The next morning, while the others were supping their tea or drinking the new milk, I took some dried meat, and with this skimmed and ate the cream on the milk in the pail I had hung under the cart the night before. Dried meat and fresh cream might not be a "dainty dish" for an epicure, but then one must not forget the exquisite relish we had around us in our perfect freedom of out-door life; in our solid beds, wet or dry, on the bosom of "mother earth," under the carts; the pure atmosphere, the beautiful sunrise and sunset, the lovely undulating, park-like country we were travelling through, giving us constant change of scene; the many gems of lakes and lakelets we skirted, the superb health we generally enjoyed--each and all of these were the best of tonics, and under such conditions even hard grease pemmican was good.
Personnel of our party--My little rat terrier has a novel experience--An Indian horse-thief's visit by night--I shoot and wound him--An exciting chase--Saved by the vigilance of my rat terrier--We reach the South Branch of the Saskatchewan--A rushing torrent--A small skin canoe our only means of transport--Mr. Connor's fears of drowning--Get our goods
We have now been nearly a month on the way, and are becoming well acquainted with each other, for there is no better place than around the camp-fire, and on a trip like ours, to size up men and display one's own idiosyncrasies. Mr. Connor, the gentleman who had joined me at the Red River, proves to be a very good companion. He has travelled and read; was at one time, in the early forties, a minister of the Methodist Church, but owing to some misunderstanding had given up the ministry and gone afloat--and is still floating. He is generally bright and cheerful, and very helpful, but sometimes falls into a streak of melancholy, which, after all, darkens his own day more than that of any one else. He drives his own cart. This he has shingled with pieces of tarred bale covers, and at night sleeps in it. His yoke of steers, though at first somewhat balky in mud-holes, after I have drilled them a few times, and got them to recognize my voice in a real western yell, come along all right. His son James, who is one of my men, is a short, sturdy fellow, and being strong and hearty, is fast adapting himself to this new life. My other man, Oliver, is but an over-grown boy; has had very little opportunity in life, no chance at school, and is rather simple-minded, but willing and strong. The Scotchman, who is on his way across the mountains, walks by his own cart and horse most of the day's march, and is "canny and carefu'" about the camp; for the most part silent and reserved, but in a pinch, and at river crossings, lends a strong hand. Such a journey as we are on is new to all but myself, and I, though all my life on the frontier, am but in my fourth year in this the greater West.