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Updated: May 25, 2025
Although old tracks were myriad-many, there were no new ones. Weeso said, however, "In about four days the shores of this lake will be alive with Caribou." It will show the erratic nature of these animals when I say that the old man was all wrong; they did not appear there in numbers until many weeks later, probably not for two months.
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 acted as pilot and guide, knowing next to nothing about either. Francois d'Noire, son of Weeso, a quiet, steady, inoffensive chap, but not strong; nevertheless, having been there once with us, he is now a competent guide to take any other party as far as Pike's Portage. C., a sulky brute and a mischief-maker.
Weeso landed, walked to a view-point, took a squinting look and said, "Ugh!" 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.
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.
Faster and faster we seemed to fly, for we had the grand incentive that we must catch the steamer at any price that night. Weeso now, for the first time, showed up strong; knowing every yard of the way he took advantage of every swirl of the river; in and out among the larger islands we darted, and when we should have stopped for the night no man said "Stop", but harder we paddled.
Here, at the foot of Artillery Lake, we were near the last of the timber, and, strange to say, we found some trees of remarkably large growth. One, a tamarac, was the largest and last seen; the other, a spruce Pike's Lobstick was 55 inches in girth, 1 foot from the ground. At this camp Weeso complained that he was feeling very sick; had pains in his back.
"Weeso" they call it, "Weeso" they write it, and for "Weeso" you must ask, or you will not find him. So I write it as I do "Sousi" and "Yum," with the true local colour.
One afternoon he did something that made a final wreck of my confidence. A thunderstorm was rumbling in the far east. Black clouds began travelling toward us; with a line of dark and troubled waters below, the faint breeze changed around and became a squall. Weeso looked scared and beckoned to Freesay, who came and took the helm. Nothing happened.
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