "Mass your bloom, to
gain effect."

As I stood on that hill, the foreground was a broad stretch of old
gold--the shining sandy yellow of drying grass--but it was patched
with large scarlet mats of arctous that would put red maple to its
reddest blush. There was no Highland heather here, but there were
whole hillsides of purple red vaccinium, whose leaves were but a
shade less red than its luscious grape-hued fruit.

Here were white ledums in roods and acre beds; purple mairanias
by the hundred acres, and, framed in lilac rocks, were rich, rank
meadows of golden-green by the mile.

There were leagues and leagues of caribou moss, pale green or lilac,
and a hundred others in clumps, that, seeing here the glory of the
painted mosses, were simulating their ways, though they themselves
were the not truly mosses at all.

I never before saw such a realm of exquisite flowers so exquisitely
displayed, and the effect at every turn throughout the land was
colour, colour, colour, to as far outdo the finest autumn tints of
New England as the Colorado Canyon outdoes the Hoosac Gorge. What
Nature can do only in October, elsewhere, she does here all season
through, as though when she set out to paint the world she began
on the Barrens with a full palette and when she reached the Tropics
had nothing left but green.

Thus at every step one is wading through lush grass or crushing
prairie blossoms and fruits. It is so on and on; in every part of
the scene, there are but few square feet that do not bloom with
flowers and throb with life; yet this is the region called the
Barren Lands of the North.

And the colour is an index of its higher living forms, for this
is the chosen home of the Swans and Wild Geese; many of the Ducks,
the Ptarmigan, the Laplongspur and Snowbunting. The blue lakes echo
with the wailing of the Gulls and the eerie magic calling of the
Loons. Colonies of Lemmings, Voles, or Groundsquirrels are found
on every sunny slope; the Wolverine and the White Wolf find this
a land of plenty, for on every side, as I stood on that high hill,
were to be seen small groups of Caribou.

This was the land and these the creatures I had come to see. This
was my Farthest North and this was the culmination of years of
dreaming. How very good it seemed at the time, but how different
and how infinitely more delicate and satisfying was the realisation
than any of the day-dreams founded on my vision through the eyes
of other men.




CHAPTER XXXVII

FACING HOMEWARD



On this hill we divided, Preble and Billy going northward; Weeso
and I eastward, all intent on finding a herd of Musk-ox; for this
was the beginning of their range. There was one continual surprise
as we journeyed--the willows that were mere twigs on Aylmer Lake
increased in size and were now plentiful and as high as our heads,
with stems two or three inches thick. This was due partly to the
decreased altitude and partly to removal from the broad, cold sheet
of Aylmer, which, with its July ice, must tend to lower the summer
temperature.

For a long time we tramped eastward, among hills and meadows, with
Caribou. Then, at length, turned south again and, after a 20-mile
tramp, arrived in camp at 6.35, having seen no sign whatever of
Musk-ox, although this is the region where Pike found them common;
on July 1, 1890, at the little lake where we lunched, his party
killed seven out of a considerable band.

At 9.30 that night Preble and Billy returned. They had been over Icy
River, easily recognised by the thick ice still on its expansions,
and on to Musk-ox Lake, without seeing any fresh tracks of a Musk-ox.
As they came into camp a White Wolf sneaked away.

Rain began at 6 and continued a heavy storm all night. In the morning
it was still in full blast, so no one rose until 9.30, when Billy,
starved out of his warm bed, got up to make breakfast. Soon I
heard him calling: "Mr. Seton, here's a big Wolf in camp!" "Bring
him in here," I said. Then a rifle-shot was heard, another, and
Billy appeared, dragging a huge White Wolf. (He is now to be seen
in the American Museum.)

All that day and the next night the storm raged. Even the presence
of Caribou bands did not stimulate us enough to face the sleet.
Next day it was dry, but too windy to travel.

Billy now did something that illustrates at once the preciousness
of firewood, and the pluck, strength, and reliability of my cook.
During his recent tramp he found a low, rocky hollow full of large,
dead willows. It was eight miles back; nevertheless he set out,
of his own free will; tramped the eight miles, that wet, blustery
day, and returned in five and one-half hours, bearing on his back
a heavy load, over 100 pounds of most acceptable firewood. Sixteen
miles afoot for a load of wood! But it seemed well worth it as we
revelled in the blessed blaze.

Next day two interesting observations were made; down by the shore
I found the midden-heap of a Lemming family. It contained about
four hundred pellets: their colour and dryness, with the absence
of grass, showed that they dated from winter.

In the evening the four of us witnessed the tragic end of a
Lap-longspur. Pursued by a fierce Skua Gull, it unfortunately dashed
out over the lake. In vain then it darted up and down, here and
there, high and low; the Skua followed even more quickly. A second
Skua came flying to help, but was not needed. With a falcon-like
swoop, the pirate seized the Longspur in his bill and bore it away
to be devoured at the nearest perch.

At 7.30 A. M., August 24, 1907, surrounded by scattering Caribou,
we pushed off from our camp at Sand Hill Bay and began the return
journey.

At Wolf-den Point we discovered a large and ancient wolf-den in the
rocks; also abundance of winter sign of Musk-ox. That day we made
forty miles and camped for the night on the Sand Hill Mountain in
Tha-na-koie, the channel that joins Aylmer and Clinton-Colden. Here
we were detained by high winds until the 28th.

This island is a favourite Caribou crossing, and Billy and Weeso
had pitched their tents right on the place selected by the Caribou
for their highway. Next day, while scanning the country from the
top of the mount, I saw three Caribou trotting along. They swam the
river and came toward me. As Billy and Weeso were in their tents
having an afternoon nap, I thought it would be a good joke to stampede
the Caribou on top of them, so waited behind a rock, intending to
jump out as soon as they were past me. They followed the main trail
at a trot, and I leaped out with "horrid yells" when they passed
my rock, but now the unexpected happened. "In case of doubt take
to the water" is Caribou wisdom, so, instead of dashing madly into
the tents, they made three desperate down leaps and plunged into
the deep water, then calmly swam for the other shore, a quarter
of a mile away.

This island proved a good place for small mammals. Here Preble
got our first specimen of the White Lemming. Large islands usually
prove better for small mammals than the mainland. They have the
same conditions to support life, but being moated by the water are
usually without the larger predatory quadrupeds.

The great central inland of Clinton-Colden proved the best place
of all for Groundsquirrels. Here we actually found them in colonies.

On the 29th and 30th we paddled and surveyed without ceasing and
camped beyond the rapid at the exit of Clinton-Colden. The next
afternoon we made the exit rapids of Casba Lake. Preble was preparing
to portage them, but asked Weeso, "Can we run them?"

Weeso landed, walked to a view-point, took a squinting look and
said, "Ugh!" (Yes). Preble rejoined, "All right! If he says he can,
he surely can. That's the Indian of it. A white man takes risks;
an Indian will not; if it is risky he'll go around." So we ran the
rapids in safety.

Lighter each day, as the food was consumed, our elegant canoe went
faster. When not detained by heavy seas 30 or 40 miles a day was
our journey. On August 30 we made our last 6 miles in one hour and
6 1/2 minutes. On September 2, in spite of head-winds, we made 36
miles in 8 1/4 hours and in the evening we skimmed over the glassy
surface of Artillery Lake, among its many beautiful islands and
once more landed at our old ground--the camp in the Last Woods.




CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE FIRST WOODS



How shall I set forth the feelings it stirred? None but the shipwrecked
sailor, long drifting on the open sea, but come at last to land,
can fully know the thrill it gave us. We were like starving Indians
suddenly surrounded by Caribou. Wood--timber--fuel--galore! It was
hard to realise--but there it was, all about us, and in the morning
we were awakened by the sweet, sweet, home-like song of the Robins
in the trees, singing their "Cheerup, cheerily," just as they do
it in Ontario and Connecticut. Our cache was all right; so, our
stock of luxuries was replenished. We now had unlimited food as well
as unlimited firewood; what more could any one ask? Yet there was
more. The weather was lovely; perfect summer days, and the mosquitoes
were gone, yes, now actually nets and flybars were discarded for
good. On every side was animal life in abundance; the shimmering
lake with its Loons and islands would fit exactly the Indian's dream
of the heavenly hunting-grounds. These were the happy halcyon days
of the trip, and we stayed a week to rest and revel in the joys
about us.

In the morning I took a long walk over the familiar hills; the
various skeletons we had left were picked bare, evidently by Gulls
and Ravens, as no bones were broken and even the sinews were left.
There were many fresh tracks of single Caribou going here and
there, but no trails of large bands. I sent Weeso off to the Indian
village, two miles south. He returned to say that it was deserted
and that, therefore, the folk had gone after the Caribou, which
doubtless were now in the woods south of Artillery Lake. Again the
old man was wholly astray in his Caribou forecast.

That night there was a sharp frost; the first we had had. It
made nearly half an inch of ice in all kettles. Why is ice always
thickest on the kettles? No doubt because they hold a small body
of very still water surrounded by highly conductive metal.

Billy went "to market" yesterday, killing a nice, fat little Caribou.
This morning on returning to bring in the rest of the meat we found
that a Wolverine had been there and lugged the most of it away.
The tracks show that it was an old one accompanied by one or maybe
two young ones. We followed them some distance but lost all trace
in a long range of rocks.

The Wolverine is one of the typical animals of the far North. It
has an unenviable reputation for being the greatest plague that
the hunter knows. Its habit of following to destroy all traps for
the sake of the bait is the prime cause of man's hatred, and its
cleverness in eluding his efforts at retaliation give it still more
importance.

It is, above all, the dreaded enemy of a cache, and as already
seen, we took the extra precaution of putting our caches up trees
that were protected by a necklace of fishhooks. Most Northern
travellers have regaled us with tales of this animal's diabolical
cleverness and wickedness. It is fair to say that the malice, at
least, is not proven; and there is a good side to Wolverine character
that should be emphasized; that is, its nearly ideal family life,
coupled with the heroic bravery of the mother. I say "nearly" ideal,
for so far as I can learn, the father does not assist in rearing
the young. But all observers agree that the mother is absolutely
fearless and devoted. More than one of the hunters have assured me
that it is safer to molest a mother Bear than a mother Wolverine
when accompanied by the cubs.

Bellalise, a half-breed of Chipewyan, told me that twice he had
found Wolverine dens, and been seriously endangered by the mother.
The first was in mid-May, 1904, near Fond du Lac, north side of
Lake Athabaska. He went out with an Indian to bring in a skiff left
some miles off on the shore. He had no gun, and was surprised by
coming on an old Wolverine in a slight hollow under the boughs of
a green spruce. She rushed at him, showing all her teeth, her eyes
shining blue, and uttering sounds like those of a Bear. The Indian
boy hit her once with a stick, then swung himself out of danger up
a tree. Bellalise ran off after getting sight of the young ones;
they were four in number, about the size of a Muskrat, and pure
white. Their eyes were open. The nest was just such as a dog might
make, only six inches deep and lined with a little dry grass.
Scattered around were bones and fur, chiefly of Rabbits.

The second occasion was in 1905, within three miles of Chipewyan,
and, as before, about the middle of May. The nest was much like
the first one; the mother saw him coming, and charged furiously,
uttering a sort of coughing. He shot her dead; then captured the
young and examined the nest; there were three young this time. They
were white like the others.

Not far from this camp, we found a remarkable midden-yard of Lemmings.
It was about 10 feet by 40 feet, the ground within the limits was
thickly strewn with pellets, at the rate of 14 to the square inch,
but nowhere were they piled up. At this reckoning, there were over
800,000, but there were also many outside, which probably raised
the number to 1,000,000. Each pellet was long, brown, dry, and
curved, i.e., the winter type. The place, a high, dry, very sheltered
hollow, was evidently the winter range of a colony of Lemmings that
in summer went elsewhere, I suppose to lower, damper grounds.

After sunset, September 5, a bunch of three or four Caribou trotted
past the tents between us and the Lake, 200 yards from us; Billy
went after them, as, thanks to the Wolverine, we were out of meat,
and at one shot secured a fine young buck.

His last winter's coat was all shed now, his ears were turning
white and the white areas were expanding on feet and buttocks; his
belly was pure white.

On his back and rump, chiefly the latter, were the scars of 121
bots. I could not see that they affected the skin or, hair in the
least.

Although all of these Caribou seem to have the normal foot-click,
Preble and I worked in vain with the feet of this, dead one to make
the sound; we could not by any combination of movement, or weight
or simulation of natural conditions, produce anything like a "click."

That same day, as we sat on a hill, a cow Caribou came curiously
toward us. At 100 yards she circled slowly, gazing till she got
the wind 150 yards to one side, then up went her tail and off she
trotted a quarter of a mile, but again drew nearer, then circled
as before till a second time the wind warned her to flee. This she
did three or four times before trotting away; the habit is often
seen.

Next afternoon, Billy and I saw a very large buck; his neck was
much swollen, his beard flowing and nearly white. He sighted us
afar, and worked north-west away from us, in no great alarm. I got
out of sight, ran a mile and a half, headed him off, then came on
him from the north, but in spite of all I could do by running and
yelling, he and his band (3 cows with 3 calves) rushed galloping
between me and the lake, 75 yards away. He was too foxy to be driven
back into that suspicious neighbourhood.

Thus we had fine opportunities for studying wild life. In all
these days there was only one unfulfilled desire: I had not seen
the great herd of Caribou returning to the woods that are their
winter range.

This herd is said to rival in numbers the Buffalo herds of story,
to reach farther than the eye can see, and to be days in passing
a given point; but it is utterly erratic. It might arrive in early
September. It was not sure to arrive until late October, when the
winter had begun. This year all the indications were that it would
be late. If we were to wait for it, it would mean going out on the
ice. For this we were wholly unprepared. There were no means of
getting the necessary dogs, sleds, and fur garments; my business
was calling me back to the East. It was useless to discuss the
matter, decision was forced on me. Therefore, without having seen
that great sight, one of the world's tremendous zoological spectacles
the march in one body of millions of Caribou--I reluctantly gave
the order to start. On September 8 we launched the Ann Seton on
her homeward voyage of 1,200 upstream miles.




CHAPTER XXXIX

FAREWELL TO THE CARIBOU



All along the shore of Artillery Lake we saw small groups of Caribou.
They were now in fine coat; the manes on the males were long and
white and we saw two with cleaned antlers; in one these were of a
brilliant red, which I suppose meant that they were cleaned that
day and still bloody.

We arrived at the south end of Artillery Lake that night, and were
now again in the continuous woods what spindly little stuff it
looked when we left it; what superb forest it looked now--and here
we bade good-bye to the prairies and their Caribou.

Now, therefore, I shall briefly summarise the information I gained
about this notable creature. The species ranges over all the
treeless plains and islands of Arctic America. While the great body
is migratory, there are scattered individuals in all parts at all
seasons. The main body winters in the sheltered southern third of
the range, to avoid the storms, and moves north in the late spring,
to avoid the plagues of deer-flies and mosquitoes. The former
are found chiefly in the woods, the latter are bad everywhere; by
travelling against the wind a certain measure of relief is secured,
northerly winds prevail, so the Caribou are kept travelling northward.
When there is no wind, the instinctive habit of migration doubtless
directs the general movement.

How are we to form an idea of their numbers? The only way seems
to be by watching the great migration to its winter range. For the
reasons already given this was impossible in my case, therefore,
I array some of the known facts that will evidence the size of the
herd.

Warburton Pike, who saw them at Mackay Lake, October 20, 1889, says:
"I cannot believe that the herds [of Buffalo] on the prairie ever
surpassed in size La Foule (the throng) of the Caribou. La Foule
had really come, and during its passage of six days I was able to
realize what an extraordinary number of these animals still roam
the Barren Grounds."

From figures and facts given me by H. T. Munn, of Brandon, Manitoba,
I reckon that in three weeks following July 25, 1892, he saw at
Artillery Lake (N. latitude 62 1/2 degrees, W. Long. 112 degrees)
not less than 2,000,000 Caribou travelling southward; he calls this
merely the advance guard of the great herd. Colonel Jones (Buffalo
Jones), who saw the herd in October at Clinton-Colden, has given me
personally a description that furnishes the basis for an interesting
calculation of their numbers.

He stood on a hill in the middle of the passing throng, with a
clear view ten miles each way and it was one army of Caribou. How
much further they spread, he did not know. Sometimes they were
bunched, so that a hundred were on a space one hundred feet square;
but often there would be spaces equally large without any. They
averaged at least one hundred Caribou to the acre; and they passed
him at the rate of about three miles an hour. He did not know how
long they were in passing this point; but at another place they
were four days, and travelled day and night. The whole world seemed
a moving mass of Caribou. He got the impression at last that they
were standing still and he was on a rocky hill that was rapidly
running through their hosts.

Even halving these figures, to keep on the safe side, we find that
the number of Caribou in this army was over 25,000,000. Yet it is
possible that there are several such armies. In which case they
must indeed out-number the Buffalo in their palmiest epoch. So much
for their abundance to-day. To what extent are they being destroyed?
I looked into this question with care.