68 THE GREAT DENE RACE.

would have totally modified his opinion. A Déné will smell smoke for miles.
I do not mean the smoke of a forest fire, of a general conflagration in the
woods, but merely that of the lonely native’s bivouac in a nook hidden by a
river’s windings.

His hearing is just as good. A slight rustle in the woods, the breaking
of a twig under the feet of game, will immediately startle him, and make him
stand in his canoe in order to discover the cause of the noise.

As to his sight, it is that of the eagle. How many times ‘have I not
wondered at its incredible acuteness, when, as I explored large lakes or timber-
less mountains, objects which, with the best of wills, I could not perceive
were pointed out to me by hunters who wondered at what they were pleased
to call my blindness! It is but fair to remark, however, that the northern
Déné is preeminently a huntsman. He cannot travel any distance without being
instinctively on the look out for game. His piercing eye is constantly scan-
ning every nook of nature’s primeval domain. “See, a grizzly bear passed
here last night”, or ‘fa cariboo was here two days ago”, he will exclaim of
a sudden, when your mental energies may be engrossed with the details of
a philological or other problem. You look, and see nothing. But the child of
the forest has noticed one or two blades of grass slightly bent in the same
direction at regular intervals, and he must obey his instinct which bids him
follow them and thereby trace out the whereabouts of the game.

His memory is likewise very retentive, especially that form of the faculty
which manifests itself in connection with localities. ‘Here is a twig which
was not broken when I passed here last”, he will sometimes remark as you
painfully trudge along; “somebody bent the head of that sappling; so-and-so
[who is known to have preceded on the way months, perhaps years, before]
blazed that tree’, etc. Hence, it is next to impossible for him to get lost
even in the most intricate forestt.

If a hunter, the Déné, at least in the north, is also a fisherman. Much
of his life, unless he belongs to one of the mountain tribes, is passed in a
canoe. There again, the wonderful brightness of his sight serves him in good
stead. It delves into the abysmal recesses of the lakes, wherein he locates
fish which is perceptible to nobody but himself. It reaches the very bottom
of rivers, muddy or rapid as may be their waters, and detects rocks or other
obstacles to navigation, which he dexterously avoids in the swiftest currents.

The acuity of the Dénés’ senses is on a par with their power over the
chords of the heart. Few people have such a control of their emotional fa-
culties. While among themselves they generally preserve a certain decorum,
and would not for anything pass for beggars. But they consider that the whites
are a fair field for exploitation. With them they will feign to perfection sick-

* For a good example of local memory see Franklin’s “Journey to the Shores of the
Polar Sea” vol. II, p. 25.