The Old Man and the Cree

The old Dogrib medicine man pushes his canoe away from the island. He could hear boys shouting and dogs barking behind him as he dipped his paddle in and out of the smooth water.

Sounds of the camp became softer and softer and soon he couldn’t hear the camp at all. The old medicine man loved this time of year. It was the season of dry fish, the season of the long sun, it was the time of making new things like willow nets and birch bark canoes.

The old man needed birch bark and wood for axe handles and paddles. He knew where to find some good bark. It was on a small island. He had been there often. When he got to the island he paddled to a spot where bushes hung down over the water. He pushed his canoe in behind the branches so no one could see his canoe from the lake. Then he took his axe out of the canoe and he walked into the bush without a sound.

Soon he came to a stand of birch trees. He stood silently for a moment studying the trees. Then he chose one and set to work with skilled hands. He cut through the bark with his axe and carefully stripped it from the tree. He worked steadily, soundlessly, but in his head he sang an old song. He worked without stopping until he had a large stack of the white bark pile beside him. Then he carried it to the canoe. The birch bark was light but he had cut so much but he had to make two trips. When his canoe was loaded the medicine man got in and carefully pushed out past the branches.

The water was still, like glass. He paddled carefully, so carefully his paddle hardly made a ripple in the water. The old man’s muscles ached a little from his hard work. Yet, his careful strokes move the canoe quickly back toward the camp. Soon he was near the curve in the shore that hid the camp from his eyes. Suddenly, the medicine man felt very, very strange. He had never seen the lake so still. It was too quiet. No sound came from the camp. No dogs barked. No boys shouted. There wasn’t even a cry of a seagull. The medicine man left his paddle and let the canoe drift around the curve. His back stiffened in fear and what he saw.

Two huge canoes were just pushing away from the camp. Each canoe held about 30 men and they were Cree. He saw one Cree hold something up on a stick. It was the long flowing hair of a woman, it was a scalp!

There was a shout. The Cree had spotted him. He saw some of the Cree raise their fire sticks. Then one man shouted again. This Cree stood up in the canoe, raised his paddle high then smashed it down on the water. All the other other Cree laughed.

The medicine man shuddered in terror. The Cree we’re going to kill him. But they would not use the fire stick. He was only one person. They would kill him with a paddle. The Cree would kill him and take his scalp. The old man dug his paddle into the water to turn his canoe around.

He saw the Cree do the same. Thirty Cree were paddling each canoe. Sixty against one old man! The old man’s muscles ached as his arms strained at the paddle. In his mind he saw the camp. He saw the Caribou hide tipis. He saw the racks of dry fish. He saw the men making canoes. He saw the women with babies on their back carrying water. He saw the children playing. He saw his wife inside the tipi scraping the hide of the moose he had killed two suns ago. He saw his grandson sleeping in the swing.

Then he heard the thunder of the fire sticks. He heard the screams. He saw his people fall. He saw the shiny knives red with blood.

The Cree laughed behind him. The huge canoes were getting closer. Anger gripped the medicine man’s heart. Anger at the Cree who has slaughtered his people. His anger cried out to his spirit. The spirit became angry too. Anger made his medicine strong. The angry spirit filled his muscles. The anger drove his canoe.

The canoe moved like a lightning bolt. The Cree canoes stayed behind as if they were standing still. But getting away was not enough. The medicine man had to do more. The anger of the spirit changed into cunning. The medicine man’s power began to play with the Cree. He would trick them.

The Dogrib man‘s canoe slowed right down. The Cree paddled as hard as they could; closer and closer. When they were so close that they thought they had caught the old man, his canoe streaked away and almost disappeared. But the medicine man always remained in sight of the Cree. He never let them give up the chase.

He would keep leading them on. On and on across the lake he led them. Sometimes he would zig zag between some islands and be gone only to appear again in a different direction. This teasing made the Cree angrier and angrier. They were determined to catch him.

The old man led the Cree between two long Islands into a bay. His canoe shot across the bay, then stopped in the shallow water where the river began. The Cree saw him pick up the canoe, make a quick portage, then disappear around the river bend. The Cree carried their canoes over the portage so fast that when they reached the water again half the men stumbled and fell into the river.

Down the river they chased him to a small lake where they found the old man waiting. Then the Dogrib streaked across the lake and disappeared around some islands and into the river again. The Cree paddled harder and harder eagerly rounding each bend thinking only of the man they wanted to kill.

The old man led them into rushing rapids which were easy to maneuver with his little canoe but bumped around the huge Cree canoes and sometimes brought them to a dead stop. The old medicine man was lazily paddling away on the other side of the rapids. On and on they pushed, faster and faster, on and on.

They chased the old man over a long portage, sending runners ahead sure they had him but again the old medicine man was back in the water paddling calmly away. When they spotted him again he disappeared around a large island in the middle of the river. The Cree pushed on after him as they rounded the island they saw the canoe had stopped.

The old man was slumped down, exhausted. The Cree raced on. They got closer and closer. The first man in the lead canoe raised his paddle. He was ready to strike the old man. The Cree canoe was only a paddle away from him. The Cree smashed his paddle down!

The old man moved his canoe like a flash and slipped into a small creek. The Cree canoes surged by, unable to stop. Screams filled the air as the two huge canoes crashed over the first hidden falls and the Cree saw the deep gorge ahead of them.

The first canoe smashed into pieces, throwing the men into the raging water. The second canoe charged over the falls, flipped in the air, and spilled the Cree down into the white spray fifty feet below. There was a faint smile on the old medicine man’s face as he climbed up the bank above the falls.

He saw two Cree men desperately holding onto rocks above the big fall. Then their fingers slipped and they plunged over. Their screams made the old man shiver. He looked down into the deep gorge; there was no sign of the Cree or the canoes anywhere, only the endless roar of the crashing water. The old medicine man paddled back to the lake we now called Lac La Martre. The island where the camp was wiped out is known as Dokw’oo Di, or Man’s Bones Island.

As for the Cree, it is said that they still live today in the caves under La Martre Falls.