November 13^th

About a year and a month passed since I had set out on this expedition, and I am quite impressed with the progress so far. We have been moving steadily north, covering a lot of unexplored territory, finding many uncharted lakes and rivers, of which one, if not several, will probably be named after me. I would like to write down what I am seeing here in detail, but my pen fails me. The beauty of these expansive lands can only be understood if seen in person, to actually be here and see the oceans of grass, the creeks of the purest water, and the colossal forests with all sorts of game, all in front of the backdrop of a magnificent mountain range. Though my capable guide has been suggesting otherwise, I would very much like to investigate that mountain range, which undoubtedly have never been tamed by any European. However, the closer we move towards those mountains, the land is getting harsher with patches of snow with a notable decrease in wildlife. We were worried about not having enough food available to continue the expedition, when we met a local tribe of Indians who referred to themselves as the Chippeway. They have been very hospitable to us, offering us food and drink to restock our supplies. I am relieved that we now have more than enough food to traverse those mountains, but I am ashamed that I have nothing to offer these Indians in return for such kindness.

#

            Muscowecan finished gathering his luggage, which he loaded onto his back, and then moved towards the center of his camp to find his employer. Mister Nelson was standing there with the Chippeway chieftain, trying to communicate with hand signs and basic words. Judging from the frequent repeating of such words and gestures, he was not succeeding.

“Ah, there you are, Muscowecan. Ask these people if they have any advice for climbing those mountains,” Mister Nelson asked of his Native American guide. Muscowecan turned to the chieftain of this tribe, who was standing before a crowd of other Chippeways trying to catch a glimpse of the white man. The chieftain’s smile of hospitality quickly disappeared as he listened to Muscowecan’s words and replied with a few words of his own while vigorously shaking his head. Muscowecan bit his lower lip as he tried to find the best words he knew for relaying this information to Mister Nelson.

“Mister Nelson, the chief says that they never climb the mountains. He says that we shouldn’t go too. There’s a Wendigo living in them.”

“A what?” One of Mister Nelson’s eyebrows moved higher than the other.

“A Wendigo. It’s a kind of bad Manitou. It eats men and is always very hungry. Very dangerous.”

“Ah, I understand,” Mister Nelson replied while chuckling. “Of course, something like that would be very dangerous, wouldn’t it?” Muscowecan recognized the tone in Mister Nelson’s voice, which he always used when he was only pretending to agree with something. “Well, tell them not to worry, I have a good rifle that can take care of the most vicious of beasts.” He took out his rifle from its leather carrying case, showing it off to the chieftain and other Chippeways. “Muscowecan, tell them how I’m an exceptionally good shot, and that I have nailed a ten foot bear using this.” Mister Nelson then placed his other hand on his chin, rubbing the hair that grew there on the faces of white men. “In fact, that gives me an idea. Muscowecan, tell them that we will go out and hunt this ‘Wendigo’ as payment for their hospitality.”

Muscowecan felt his jaw drop. “Could…Could you say that again, Mister Nelson? I don’t think I heard you right.”

“I said tell them that we will kill the Wendigo to return the favor that we owe them.” That tone in Mister Nelson’s voice was gone. Muscowecan moved closer to talk in private.

“But Mister Nelson, a Wendigo is very dangerous. We should avoid the mountains,” He mustered as much gravity in his voice as possible, but his warning was dismissed by a wave of Mister Nelson’s hand.

“Oh don’t be so worrisome, there is no such thing as a ‘Wendigo’, Muscowecan. As far as I’m concerned, the killing is already done, since it never existed in the first place. I’m merely saying this to comfort these people; it’s about the only thing we can do to pay them back.” He placed a hand on Muscowecan’s shoulder. “Even in the unlikely event that the Wendigo does indeed inhabit those mountains, no beast is a match for my skill with the rifle, so either way we can fulfill this offer.” The Native American remained unconvinced, shaking his head. “Muscowecan, you know more about chasing and hunting beasts than anyone else I’ve met, and our combined efforts have slain many a bear and wolf. Don’t you want to do your part to perform something helpful for these people, after all they have done for us?”

Muscowecan sighed, and he turned back to the Chippeways to inform them of his employer’s proposal. The Chippeways first showed confusion, followed by a brief but loud commotion as they discussed this among themselves. The chieftain informed Musocwecan of his tribe’s general opinion.

“They thank you for the offer, Mister Nelson, but they don’t want to put you in danger. The chief says that if you want to return the favor, you should go around the mountains and be safe.”

“Oh, we’ll be safe, tell them not to worry about us, we’ll be fine. If they have nothing else to say, let us get going then. I want to be above the tree line of the first mountain before nightfall. The view of the stars from there should be magnificent.” Putting away his rifle and starting to walk towards the mountain range, Mister Nelson gave another few words of gratitude and bid the Chippeways farewell, which Muscowecan quickly translated and then hurriedly joined his employer.

#

November 15^th

We have finally arrived at the summit of the first mountain. Progress has been slow, as we had to find, and often times make, our own paths as no one, not even the Indians, had made their way up here for ages. The idea that I am the first man to conquer this mountain in history fills me with excitement. However, it seems that Muscowecan does not share my sentiments, and he sees every difficulty we encounter as a reason to turn back. I am amazed that even an enlightened Indian like him would sincerely believe that ‘Wendigo’ drivel of the Chippeways. It’s probably just a figment of natives’ imagination used to explain the harsh environment of these mountains, or possibly, though unlikely, some abnormally large and ferocious bear or wolf of some sort. If the Wendigo does exist, it may even be a new species, and I will have to come up with some candidates for its Latin nomenclature.

 

#

As the two made their way above the tree line, Muscowecan noticed the unusually dark sky. The sun was being obscured by a thick haze of clouds, and the light was so limited that it seemed like sunset was near even though it was still midday.

“Do you see something?” Mister Nelson spoke with a puff of vapor leaving his lips.

“Looks like bad weather, Mister Nelson.”

“What? A bit of rain?”

“Not rain.” Muscowecan turned to him. “A blizzard is coming. A big blizzard.”

“Enough! Stop constantly looking for an excuse to turn your tail and head back, Muscowecan.”

“Mister Nelson, the mountains will be covered in snow…”

“A little snow is nothing,” interrupted the white man. “Remember when we went through Shoshone territory last winter? We were up to our waists in snow and shivering from the frost, but we managed to get through that just fine.” He pointed to the next peak. “Great deeds require great risks, Muscowecan. Let us continue and become great men rather than ordinary cowards.” The Native American watched as Mister Nelson began walking towards the peak, but he himself did not follow.

            “Many dead men also took great risks,” he muttered to himself. Though he was not intending for his employer to hear, Muscowecan found Mister Nelson facing him with a frown.

“Now listen, I hired you to provide guidance and translation for my expedition, which you have been doing very well. Your services have been invaluable to this venture, and I am planning to pay you handsomely once it’s over.” There was a slight pause, which was followed by a significant increase in the volume of his voice. “But that is assuming you have aided me until the very end of my expedition. I do not want to force you to continue working for me, Muscowecan, so if you must leave me and return to your fellow Indians, go ahead. But in that case, don’t expect to be paid a penny.”

Muscowecan could not say anything in return, and he just stared at Mister Nelson, whose eyes were still glaring at him. This was the first time Muscowecan had heard such harsh words from this man, who was generally polite and fair to anyone. Aside from the promise of a large sum of money, over the course of these travels Muscowecan had begun to sincerely enjoy working under Mister Nelson. Not only did he give his guide proper recognition and gratitude for his advice, unlike the other white men, but Mister Nelson had this look in his eyes, every time he encountered a new lake or shot an animal he had never seen before, that reminded Muscowecan of an excited young boy. He wondered what Mister Nelson would do if he did leave him. Would he go on by himself? Through these harsh mountains and the approaching blizzard? Muscowecan broke away his gaze from Mister Nelson and lowered his eyes to the ground.

“If you say so, Mister Nelson. But we need to be careful.”

“Of course. I am always careful.” The wind had become strong enough to emit a small roar, and snowflakes were starting to fall. Within a few moments, the two men trudged through a wall of snow blown into their faces.

#

November 19^th

It has been four nights since we were caught in this most dreadful blizzard. The thought of what would have happened to us if Muscowecan had not found this small cave as shelter makes me shiver just as much as the cold. The visibility outside is still terrible, so we have no choice but to wait here until the blizzard subsides. Hopefully that will be soon, sitting around on these cold rocks eating Indian rations is not very enjoyable, and Muscowecan has been somewhat annoying, claiming each time the wind howled that it was the Wendigo. Now I almost wish that the Wendigo actually exists, so I can vent my frustration against it. Though they were meager meals, we have had enough food to eat, but I still feel so hungry these days. I would love to have some meat right now; I would be willing to pay a fortune to have a tender piece of roast pork. I must be sure to obtain more ink once we get off this mountain range, there is much less left than I expected.

#

            Another howling sound from outside of the cave sent a large shiver up Muscowecan’s spine, waking him up from his shallow sleep. He got up and pulled out some pieces of flint to start a fire. Though there was a bit of fumbling due to his fingers being stiff from the cold, it did not take long for him to get a decent flame to emerge. It was then that Muscowecan noticed that Mister Nelson was still awake, sitting up with his sheets wrapped tightly around him, his rifle by his side.

            “Mister Nelson? Have you been awake while I was sleeping?” Mister Nelson did not respond, instead his eyes appeared to be held captive by the fire. “You should get sleep. If you’re cold, I will keep the fire going.”

            “Don’t worry about me. You go back to sleep.” The response was barely audible.

            “But Mister Nelson, you didn’t sleep much yesterday. Or the day before.”

            “Just go back to sleep.”

            A howling sound resounded throughout the cave again. “The Wendigo…” whispered Muscowecan.

            “That’s nothing but the wind.”

            Muscowecan pretended not to hear him. “I wonder who that Wendigo was.”

            “…What?” Mister Nelson finally lifted his eyes away from the fire to Muscowecan.

            “I would just like to know what kind of man the Wendigo was before he became a Wendigo.”

            “What do you mean? I thought the Wendigo was some kind of beast.”

            “It is,” said Muscowecan, feeding another twig to the flame. “When a man becomes so hungry and eats another man’s flesh, he becomes a Wendigo. That is how a Wendigo is born.”

            “So that’s what you Indians do when you have no food, eh? You eat other people,” said the white man, reaching for his rifle. Muscowecan cringed at this remark.

            “Mister Nelson, I would never eat the meat of a fellow man, even if I had no food. It is better to die a man than become a Wendigo.”  The man just looked at Muscowecan for a moment, then finally let go of his firearm.

“Get back to sleep.”

#

November 21^st

The snow and wind stopped, but now there is a heavy fog over the area. First the blizzard, now this. Muscowecan, in his typical spineless fashion has suggested that we stay in the cave and wait until the fog clears, just as we did for the blizzard, but I will have none of that. I have had enough of shivering among rocks with nothing to do but eat dried berries, sour mockeries of bread, and small bits of much too salty meats, with this half-literate Indian as my only companion. At this rate, we are going to run out of food, so obviously the only reasonable course of action is to get moving while there is still some left. On the other hand, perhaps that Indian is not afraid of running out of food, because he sees in me a good source of meat. He claims that he will not cannibalize, but who knows what savages will do when hungry.

Fortunately, the fog is easier to walk through than the blizzard, and God willing, within three or four days we should be leaving this forsaken mountain range with its damned Wendigo behind. From there, I believe we shall head south to look for some settlements. I am running out of ink, and it would also be nice to sink my teeth into some decent meat. Before this expedition I was not exactly a connoisseur of meat, but now I miss it so badly. Chicken, turkey, mutton, even venison would be nice.

#

            The fog and the snow-coated ground merged into one white mass, making it difficult to tell up from down or left from right. Muscowecan tried his best to maintain a fast pace while taking very cautious steps. He would prefer to move more slowly, but even a minor drop in speed allowed the fog to obscure Mister Nelson, who was pushing through the snow in front of him.

            “Mister Nelson, you need to walk more carefully,” said Muscowecan for the seventh time that day. The man said nothing, but it seemed to Muscowecan that he further increased his pace. The guide struggled to keep up. There was none of the cracking sound of underbrush being crushed, or the whisper of any wind, nothing but just the muffled thumps of boots on the thick snow. What little he could see of Mister Nelson’s back seemed unfamiliar to Muscowecan, who was used to walking in the front and leading the way. He could not shake the feeling that if the man walking in front of him turned around, it would be some stranger he had never met before.

            Suddenly, that back disappeared from view with a startled yelp. There were sounds of shuffling and sliding that were quickly getting farther and farther away. Muscowecan shuffled forward as fast as he could.

            “Mister Nelson! Mister Nelson, are you okay?” His voice echoed faintly through the fog.

            “I’m fine. I believe I have dropped the bag containing my rations, but I’m fine.” The reply came from right below Muscowecan. Through the fog, he could see Mister Nelson on his side along a steep slope, hanging on to a leafless branch of a small tree. Muscowecan offered his hand to him, but the man just looked up at him. His skin appeared much whiter and paler than what Muscowecan remembered from before they started on this mountain range, and there seemed to be more wrinkles on the face, though it was hard to be sure with the thick haze.

            “Something wrong, Mister Nelson? Are you hurt?” Muscowecan cautiously extended his hand further, closer to Mister Nelson. Then, ignoring the hand, Mister Nelson lifted himself up using the branches. He quickly brushed the snow off of himself and continued on his way, silently. Although there was no wind, Muscowecan thought he heard a howl in the distance.

#

November 22^nd

The fog has finally cleared up sometime after sundown. I lost my portion of food after a brief tumble today, so that Indian handed over all of his share to me, claiming he will no longer need it. I could not refuse it, as I was quite starving, but this has convinced me that he plans on killing me and consuming my flesh. Why else would he have no need for his food? All this time I had thought the Wendigo was merely a superstition held by uneducated barbarians, but it does indeed exist and it sleeps beside me as I write this entry. It thinks it has won my trust, but it can’t fool me. I shall slay it at the slightest provocation, and take back its head as a trophy to show to those Chippeways. I will bask in their admiration, and they will make a grand feast for me, with dishes of corn, squash, beans, and most importantly meat, and lots of it. Must get more ink.

#

            The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Muscowecan awoke. The sky was still dark, but it was no longer obscured. Mister Nelson still seemed asleep, snoring away on the other side of the campfire remains. Muscowecan began to roll up his bed and gather his belongings as quietly as possible. He once again looked at Mister Nelson. The white man was biting on one of his fingers as he slept, and indeed his face looked paler and more wrinkled than it had before they left the Chippeways. No, it was not Mister Nelson, Muscowecan told himself. There was no point in continuing to risk his life for the sake of this stranger, even for the money, which would be worthless to him anyway if he died. It was unfortunate that he would not be paid at all, but then again, not every harvest or hunt was successful.

“Muscowecan, what are you standing there for?” Mister Nelson had opened his eyes while Muscowecan was giving him a silent farewell. “…What are you up to?” He reached for his rifle, which was right by his side.

“I was, I was uh, about to leave.” Muscowecan swallowed as he stepped back. Mister Nelson’s eyes narrowed as he raised his upper body from the bed and lifted up his rifle.

“Of course you were trying to leave.” There was that tone in his voice again; it seemed that he was only pretending to believe Muscowecan.

“I, I’m going go back to the Chippeways. I…I don’t want the money anymore. You said I could go back if I wanted to.” He slowly inched further back. The barrel was aimed right at his face.

“Sure you are.” The tone was still there.

“Yes, yes. I think that you no longer need me to guide. I gave you my half of the food, so you should have enough to get you through these mountains.” He saw Mister Nelson move his mouth as if saying something, but Muscowecan could not hear it. “Pardon me, Mister Nelson, but what did you say?”

“Lies!” Mister Nelson’s shout boomed through the mountain. “You think you can fool me, beast! You’re just trying to hide from me, so you can murder me when my guard is down. I won’t fall for that trick, Wendigo.” Mister Nelson secured the butt of his rifle against his shoulder and raised its barrel to eye level. His teeth were bared and clenched, with the vapor of his breath leaking from between them.

“Wha—what are you saying? You said the Wendigo isn’t real.” Muscowecan’s heart raced faster each time Mister Nelson’s finger ever so slightly twitched back and forth on the trigger.

“Though I would have to admit that it was quite clever of you to eat my guide and replace him, it seems that your plot to win my trust through giving me rest of the food backfired.”

            “I thought you would need the food for the rest of your travel!” said Muscowecan, the desperation seeping into his words. “I’m going back to the Chippeways, so I didn’t need the food anymore. That’s why I decided to give it all to you.” He took another few steps back, slowly as possible. “Mister Nelson, I’m not the Wendigo!”

            “That’s what a Wendigo would say.” The vapor from his mouth stopped, and his finger held still on the rifle’s trigger. Muscowecan’s legs were shaking.

            “Please, Mister Nelson, I am Muscowecan. I’m your guide. Please, put the rifle down.” The barrel was still aimed at his head. Neither of them moved, even as the sunlight slowly drenched the landscape. The area was still thick with snow as far as the eye could see, sparsely dotted by ash-grey trees. Muscowecan felt as if this was a separate, unfamiliar world, which consisted only of the snow-covered mountain range and two inhabitants. Soon, there may be only one. Finally, Mister Nelson spoke.

 “You’re not going anywhere.”

Muscowecan flipped around and ran, ran as fast as he could through the snow. He could hear the wind howling again.

#

November 23^rd

I have managed to obtain ink. And meat. Lots of meat. But I must get more, I am still very hungry.