It is the square dance that interests us, our attention being divided between watching the deft forms in the half light and listening to the caller-off. Louie-the-Moose first officiates.  His eyes look dreamy but there is a general’s stern tone of command in his words: 

“Ladeez, join de lily-white han’s,
Gents, your black-and-tan! 
Ladeez, bow!  Gents, bow-wow! 
Swing ’em as hard’s ye can.

“Swing your corner Lady,
Then the one you love! 
Then your corner Lady,
Then your Turtle Dove!”

Over and over again Louie reiterates his injunction, to the accompaniment of pattering moccasins and a humming chorus from door and windows.  There are phrases of variation, too.  We catch the words, “Address your pardner,” “Adaman left,” “Show your steps,” “Gents walk round, and all run away to the west.”

Then Michel Manvil takes hold of the situation.  He stands up to it, and we hear

“Ladies round ladies, and gents all so! 
Ladies round gents, and gents don’t go!”

Why should they, we wonder!

The third fiddler is a full-blooded Chipewyan.  In some dancing academy in the woods he has learnt a “call-off” all his own, and proud indeed is he of his stunt.  We manage to copy it down in its entirety, fighting mosquitoes the while and dodging out into the open now and again for a little air.

“’Slute your ladies!  All together! 
  Ladies opposite, the same—­
Hit the lumber with yer leathers,
  Balance all, and swing yer dame! 
Bunch the moose-cows in the middle! 
  Circle, stags, and do-si-do—­
Pay attention to the fiddle! 
  Swing her round, an’ off you go!

“First four forward!  Back to places! 
  Second foller—­shuffle back! 
Now you’ve got it down to cases—­
  Swing ’em till their back-teeth crack! 
Gents, all right, a heel and toeing! 
  Swing ’em, kiss ’em if you kin—­
On to next, and keep a-goin’
  Till you hit your pards ag’in!

“Gents to centre; ladies round ’em,
  Form a basket; balance all! 
Whirl yer gals to where you found ’em! 
  Promenade around the hall! 
Balance to yer pards and trot ’em
  Round the circle, double quick! 
Grab and kiss ’em while you’ve got ’em—­
  Hold ’em to it; they won’t kick!”

The perspiring musician pushes his instrument into the hands of Running Antelope and turns to us with, “There’s another verse, but I don’t always give it.”  We ask him to repeat it for us, but he seems a little at a loss.  “It’s hard to call it out without the fiddle.  When yer playin’ you just spit it out—­the words come to you.”

It is August 6th at Chipewyan, and once again we are at the parting of the ways.  Every one we know is heading for “Outside” by way of the steamer Grahame and the Athabasca scows.  Our own ambition is to make a traverse of the great Peace River Country before the snows.  We have had no mail since last May, and the temptation to follow the multitude as far as McMurray in the hope of finding letters there is too strong to be resisted.  We will then return and try to perfect arrangements for the Peace.