[Canadian West 02] - When Comes the Spring (13 page)

It was rather amusing to watch the revelers of the night before.
They didn't look so lively now. Grumbling, holding their heads and
muttering oaths, they tried to get their bodies to obey.

Wynn had little sympathy. "Let's get moving," he ordered again.
"The fog's about to lift, and we have some time to make up."

They were finally on their feet and stirring. Wynn poured each a
cup of coffee, except for Charlie. In spite of the commotion all about
him, Charlie had slept on, only stirring now and then to reposition
himself.

"Finished with the bed, Elizabeth?" Wynn inquired. When I gladly
nodded that I was, Wynn unceremoniously lifted Charlie up and carried him to his bed. Wynn straightened out the unconscious body to
what looked like a comfortable position and threw a blanket over him.
Charlie slept on.

Two of the men went out to prepare the barge for departure while
the other fellow mumbled and complained about the lousy day for
traveling.

Wynn looked at his pocketwatch.

"Gotta be out of here in ten minutes, Wally," he stated flatly. "Ten
minutes, no more.

Wally, still grumbling, went to join the others.

Wynn left money on the shelf by the coffeepot to cover our
expenses for the night's lodging and the food. Charlie was still snoring
as we closed the door behind us.

Back in the boat with the slicker arranged around me, I discovered
it was not raining hard. Without the wind, I was sure I would fare just
fine.

In spite of the constant peppering with fine raindrops, I found
myself enjoying the scenery on the riverbanks moving swiftly from
view on either side. There was very little habitation, but occasionally I
did spy the smoke of a woodstove and a cabin, half-hidden by the trees.

By midmorning the rain had stopped, the wind had died down to
a light breeze, and early in the afternoon the sun actually came out.
The slicker laid aside, I let the warm sun fall on my shoulders. We had
not stopped except to eat a hurried noon meal consisting of a few tins
of canned food heated over an open fire.

The country through which we passed was fresh and clean. No
factory smells tainted the air with civilization. I appreciated the crispness of the air even more after having spent the night at Charlie's.

We passed through a marshy area, and Wynn moved close to me
to point out two large moose. They put their heads completely under
water for what seemed ever so long. When they finally lifted their
heads, their mouths dripping with long marsh grass, they looked
toward us almost with disdain, seeming to indicate that this was their
territory and we were trespassers.

"Look at them," I said to Wynn in astonishment. "You'd think they
didn't even have to breathe, they are under so long!"

"Oh, they breathe all right," Wynn assured me, "though they are
unusual. They can even dive to get their food-some say as deep as
thirty feet if need be. They scoop up the grasses on the bottom and
then come back up again."

"Do they need to go back to land to eat it?"

"Oh, no. They just tread water. Moose are wonderful swimmers.
Don't suppose there are many animals any better."

"Aren't they ugly, though? They look like-like leftover pieces of
this and that."

Wynn laughed. "Well, there's a saying," he mused, "that a moose is
a horse made by a committee."

We chuckled together at Wynn's joke.

Since the barge hands had started the day in bad spirits, I tried to
stay as far away from them as I could. Now and then one of them
would hold his head and weave back and forth. I wondered if they
were in any condition to steer the barge, especially when we hit some
white water; but they seemed to be alert enough when they had to be.
Wynn did not seem worried, so I relaxed, too. Eventually their dispositions improved. In the later afternoon, I even heard Blackjack singing.

With the passing of the day, I guess my disposition improved as
well. Wynn had often been by my side to point out interesting items
in the water or on the riverbanks. The sun was swinging to the west,
the men were no longer cursing with every breath, and the country all
around me seemed mysterious and exciting. Yes, things were definitely
improved over yesterday.

Lying in that little cabin, I had wondered if I'd ever make it as a
Mountie's wife. How could anyone endure such conditions? Today I
was confident I could. My leg wasn't even bothering me anymore. We
would soon be at the post, and Wynn had said we would have good
accommodations there. I wasn't sure how many nights it would take us
to make the trip, but I was now certain I could endure. I had gotten
through the first night, and it surely couldn't be any worse. From here
on I would have no problem.

The cabin was simple but seemed very adequate, and the best thing
was that I didn't need to share it with four drinking men. Another nice
thing was that I could share it in privacy with Wynn.

After we had gone to bed I heard a strange sound. It seemed to
grow louder and louder until it was humming steadily in my ears. I
was puzzled and wished I could ask Wynn about it, but I could tell by
his breathing that he was already asleep.

In the darkness something stung me. I jumped and slapped at it.
Another sting. I swatted again.

"Put your head under the covers if they are bothering you," said
Wynn softly.

"What is it?"

"Mosquitoes."

Now, I had seen mosquitoes before. I had even been bitten by a
few; but this-this din was something new to me.

"Are you sure?" I asked Wynn.

"I'm sure," he answered. "This cabin doesn't have any screens on
the windows."

"How do you ever sleep?"

"You get used to it."

Wynn turned over to pull me close and shelter my face with the
blankets.

"Try to sleep, Elizabeth," he encouraged me. "You didn't get much
last night."

I lay quietly in Wynn's arms, not stirring for fear I would keep him
awake. The hum was a rising and falling crescendo. I wondered how
many million mosquitoes it took to make such a sound.

In spite of the protection of Wynn's arms and the blanket, the mosquitoes still found me. I could hear their hum get closer and then I
would feel the sharp sting as they sucked out my blood.

One thing is sure, I promised myself. Our cabin in the North will
have coverings over the windows even if I have to tear up my petticoats!

In the morning I rose tired and grumpy. I would be so glad to get
back on the barge and away from the mosquitoes.

My triumph was short lived; though we were soon back on the
river, the dreaded mosquitoes swarmed around us, following us down
the stream.

"Wynn," I said crossly, "they are coming with us."

"There are lots of mosquitoes in the North," Wynn informed me.
"They are one of the area's worst pests."

"What are the others?" I muttered sarcastically, but Wynn didn't
catch the tone of my question.

"Blackflies," he replied. "Blackflies are another real plague to man
and beast alike."

Wynn was right. The mosquitoes were joined that day by the
blackflies. I thought I would be bitten and chewed to pieces. Right
before my eyes, new welts would rise on my arms. I hated to think
what my face must look like. I was almost frantic with the intensity of
the itching.

Wynn was sympathetic. "I might have something that will help,"
he offered and went to dig around in his medical supplies.

He came back with an ointment. It had a vile smell and looked
awful, but I allowed him to rub it on anyway. It did help some, though
it didn't seem to discourage the dreadful insects from taking further
bites out of me.

"Why didn't they bother us yesterday?" I asked Wynn.

"The wind and the rain kept them away."

"Really?"

"They can't fly well in strong wind. They are too light, and they
don't care for the rain either." I was ready to pray for more wind and
rain. Anything to be rid of the miserable pests.

I guess I eventually got used to them. I was able to think about
other things after a while and even to again enjoy, in a sense, my trip.

In the late afternoon, Wynn pointed out a mother bear and her
two cubs. She was foraging at a bend in the river. Perhaps she was
fishing, because she was staring intently at the water, seeming to ignore
the barge completely as we went by.

The cute cubs took my mind off the mosquitoes and flies for a few
minutes while I considered having a cub for a pet.

It was already getting dusk before we pulled into River's Bend, the
place where we were to spend the night. Wynn lifted me ashore as
there was no dock This didn't make sense to me.

"Why is it," I asked, "that there's no dock and yet this is the place
where all our things need to be unloaded? Isn't it going to be an awful
job carrying all those heavy trunks and crates ashore?"

Wynn rewarded me with a broad smile. Apparently he liked a wife
who was observant.

"The dock is around the bend in the river. Our things will be
unloaded there. There are also a couple of temporary buildings and a
Hudson's Bay Post, but I thought you might prefer to use this trapper's
cabin. It is more private, though I'm afraid not luxurious. I've made
arrangements with Pierre to use it for the night."

"Who's Pierre?"

"He runs the post."

"Is he married?"

"Nope. He batches. And his quarters are even worse than Charlie's."

I couldn't even imagine what that would be like.

"I dot it want you to have to stay in those kinds of conditions
again," Wynn stated firmly. "I know it must have been extremely offensive to you.

I thought back to Charlie's. The smelly, crowded cabin. The cursing, drinking, card-playing men. No, I wasn't particularly interested in
that again either. I was pleased Wynn had made other arrangements.

Wynn opened the creaky, complaining cabin door; there was some
quick scampering as some former resident took immediate cover. I
stepped closer to Wynn. He put a reassuring arm around me. "Nothing
that small could harm you," he smiled.

Wynn found and lit the lamp, and I placed my small case on the
newspaper-covered table.

"Is this Pierre's cabin?" I asked, looking around me at the bare little
room.

"No, it belongs to some trapper."

"Then why did Pierre-?"

"It's customary. Trappers always leave their cabins available for others to use. Pierre likely asked the trapper about using his lodgings for
travelers like us; but even if he didn't, we still won't be considered trespassers.

Wynn moved about, swishing the heavy dust from the few pieces
of furniture and checking what was available for making a fire. There
was a good supply of dry wood in one corner, and Wynn soon had a
fire going. "Remember your first experience with a wood stove at Pine
River?" His eyes twinkled at me, and I had the grace to blush. It's a
wonder I hadn't burned down the building! I wrinkled my nose at him
and we laughed together at the memory.

Wynn went outside to the river, dipped the kettle full of water and
placed it on to boil. Then he checked the bed. It was a very narrow
one, and I secretly wondered how it would sleep two. Wynn flung back
the Hudson's Bay blankets; they had seen a good deal of wear and very
few washings. A heavy piece of denim material was spread across a
mattress of spruce branches crisscrossing one another and topped with
moss. I winced and hoped Wynn hadn't noticed.

Our meal was a simple one of dried biscuits and canned police
rations. Tasty it was not, but I was very hungry and ate heartily.

I insisted on washing the dishes. Wynn had been our wilderness
cook all along our journey, and I was glad I could finally do something
helpful.

It didn't take me long to wash the few things and place them back
on the unknown trapper's shelf.

Wynn spread one of the worn blankets on the wooden floor in
front of the fire and we settled down before it to talk. I looked about
the simple, quaint little cabin and wondered if my own would look
like this. I decided to ask.

"Do you know what our cabin will be like?"

"Not really. I haven't been to Beaver River before."

"But you have a pretty good idea?"

"Pretty good."

"Will it have just one room?"

"Not likely. A Mountie's home usually serves a double function-
oflice as well as home. So it likely has at least two rooms."

I was pleased to hear that. I did want the privacy of a bedroom.

"It will be log?"

"I'm sure it will."

"With wooden floors?"

"With wooden floors."

.We were silent for a few moments. Wynn broke the silence, his
arm tightening about me as he spoke, "That must seem awfully crude
to you, Elizabeth."

I turned so I could look into his eyes.

"In a way, yes-but really-I don't mind the thought of it at all.
Look at this cabin now. True, it isn't much-but with a little fixing
here and there-" I hesitated, wondering even as I spoke just what
"fixing" one could do to make this very bare cabin look homey.

Wynn brushed a kiss against my cheek.

A strange, mournful, bloodcurdling sound interrupted us. I felt the
hair on my scalp rise and my spine tingle. I had gotten used to the
coyote's cry, but this-this was something entirely different. I pressed
closer to Wynn.

"A timber wolf," he commented. I shivered as the cry came again
and was answered from the other direction.

I had heard of timber wolves. Most of the tales had come from
imaginative Julie. Wolves traveled in murderous packs, had menacing
red eyes, and crept up stealthily on those whom they would devour.

"Are they all around us?" I whispered nervously, my eyes big with
fright.

Wynn hugged me, sheltering me in the circle of his two strong
arms.