The Curse of the Viking Grave (2 page)

 

CHAPTER 2

The Chill That Kills

O
NLY THE HARSH CHATTERING OF
Canada jays scavenging in the refuse pile broke the silence at the cabin during the next four days while Angus and the boys were away on their traplines. Not until early afternoon of the fourth day did smoke begin to rise again in a blue haze from the chimney. Awasin's cariole stood upended in freshly fallen snow beside the cabin door while his dogs, weary after a final run of thirty miles through the soft snow in the forests, lolled panting in front of their little log hutches. Awasin had driven them hard in order to be first home. But he barely had the kettle boiling when Jamie's team came dashing up the gentle slope from the lake shore.

“What kept you so long?” Awasin asked insultingly.

Jamie made no reply. Whistling to himself he tied his leader to a tree, then he picked up a big, dark object from his cariole. He walked up to the cabin and casually dropped it at Awasin's feet.

The Indian boy crouched down to stare incredulously. “A fisher!” he cried admiringly as he stroked the beautiful dark fur. “Only once before have I seen such a one. Where did you catch it, Jamie?”

“In a marten trap in the spruce woods beyond my second overnight cabin,” Jamie replied. “Probably lots more of them around, only it takes a real trapper to get them.”

Awasin was too impressed to rise to the bait. The fisher is one of the rarest and most valuable of all woodland mammals. Awasin carried it reverently into the cabin and laid it on the table where he could examine it in detail from its sharp, weasel face to the magnificent bushy tail.

He was interrupted by the renewed howling of dogs. This time they were announcing Peetyuk's arrival. Just at dusk Angus Macnair also reached home.

It had been a good trip all around. Peetyuk had two foxes, a marten, three ermine weasels and a mink. Awasin had two mink and two red foxes. Angus, whose trapline
was the longest of all, had three foxes, two mink, a weasel and an otter. Jamie had caught only one red fox in addition to the fisher, but the fisher alone was worth nearly the total catch of the other trappers.

After supper kerosene lanterns were lit and everyone got down to work. As they skinned, cleaned and stretched the pelts they discussed their small adventures. Awasin told of putting his leg through a thin spot in the ice while setting an otter trap, and of having to light a fire and dry his moccasin before his foot froze solid. Jamie reported that a wolverine had broken into one of his overnight cabins and had eaten all his grub so that he had to make do with ptarmigan which he shot with his .22 rifle. Peetyuk had encountered two Chipeweyan Indians bound south for the trading post at Reindeer Lake from the Chipeweyan winter camps at timber line on Kasmere Lake. But it was Angus's news that roused the most interest. At the extreme north end of his line he had seen fresh signs of deer.

Following the pattern of their annual migration, the caribou had come south out of the Barrens early in the autumn, seeking shelter in the forests. But the main herds had swept past Macnair Lake in a matter of a week, then had swung westward and disappeared. From what Angus was reporting now, it appeared that they had circled north and east and were drifting south once more. The return of the deer was a prospect which excited everyone, since apart from rabbits and ptarmigan there had been no fresh meat at Macnair Lake for three long months.

When talk of the caribou died down Angus returned to
Peetyuk's meeting with the Chipeweyans—the Idthen Eldeli, or Deer Eaters, as they called themselves.

“'Tis a strange time o' the year for they fellows to be traveling south,” he mused. “Did they no say why they were awa', Peetyuk?”

Peetyuk shook his head. “I not able speak their tongue. But they look hungry, and they go in big hurry. They carry no furs on sleds, and dogs look starved.”

“They're a strange lot, they Chips,” Angus mused. “They try to live as their ancestors did a century ago, but that canna be done nae mair. Last year they nigh starved to death and maybe they have more trouble the noo. Ah weel, Alphonse Meewasin will ken. I stopped by to see him at Thanout Lake the day, but he was awa' on his trapline. Your mither says he'll be doon for a visit soon, Awasin, to see how your schoolin' goes, nae doot.”

 

Alphonse Meewasin came sooner than expected. At lunchtime the next day the dogs announced the arrival of a visitor, and a few minutes later the tall, gaunt form of the Cree chief stood in the doorway. Under his arm was a small parcel done up in deer hide, and with a barely suppressed smile on his lips he held out the parcel to Peetyuk.

“It must be that my daughter Angeline does not think the Ayuskeemo
^*2
can make good boots,” he explained. “And so she sends you these…”

The parcel contained two pairs of beautifully worked moosehide moccasins, elaborately decorated with red,
green and gold beadwork. Peetyuk stood holding them in his hands, much embarrassed, and uncertain what to do or say.

“Now you're in trouble, Pete!” Jamie cried joyfully. “When a Cree girl makes moccasins for a fellow…that's the end of him. Isn't that right, Awasin?”

Awasin nodded his head solemnly. “That is so. And my sister has never made moccasins for any man before. I must watch you close, Peetyuk. I am her brother, do not forget!”

Peetyuk, his face almost as red as his hair, turned in dismay to Awasin, who stared sternly back at him. “But
I
do nothing,” he cried. “Not speak her at all, even.”

Peetyuk's torment was cut short by Alphonse, who turned to address Angus. “Yesterday morning I passed close to the Idthen Eldeli camp at Kasmere Lake and the women were wailing the death songs. Before I could go to the tents I was stopped by the old chief, Denikazi. He said there was a great sickness in the camp, and already some had died. All were sick except himself and some old people and the hunters Penyatzi and Madees, and these two he had sent south to seek aid from the white men.”

Angus's face clouded.

“ 'Tis bad news you bring, Alphonse. Do ye ken what ails them?”

“Only that it is a lung sickness. It brings the burning fevers and then the chill that kills.”

“Then there's little doot about it,” Angus muttered half to himself. “ 'Tis influenza, certain sure. They would have brought it back wi' them from the Christmas visit to the
mission.” He looked up and asked sharply. “How are your ane people, Alphonse? Any sickness amongst them?”

Alphonse shook his head. “We are well. And I have sent two sledloads of whitefish to Denikazi's camp so that his people will not starve.”

Angus placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. “Aye,” he said, “ye would do all ye can to help. But hark now. Your people must have nae mair contact with they Chips. I'll see to it they get food. Influenza does na' strike white men as it does the Indians. And I have some good news. The deer are coming south. Me and the lads wull give over trapping for the time being and wi' a few of your men to help, we'll hunt meat for Denikazi's band.”

 

Alphonse's news brought about a drastic change in the boys' lives. Schooling stopped entirely and so did trapping. The following morning they set out for the country north and east of Thanout Lake where Angus had encountered the deer, leaving Angus to make the round of their traplines and spring all the traps. They had orders to travel hard until they were well into the herds and to kill all the deer they could in two days' hunting. Then they were to cache what they could not carry and head for the Idthen Eldeli camps with fully laden carioles. Angus was to meet them near the sickness camp and deliver the meat to Denikazi's people.

 

The boys encountered the first deer on the south shores of Kasmere Lake but, mindful of their instructions, they
continued northeast down the Kasmere River until they were in the midst of the drifting herds.

They quickly made camp and for two days hunted caribou which congregated on the myriad little lakes of the district. Two of the boys would hide with rifles ready while the third drove his team out onto the ice and panicked the deer into headlong flight toward the ambush.

By the end of the second day some twenty deer had been killed and readied for carrying. The following morning the boys set out for the Idthen Eldeli camps, driving their laden sleds up the Kasmere River onto the broad ice of Kasmere Lake. Along its northern arm they came in sight of a few thin coils of smoke from Chipeweyan teepees which stood in the scrubby bush beside the mouth of the Kasba River.

They were met far out on the lake ice by Angus, who had been impatiently watching for them. He helped them cache their loads on a tiny islet from which he could ferry the meat to the camps of the sick and starving Chipeweyans.

“Hurry now, lads,” Angus ordered. “Ye must get back here wi' another load by tomorrow for I've decided I must gang south myself. They traders and missionaries will pay little heed to what Penyatzi and Madees tell them but it may be they'll listen to me. If they canna, or willna help, then I'll hie on south to The Pas and report to the authorities. They Chips must have doctors and medicine. They're in a terrible bad way, and if we dinna stop this epidemic it may sweep the whole country. Hearken now! When I'm gone ye're to dump your loads on the ice half a mile awa'
from the camp. There's one or two Chips still able to get around, and they must come for the meat. Ye're not to go nigh the tents. But if it should come on so bad for they puir people that ye
must
go to their camp, Jamie wull be the one to go. Alone! Ye understand?”

 

Some two days later, Angus had ferried the last load of meat to the Chipeweyan camp. He said good-by to the boys and started the long trip—almost two hundred miles—to the nearest trading post. And he might have to travel another hundred and fifty miles to reach the first real settlement, at The Pas.

Throughout the rest of that month and into the first week of February the three boys, assisted by some of Alphonse's Cree hunters, labored to help the stricken Chipeweyans. Load after load of meat was brought in by the hunters, while others of the Crees freighted firewood to the death camp.

But food and wood were not enough. The people of the Idthen Eldeli camp were so sick that most of them could no longer help themselves even to the extent of lighting fires or cooking food. Chief Denikazi himself was struck down, and though he could still crawl from his tent to hack off raw chunks of frozen meat, he too was fast growing weaker. Each time the boys came within sight of the huddle of pointed skin tents they saw fewer and fewer signs of life.

By the end of the first week in February they could stand it no longer. They made their decision, and that night in Alphonse Meewasin's cabin at Thanout Lake they
announced it. They were young, they argued to Alphonse, and in good health. They believed they could survive the disease even if they caught it. They were determined to move into the Chipeweyan camp and to do what they could to nurse the dying Indians. Awasin and Peetyuk would not allow Jamie to tackle the job single-handed. There was logic on their side, for one boy could not have coped alone.

Alphonse and Marie Meewasin gave their permission, but with a terrible reluctance.

“We will bring meat and wood each day,” Alphonse told them. “May the spirits hold your lives firmly in their hands, my sons.”

The squalor and misery of the Chipeweyan camps was incredible. For weeks no one there had had the strength to clean out the tents, or even to remove the dead. Moving from tent to tent, the three boys drew on one another for the strength to continue with their appalling task. Their faces hardened at the things they saw, and their stomachs turned over—yet they did not weaken in their resolve. The Chipeweyans had been their friends, and in the north there is nothing one will not do to help a friend.