wished he could do as they did — curl up and go to sleep. There were chores to do, however, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who was exhausted.
Without being told, he searched in the nearby trees for wood. Boulard joined him, and together they dragged a dried log to the centre of a small clearing. With the help of a few smaller pieces of tree and brush as tinder, the dry wood blazed into a welcome fire. Striding to his horse, Thompson removed the small keg from behind his saddle, and the men quickly gathered around him with their cups to receive a ration of rum. Thompson took none, nor did he offer any to Peter. Instead, he found his kettle and held it outstretched. Peter was meant to get water for tea.
Warmed by the tea and a generous helping of deer meat, Peter felt better. After feeding Dog and the sled dogs, he joined Boulard, who was standing close to the blazing fire. Seated on a nearby log, Thompson was speaking to William Henry. “I won’t order you to stay, William, but it would please me if you agree. The dogs can no longer pull these heavy loads, and here would be a good place to build a depot to cache some of the goods until we need them. Two of the men will stay on with you to help add to your post.”
Disappointment showed plainly on William’s face, and for a moment he didn’t reply. Finally, he said, “I’ll do what’s needed, though my hope had been to go on to the ocean.”
Staring into the fire, Thompson nodded. “I understand, and in your place I’d feel the same. Wintering here will be a lonely business, but I need a man I can trust.” With one hand he gestured toward the men moving about the camp. “All are good men, but some have no liking for this expedition, and I fear, without supervision, any I assigned to this post would return to the east and more than likely take the supplies with them.”
As he listened, Peter found himself hoping DuNord would be one of the men to stay here at the river’s headwaters, but then he chastised himself. William was his friend, and he didn’t really wish him to be shut up all winter with DuNord.
CHAPTER 10
It took three weeks to construct a rough log shelter for William Henry, his two men, and the trade goods. Peter worked hard — sometimes driving the horse that dragged the long, unpeeled logs cut from tall lodgepole pines, sometimes braiding more snowshoes. Although everyone was tired by nightfall, the men seemed content to sit beside the fire and hear Thompson read aloud from his Bible. Later, one evening when the talk became more general, a voyageur named Fortrand looked at Thompson and bluntly asked, “Monsieur, from where did you come before here?”
For a long moment the explorer stared into the fire and didn’t reply. When he did, Peter felt a wave of uneasiness, for Thompson’s voice more than his words told how much he missed his own country. “I was born in London and there attended school. Each day I passed by an old and beautiful cathedral famous for its gardens of flowers in the summer. I’d stop to listen to the choir singing and sometimes had to run as fast as I could so I wasn’t late for school.”
Boulard chuckled. “In this London you did not hunt for your food, I think, nor make your bed in the snow.”
Thompson smiled and shook his head.
“Did you …” another voyageur began.
Thompson, however, stood and again shook his head. “Enough of memories. I must take one more sighting, and daybreak will soon be upon us.”
Reluctantly, Peter rose from his seat by the fire. He wanted to hear more, for he had never thought of Thompson nor any of the men as boys like himself who also had to learn to shoot a musket and sleep in the snow.
In the morning Peter heard Thompson tell Boulard that he didn’t fault William Henry for not choosing DuNord to stay and help build a larger post. “William feared the fellow’s complaints would encourage the other man to do the same, and by spring all three would be ready for bedlam.”
Boulard shrugged. “Monsieur DuNord may be of better material than it appears. Perhaps he will demonstrate he is a man as we cross these mountains.”
They left the newly built post at the end of December, with the dogs pulling eight sleds of trade goods and baggage, and their last four horses carrying fresh meat and supplies of fat and flour. It was a bitterly cold day, but there was no wind and the sun was shining. Peter’s spirits lifted when the men began to sing as, with one sled following another, they left the tiny post. It was a good beginning. However, after the first few days of trying to control the unruly dogs pulling the sleds, the enthusiasm dimmed noticeably and the men started to take two to three hours to get moving each morning while demanding to camp each day before sundown. Thompson ignored their complaints until DuNord pushed him too far.
Day after day the line of men had trudged upward with sleds overturning every time they struck a stump or a log hidden under the snow. On the ninth day, DuNord, in a fit of temper, threw his sled down the hillside with his dogs still attached. Packs of provisions flew as the sled broke along the way.
Thompson had been far ahead of the line and didn’t learn of the commotion until Boulard sent a man ahead to call to him. When he returned, he glanced from the sled to DuNord, who stared back insolently. Quietly, Thompson said, “It needs a man of courage to cross these mountains. Not all are capable. You may take a double pack for yourself to carry and reload all else on the other sleds, or I’ll give you a share of the supplies and you can return to Rocky Mountain House.”
DuNord’s bushy black eyebrows shot almost to his hairline in surprise. “You cannot. Alone, I would not live.”
“Most likely,” Thompson said, “and thus far I haven’t been the cause of any man’s death. However, if it comes to a choice between you and the success of our undertaking, you must know what my choice would be.”
DuNord hastily piled boxes on the remaining seven sleds, then picked up two heavy packs to carry himself. Whenever Peter glanced behind him, he felt a tiny bit of sympathy for DuNord. Powerful as the man was, he laboured mightily through the deep snow with his heavy burden, his mouth set in a grim line.
Thompson must have had these thoughts, as well, for after less than three hours, he was waiting when the train of sleds caught up with him. “You, DuNord, unload one of the packhorses and take another man with you to hunt. There are tracks of sheep and red deer aplenty. Dead ahead is Jasper Lake where we’ll make camp. Keep moving due west through the woods and you’ll find us.”
To Boulard, Thompson said, “I find the complaints from some of the men irksome. Here they worry about snow barely above their knees but will happily spend a winter in Montreal, though it be ten feet deep there.”
Boulard nodded. “And some try to ease their fear by beating the dogs, even those who do their best to pull the sleds.”
“You should have said as much at once,” Thompson said. “We have few enough dogs. They mustn’t be bruised to make it more difficult for them to pull in the heavy snow. I’ll no longer set my pace to be so far ahead that I may better know what is happening behind me.”
Peter turned away to hide his joy when they camped that night and Thompson announced, “It’s time to rest the dogs. We’ll camp here two nights, and since the wind and cold are bitter, you’ll have a cup of rum.”
Instead of the usual cheer there were only murmurs of approval from the weary men. Peter knew how they felt. His fingers and toes were numb, he ached with exhaustion, and the sight of the forbidding, snowcapped mountains ahead guarding the valley filled him with dread. Some of his fatigue disappeared, however, when Thompson said to the men, “You’ve done
