The Hudson Bay Company's store had a great attraction for me. It was a long, low building within the precincts of Fort Garry, stocked with everything either useful or ornamental, from a ship's anchor to a lace pocket-handkerchief; a sort of curiosity shop of all the necessaries and luxuries of life; an outfitting establishment where one could not only clothe oneself from head to foot, but furnish one's house from attic to cellar, at very reasonable prices. Whatever the charges may be at the outlying posts, competition keeps them within bounds in Winnipeg. As a rule the goods are excellent in quality, and to judge by the number of carts, carriages, and saddle-horses always grouped about the door of the store, a thriving business is done there.
The Red River at Winnipeg is much wider than at any other point, yet so high are the banks, that until quite close to it one cannot see the water. On the opposite or western shore is St. Boniface, the terminus of the branch line from Selkirk, and the site of the Roman Catholic cathedral, convents, and schools. The cathedral, a large square building, has a musical chime of bells, and the ringing of the "angelus," whose sound floated over the prairie unmarred by steam whistles, factory bells, or any other of the multitudinous sounds of a large city, was always welcome. Nowhere is evening more beautiful than in Manitoba. One instance in particular I noticed. The sun was setting low down in the heavens as in a sea of gold, one long flame-coloured line alone marking the horizon. In the south-west rose cloud upon cloud of crimson and gold, crossed by rapid flashes of pale yellow and white lightning, which momentarily obliterated their rich colours. To the south was a great bank of black thunder-cloud crested with crimson, reft to its deepest darkness by successive flashes of forked lightning. Immediately overhead a narrow curtain of leaden clouds was driven hither and thither by uncertain winds; while below, the prairie and all its varied life lay bathed in the warmth and light of the departing sun, throwing into bold relief the Indian wigwam, with its ragged sides and cross-poles.
Squaws were seated round the camp fires, or dipping water from a pool hard by; Indians were standing idly about; droves of cattle were being driven in for milking; groups of horses, their fore feet tied loosely together, were hobbling awkwardly as they grazed; tired oxen were tethered near, feeding after their day's work, while their driver lay under his cart and smoked. Above the low squat tent of the half-breed, there rose the brown-roofed barracks, its lazy flag clinging to the staff. Through the surrounding bushes, water gleamed here and there. In the distance could be seen long trains of ox-carts, coming from remote settlements, the low monotonous moan of their ungreased wheels making a weird accompaniment to the muttering thunder; or a black-robed procession of nuns, on their way to the small chapel on the prairie, whose tinkling bell was calling them to prayers. An Indian on his fiery little steed, his beaded saddle-cloth glistening in the sun, was galloping in mad haste over the grass, away to the low hills to the north, which deserved their name of Silver Heights as they received the sun's good-night kiss.
