We have crossed paths with two other small groups of Midnooskies. Other times we have sensed that the Indians are near but they conceal themselves. So far, they show no sign of the ferocity or cannibalistic nature of which we had heard. They are guarded, watchful, somewhat suspicious of our intentions. The women & children run, hide among the nearby bushes when we approach. We can feel their eyes on us as we talk with their men.
Mostly, though, these people share our hunger. They have no food to trade, say they bide their time until the salmon return. They hunt game in nearby valleys but with little success. Samuelson explained that because of their poor hunting implements the Indians must rely on deep snow to slow their prey.
Their language is related to those of the lower river but has a distinct accented quality. The men’s noses & ears are pierced with ornaments made of sinew & hammered copper; the women only their ears. Unlike some of their coastal neighbors, they do not adorn themselves with tattoos, but some of the women & children wear red dye on their faces.
Their belongings are meager?—?spoons formed of animal horn, vessels made of birch bark & stitched with roots. They hunt primarily with spear, bow, & arrow. There is some sign, however, that they have not gone untouched by the outside world. One woman proudly used a bronze kettle to heat water for us on their fire. She said she had been given it by her mother, who met the Russians on the lower river many years ago. An elderly Midnoosky wore a tarnished silver cross with the ornate design of Russian Orthodoxy, but when asked to explain its significance, he remained silent.
One man treated me with clear disdain when he learned that I was the leader of our party. He did not stand to greet me, looked me up & down. Samuelson explained that it is because I carry a pack as large as those of my men. Among these nomadic Indians, it is a sign of status & wealth to carry nothing. Much of the work falls to the women, who travel with heavy loads on their backs even as they care for children and manage the half-wild dogs they use for packing.
As we visited one of the camps, a Midnoosky woman appeared from the forest. Her back was bent beneath a pile of firewood, bound together with hide straps. It was only as she neared that I noticed an unexpected detail?—?atop this heap of sticks was a swaddled infant, strapped in like any other piece of wood, & contentedly asleep.
May 1
This afternoon as we traveled up the river, Samuelson stopped & nodded towards the far side.
?—?Look there, he said. —?I do believe that’s our missing company.
Coming down the steep bank was the Indian woman Nat’aaggi & the dog.
When the ice washed out of the Wolverine canyon, I was quite certain we had seen the last of the two of them. If by some unexpected mercy they survived, I thought it likely the woman would return to her own people on the coast.
?—?I’ve been watching them since morning, Samuelson said. —?They’ve been making their way down through those alders, off the mountainside.
?—?You sure it’s them? Tillman asked.
?—?Hard to believe, but it’s so. That girl’s got pluck, you’ve got to give her that, Samuelson said.
The woman & dog made their way towards us. They leapt several streams of the river. Soon only the largest channel of the Wolverine would separate them from us & they would be within speaking distance. As we watched, however, the woman & dog turned from our direction, began to travel upriver, parallel to our course.
?—?Where’s she going? Doesn’t she see us? Tillman asked
Samuelson shrugged, said he guessed she wasn’t rejoining our party after all.
Tillman shouted & waved at her, but she did not turn in our direction.
?—?What do you care where she has been or where she goes? Pruitt said. —?She’s not our concern.
While that may be true, I would be curious to learn how she survived her ordeal.
May 2
Nat’aaggi met up with us this morning. She came across the Wolverine in a small skin boat, called a baidarra as in Russian. The dog sat in the bow while she knelt, paddled from the stern. She navigated the swift, gray water expertly, avoided the large slabs of ice that continue to float down the river. Just as she reached us, she swung the bow upriver, sidled the boat alongside the shore. Samuelson stepped into the river to his knees so that he could grab the side of the boat as she neared.
?—?Well done, woman. Well done, he said.
It is unusual for Samuelson to express this kind of surprise & admiration. I believe it wasn’t just her boating skills, but that we were seeing her again at all.
The dog leapt ashore first, nearly knocked Tillman to the ground in happy greeting. The dog then ran about our legs, rubbed its head against us, sniffed at the packs we had set down on the rocks.
Tillman offered his hand to assist Nat’aaggi getting ashore, but she did not notice or chose to ignore it, climbed from the baidarra on her own.
Where had she gotten the boat?
Samuelson said it belongs to a band of Midnooskies who camp on the other side.