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Updated: May 5, 2025
Under its dreaming eyes men might, fearfully and with reverence, carry on their affairs, fearfully and with reverence, catching the breath, speaking low, growing silent and stern in the presence of the North. At the little camp under the cedars, Dick Herron and Sam Bolton, assisted by the Ojibway girl, May-may-gwán, cut the moose-meat into thin strips, salted, and dried it in the bright sun.
He had slept with the dogs, fought across a forgotten number of shallow divides, followed the windings of weird canyons that ended in pockets, and twice had managed to make a fire and thaw out frozen moose-meat. And here he was, well-fed and well-camped. The storm had passed, and it had turned clear and cold. The lay of the land had again become rational.
Our provision was two casks of flour, two hundred dried reindeer tongues, some dried moose-meat, portable soup, and arrowroot, sufficient in the whole for ten days' consumption, besides two cases of chocolate, and two canisters of tea.
On the last hung large, thin slices of moose-meat smoking and drying, a space being left open over the centre of the fire. There was the whole heart, black as a thirty-two pound ball, hanging at one corner. They said, that it took three or four days to cure this meat, and it would keep a year or more.
Little by little they made Wampum tell how he lived at home, what sort of boys he played with, and what they had to eat. The young Indian assured them that at Oldtown "he lived in a house good as white folks; he ate moose-meat, ate sheep-meat, ate cow-meat." "Cook out doors, I s'pose," said Grasshopper. Wampum looked very severe.
They passed close to the log; and the dogs, having devoured their moose-meat, trotted after their masters. Through a crevice in the log the boys looked after them, and saw them disappear in the thick woods. They remained in their covert until night, when they started again on their long journey, taking a new route to avoid the Indians.
Like a man in fever, waking to intervals of consciousness, so Old Tarwater awoke, cooked his moose-meat, and fed the fire; but more and more time he spent in his torpor, unaware of what was day-dream and what was sleep-dream in the content of his unconsciousness.
"Sure, he was good dog, very good dog; by gar! yes," agreed Jean. "But thees Jan, hee's best of all dogs. No good for Beel to fight heem. Only he was too blame full o' moose-meat, he don' lose no blood to Beel, you bet. That why Beel he don' eat las' night. Seeck? No. He too cunning, that Beel."
The last that Constance heard was Pritchen's cry of rage and fear as he struggled with his antagonist, and then she fell back unconscious upon the trail. When Old Pete left Klassan, and went back to Siwash Creek with Keith's dogs, he expected to return in a short time with a supply of moose-meat.
My man's away with the dogs, gone after a load of moose-meat, and won't be back till to-morrow. And my daughter Mary's very sick at Missanaibie and wants me to come right over. Could you take me over to the depot in time for the afternoon train west? Are you going back to-day?" Stefan pulled out a big silver watch and studied it. "Yes, ma'am," he answered.
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