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Updated: August 26, 2024
The young Canuck guide in the lead did not so much as turn his head after the boats containing the Indians had passed, but continued to dip his paddle in and out with the methodical rhythm so characteristic of the voyager who has spent his life amid these scenes.
And I saw a mascalonge on Georgian Bay that was longer than the Canuck guide who was toting the fish over his shoulder by a stick thrust in the mouth and gills. The snout reached to the top of the guide's head, while the caudal fin dragged on the ground. There was no chance for weighing the fish, but I hefted him several times, carefully, and am certain he weighed more than a bushel of wheat.
The other ten looked up to face a second flash from the summit. Only eight heard the answering echoes which came rolling back to them from the encircling hills. Then Paddy's voice came in his ears, low, but as unconcerned as ever. "Remember the fellow who was rejected on account of his teeth, little Canuck?
"He's Johny Canuck, isn't he?" asked Madame, with a feeble attempt at gaiety. "Oh, no, ma'am," cried the mother hastily. "'E's William 'Enery, after 'is paw. We ain't got 'im christened yet. But jist as soon's I can get 'im a dress the pawson, 'e's a foine man, 'e says 'e'll come an' do 'im, an' if my man jist keeps nicely saved, we'll be gettin' a dress. But it's been 'ard on my man.
They were for the most part Morgan grades or "Canuck," with a strain of broncho to give them fire. It was curious, it was glorious to see how deeply-buried instincts broke out in these halterless herds.
But whenever I think about them, Kelly inevitably comes to mind because we became such good friends. Like me, Kelly was an independent-minded back country Canuck. At the age 26, she received a medical diagnosis of breast cancer.
"Like yourself, Paddy, short and sweet." Paddy brandished the spoon, weapon-wise. "Short is it, you little Canuck! So is a pepperpot short; but it holds a hell of a flavor. Leave Paddy a gun in his hand, and his short legs will keep up with your long ones, when it's the firing line that's before him." "The old sing-song, Paddy. Give us something new." "So will I, when I get my wishing.
"Feels pootty lively to-night," said Whitwell, with a glance at Westover. The little Canuck, as if he had now no further concern in the matter, sat down in a corner and smoked silently. Whitwell asked, after a moment's impatience: "Can't you git her down to business, Jackson?" Jackson gasped: "She'll come down when she wants to." The little instrument seemed, in fact, trying to control itself.
Then another man in khaki dropped at their feet. The lines of Weldon's mouth straightened. "No go," he said briefly. "We must charge. It's our only chance." Paddy took one last, hasty shot. Then, gripping his rifle, he turned to Weldon. "True, little Canuck," he answered loyally. "Go on, and be sure Paddy will follow you to the other edge of the grave!" He spoke truthfully.
The Canuck felt perhaps the simpler joy that the average man has in any strange notion that he is able to grasp. He stopped in his walk and said: "Yes, and if you was dead and went to heaven, and stayed so long you smelt, like Lazarus, and you come back and tol' 'em what you saw, nobody goin' believe you."
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