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+                           LOST IN THE WILDS
+
+
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost
+no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
+under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
+eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license.
+
+
+
+Title: Lost in the Wilds
+       A Canadian Story
+Author: Eleanor Stredder
+Release Date: September 03, 2013 [EBook #43640]
+Language: English
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST IN THE WILDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Cover]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: It was an awful moment.]
+
+
+
+
+                           LOST IN THE WILDS
+
+                            A CANADIAN STORY
+
+
+                          BY ELEANOR STREDDER
+
+
+
+                           LONDON, EDINBURGH,
+                           DUBLIN, & NEW YORK
+                             THOMAS NELSON
+                                AND SONS
+                                  1893
+
+
+
+
+                              *CONTENTS.*
+
+      I. _In Acland’s Hut_
+     II. _Hunting the Buffalo_
+    III. _The First Snowstorm_
+     IV. _Maxica, the Cree Indian_
+      V. _In the Birch-bark Hut_
+     VI. _Searching for a Supper_
+    VII. _Following the Blackfeet_
+   VIII. _The Shop in the Wilderness_
+     IX. _New Friends_
+      X. _The Dog-sled_
+     XI. _The Hunters’ Camp_
+    XII. _Maxica’s Warning_
+   XIII. _Just in Time_
+    XIV. _Wedding Guests_
+     XV. _To the Rescue_
+    XVI. _In Confusion_
+
+
+
+
+                          *LOST IN THE WILDS.*
+
+
+
+                              *CHAPTER I.*
+
+                          _*IN ACLAND’S HUT.*_
+
+
+The October sun was setting over a wild, wide waste of waving grass,
+growing dry and yellow in the autumn winds.  The scarlet hips gleamed
+between the whitening blades wherever the pale pink roses of summer had
+shed their fragrant leaves.
+
+But now the brief Indian summer was drawing to its close, and winter was
+coming down upon that vast Canadian plain with rapid strides.  The
+wailing cry of the wild geese rang through the gathering stillness.
+
+The driver of a rough Red River cart slapped the boy by his side upon
+the shoulder, and bade him look aloft at the swiftly-moving cloud of
+chattering beaks and waving wings.
+
+For a moment or two the twilight sky was darkened, and the air was
+filled with the restless beat of countless pinions.  The flight of the
+wild geese to the warmer south told the same story, of approaching snow,
+to the bluff carter.  He muttered something about finding the cows which
+his young companion did not understand.  The boy’s eyes had travelled
+from the winged files of retreating geese to the vast expanse of sky and
+plain.  The west was all aglow with myriad tints of gold and saffron and
+green, reflected back from many a gleaming lakelet and curving river,
+which shone like jewels on the broad breast of the grassy ocean.  Where
+the dim sky-line faded into darkness the Touchwood Hills cast a
+blackness of shadow on the numerous thickets which fringed their
+sheltering slopes.  Onward stole the darkness, while the prairie fires
+shot up in wavy lines, like giant fireworks.
+
+Between the fire-flash and the dying sun the boy’s quick eye was aware
+of the long winding course of the great trail to the north.  It was a
+comfort to perceive it in the midst of such utter loneliness; for if men
+had come and gone, they had left no other record behind them.  He seemed
+to feel the stillness of an unbroken solitude, and to hear the silence
+that was brooding over lake and thicket, hill and waste alike.
+
+He turned to his companion.  "Forgill," he asked, in a low venturing
+tone, "can you find your way in the dark?"
+
+He was answered by a low, short laugh, too expressive of contempt to
+suffer him to repeat his question.
+
+One broad flash of crimson light yet lingered along the western sky, and
+the evening star gleamed out upon the shadowy earth, which the night was
+hugging to itself closer and closer every moment.
+
+Still the cart rumbled on.  It was wending now by the banks of a
+nameless river, where the pale, faint star-shine reflected in its watery
+depths gave back dim visions of inverted trees in wavering, uncertain
+lines.
+
+"How far are we now from Acland’s Hut?" asked the boy, disguising his
+impatience to reach their journey’s end in careless tones.
+
+"Acland’s Hut," repeated the driver; "why, it is close at hand."
+
+The horse confirmed this welcome piece of intelligence by a joyous neigh
+to his companion, who was following in the rear.  A Canadian always
+travels with two horses, which he drives by turns.  The horses
+themselves enter into the arrangement so well that there is no trouble
+about it.  The loose horse follows his master like a dog, and trots up
+when the cart comes to a standstill, to take the collar warm from his
+companion’s shoulders.
+
+But for once the loose pony had galloped past them in the darkness, and
+was already whinnying at the well-known gate of Acland’s Hut.
+
+The driver put his hand to his mouth and gave a shout, which seemed to
+echo far and wide over the silent prairie.  It was answered by a chorus
+of barking from the many dogs about the farm.  A lantern gleamed through
+the darkness, and friendly voices shouted in reply.  Another bend in the
+river brought them face to face with the rough, white gate of Acland’s
+Hut.  Behind lay the low farm-house, with its log-built walls and roof
+of clay.  Already the door stood wide, and the cheerful blaze from the
+pine-logs burning on the ample hearth within told of the hospitable
+welcome awaiting the travellers.
+
+An unseen hand undid the creaking gate, and a gruff voice from the
+darkness exchanged a hearty "All right" with Forgill.  The lantern
+seemed to dance before the horse’s head, as he drew up beneath the
+solitary tree which had been left for a hen-roost in the centre of the
+enclosure.
+
+Forgill jumped down.  He gave a helping hand to his boy companion,
+observing, "There is your aunt watching for you at the open door.  Go
+and make friends; you won’t be strangers long."
+
+"Have you got the child, Forgill?" asked an anxious woman’s voice.
+
+An old Frenchman, who fulfilled the double office of man and maid at
+Acland’s Hut, walked up to the cart and held out his arms to receive the
+expected visitor.
+
+Down leaped the boy, altogether disdaining the over-attention of the
+farming man.  Then he heard Forgill whisper, "It isn’t the little girl
+she expected, it is this here boy; but I have brought him all the same."
+
+This piece of intelligence was received with a low chuckle, and all
+three of the men became suddenly intent upon the buckles of the harness,
+leaving aunt and nephew to rectify the little mistake which had clearly
+arisen—not that they had anything to do with it.
+
+"Come in," said the aunt in kindly tones, scarcely knowing whether it
+was a boy or a girl that she was welcoming.  But when the rough
+deer-skin in which Forgill had enveloped his charge as the night drew on
+was thrown aside, the look which spread over her face was akin to
+consternation, as she asked his name and heard the prompt reply,
+"Wilfred Acland; and are you my own Aunt Miriam?  How is my uncle?"  But
+question was exchanged for question with exceeding rapidity.  Then
+remembering the boy’s long journey, Aunt Miriam drew a three-legged
+stool in front of the blazing fire, and bade him be seated.
+
+The owner of Acland’s Hut was an aged man, the eldest of a large family,
+while Wilfred’s father was the youngest.  They had been separated from
+each other in early life; the brotherly tie between them was loosely
+knitted.  Intervals of several years’ duration occurred in their
+correspondence, and many a kindly-worded epistle failed to reach its
+destination; for the adventurous daring of the elder brother led him
+again and again to sell his holding, and push his way still farther
+west.  He loved the ring of the woodman’s axe, the felling and the
+clearing.  He grew rich from the abundant yield of the virgin soil, and
+his ever-increasing droves of cattle grew fat and fine in the grassy sea
+which surrounded his homestead. All went well until his life of arduous
+toil brought on an attack of rheumatic fever, which had left him a
+bedridden old man.  Everything now depended upon the energy of his sole
+surviving sister, who had shared his fortunes.
+
+Aunt Miriam retained a more affectionate remembrance of Wilfred’s
+father, who had been her playmate. When the letter arrived announcing
+his death she was plunged in despondency.  The letter had been sent from
+place to place, and was nine months after date before it reached
+Acland’s Hut, on the verge of the lonely prairie between the Qu’appelle
+and South Saskatchewan rivers.  The letter was written by a Mr. Cromer,
+who promised to take care of the child the late Mr. Acland had left,
+until he heard from the uncle he was addressing.
+
+The brother and sister at Acland’s Hut at once started the most capable
+man on their farm to purchase their winter stores and fetch the orphan
+child.  Aunt Miriam looked back to the old letters to ascertain its age.
+In one of them the father rejoiced over the birth of a son; in another
+he spoke of a little daughter, named after herself; a third, which
+lamented the death of his wife, told also of the loss of a child—which,
+it did not say.  Aunt Miriam, with a natural partiality for her
+namesake, decided, as she re-read the brief letter, that it must be the
+girl who was living; for it was then a baby, and every one would have
+called it "the baby."  By using the word "child," the poor father must
+have referred to the eldest, the boy.
+
+"Ah! very likely," answered her brother, who had no secret preference to
+bias his expectations.  So the conjecture came to be regarded as a
+certainty, until Wilfred shook off the deer-skin and stood before his
+aunt, a strong hearty boy of thirteen summers, awkwardly shy, and
+alarmingly hungry.
+
+But her welcome was not the less kindly, as she heaped his plate again
+and again.  Wilfred was soon nodding over his supper in the very front
+of the blazing fire, basking in its genial warmth.  But the delightful
+sense of comfort and enjoyment was rather shaken when he heard his aunt
+speaking in the inner room.
+
+"Forgill has come back, Caleb; and after all it is the boy."
+
+"The boy, God bless him!  I only wish he were more of a man, to take my
+place," answered the dreamy voice of her sick brother, just rousing from
+his slumbers.
+
+"Oh, but I am so disappointed!" retorted Aunt Miriam.  "I had been
+looking forward to a dear little niece to cheer me through the winter.
+I felt so sure—"
+
+"Now, now!" laughed the old man, "that is just where it is.  If once you
+get an idea in your head, there it wedges to the exclusion of everything
+else. You like your own way, Miriam, but you cannot turn your wishes
+into a coach and six to override everything.  You cannot turn him into a
+girl."
+
+Wilfred burst out laughing, as he felt himself very unpromising material
+for the desired metamorphosis.
+
+"How shall I keep him out of mischief when we are all shut in with the
+snow?" groaned Aunt Miriam.
+
+"Let me look at him," said her brother, growing excited.
+
+When Wilfred stood by the bedside, his uncle took the boy’s warm hands
+in both his own and looked earnestly in his bright open face.
+
+"He will do," murmured the old man, sinking back amongst his pillows.
+"There, be a good lad; mind what your aunt says to you, and make
+yourself at home."
+
+While he was speaking all the light there was in the shadowy room shone
+full on Wilfred.
+
+"He is like his father," observed Aunt Miriam.
+
+"You need not tell me that," answered Caleb Acland, turning away his
+face.
+
+"Could we ever keep him out of mischief?" she sighed.
+
+Wilfred’s merry laugh jarred on their ears.  They forgot the lapse of
+time since his father’s death, and wondered to find him so cheerful.
+Aunt and nephew were decidedly out of time, and out of time means out of
+tune, as Wilfred dimly felt, without divining the reason.
+
+Morning showed him his new home in its brightest aspect.  He was up
+early and out with Forgill and the dogs, busy in the long row of
+cattle-sheds which sheltered one end of the farm-house, whilst a
+well-planted orchard screened the other.
+
+Wilfred was rejoicing in the clear air, the joyous sunshine, and the
+wonderful sense of freedom which seemed to pervade the place.  The wind
+was whispering through the belt of firs at the back of the clearing
+where Forgill had built his hut, as he made his way through the long,
+tawny grass to gather the purple vetches and tall star-like asters,
+still to be found by the banks of the reed-fringed pool where Forgill
+was watering the horses.
+
+Wilfred was intent upon propitiating his aunt, when he returned to the
+house with his autumn bouquet, and a large basket of eggs which Forgill
+had intrusted to his care.
+
+Wilfred rushed into the kitchen, elate with his morning ramble, and
+quite regardless of the long trail of muddy footsteps with which he was
+soiling the freshly-cleaned floor.
+
+"Look!" cried Aunt Miriam; but she spoke to deaf ears, for Wilfred’s
+attention was suddenly absorbed by the appearance of a stranger at the
+gate.  His horse and gun proclaimed him an early visitor.  His jaunty
+air and the glittering beads and many tassels which adorned his
+riding-boots made Wilfred wonder who he was.  He set his basket on the
+ground, and was darting off again to open the gate, when Aunt Miriam,
+finding her remonstrances vain, leaned across the table on which she was
+arranging the family breakfast and caught him by the arm.  Wilfred was
+going so fast that the sudden stoppage upset his equilibrium; down he
+went, smash into the basket of eggs.  Out flew one-half in a frantic
+dance, while the mangled remains of the other streamed across the floor.
+
+"Oh! the eggs, the eggs!" exclaimed Wilfred.
+
+Aunt Miriam, who was on the other side of the table when he came in, had
+not noticed the basket he was carrying.  She held up her hands in
+dismay, exclaiming, "I am afraid, Wilfred, you are one of the most
+aggravating boys that ever walked this earth."
+
+For the frost was coming, and eggs were growing scarce.
+
+"And so, auntie, since you can’t transform me, you have abased me
+utterly.  I humbly beg your pardon from the very dust, and lay my poor
+bruised offering at your indignant feet.  I thought the coach and six
+was coming over me, I did indeed!" exclaimed Wilfred.
+
+"Get up" reiterated Aunt Miriam angrily, her vexation heightened by the
+burst of laughter which greeted her ears from the open door, where the
+stranger now stood shaking with merriment at the ridiculous scene.
+
+"Yes, off with you, you young beggar!" he repeated, stepping aside
+good-naturedly to let Wilfred pass. For what could a fellow do but go in
+such disastrous circumstances?
+
+"It is not to be expected that the missis will put up with this sort of
+game," remarked Pêtre Fleurie, as he passed him.
+
+Wilfred began to think it better to forego his breakfast than face his
+indignant aunt.  What did she care for the handful of weeds?  The mud he
+had gone through to get them had caused all the mischief. Everywhere
+else the ground was dry and crisp with the morning frost.  "What an
+unlucky dog I am!" thought Wilfred dolefully.  "Haven’t I made a bad
+beginning, and I never meant to."  He crept under the orchard railing to
+hide himself in his repentance and keep out of everybody’s way.
+
+But it was not the weather for standing still, and he longed for
+something to do.  He took to running in and out amongst the now almost
+leafless fruit-trees to keep himself warm.
+
+Forgill, who was at work in the court putting the meat-stage in order,
+looked down into the orchard from the top of the ladder on which he was
+mounted, and called to Wilfred to come and help him.
+
+It was a very busy time on the farm.  Marley, the other labourer, who
+was Forgill’s chum in the little hut in the corner, was away in the
+prairie looking up the cows, which had been turned loose in the early
+summer to get their own living, and must now be brought in and
+comfortably housed for the winter. Forgill had been away nearly a
+fortnight.  Hands were short on the farm now the poor old master was
+laid aside.  There was land to be sold all round them; but at present it
+was unoccupied, and the nearest settler was dozens of miles away.  Their
+only neighbours were the roving hunters, who had no settled home, but
+wandered about like gipsies, living entirely by the chase and selling
+furs.  They were partly descended from the old French settlers, and
+partly Indians.  They were a careless, light-hearted, dashing set of
+fellows, who made plenty of money when skins were dear, and spent it
+almost as fast as it came. Uncle Caleb thought it prudent to keep on
+friendly terms with these roving neighbours, who were always ready to
+give him occasional help, as they were always well paid for it.
+
+"There is one of these hunter fellows here now," said Forgill.  "The
+missis is arranging with him to help me to get in the supply of meat for
+the winter."
+
+The stage at which Forgill was hammering resembled the framework of a
+very high, long, narrow table, with four tall fir poles for its legs.
+Here the meat was to be laid, high up above the reach of the many
+animals, wild and tame.  It would soon be frozen through and through as
+hard as a stone, and keep quite good until the spring thaws set in.
+
+Wilfred was quickly on the top of the stage, enjoying the prospect, for
+the atmosphere in Canada is so clear that the eye can distinguish
+objects a very long way off.  He had plenty of amusement watching the
+great buzzards and hawks, which are never long out of sight.  He had
+entered a region where birds abounded.  There were cries in the air
+above and the drumming note of the prairie-hen in the grass below. There
+were gray clouds of huge white pelicans flapping heavily along, and
+faster-flying strings of small white birds, looking like rows of pearls
+waving in the morning air.  A moving band, also of snowy white, crossing
+the blue water of a distant lakelet, puzzled him a while, until it rose
+with a flutter and scream, and proved itself another flock of northern
+geese on wing for the south, just pausing on its way to drink.
+
+Presently Wilfred was aware that Pêtre was at the foot of the ladder
+talking earnestly to Forgill.  An unpleasant tingling in his cheek told
+the subject of their conversation.  He turned his back towards them, not
+choosing to hear the remarks they might be making upon his escapade of
+the morning, until old Pêtre—or Pête as he was usually called, for
+somehow the "r" slipped out of his name on the English lips around
+him—raised his voice, protesting, "You and I know well how the black mud
+by the reed pool sticks like glue.  Now, I say, put him on the little
+brown pony, and take him with you."
+
+"Follow the hunt!" cried Wilfred, overjoyed.  "Oh, may I, Forgill?"
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER II.*
+
+                        _*HUNTING THE BUFFALO.*_
+
+
+The cloudy morning ended in a brilliant noon. Wilfred was in ecstasies
+when he found himself mounted on the sagacious Brownie, who had followed
+them like a dog on the preceding evening.
+
+Aunt Miriam had consented to Pête’s proposal with a thankfulness which
+led the hunter, Hugh Bowkett, to remark, as Wilfred trotted beside him,
+"Come, you young scamp! so you are altogether beyond petticoat
+government, are you?"
+
+"That is not true," retorted Wilfred, "for I was never out of her
+Majesty’s dominion for a single hour in my life."
+
+It was a chance hit, for Bowkett had been over the frontier more than
+once, wintering among the Yankee roughs on the other side of the border,
+a proceeding which is synonymous in the North-West Dominion with
+"getting out of the way."
+
+Bowkett was a handsome fellow, and a first-rate shot, who could
+accomplish the difficult task of hunting the long-eared, cunning
+moose-deer as well as a born Red Indian.  Wilfred looked up at him with
+secret admiration.  Not so Forgill, who owned to Pête there was no
+dependence on these half-and-half characters.  But without Bowkett’s
+help there would be no meat for the winter; and since the master had
+decided the boy was to go with them, there was nothing more to be said.
+
+Aunt Miriam came to the gate, in her hood and cloak, to see them depart.
+
+"Good-bye! good-bye, auntie!" shouted Wilfred. "I am awfully sorry about
+those eggs."
+
+"Ah, you rogue! do you think I am going to believe you?"  She laughed,
+shaking a warning finger at him; and so they parted, little dreaming of
+all that would happen before they met again.
+
+Wilfred was equipped in an old, smoked deer-skin coat of his uncle’s,
+and a fur cap with a flap falling like a cape on his neck, and
+ear-pieces which met under his chin.  He was a tall boy of his age, and
+his uncle was a little, wiry man.  The coat was not very much too long
+for him.  It wrapped over famously in front, and was belted round the
+waist.  Pête had filled the pockets with a good supply of biscuit, and
+one or two potatoes, which he thought Wilfred could roast for his supper
+in the ashes of the campfire.  For the hunting-party expected to camp
+out in the open for a night or two, as the buffaloes they were in quest
+of were further to seek and harder to find every season.
+
+Forgill had stuck a hunting-knife in Wilfred’s belt, to console him for
+the want of a gun.  The boy would have liked to carry a gun like the
+others, but on that point there was a resolute "No" all round.
+
+As they left the belt of pine trees, and struck out into the vast,
+trackless sea of grass, Wilfred looked back to the light blue column of
+smoke from the farm-house chimney, and wistfully watched it curling
+upwards in the clear atmosphere, with a dash of regret that he had not
+yet made friends with his uncle, or recovered his place in Aunt Miriam’s
+good graces. But it scarcely took off the edge of his delight.
+
+Forgill was in the cart, which he hoped to bring back loaded with game.
+At the corner of the first bluff, as the hills in Canada are usually
+called, they encountered Bowkett’s man with a string of horses, one of
+which he rode.  There was a joyous blaze of sunshine glinting through
+the broad fringes of white pines which marked the course of the river,
+making redder the red stems of the Norwegians which sprang up here and
+there in vivid contrast.  A light canoe of tawny birch-bark, with its
+painted prow, was threading a narrow passage by the side of a tiny eyot
+or islet, where the pine boughs seemed to meet high overhead.  The
+hunters exchanged a shout of recognition with its skilful rower, ere a
+stately heron, with grand crimson eye and leaden wings, came slowly
+flapping down the stream intent on fishing.  Then the little party wound
+their way by ripple-worn rocks, covered with mosses and lichens.  At
+last, on one of the few bare spots on a distant hillside, some dark
+moving specks became visible.  The hunt began in earnest. Away went the
+horsemen over the wide, open plain. Wilfred and the cart following more
+slowly, yet near enough to watch the change to the stealthy approach and
+the cautious outlook over the hill-top, where the hunter’s practised eye
+had detected the buffalo.
+
+"Keep close by me," said Forgill to his young companion, as they wound
+their way upwards, and reached the brow of the hill just in time to
+watch the wild charge upon the herd, which scattered in desperate
+flight, until the hindmost turned to bay upon his reckless pursuers, his
+shaggy head thrown up as he stood for a moment at gaze.  With a whoop
+and a cheer, in which Wilfred could not help joining, Bowkett again gave
+chase, followed by his man Diomé. A snap shot rattled through the air.
+Forgill drew the cart aside to the safer shelter of a wooded copse, out
+of the line of the hunters.  He knew the infuriated buffalo would
+shortly turn on his pursuers.  The loose horses were racing after their
+companions, and Brownie was quivering with excitement.
+
+"Hold hard!" cried Forgill, who saw the boy was longing to give the pony
+its head and follow suit. "Quiet, my lad," he continued.  "None of us
+are up to that sort of work.  It takes your breath to look at them."
+
+The buffalo was wheeling round.  Huge and unwieldy as the beast
+appeared, it changed its front with the rapidity of lightning.  Then
+Bowkett backed his horse and fled.  On the proud beast thundered, with
+lowered eyes flashing furiously under its shaggy brows.  A bullet from
+Diomé’s gun struck him on the forehead.  He only shook his haughty head
+and bellowed till the prairie rang; but his pace slackened as the
+answering cries of the retreating herd seemed to call him back.  He was
+within a yard of Bowkett’s horse, when round he swung as swiftly and
+suddenly as he had advanced.  Wilfred stood up in his stirrups to watch
+him galloping after his companions, through a gap in a broken bluff at
+no great distance.  Away went Bowkett and Diomé, urging on their horses
+with shout and spur.
+
+"Halt a bit," said Forgill, restraining Wilfred and his pony, until they
+saw the two hunters slowly returning over the intervening ridge with
+panting horses.  They greeted the approach of the cart with a hurrah of
+success, proposing, as they drew nearer, to halt for dinner in the
+shelter of the gap through which the buffalo had taken its way.
+
+Wilfred was soon busy with Diomé gathering the dry branches last night’s
+wind had broken to make a fire, whilst Bowkett and Forgill went forward
+with the cart to look for the fallen quarry.
+
+It was the boy’s first lesson in camping out, and he enjoyed it
+immensely, taking his turn at the frying-pan with such success that
+Diomé proposed to hand it over to his exclusive use for the rest of
+their expedition.
+
+It was hard work to keep the impudent blue jays, with which the prairie
+abounded, from darting at the savoury fry, and pecking out the very
+middle of the steak, despite the near neighbourhood of smoke and flame,
+which threatened to singe their wings in the mad attempt.
+
+But in spite of the thievish birds, dinner was eaten and appreciated in
+the midst of so much laughter and chaff that even Forgill unbent.
+
+But a long day’s work was yet before them, spurring over the sand-ridges
+and through the rustling grass. They had almost reached one of the
+westward jutting spurs of the Touchwood Hills, when the sun went down.
+As it neared the earth and sank amidst the glorious hues of emerald and
+gold, the dark horizon line became visible for a few brief instants
+across its blood-red face; but so distant did it seem, so very far away,
+the whole scene became dreamlike from its immensity.
+
+"We’ve done, my lads!" shouted Bowkett; "we have about ended as glorious
+a day’s sport as ever I had."
+
+"Not yet," retorted Diomé.  "Just listen."  There was a trampling,
+snorting sound as of many cattle on the brink of a lakelet sheltering at
+the foot of the neighbouring hills.
+
+Were they not in the midst of what the early Canadian settlers used to
+call the Land of the Wild Cows?  Those sounds proceeded from another
+herd coming down for its evening drink.  On they crept with stealthy
+steps through bush and bulrush to get a nearer view in the bewildering
+shadows, which were growing darker and darker every moment.
+
+"Stop! stop!" cried Forgill, hurrying forward, as the light yet
+lingering on the lake showed the familiar faces of his master’s cows
+stooping down to reach the pale blue water at their feet.  Yes, there
+they were, the truant herd Marley was endeavouring in vain to find.
+
+Many a horned head was lifted at the sound of Forgill’s well-known call.
+Away he went into the midst of the group, pointing out the great "A" he
+had branded deep in the thick hair on the left shoulder before he had
+turned them loose.
+
+What was now to be done?
+
+"Drive them home," said the careful Forgill, afraid of losing them
+again.  But Bowkett was not willing to return.
+
+Meanwhile Diomé and Wilfred were busy preparing for the night at the
+spot where they had halted, when the presence of the herd was first
+perceived. They had brought the horses down to the lake to water at a
+sufficient distance from the cows not to disturb them.  But one or two
+of the wanderers began to "moo," as if they partially recognized their
+former companions.
+
+"They will follow me and the horses," pursued Forgill, who knew he could
+guide his way across the trackless prairie by the aid of the stars.
+
+"If you come upon Marley," he said, "he can take my place in the cart,
+for he has most likely found the trail of the cows by this time; or if I
+cross his path, I shall leave him to drive home the herd and return. You
+will see one of us before morning."
+
+"As you like," replied Bowkett, who knew he could do without either man
+provided he kept the cart. "You will probably see us back at the gate of
+Acland’s Hut by to-morrow night; and if we do not bring you game enough,
+we must plan a second expedition when you have more leisure."
+
+So it was settled between them.
+
+Forgill hurried back to the camping place to get his supper before he
+started.  Bowkett lingered behind, surveying the goodly herd, whilst
+vague schemes for combining the twofold advantages of hunter and farmer
+floated through his mind.
+
+When he rejoined his companions he found them seated round a blazing
+fire, enjoying the boiling kettle of tea, the fried steak, and biscuit
+which composed their supper.  The saddles were hung up on the branches
+of the nearest tree, and the skins and blankets which were to make their
+bed were already spread upon the pine brush which strewed the ground.
+
+"Now, young ’un," said Forgill solemnly, "strikes me I had better keep
+you alongside anyhow."
+
+"No, no," retorted Diomé.  "The poor little fellow has been in the
+saddle all day, and he is dead asleep already; leave him under his
+blankets.  He’ll be right enough; must learn to rough it sooner or
+later."
+
+Forgill, who had to be his own tailor and washer-woman, was lamenting
+over a rent in his sleeve, which he was endeavouring to stitch up.  For
+a housewife, with its store of needles and thread, was never absent from
+his pocket.
+
+His awkward attempts awakened the mirth of his companions.
+
+"What, poor old boy! haven’t you got a wife at home to do the stitching
+for you?" asked Diomé.
+
+"When you have passed the last oak which grows on this side the Red
+River, are there a dozen English women in a thousand miles?" asked
+Forgill; and then he added, "The few there are are mostly real ladies,
+the wives of district governors and chief factors.  A fellow must make
+up his mind to do for himself and rub through as he can."
+
+"Unless he follows my father’s example," put in Bowkett, "and chooses
+himself a faithful drudge from an Indian wigwam.  He would want no other
+tailor or washerwoman, for there are no such diligent workers in the
+world.  Look at that," he continued, pointing to his beautifully
+embroidered leggings, the work of his Indian relations.
+
+"Pay a visit to our hunters’ winter camp," added Diomé, "and we will
+show you what an old squaw can do to make home comfortable."
+
+There was this difference between the men: Diomé who had been left by
+his French father to be brought up by his Indian mother, resembled her
+in many things; whilst Bowkett, whose father was English, despised his
+Indian mother, and tried to make himself more and more of an Englishman.
+This led him to cultivate the acquaintance with the Aclands.
+
+"I am going to send your mistress a present," he said, "of a mantle
+woven of wild dogs’ hair.  It belonged to the daughter of an Indian
+chief from the Rocky Mountains.  It has a fringe a foot deep, and is
+covered all over with embroidery.  You will see then what a squaw can
+do."
+
+Forgill did not seem over-pleased at this information.
+
+"Are you talking of my Aunt Miriam?" asked Wilfred, opening his sleepy
+eyes.
+
+"So you are thinking about her," returned Forgill. "That’s right, my
+lad; for your aunt and uncle at Acland’s Hut are the only kith and kin
+you have left, and they are quite ready to make much of you, and you
+can’t make too much of them."
+
+"You have overshot the mark there," laughed Bowkett; "rather think the
+missis was glad to be rid of the young plague on any terms."
+
+Diomé pulled the blankets over Wilfred’s head, and wished him a _bonne
+nuit_ (good night).
+
+When the boy roused up at last Forgill had long since departed, and
+Diomé, who had been the first to awaken, was vigorously clapping his
+hands to warm them, and was shouting, "_Lève! lève! lève!_" to his
+sleepy companions.
+
+"Get up," interpreted Bowkett, who saw that Wilfred did not understand
+his companion’s provincial French.  Then suiting the action to the word,
+he crawled out from between the shafts of the cart, where he had passed
+the night, tossed off his blankets and gave himself a shake, dressing
+being no part of the morning performances during camping out in the
+Canadian wilds, as every one puts on all the clothing he has at going to
+bed, to keep himself warm through the night.
+
+The fire was reduced to a smouldering ash-heap, and every leaf and twig
+around was sparkling with hoar-frost, for the frost had deepened in the
+night, and joints were stiff and limbs were aching.  A run for a mile
+was Bowkett’s remedy, and a look round for the horses, which had been
+turned loose, Canadian fashion, to get their supper where they could
+find it.
+
+The first red beams of the rising sun were tinging the glassy surface of
+the lake when Bowkett came upon the scattered quadrupeds, and drove
+them, with Wilfred’s assistance, down to its blue waters for their
+morning drink.
+
+Diomé’s shouts recalled them to their own breakfast.  He was a man of
+many tongues, invariably scolding in French—especially the horses and
+dogs, who heeded it, he asserted, better than any other language except
+Esquimau—explaining in English, and coming out with the Indian "Caween"
+when discourse required an animated "no."  "Caween," he reiterated now,
+as Bowkett asked, "Are we to dawdle about all day for these English
+cow-keepers?"  For neither Forgill nor Marley had yet put in an
+appearance.
+
+The breakfast was not hurried over.  The fire was built up bigger than
+ever before they left, that its blackened remains might mark their
+camping place for days, if the farming men came after them.
+
+Wilfred, who had buckled the saddle on Brownie, received a riding
+lesson, and then they started, Diomé driving the cart.  Wilfred kept
+beside him at first, but growing bolder as his spirits rose, he trotted
+onward to exchange a word with Bowkett.
+
+The sharp, frosty night seemed likely to be followed by a day of bright
+and mellow sunshine.  The exhilarating morning breeze banished all
+thoughts of fear and care from the light-hearted trio; and when the tall
+white stems of the pines appeared to tremble in the mid-day mirage,
+Wilfred scampered hither and thither, as merry as the little gopher, or
+ground squirrel, that was gambolling across his path.  But no large game
+had yet been sighted.  Then all unexpectedly a solitary buffalo stalked
+majestically across what was now the entrance to a valley, but what
+would become the bed of a rushing river when the ice was melting in the
+early spring.
+
+Bowkett paused, looked to his rifle and saddle-girths, waved his arm to
+Wilfred to fall back, and with a shout that made the boy’s heart leap
+dashed after it.  Wilfred urged his Brownie up the bank, where he
+thought he could safely watch the chase and enjoy a repetition of the
+exciting scenes of yesterday.
+
+Finding itself pursued, the buffalo doubled.  On it came, tearing up the
+ground in its course, and seeming to shake the quivering trees with its
+mighty bellow. Brownie plunged and reared, and Wilfred was flung
+backwards, a senseless heap at the foot of the steep bank.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER III.*
+
+                        _*THE FIRST SNOWSTORM.*_
+
+
+IN the midst of the danger and excitement of the chase, Bowkett had not
+a thought to spare for Wilfred.  He and Diomé were far too busy to even
+wonder what had become of him.  It was not until their work was done,
+and the proverbial hunger of the hunter urged them to prepare for
+dinner, that the question arose.
+
+"Where on earth is that young scoundrel of a boy? Has he fallen back so
+far that it will take him all day to recover ground?" asked Bowkett.
+
+"And if it is so," remarked Diomé, "he has only to give that cunning
+little brute its head.  It is safe to follow the track of the
+cart-wheel, and bring him in for the glorious teasing that is waiting to
+sugar his tea."
+
+"Rare seasoning for the frying-pan," retorted Bowkett, as he lit his
+pipe, and proposed to halt a bit longer until the truant turned up.
+
+"Maybe," suggested Diomé, "if May bees fly in October, that moose-eared
+pony [the long ears of the moose detect the faintest sound at an
+inconceivable distance] has been more than a match for his raw
+equestrianism.  It has heard the jog-trot of that solemn and sober
+cowherd, and galloped him off to join his old companions.  What will
+become of the scattered flock?"
+
+"Without a leader," put in Bowkett.  "I have a great mind to bid for the
+office."
+
+"Oh, oh!" laughed Diomé.  "I have something of the keen scent of my
+Indian grandfather; I began to sniff the wind when that mantle was
+talked about last night.  Now then, are we going to track back to find
+this boy?"
+
+"I do not know where you propose to look for him, but I can tell you
+where you will find him—munching cakes on his auntie’s lap.  We may as
+well save time by looking in the likeliest place first," retorted
+Bowkett.
+
+The bivouac over, they returned to Acland’s Hut with their well-laden
+cart, and Wilfred was left behind them, no one knew where.  The hunters’
+careless conclusions were roughly shaken, when they saw a riderless pony
+trotting leisurely after them to the well-known door.  Old Pête came out
+and caught it by the bridle.  An ever-rising wave of consternation was
+spreading.  No one as yet had put it into words, until Forgill emerged
+from the cattle-sheds with a sack on his shoulder, exclaiming, "Where’s
+the boy?"
+
+"With you, is not he?  He did not say much to us; either he or his pony
+started off to follow you. He was an unruly one, you know," replied
+Bowkett. Forgill’s only answer was a hoarse shout to Marley, who had
+returned from his wanderings earlier in the day, to come with torches.
+Diomé joined them in the search.
+
+Bowkett stepped into the house to allay Aunt Miriam’s fears with his
+regret the boy had somehow given them the slip, but Forgill and Diomé
+had gone back for him.
+
+An abundant and what seemed to them a luxuriant supper had been provided
+for the hunting party. Whilst Bowkett sat down to enjoy it to his
+heart’s content, Aunt Miriam wandered restlessly from room to room,
+cautiously breaking the ill news to her brother, by telling him only
+half the hunting party had yet turned up.  Pête was watching for the
+stragglers.
+
+He roused himself up to ask her who was missing.
+
+But her guarded reply reassured him, and he settled back to sleep.  Such
+mishaps were of every-day occurrence.
+
+"A cold night for camping out," he murmured. "You will see them with the
+daylight."
+
+But the chilly hour which precedes the dawn brought with it a heavy fall
+of snow.
+
+Aunt Miriam’s heart sank like lead, for she knew that every track would
+be obliterated now.  Bowkett still laughed away her fears.  Find the boy
+they would, benumbed perhaps at the foot of a tree, or huddled up in
+some sheltering hollow.
+
+Then Aunt Miriam asked Bowkett if he would earn her everlasting
+gratitude, by taking the dogs and Pête, with skins and blankets—
+
+"And bringing the truant home," responded Bowkett boastfully.
+
+The farm-house, with its double doors and windows, its glowing stoves in
+every room, was as warm and cozy within as the night without was
+cheerless and cold.  Bowkett, who had been enjoying his taste of true
+English comfort, felt its allurements enhanced by the force of the
+contrast.  Aunt Miriam barred the door behind him with a great deal of
+unearned gratitude in her heart.  Her confidence in Forgill was shaken.
+He ought not to have brought home the cows and left her nephew behind.
+Yet the herd was so valuable, and he felt himself responsible to his
+master for their well-being.  She did not blame Forgill; she blamed
+herself for letting Wilfred go with him.  She leaned upon the hunter’s
+assurances, for she knew that his resource and daring, and his knowledge
+of the country, were far greater than that possessed by either of the
+farming men.
+
+The storm which had burst at daybreak had shrouded all around in a dense
+white sheet of driving snowflakes.  Even objects close at hand showed
+dim and indistinct in the gray snow-light.  On the search-party went,
+groping their way through little clumps of stunted bushes, which
+frequently deceived them by a fancied resemblance to a boyish figure,
+now throwing up its arms to call attention, now huddled in a darkling
+heap.  Their shouts received no answer: that went for little.  The boy
+must long ago have succumbed to such a night without fire or shelter
+They felt among the bushes.  The wet mass of snow struck icily cold on
+hands and faces.  A bitter, biting wind swept down the river from the
+north-east, breaking the tall pine branches and uprooting many a
+sapling.  The two search-parties found each other that was all.  Such
+weather in itself makes many a man feel savage-tempered and sullen.  If
+they spoke at all, it was to blame one another.
+
+While thus they wandered to and fro over the hunting-ground of
+yesterday, where was the boy they failed to meet?  Where was Wilfred?
+Fortunately for him the grass grew thick and tall at the bottom of the
+bank down which he had fallen.  Lost to view amid the waving yellow
+tufts which had sprung up to giant size in the bed of the dried-up
+stream, he lay for some time in utter unconsciousness; whilst the
+frightened pony, finding itself free, galloped madly away over the sandy
+ridges they had been crossing earlier in the morning.
+
+By slow degrees sight and sound returned to the luckless boy.  He was
+bruised and shaken, and one ankle which he had bent under him made him
+cry out with pain when he tried to rise.  At last he drew himself into a
+sitting posture and looked around. Recollections came back confusedly at
+first.  As his ideas grew clearer, he began to realize what had
+happened. Overhead the sky was gloomy and dark.  A stormy wind swept the
+whitened grass around him into billowy waves.  Wilfred’s first thought
+was to shout to his companions; but his voice was weak and faint, and a
+longing for a little water overcame him.
+
+Finding himself unable to walk, he dropped down again in the grassy nest
+which he had formed for himself, and tried to think.  The weight of his
+fall had crushed the grass beneath him into the soft clayey mud at the
+bottom of the valley.  But the pain in his ankle predominated over every
+other consideration. His first attempt to help himself was to take the
+knife out of his belt and cut down some of the grass within reach, and
+make a softer bed on which to rest it.  His limbs were stiffening with
+the cold, and whilst he had still feeling enough in his fingers to undo
+his boot, he determined to try to bind up his ankle.  Whilst he held it
+pressed between both his hands it seemed easier.
+
+But Wilfred knew he must not sit there waiting for Forgill, who, he felt
+sure, would come and look for him if he had rejoined the hunting party:
+if—there were so many _ifs_ clinging to every thought Wilfred grew
+desperate.  He grasped a great handful of the sticky clay and pressed it
+round his ankle in a stiff, firm band.  There was a change in the
+atmosphere.  In the morning that clay would have been hard and crisp
+with the frost, now it was yielding in his hand; surely the snow was
+coming.  Boy as he was, he knew what that would do for him—he should be
+buried beneath it in the hole in which he lay.  It roused him to the
+uttermost.  Deep down in Wilfred’s nature there was a vein of that cool
+daring which the great Napoleon called "two o’clock in the morning
+courage"—a feeling which rises highest in the face of danger, borrowing
+little from its surroundings, and holding only to its own.
+
+"If," repeated Wilfred, as his thoughts ran on—"if they could not find
+me, and that is likely enough, am I going to lie here and die?"
+
+He looked up straight into the leaden sky.  "There is nothing between us
+and God’s heaven," he thought. "It is we who see such a little way.  He
+can send me help.  It may be coming for what I know, one way or another.
+What is the use of sitting here thinking? Has Bowkett missed me?  Will
+he turn back to look me up?  Will Forgill come?  If I fall asleep down
+in this grass, how could they see me?  Any way, I must get out of this
+hole."  He tore the lining out of his cap and knotted it round his
+ankle, to keep the clay in place; but to put his boot on again was an
+impossibility.  Even he knew his toes would freeze before morning if he
+left them uncovered.  He took his knife and cut off the fur edge down
+the front of the old skin coat, and wound his foot up in it as fast as
+he could.  Then, dragging his boot along with him, he tried hard to
+crawl up the bank; but it was too steep for him, and he slipped back
+again, hurting himself a little more at every slide.
+
+This, he told himself, was most unnecessary, as he was sore enough and
+stiff enough before.  Another bad beginning.  What was the use of
+stopping short at a bad beginning?  He thought of Bruce and his spider.
+He had not tried seven times yet.
+
+Wilfred’s next attempt was to crawl towards the entrance of the
+valley—this was easier work.  Then he remembered the biscuit in his
+pocket.  It was not all gone yet.  He drew himself up and began to eat
+it gladly enough, for he had had nothing since his breakfast.  The
+biscuit was very hard, and he crunched it, making all the noise he
+could.  It seemed a relief to make any sort of sound in that awful
+stillness.
+
+He was growing almost cheery as he ate.  "If I can only find the
+cart-track," he thought; "and I must be near it.  Diomé was behind us
+when I was thrown; he must have driven past the end of this valley.  If
+I could only climb a tree, I might see where the grass was crushed by
+the cart-wheel."
+
+But this was just what Wilfred could not do.  The last piece of biscuit
+was in his hand, when a dog leaped out of the bushes on the bank above
+him and flew at it. Wilfred seized his boot to defend himself; but that
+was hopeless work, crawling on the ground.  It was a better thought to
+fling the biscuit to the dog, for if he enraged it—ah! it might tear him
+to pieces.  It caught the welcome boon in its teeth, and devoured it,
+pawing the ground impatiently for more.  Wilfred had but one potato
+left.  He began to cut it in slices and toss them to the dog.  A bright
+thought had struck him: this dog might have a master near.  No doubt
+about that; and if he were only a wild Red Indian, he was yet a man.
+Full of this idea, Wilfred emptied out his pockets to see if a corner of
+biscuit was left at the bottom.  There were plenty of crumbs.  He forgot
+his own hunger, and held out his hand to the dog. It was evidently
+starving.  It sat down before him, wagging its bushy tail and moving its
+jaws beseechingly, in a mute appeal for food.  Wilfred drew himself a
+little nearer, talking and coaxing.  One sweep of the big tongue and the
+pile of crumbs had vanished.
+
+There was a sound—a crashing, falling sound—in the distance.  How they
+both listened!  Off rushed the furry stranger.
+
+"It is my chance," thought Wilfred, "my only chance."
+
+He picked up the half-eaten potato and scrambled after the dog, quite
+forgetting his pain in his desperation. A vociferous barking in the
+distance urged him on.
+
+It was not Bowkett, by the strange dog; but another hunting party might
+be near.  The noise he had heard was the fall of some big game.  Hope
+rose high; but he soon found himself obliged to rest, and then he
+shouted with all his might.  He was making his way up the valley now.
+He saw before him a clump of willows, whose drooping boughs must have
+lapped the stream.  His boot was too precious to be left behind; he
+slung it to his belt, and then crawled on.  One more effort.  He had
+caught the nearest bough, and, by its help, he drew himself upright.  Oh
+the pain in the poor foot when he let it touch the ground! it made him
+cry out again and again.  Still he persisted in his purpose.  He grasped
+a stronger stem arching higher overhead, and swung himself clear from
+the ground.  The pliant willow swayed hither and thither in the stormy
+blast.  Wilfred almost lost his hold. The evening shadows were gathering
+fast.  The dead leaves swept down upon him with every gust.  The wind
+wailed and sighed amongst the tall white grass and the bulrushes at his
+feet.  It was impossible to resist a feeling of utter desolation.
+
+Wilfred shut his eyes upon the dreary scene.  The snatch of prayer on
+his lips brought back the bold spirit of an hour ago.  He rested the
+poor injured ankle on his other foot, and drew himself up, hand over
+hand, higher and higher, to the topmost bough, and there he clung, until
+a stronger blast than ever flung him backwards towards the bank.  He
+felt the bough giving way beneath his weight, and, with a desperate
+spring, clutched at the stunted bushes which had scratched his cheek
+when for one moment, in the toss of the gale, he had touched the hard,
+firm, stony ridge.  Another moment, and Wilfred found himself, gasping
+and breathless, on the higher ground.  An uprooted tree came down with a
+shock of thunder, shaking the earth beneath him, loosening the
+water-washed stones, and crashing among the decaying branches of its
+fellow pines.
+
+At last the whirl of dust and stones subsided, and the barking of the
+dog made itself heard once more above the roar of the gale.  Trembling
+at his hair-breadth escape, Wilfred cleared the dust from his eyes and
+looked about him.  A dark form was lying upon the shelving ground.  He
+could just distinguish the outstretched limbs and branching antlers of a
+wild moose-deer.
+
+Whoever the hunter might be he would seek his quarry.  Wilfred felt
+himself saved.  The tears swam before his eyes.  He was looking upward
+in the intensity of his thankfulness.  He did not see the arrow
+quivering still in the dead deer’s flank, or he would have known that it
+could only have flown from some Indian bow.
+
+He had nothing to do but to wait, to wait and shout. A warm touch on the
+tip of his ear made him look round; the dog had returned to him.  It,
+too, had been struck—a similar arrow was sticking in the back of its
+neck.  It twisted its head round as far as it was possible, vainly
+trying to reach it, and then looked at Wilfred with a mute, appealing
+glance there was no mistaking.  The boy sat up, laid one hand on the
+dog’s back, and grasped the arrow with the other. He tugged at it with
+all his might; the point was deep in the flesh.  But it came out at
+last, followed by a gush of blood.
+
+"Stand still, good dog.  There, quiet, quiet!" cried Wilfred quickly, as
+he tore a bit of fur off his cap and plugged the hole.
+
+The poor wounded fellow seemed to understand all about it.  He only
+turned his head and licked the little bit of Wilfred’s face that was
+just visible under his overwhelming cap.  A doggie’s gratitude is never
+wanting.
+
+"Don’t, you stupid," said Wilfred.  "How am I to see what I am about if
+you keep washing me between my eyes?  There! just what I expected, it is
+out again.  Now, steady."
+
+Another try, and the plug was in again, firmer than before.
+
+"There, there!  lie down, and let me hold it a bit," continued Wilfred,
+carefully considering his shaggy acquaintance.
+
+He was a big, handsome fellow, with clean, strong legs and a hairy coat,
+which hung about his keen, bright eyes and almost concealed them.  But
+the fur was worn and chafed around his neck and across his back, leaving
+no doubt in Wilfred’s mind as to what he was.
+
+"You have been driven in a sledge, old boy," he said, as he continued to
+fondle him.  "You’ve worn harness until it has torn your coat and made
+it shabbier than mine.  You are no hunter’s dog, as I hoped.  I expect
+you have been overdriven, lashed along until you dropped down in the
+traces; and then your hard-hearted driver undid your harness, and left
+you to live or die.  Oh!  I know their cruel ways.  How long have you
+been wandering?  It isn’t in nature that I shouldn’t feel for you, for I
+am afraid, old fellow, I am in for such another ’do.’"
+
+Wilfred was not talking to deaf ears.  The dog lay down beside him, and
+stretched its long paws across his knee, looking up in his face, as if a
+word of kindness were something so new, so unimagined, so utterly
+incomprehensible.  Was it the first he had ever heard?
+
+No sunset glory brightened the dreary scene.  All around them was an
+ever-deepening gloom.  Wilfred renewed his shouts at intervals, and the
+dog barked as if in answer.  Then followed a long silent pause, when
+Wilfred listened as if his whole soul were in his ears.  Was there the
+faintest echo of a sound? Who could distinguish in the teeth of the
+gale, still tearing away the yellow leaves from the storm-tossed
+branches, and scaring the wild fowl from marsh and lakelet?  Who could
+tell?  And yet there was a shadow thrown across the white pine stem.
+
+Another desperate shout.  Wilfred’s heart was in his mouth as he strove
+to make himself heard above the roar of the wind.  On came the stately
+figure of a wild Cree chief.  His bow was in his hand, but he was
+glancing upwards at the stormy sky.  His stealthy movements and his
+light and noiseless tread had been unheard, even by the dog.
+
+The Indian was wearing the usual dress of the Cree—a coat of skin with a
+scarlet belt, and, as the night was cold, his raven elf-locks were
+covered with a little cap his squaw had manufactured from a rat-skin.
+His blue cloth leggings and beautiful embroidered moccasins were not so
+conspicuous in the fading light.  Wilfred could but notice the
+fingerless deer-skin mittens covering the hand which grasped his bow.
+His knife and axe were stuck in his belt, from which his well-filled
+quiver hung.
+
+Wilfred tumbled himself on to one knee, and holding out the arrow he had
+extracted from the dog, he pointed to the dead game on the bank.
+
+Wilfred was more truly afraid of the wild-looking creature before him
+than he would have been of the living moose.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER IV.*
+
+                      _*MAXICA, THE CREE INDIAN.*_
+
+
+Wilfred thought his fears were only too well-founded when he saw the
+Indian lay an arrow on his bow-string and point it towards him. He had
+heard that Indians shoot high.  Down he flung himself flat on his face,
+exclaiming, "Spare me! spare me!  I’m nothing but a boy."
+
+The dog growled savagely beside him.
+
+Despite the crash of the storm the Indian’s quick ear had detected the
+sound of a human voice, and his hand was stayed.  He seemed groping
+about him, as if to find the speaker.
+
+"I am here," shouted Wilfred, "and there is the moose your arrow has
+brought down."
+
+The Indian pointed to his own swarthy face, saying with a grave dignity,
+"The day has gone from me.  I know it no longer.  In the dim, dim
+twilight which comes before the night I perceive the movement, but I no
+longer see the game.  Yet I shoot, for the blind man must eat."
+
+Wilfred turned upon his side, immensely comforted to hear himself
+answered in such intelligent English. He crawled a little nearer to the
+wild red man, and surveyed him earnestly as he tried to explain the
+disaster which had left him helpless in so desolate a spot.  He knew he
+was in the hunting-grounds of the Crees, one of the most friendly of the
+Indian tribes.  His being there gave no offence to the blind archer, for
+the Indians hold the earth is free to all.
+
+The chief was wholly intent upon securing the moose Wilfred had told him
+his arrow had brought down.
+
+"I have missed the running stream," he went on. "I felt the willow
+leaves, but the bed by which they are growing is a grassy slope."
+
+"How could you know it?" asked Wilfred, in astonishment.
+
+The Indian picked up a stone and threw it over the bank.  "Listen," he
+said; "no splash, no gurgle, no water there."  He stumbled against the
+fallen deer, and stooping down, felt it all over with evident rejoicing.
+
+He had been medicine man and interpreter for his tribe before the
+blindness to which the Indians are so subject had overwhelmed him.  It
+arises from the long Canadian winter, the dazzling whiteness of the
+frozen snow, over which they roam for three parts of the year, which
+they only exchange for the choking smoke that usually fills their
+chimneyless wig-wams.
+
+The Cree was thinking now how best to secure his prize.  He carefully
+gathered together the dry branches the storm was breaking and tearing
+away in every direction, and carefully covered it over.  Then he took
+his axe from his belt and cut a gash in the bark of the nearest tree to
+mark the spot.
+
+Wilfred sat watching every movement with a nervous excitement, which
+helped to keep his blood from freezing and his heart from failing.
+
+The dog was walking cautiously round and round whilst this work was
+going forward.
+
+The Cree turned to Wilfred.
+
+"You are a boy of the Moka-manas?" (big knives, an Indian name for the
+white men).
+
+"Yes," answered Wilfred.
+
+When the _cache_, as the Canadians call such a place as the Indian was
+making, was finished, the darkness of night had fallen.  Poor Wilfred
+sat clapping his hands, rubbing his knees, and hugging the dog to keep
+himself from freezing altogether.  He could scarcely tell what his
+companion was about, but he heard the breaking of sticks and a steady
+sound of chopping and clearing.  Suddenly a bright flame shot up in the
+murky midnight, and Wilfred saw before him a well-built pyramid of logs
+and branches, through which the fire was leaping and running until the
+whole mass became one steady blaze.  Around the glowing heap the Indian
+had cleared away the thick carpet of pine brush and rubbish, banking it
+up in a circle as a defence from the cutting wind.
+
+He invited Wilfred to join him, as he seated himself in front of the
+glowing fire, wrapped his bearskin round him, and lit his pipe.
+
+The whole scene around them was changed as if by magic.  The freezing
+chill, the unutterable loneliness had vanished.  The ruddy light of the
+fire played and flickered among the shadowy trees, casting bright
+reflections of distorted forms along the whitening ground, and lighting
+up the cloudy sky with a radiance that must have been visible for miles.
+Wilfred was not slow in making his way into the charmed circle.  He got
+over the ground like a worm, wriggling himself along until his feet were
+over the bank, and down he dropped in front of the glorious fire.  He
+coiled himself round with a sense of exquisite enjoyment, stretching his
+stiffened limbs and spreading his hands to the glowing warmth, and
+altogether behaving in as senseless a fashion as the big doggie himself.
+He had waited for no invitation, bounding up to Wilfred in extravagant
+delight, and now lay rolling over and over before the fire, giving
+sharp, short barks of delight at the unexpected pleasure.
+
+It was bliss, it was ecstasy, it was paradise, that sudden change from
+the bleak, dark, shivering night to the invigorating warmth and the
+cheery glow.
+
+The Cree sat back in dreamy silence, sending great whiffs of smoke from
+the carved red-stone bowl of his long pipe, and watching the dog and the
+boy at play. Their presence in noways detracted from his Indian comfort,
+for the puppy and the pappoose are the Cree’s delight by his wigwam
+fire.
+
+Hunger and thirst were almost forgotten, until Wilfred remembered his
+potato, and began to busy himself with roasting it in the ashes.  But
+the dog, mistaking his purpose, and considering it a most inappropriate
+gift to the fire, rolled it out again before it was half roasted, and
+munched it up with great gusto.
+
+"There’s a shame! you bad old greedy boy," exclaimed Wilfred, when he
+found out what the dog was eating.  "Well," he philosophised, determined
+to make the best of what could not now be helped, "I had a breakfast,
+and you—why, you look as if you had had neither breakfast, dinner, nor
+supper for many a long day.  How have you existed?"
+
+But this question was answered before the night was out.  The potato was
+hot, and the impatient dog burned his lips.  After sundry shakings and
+rubbings of his nose in the earth, the sagacious old fellow jumped up
+the bank and ran off.  When he returned, his tongue touched damp and
+cool, and there were great drops of water hanging in his hair.  Up
+sprang the thirsty Wilfred to search for the spring.  The Cree was
+nodding; but the boy had no fear of losing himself, with that glorious
+fire-shine shedding its radiance far and wide through the lonely night.
+He called the dog to follow him, and groped along the edge of the
+dried-up watercourse, sometimes on all fours, sometimes trying to take a
+step.  Painful as it was, he was satisfied his foot was none the worse
+for a little movement. His effort was rewarded.  He caught the echo of a
+trickling sound from a corner of rock jutting out of the stunted bushes.
+The dog, which seemed now to guess the object of his search, led him up
+to a breakage in the lichen-covered stone, through which a bubbling
+spring dashed its warm spray into their faces.  Yes, it was warm; and
+when Wilfred stooped to catch the longed-for water in his hands, it was
+warm to his lips, with a strong disagreeable taste.  No matter, it was
+water; it was life.  It was more than simple water; he had lighted on a
+sulphur spring.  Wilfred drank eagerly as he felt its tonic effects
+fortifying him against the benumbing cold.  For the wind seemed cutting
+the skin from his face, and the snowflakes driving before the blast were
+changing the dog from black to white.
+
+Much elated with his discovery, Wilfred returned to the fire, where the
+Cree still sat in statue-like repose.
+
+"He is fast asleep," thought Wilfred, as he got down again as
+noiselessly as he could; but the Indian’s sleep was like the sleep of
+the wild animal.  Hearing was scarcely closed.  He opened one eye,
+comprehended that it was Wilfred returning, and shut it, undisturbed by
+the whirling snow.  Wilfred set up two great pieces of bark like a
+penthouse over his head, and coaxed the dog to nestle by his side.
+Sucking the tip of his beaver-skin gloves to still the craving for his
+supper, he too fell asleep, to awake shivering in the gray of the dawn
+to a changing world.  Everywhere around him there was one vast dazzling
+whirl of driving sleet and dancing snow.  The fire had become a
+smouldering pile, emitting a fitful visionary glow.  On every side dim
+uncertain shapes loomed through the whitened atmosphere.  A scene so
+weird and wild struck a chill to his heart.  The dog moved by Wilfred’s
+side, and threw off something of the damp, cold weight that was
+oppressing him.  He sat upright.
+
+Maxica, or Crow’s Foot—for that was the Cree’s name—was groping round
+and round the circle, pulling out pieces of dead wood from under the
+snow to replenish the dying fire.  But he only succeeded in making it
+hiss and crackle and send up volumes of choking smoke, instead of the
+cheery flames of last night.
+
+Between the dark, suffocating cloud which hovered over the fire and the
+white whirling maze beyond it, Maxica, with his failing sight, was
+completely bewildered. All tracks were long since buried and lost.  It
+was equally impossible to find the footprints of Wilfred’s hunting
+party, or to follow his own trail back to the birch-bark canoe which had
+been his home during the brief, bright summer.  He folded his arms in
+hopeless, stony despair.
+
+"We are in for a two days’ snow," he said; "if the fire fails us and
+refuses to burn, we are as good as lost."
+
+The dog leaped out of the sunken circle, half-strangled with the smoke,
+and Wilfred was coughing.  One thought possessed them both, to get back
+to the water. Snow or no snow, the dog would find it.  The Cree yielded
+to Wilfred’s entreaty not to part company.
+
+"I’ll be eyes for both," urged the boy, "if you will only hold my hand."
+
+Maxica replied by catching him round the waist and carrying him under
+one arm.  They were soon at the spring.  It was gushing and bubbling
+through the snow which surrounded it, hot and stinging as before. The
+dog was lapping at the little rill ere it lost itself in the
+all-shrouding snow.
+
+In another minute Wilfred and the Cree were bending down beside it.
+Wilfred was guiding the rough, red hand to the right spot; and as Maxica
+drank, he snatched a drop for himself.
+
+To linger beside it seemed to Wilfred their wisest course, but Maxica
+knew the snow was falling so thick and fast they should soon be buried
+beneath it.  The dog, however, did not share in their perplexity.
+Perhaps, like Maxica, he knew they must keep moving, for he dashed
+through the pathless waste, barking loudly to Wilfred to follow.
+
+The snow was now a foot deep, at least, on the highest ground, and
+Wilfred could no longer make his way through it.  Maxica had to lift him
+out of it again and again.  At last he took him on his back, and from
+this unwonted elevation Wilfred commanded a better outlook.  The dog was
+some way in advance, making short bounds across the snow and leaving a
+succession of holes behind him.  He at least appeared to know where he
+was going, for he kept as straight a course as if he were following some
+beaten path.
+
+But Maxica knew well no such path existed.  Every now and then they
+paused at one of the holes their pioneer had made, to recover breath.
+
+"How long will this go on?" thought Wilfred.  "If Maxica tires and lays
+me down my fate is sealed."
+
+He began to long for another draught of the warm, sulphurous water.  But
+the faint hope they both entertained, that the dog might be leading them
+to some camping spot of hunter or Indian, made them afraid to turn back.
+
+It was past the middle of the day when Wilfred perceived a round dark
+spot rising out of the snow, towards which the dog was hurrying.  The
+snow beat full in their faces, but with the eddying gusts which almost
+swept them off their feet the Cree’s keen sense of smell detected a
+whiff of smoke.  This urged him on.  Another and a surer sign of help at
+hand—the dog had vanished.  Yet Maxica was sure he could hear him
+barking wildly in the distance. But Wilfred could no longer distinguish
+the round dark spot towards which they had been hastening. Maxica stood
+still in calm and proud despair.  It was as impossible now to go, back
+to the _cache_ of game and the sulphur spring as it was to force his way
+onward.  They had reached a snow-drift.  The soft yielding wall of white
+through which he was striding grew higher and higher.
+
+In vain did Wilfred’s eyes wander from one side to the other.  As far as
+he could see the snow lay round them, one wide, white, level sheet, in
+which the Cree was standing elbow-deep.  Were they, indeed, beyond the
+reach of human aid?
+
+Wilfred was silent, hushed; but it was the hush of secret prayer.
+
+Suddenly Maxica exclaimed, "Can the Good Spirit the white men talk of,
+can he hear us?  Will he show us the path?"
+
+Such a question from such wild lips, at such an hour, how strangely it
+struck on Wilfred’s ear.  He had scarcely voice enough left to make
+himself heard, for the storm was raging round them more fiercely than
+ever.
+
+"I was thinking of him, Maxica.  While we are yet speaking, will he
+hear?"
+
+Wilfred’s words were cut short, for Maxica had caught his foot against
+something buried in the snow, and stumbled.  Wilfred was thrown forward.
+The ground seemed giving way beneath him.  He was tumbled through the
+roof of the little birch-bark hut, which they had been wandering round
+and round without knowing it.  Wilfred was only aware of a faint glimmer
+of light through a column of curling, blinding smoke.  He thought he
+must be descending a chimney, but his outstretched hands were already
+touching the ground, and he wondered more and more where he could have
+alighted.  Not so Maxica.  He had grasped the firm pole supporting the
+fragile birch-bark walls, through which Wilfred had forced his way.  One
+touch was sufficient to convince him they had groped their way to an
+Indian hut.  The column of smoke rushing through the hole Wilfred had
+made in his most lucky tumble told the Cree of warmth and shelter
+within.
+
+There was a scream from a feeble woman’s voice, but the exclamation was
+in the rich, musical dialect of the Blackfeet, the hereditary enemies of
+his tribe. In the blind warrior’s mind it was a better thing to hide
+himself beneath the snow and freeze to death, than submit to the
+scalping-knife of a hated foe.
+
+Out popped Wilfred’s head to assure him there was only a poor old woman
+inside, but she had got a fire.
+
+The latter half of his confidences had been already made plain by the
+dense smoke, which was producing such a state of strangulation Wilfred
+could say no more.
+
+But the hut was clearing; Maxica once more grasped the nearest pole, and
+swung himself down.
+
+A few words with the terrified squaw were enough for the Cree, who knew
+so well the habits of their wandering race.  The poor old creature had
+probably journeyed many hundreds of miles, roaming over their wide
+hunting-grounds, until she had sunk by the way, too exhausted to proceed
+any further.  Then her people had built her this little hut, lit a fire
+in the hastily-piled circle of stones in the middle of it, heaped up the
+dry wood on one side to feed it, placed food and water on the other, and
+left her lying on her blankets to die alone.  It was the custom of the
+wild, wandering tribes.  She had accepted her fate with Indian
+resignation, simply saying that her hour had come.  But the rest she so
+much needed had restored her failing powers, and whilst her stock of
+food lasted she was getting better.  They had found her gathering
+together the last handful of sticks to make up the fire once more, and
+then she would lie down before it and starve.  Every Indian knows what
+starvation means, and few can bear it as well. Living as they do
+entirely by the chase, the feast which follows the successful hunt is
+too often succeeded by a lengthy fast.  Her shaking hands were gathering
+up the lumps of snow which had come down on the pieces of the broken
+roof, to fill her empty kettle.
+
+Wilfred picked up the bits of bark to which it had been sticking, and
+threw them on the fire.
+
+"My bow and quiver for a few old shreds of beaver-skin, and we are
+saved," groaned the Cree, who knew that all his garments were made from
+the deer.  He felt the hem of the old squaw’s tattered robe, but beaver
+there was none.
+
+"What do you want it for, Maxica?" asked Wilfred, as he pulled off his
+gloves and offered them to him.  "There is nothing about me that I would
+not give you, and be only too delighted to have got it to give, when I
+think how you carried me through the snowdrift.  These are new
+beaver-skin; take them, Maxica."
+
+A smile lit up the chief’s dark face as he carefully felt the proffered
+gloves, and to make assurance doubly sure added taste to touch.  Then he
+began to tear them into shreds, which he directed Wilfred to drop into
+the melting snow in the kettle, explaining to him as well as he could
+that there was an oiliness in the beaver-skin which never quite dried
+out of it, and would boil down into a sort of soup.
+
+"A kind of coarse isinglass, I should say," put in Wilfred.  But the
+Cree knew nothing of isinglass and its nourishing qualities; yet he knew
+the good of the beaver-skin when other food had failed.  It was a
+wonderful discovery to Wilfred, to think his gloves could provide them
+all with a dinner; but they required some long hours’ boiling, and the
+fire was dying down again for want of fuel.  Maxica ventured out to
+search for driftwood under the snow.  He carefully drew out a pole from
+the structure of the hut, and using it as an alpenstock, swung himself
+out of the hollow in which the hut had been built for shelter, and where
+the snow had accumulated to such a depth that it was completely buried.
+
+Whilst he was gone Wilfred and the squaw were beside the fire, sitting
+on the ground face to face, regarding each other attentively.
+
+
+
+
+                              *CHAPTER V.*
+
+                       _*IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT.*_
+
+
+The squaw was a very ugly woman; starvation and old age combined had
+made her perfectly hideous.  As Wilfred sat in silence watching the
+simmering kettle, he thought she was the ugliest creature he had ever
+seen.  Her complexion was a dark red-brown.  Her glittering black eyes
+seemed to glare on him in the darkness of the hut like a cat’s.  Her
+shrivelled lips showed a row of formidably long teeth, which made
+Wilfred think of Little Red Ridinghood’s grandmother, and he hoped she
+would not pounce on him and devour him before Maxica returned.
+
+He wronged her shamefully, for she had been watching his limping
+movements with genuine pity. What did it matter that her gown was scant
+and short, or that her leggings, which had once been of bright-coloured
+cloth, curiously worked with beads, were reduced by time to a sort of
+no-colour and the tracery upon them to a dirty line?  They hid a good,
+kind heart.
+
+She loosened the English handkerchief tied over her head, and the long,
+raven locks, now streaked with white, fell over her shoulders.
+
+She was a wild-looking being, but her awakening glance of alertness need
+not have alarmed Wilfred, for she was only intent upon dipping him a cup
+of water from the steaming kettle.  She was careful to taste it and cool
+it with a little of the snow still driving through the hole in the roof,
+until she made it the right degree of heat that was safest for Wilfred
+in his starving, freezing condition.
+
+"What would Aunt Miriam think if she could see me now?" mused the boy,
+as he fixed his eyes on the dying embers and turned away from the
+steaming cup he longed to snatch at.
+
+Yet when the squaw held it towards him, he put it back with a smile,
+resolutely repeating "After you," for was she not a woman?
+
+He made her drink.  A little greasy water, oh! how nice!  Then he
+refilled the cup and took his share.
+
+The tottering creature smoothed the blanket from which she had risen on
+Wilfred’s summary entrance, and motioned to him to lie down.
+
+"It will be all glove with us now," laughed Wilfred to himself—"hand and
+glove with the Red Indians. If any one whispered that in uncle’s ear,
+wouldn’t he think me a queer fish!  But I owe my life to Maxica, and I
+know it."
+
+He threw himself down on the blanket, glad indeed of the rest for his
+swollen ankle.  From this lowly bed he fell to contemplating his
+temporary refuge. It looked so very temporary, especially the side from
+which Maxica had abstracted his alpenstock, Wilfred began to fear the
+next disaster would be its downfall. He was dozing, when a sudden noise
+made him start up, in the full belief the catastrophe he had dreaded had
+arrived; but it was only Maxica dropping the firewood he had with
+difficulty collected through the hole in the roof.
+
+He called out to Wilfred that he had discovered his atim digging in the
+snow at some distance.
+
+What his atim might prove to be Wilfred could not imagine.  He was
+choosing a stick from the heap of firewood.  Balancing himself on one
+foot, he popped his head through the hole to reconnoitre.  He fancied he
+too could see a moving speck in the distance.
+
+"The dog!" he cried joyfully, giving a long, shrill whistle that brought
+it bounding over the crisping snow towards him with a ptarmigan in its
+mouth.
+
+After much coaxing, Wilfred induced the dog to lay the bird down, to lap
+the melting snow which was filling the hollows in the floor with little
+puddles.
+
+The squaw pounced upon the bird as a welcome addition to the beaver-skin
+soup.  Where had the dog found it?  He had not killed it, that was
+clear, for it was frozen hard.  Yet it had not been frozen to death. The
+quick Indian perception of the squaw pointed to the bite on its breast.
+It was not the tooth of a dog, but the sharp beak of some bird of prey
+which had killed it.  The atim had found the _cache_ of a great white
+owl; a provident bird, which, when once its hunger is satisfied, stores
+the remainder of its prey in some handy crevice.
+
+The snow had ceased to fall.  The moon was rising. The thick white
+carpet which covered all around was hardening under the touch of the
+coming frost.
+
+Another cup from the half-made soup, and Maxica proposed to start with
+Wilfred to search for the supposed store.  The dog was no longer hungry.
+It had stretched itself on the ground at Wilfred’s feet for a
+comfortable slumber.
+
+An Indian never stops for pain or illness.  With the grasp of death upon
+him, he will follow the war-path or the hunting track, so that Maxica
+paid no regard to Wilfred’s swollen foot.  If the boy could not walk,
+his shoulder was ready, but go he must; the atim would lead his own
+master to the spot, but it would never show it to a stranger.
+
+Wilfred glanced up quickly, and then looked down with a nod to himself.
+It would not do to make much of his hurt in such company.  Well, he had
+added a word to his limited stock of Indian.  "Atim" was Cree for dog,
+that at least was clear; and they had added the atim to his slender
+possessions.  They thought the dog was his own, and why should not he
+adopt him?  They were both lost, they might as well be chums.
+
+This conclusion arrived at, Wilfred caught up the wing of the ptarmigan,
+and showing it to the dog did his best to incite him to find another.
+He caught sight of a long strip of moose-skin which had evidently tied
+up the squaw’s blanket on her journey.  He persuaded her to lend it to
+him, making more use of signs than of words.
+
+"Ugh! ugh!" she replied, and her "yes" was as intelligible to Wilfred as
+Diomé’s "caween."  He soon found that "yes" and "no" alone can go a good
+way in making our wants understood by any one as naturally quick and
+observant as an Indian.
+
+The squaw saw what Wilfred was trying to do, and helped him, feeble as
+she was, to make a sling for his foot.  With the stick in his hand, when
+this was accomplished, he managed to hobble after Maxica and the dog.
+
+The Cree went first, treading down a path, and partially clearing the
+way before him with his pole. But a disappointment awaited them.  The
+dog led them intelligently enough to the very spot where it had
+unquestionably found a most abundant dinner, by the bones and feathers
+still sticking in the snow. Maxica, guided by his long experience, felt
+about him until he found two rats, still wedged in a hole in a decaying
+tree which had gone down before the gale. But he would not take them,
+for fear the owl might abandon her reserve.
+
+"The otowuck-oho," said Maxica, mimicking the cry of the formidable
+bird, "will fill it again before the dawn.  Wait and watch.  Maxica have
+the otowuck himself.  See!"
+
+With all the skill of the Indian at constructing traps, he began his
+work, intending to catch the feathered Nimrod by one leg the next time
+it visited its larder, when all in a moment an alarm was sounded—a cry
+that rent the air, so hoarse, so hollow, and so solemn Wilfred clung to
+his guide in the chill of fear.  It was a call that might have roused to
+action a whole garrison of soldiers.  The Indian drew back.  Again that
+dread "Waugh O!" rang out, and then the breathless silence which
+followed was broken by half-suppressed screams, as of some one
+suffocating in the throttling grasp of an enemy.
+
+The dog, with his tail between his legs, crouched cowering at their
+feet.
+
+"The Blackfeet are upon us," whispered the Cree, with his hand on his
+bow, when a moving shadow became visible above the distant pine trees.
+
+The Cree breathed freely, and drew aside his half-made trap, abandoned
+at the first word that broke from Wilfred’s lips: "It is not human; it
+is coming through the air."
+
+"It is the otowuck itself," answered Maxica.  "Be off, or it will have
+our eyes out if it finds us near its roost."
+
+He was looking round him for some place of concealment.  On came the
+dreaded creature, sailing in rapid silence towards its favourite haunt,
+gliding with outstretched pinions over the glistening snow, its great
+round eyes flashing like stars, or gleams of angry lightning, as it
+swept the whitened earth, shooting downwards to strike at some furry
+prey, then rising as suddenly in the clear, calm night, until it floated
+like a fleecy cloud above their heads, as ready to swoop upon the
+sparrow nestling on its tiny twig as upon the wild turkey-hen roosting
+among the stunted bushes.
+
+Maxica trembled for the dog, for he knew the special hatred with which
+it regarded dogs.  If it recognized the thief at its hoard, its doom was
+sealed.
+
+Maxica pushed his alpenstock into an empty badger hole big enough for
+the boy and dog to creep into. Then, as the owl drew near, he sent an
+arrow whizzing through the air.  It was aimed at the big white breast,
+but the unerring precision of other days was over.  It struck the
+feathery wing.  The bird soared aloft unharmed, and the archer,
+crouching in the snow, barely escaped its vengeance.  Down it pounced,
+striking its talons in his shoulder, as he turned his back towards it to
+protect his face.  Wilfred sprang out of the friendly burrow, snatched
+the pole from Maxica’s hand, and beat off the owl; and the dog, unable
+to rush past Wilfred, barked furiously.  The onslaught and the noise
+were at least distasteful. Hissing fiercely, with the horn-like feathers
+above its glaring eyes erect and bristling, the bird spread its gigantic
+wings, wheeling slowly and gracefully above their ambush; for Wilfred
+had retreated as quickly as he had emerged, and Maxica lay on his face
+as still as death.  More attractive game presented itself.  A hawk flew
+past.  What hawk could resist the pleasure of a passing pounce?  Away
+went the two, chasing and fighting, across the snowy waste.
+
+[Illustration: Wilfred sprang and beat off the owl.]
+
+When the owl was out of sight, the Cree rose to his feet to complete the
+snare.  Wilfred crept out of his burrow, to find his fingers as hard and
+white and useless as if they had turned to stone.  He had kept his
+gloveless hands well cuddled up in the long sleeves of his coat during
+the walk, but their exposure to the cold when he struck at the owl had
+changed them to a lump of ice.
+
+Maxica heard the exclamation, "Oh, my hands! my hands!" and seizing a
+great lump of snow began to rub them vigorously.
+
+The return to the hut was easier than the outgoing, for the snow was
+harder.  The pain in Wilfred’s fingers was turning him sick and faint as
+they reached the hut a little past midnight.
+
+The gloves were reduced to jelly, but the state of Wilfred’s hands
+troubled the old squaw.  She had had her supper from the beaver-skin
+soup, but was quite ready, Indian fashion, to begin again.
+
+The three seated themselves on the floor, and the cup was passed from
+one to the other, until the whole of the soup was drank.
+
+The walk had been fruitless, as Wilfred said.  They had returned with
+nothing but the key of the big owl’s larder, which, after such an
+encounter, it would probably desert.
+
+The Cree lit his pipe, the squaw lay down to sleep, and Wilfred talked
+to his dog.
+
+"Do you understand our bargain, old fellow?" he asked.  "You and I are
+going to chum together. Now it is clear I must give you a name.  Let us
+see which you will like best."
+
+Wilfred ran through a somewhat lengthy list, for nowhere but in Canada
+are dogs accommodated with such an endless variety.  There are names in
+constant use from every Indian dialect, but of the Atims and the
+Chistlis the big, old fellow took no heed.  He sat up before his new
+master, looking very sagacious, as if he quite entered into the
+important business of choosing a name.  But clearly Indian would not do.
+even Mist-atim, which Wilfred could now interpret as "big dog,"—a name
+the Cree usually bestows upon his horse,—was heard with a contemptuous
+"Ach!"  Chistli, "seven dogs" in the Sircie dialect, which appeared to
+Wilfred highly complimentary to his furry friend, met with no
+recognition.  Then he went over the Spankers and Ponys and Boxers, to
+which the numerous hauling dogs so often responded.  No better success.
+The pricked ears were more erect than ever. The head was turned away in
+positive indifference.
+
+"Are you a Frenchman?" asked Wilfred, going over all the old French
+names he could remember. Diomé thought the dogs had a special partiality
+for French.  It would not do, however.  This particular dog might hate
+it.  There were Yankee names in plenty from over the border, and uncouth
+sounding Esquimau from the far north.
+
+Wilfred began to question if his dog had ever had a name, when Yula
+caught his ear, and "Yula chummie" brought the big shaggy head rubbing
+on Wilfred’s knee.  Few dogs are honoured with the choice of their own
+name, but it answered, and "Yula chummie" was adhered to by boy and dog.
+
+This weighty matter settled, Wilfred was startled to see Maxica rouse
+himself up with a shake, and look to the man-hole, as the Cree called
+their place of exit.  He was going.  Wilfred sprang up in alarm.
+
+"Don’t leave me!" he entreated.  "How shall I ever find my way home
+without you?"
+
+It might be four o’clock, for the east was not yet gray, and the morning
+stars shone brightly on the glistening snow.  Maxica paused, regarding
+earth and sky attentively, until he had ascertained the way of the wind.
+It was still blowing from the north-east. More snow was surely coming.
+His care was for his canoe, which he had left in safe mooring by the
+river bank.  No one but an Indian could have hoped, in his forlorn
+condition, to have recovered the lost path to the running stream.  His
+one idea was to grope about until he did find it, with the wonderful
+persistency of his race.  The Indian rarely fails in anything he sets
+his mind to accomplish.  But to take the lame boy with him was out of
+the question.  He might have many miles to traverse before he reached
+the spot.  He tried to explain to Wilfred that he must now pack up his
+canoe for the winter.  He was going to turn it keel upwards, among the
+branches of some strong tree, and cover it with boughs, until the spring
+of the leaf came round again.
+
+"Will it be safe?" asked Wilfred.
+
+"Safe! perfectly."
+
+Maxica’s own particular mark was on boat and paddle.  No Indian, no
+hunter would touch it.  Who else was there in that wide, lone land?  As
+for Wilfred, his own people would come and look for him, now the storm
+was over.
+
+"I am not so sure of that," said the poor boy sadly, remembering
+Bowkett’s words.—"My aunt Miriam did not take to me.  She may not
+trouble herself about me.  How could I be so stupid as to set her
+against me," he was thinking, "all for nothing?"
+
+"Then," urged Maxica, "stay here with the Far-off-Dawn"—for that was the
+old squaw’s name.  In his Indian tongue he called her Pe-na-Koam.  "Will
+not the Good Spirit take care of you?  Did not he guide us out of the
+snowdrift?"
+
+Wilfred was silenced.  "I never did think much of myself," he said at
+last, "but I believe I grow worse and worse.  How is it that I know and
+don’t know—that I cannot realize this love that never will forsake;
+always more ready to hear than we to ask?  If I could but feel it true,
+all true for me, I should not be afraid."
+
+Under that longing the trust was growing stronger and stronger in his
+heart.
+
+"I shall come again for the moose," said Maxica, as he shook the red and
+aching fingers which just peeped out from Wilfred’s long sleeve; and so
+he left him.
+
+The boy watched the Indian’s lithe figure striding across the snow,
+until he could see him no longer. Then a cold, dreary feeling crept over
+him.  Was he abandoned by all the world—forgotten—disliked? Did nobody
+care for him?  He tucked his hands into the warm fur which folded over
+his breast, and tried to throw off the fear.  The tears gushed from his
+eyes.  Well, there was nobody to see.
+
+He had forgotten Yula.  Those unwonted raindrops had brought him,
+wondering and troubled, to Wilfred’s side.  A big head was poking its
+way under his arm, and two strong paws were brushing at his knee. Yula
+was saying, "Don’t, don’t cry," in every variety of doggie language.
+Never had he been so loving, so comforting, so warm to hug, so quick to
+understand. He was doing his best to melt the heavy heart’s lead that
+was weighing poor Wilfred down.
+
+He built up the fire, and knelt before it, with Yula’s head on his
+shoulder; for the cold grew sharper in the gray of the dawn.  The squaw,
+now the pangs of hunger were so far appeased, was sleeping heavily. But
+there was no sleep for Wilfred.  As the daylight grew stronger he went
+again to his look-out.  His thoughts were turning to Forgill.  He had
+seen so much more of Forgill than of any one else at his uncle’s, and he
+had been so careful over him on the journey.  It was wrong to think they
+would all forget him.  He would trust and hope.
+
+He filled the kettle with fresh snow, and put it on to boil.
+
+The sun was streaming through the hole in the roof when the squaw awoke,
+like another creature, but not in the least surprised to find Maxica had
+departed. She seemed thankful to see the fire still burning, and poured
+out her gratitude to Wilfred.  Her smiles and gestures gave the meaning
+of the words he did not understand.
+
+Then he asked himself, "What would have become of her if he too had gone
+away with Maxica?"
+
+She looked pityingly at Wilfred’s unfortunate fingers as he offered her
+a cup of hot water, their sole breakfast.  But they could not live on
+hot water.  Where was the daily bread to come from for them both?
+Pe-na-Koam was making signs.  Could Wilfred set a trap?  Alas! he knew
+nothing of the Indian traps and snares.  He sent out Yula to forage for
+himself, hoping he might bring them back a bird, as he had done the
+night before.  Wilfred lingered by the hole in the roof, watching him
+dashing through the snow, and casting many a wistful glance to the
+far-away south, almost expecting to see Forgill’s fur cap and broad
+capote advancing towards him; for help would surely come.  But there are
+the slow, still hours, as well as the sudden bursts of storm and
+sunshine.  All have their share in the making of a brave and constant
+spirit.  God’s time is not our time, as Wilfred had yet to learn.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER VI.*
+
+                      _*SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER.*_
+
+
+Pe-na-Koam insisted upon examining Wilfred’s hands and feet, and tending
+to them after her native fashion.  She would not suffer him to leave the
+hut, but ventured out herself, for the storm was followed by a day of
+glorious sunshine.  She returned with her lap full of a peculiar kind of
+moss, which she had scraped from under the snow.  In her hand she
+carried a bunch of fine brown fibres.
+
+"Wattape!" she exclaimed, holding them up before him, with such evident
+pleasure he thought it was something to eat; but no, the moss went into
+the kettle to boil for dinner, but the wattape was laid carefully aside.
+
+The squaw had been used to toil from morning to night, doing all the
+work of her little world, whilst her warrior, when under shelter, slept
+or smoked by the fire.  She expected no help from Wilfred within the
+hut, but she wanted to incite him to go and hunt. She took a
+sharp-pointed stick and drew a bow and arrow on the floor.  Then she
+made sundry figures. which he took for traps; but he could only shake
+his head.  He was thinking of a visit to the owl’s tree. But when they
+had eaten the moss, Pe-na-Koam drew out a piece of skin from under her
+blanket, and spreading it on the floor laid her fingers beseechingly on
+his hunting-knife.  With this she cut him out a pair of gloves,
+fingerless it is true, shaped like a baby’s first glove, but oh! so
+warm.  Wilfred now discovered the use of the wattape, as she drew out
+one long thread after another, and began to sew the gloves together with
+it, pricking the holes through which she passed it with a quill she
+produced from some part of her dress.
+
+Wilfred took up the brown tangle and examined it closely.  It had been
+torn from the fine fibrous root of the pine.  He stood still to watch
+her, wondering whether there was anything he could do.  He took the
+stick she had used and drew the rough figure of a man fishing on the
+earthen floor.  He felt sure they must be near some stream or lakelet.
+The Indians would never have left her beyond the reach of water. The
+wrinkled face lit up with hopeful smiles.  Away she worked more
+diligently than ever.
+
+Wilfred built up the fire to give her a better blaze. They had wood
+enough to last them through to-morrow. Before it was all burnt up he
+must try to get in some more.  The use was returning to his hands. He
+took up some of the soft mud, made by the melting of the snow on the
+earthen floor, and tried to stop up the cracks in the bark which formed
+the walls of the hut.
+
+They both worked on in silence, hour after hour, as if there were not a
+moment to lose.  At last the gloves were finished.  The Far-off-Dawn
+considered her blanket, and decided a piece might be spared off every
+corner.  Out of these she cut a pair of socks. The Indians themselves
+often wear three or four pairs of such blanket socks at once in the very
+coldest of the weather.  But Wilfred could find nothing in the hut out
+of which to make a fishing line.  The only thing he could do was to pay
+a visit to the white owl’s larder.  He was afraid to touch Maxica’s
+trap. He did not think he could manage it.  Poor boy, his spirit was
+failing him for want of food.  Yet he determined to go and see if there
+was anything to be found.  Wilfred got up with an air of resolution, and
+began to arrange the sling for his foot.  But the Far-off-Dawn soon made
+him understand he must not go without his socks, which she was hurrying
+to finish.
+
+"I believe I am changing into a snail," thought Wilfred; "I do nothing
+but crawl about.  Yet twenty slips brought the snail to the top of his
+wall.  Twenty slips and twenty climbs—that is something to think of."
+
+The moon was rising.  The owl would leave her haunt to seek for prey.
+
+"Now it strikes me," exclaimed Wilfred, "why she always perches on a
+leafless tree.  Her blinking eyes are dazzled by the flicker of the
+leaves: but they are nearly gone now, she will have a good choice. She
+may not go far a-field, if she does forsake her last night’s roost."
+This reflection was wondrously consolatory.
+
+The squaw had kept her kettle filled with melting snow all day, so that
+they could both have a cup of hot water whenever they liked.  The
+Far-off-Dawn was as anxious to equip him for his foraging expedition as
+he was to take it.  The socks were finished; she had worked hard, and
+Wilfred knew it.  He began to think there was something encouraging in
+her very name—the Far-off-Dawn.  Was it not what they were waiting for?
+It was an earnest that their night would end.
+
+She made him put both the blanket socks on the swollen foot, and then
+persuaded him to exchange his boots for her moccasins, which were a much
+better protection against the snow.  The strip of fur, no longer needed
+to protect his toes, was wound round and round his wrists.
+
+Then the squaw folded her blanket over his shoulder, and started him,
+pointing out as well as she could the streamlet and the pool which had
+supplied her with water when she was strong enough to fetch it.
+
+Both knew their lives depended upon his success. Yula was by his side.
+Wilfred turned back with a great piece of bark, to cover up the hole in
+the roof of the hut to keep the squaw warm.  She had wrapped the skin
+over her feet and was lying before the fire, trying to sleep in her dumb
+despair.  She had discovered there was no line and hook forthcoming from
+any one of his many pockets.  How then could he catch the fish with
+which she knew the Canadian waters everywhere abounded?
+
+Pe-na-Koam had pointed out the place of the pool so earnestly that
+Wilfred thought, "I will go there first; perhaps it was there she found
+the moss."
+
+The northern lights were flashing overhead, shooting long lines of
+roseate glory towards the zenith, as if some unseen angel’s hand were
+stringing heaven’s own harp.  But the full chord which flowed beneath
+its touch was light instead of music.
+
+Wilfred stood silent, rapt in admiring wonder, as he gazed upon those
+glowing splendours, forgetting everything beside.  Yula recalled him to
+the work in hand.  He hobbled on as fast as he could.  He was drawing
+near the pool, for tall rushes bent and shivered above the all-covering
+snow, and pines and willows rocked in the night wind overhead.  Another
+wary step, and the pool lay stretched before him like a silver shield.
+
+A colony of beavers had made their home in this quiet spot, building
+their mounds of earth like a dam across the water.  But the busy workers
+were all settling within doors to their winter sleep—drawbridges drawn
+up, and gates barred against intruders.  "You are wiseheads," thought
+Wilfred, "and I almost wish I could do the same—work all summer like
+bees, and sleep all winter like dormice; but then the winter is so
+long."
+
+"Would not it be a grand thing to take home a beaver, Yula?" he
+exclaimed, suddenly remembering his gloves in their late reduced
+condition, and longing for another cup of the unpalatable soup; for the
+keen air sharpened the keener appetite, until he felt as if he could
+have eaten the said gloves, boiled or unboiled.
+
+But how to get at the clever sleepers under their well-built dome was
+the difficulty, almost the impossibility.
+
+"Yula, it can’t be done—that is by you and me, old boy," he sighed.  "We
+have not got their house-door key for certain.  We shall have to put up
+with the moss, and think ourselves lucky if we find it."
+
+The edge of the pool was already fringed with ice, and many a shallow
+basin where it had overflowed its banks was already frozen over.
+Wilfred was brushing away the crisp snow in his search for moss, when he
+caught sight of a big white fish, made prisoner by the ice in an awkward
+corner, where the rising flood had one day scooped a tiny reservoir.
+Making Yula sit down in peace and quietness, and remember manners, he
+set to work.  He soon broke the ice with a blow from the handle of his
+knife, and took out the fish.  As he expected, the hungry dog stood
+ready to devour it; but Wilfred, suspecting his intention, tied it up in
+the blanket, and swung it over his shoulder.  Fortune did not favour him
+with such another find, although he searched about the edge of the lake
+until it grew so slippery he was afraid of falling in.  He had now to
+retrace his steps, following the marks in the snow back to the hut.
+
+The joy of Pe-na-Koam was unbounded when he untied the blanket and slid
+the fish into her hands.
+
+The prospect of the hot supper it would provide for them nerved Wilfred
+to go a little further and try to reach the big owl’s roost, for fear
+another snow should bury the path Maxica had made to it. Once lost he
+might never find it again.  The owl was still their most trusty friend
+and most formidable foe.  Thanks to the kindly labours of Maxica’s pole,
+Wilfred could trudge along much faster now; but before he reached the
+hollow tree, strange noises broke the all-pervading stillness.  There
+was a barking of dogs in the distance, to which Yula replied with all
+the energy in his nature.  There was a tramping as of many feet, and of
+horses, coming nearer and nearer with a lumbering thud on the ground,
+deadened and muffled by the snow, but far too plain not to attract all
+Wilfred’s attention.
+
+There was a confusion of sounds, as of a concourse of people; too many
+for a party of hunters, unless the winter camp of which Diomé had spoken
+was assembling.  Oh joy! if this could be.  Wilfred was working himself
+into a state of excitement scarcely less than Yula’s.
+
+He hurried on to the roosting-tree, for it carried him nearer still to
+the trampling and the hum.
+
+What could it mean?  Yula was before him, paws up, climbing the old dead
+trunk, bent still lower by the recent storm.  A snatch, and he had
+something out of that hole in the riven bark.  Wilfred scrambled on, for
+fear his dog should forestall him.  The night was clear around him, he
+saw the aurora flashes come and go.  Yula had lain down at the foot of
+the tree, devouring his prize.  Wilfred’s hand, fumbling in its
+fingerless gloves, at last found the welcome hole.  It was full once
+more.  Soft feathers and furs: a gopher—the small ground
+squirrel—crammed against some little snow-birds.
+
+Wilfred gave the squirrel to his dog, for he had many fears the squaw
+would be unwilling to give him anything but water in their dearth of
+food.  The snow-birds he transferred to his pocket, looking nervously
+round as he did so; but there was no owl in sight.  The white breasts of
+the snow-birds were round and plump; but they were little things, not
+much bigger than sparrows, and remembering Maxica’s caution, he dare not
+take them all.
+
+His hand went lower: a few mice—he could leave them behind him without
+any reluctance.  But stop, he had not got to the bottom yet.  Better
+than ever: he had felt the webbed feet of a wild duck.  Mrs. Owl was
+nearly forgiven the awful scare of the preceding night.  Growing bolder
+in his elation, Wilfred seated himself on the roots of the tree, from
+which Yula’s ascent had cleared the snow.  He began to prepare his game,
+putting back the skin and feathers to conceal his depredations from the
+savage tenant, lest she should change her domicile altogether.
+
+"I hope she can’t count," said Wilfred, who knew not how to leave the
+spot without ascertaining the cause of the sounds, which kept him
+vibrating between hope and fear.
+
+Suddenly Yula sprang forward with a bound and rushed over the
+snow-covered waste with frantic fury.
+
+"The Blackfeet! the Blackfeet!" gasped Wilfred, dropping like lightning
+into the badger hole where Maxica had hidden him from the owl’s
+vengeance. A singular cavalcade came in sight: forty or fifty Indian
+warriors, armed with their bows and guns and scalping-knives, the chiefs
+with their eagles’ feathers nodding as they marched.  Behind them
+trotted a still greater number of ponies, on which their squaws were
+riding man fashion, each with her pappoose or baby tucked up as warm as
+it could be in its deer-skin, and strapped safely to its wooden cradle,
+which its mother carried on her back.
+
+Every pony was dragging after it what the Indians call a travoy—that is,
+two fir poles, the thin ends of which are harnessed to the pony’s
+shoulders, while the butt ends drag on the ground; another piece of wood
+is fastened across them, making a sort of truck, on which the skins and
+household goods are piled. The bigger children were seated on the top of
+many a well-laden travoy, so that the squaws came on but slowly.
+
+Wilfred was right in his conjecture: they were the Blackfeet Maxica
+feared to encounter, coming up to trade with the nearest Hudson Bay
+Company’s fort. They were bringing piles of furs and robes of skin, and
+bags of pemmican, to exchange for shot and blankets, sugar and tea,
+beads, and such other things as Indians desire to possess.  They always
+came up in large parties, because they were crossing the hunting-grounds
+of their enemies the Crees.  They had a numerous following of dogs, and
+many a family of squalling puppies, on the children’s laps.
+
+The grave, stern, savage aspect of the men, the ugly, anxious, careworn
+faces of the toiling women, filled Wilfred with alarm.  Maxica in his
+semi-blindness might well fear to be the one against so many. Wilfred
+dared not even call back Yula, for fear of attracting their attention.
+They were passing on to encamp by the pool he had just quitted.
+Friendly or unfriendly, Yula was barking and snarling in the midst of
+the new-comers.
+
+"Was his Yula, his Yula chummie, going to leave him?" asked Wilfred in
+his dismay.  "What if he had belonged originally to this roving tribe,
+and they should take him away!"  This thought cut deeper into Wilfred’s
+heart than anything else at that moment. He crept out of his badger
+hole, and crawled along the ditch-like path, afraid to show his head
+above the snow, and still more afraid to remain where he was, for fear
+of the owl’s return.
+
+He kept up a hope that Yula might come back of his own accord.  He was
+soon at the birch-bark hut, but no Yula had turned up.
+
+He tumbled in, breathless and panting.  Pe-na-Koam was sure he had been
+frightened, but thought only of the owl.  She had run a stick through
+the tail of the fish, and was broiling it in the front of the fire. The
+cheery light flickered and danced along the misshapen walls, which
+seemed to lean more and more each day from the pressure of the snow
+outside them.
+
+"The blessed snow!" exclaimed Wilfred.  "It hides us so completely no
+one can see there is a hut at all, unless the smoke betrays us."
+
+How was he to make the squaw understand the dreaded Blackfeet were here?
+He snatched up their drawing stick, as he called it, and began to sketch
+in a rough and rapid fashion the moving Indian camp which he had seen.
+A man with a bow in his hand, with a succession of strokes behind him to
+denote his following, and a horse’s head with the poles of the travoy,
+were quite sufficient to enlighten the aged woman.  She grasped
+Wilfred’s hand and shook it. Then she raised her other arm, as if to
+strike, and looked inquiringly in his face.  Friend or foe?  That was
+the all-important question neither could answer.
+
+Before he returned his moccasins to their rightful owner, Wilfred limped
+out of the hut and hung up the contents of his blanket game-bag in the
+nearest pine.  They were already frozen.
+
+Not knowing what might happen if their refuge were discovered, they
+seated themselves before the fire to enjoy the supper Wilfred had
+secured.  The fish was nearly the size of a salmon trout.  The squaw
+removed the sticks from which it depended a little further from the
+scorch of the fire, and fell to—pulling off the fish in flakes from one
+side of the backbone, and signing to Wilfred to help himself in similar
+fashion from the other.
+
+"Fingers were made before forks," thought the boy, his hunger overcoming
+all reluctance to satisfy it in such a heathenish way.  But the old
+squaw’s brow was clouded and her thoughts were troubled. She was
+trembling for Wilfred’s safety.
+
+She knew by the number of dashes on the floor the party was large—a band
+of her own people; no other tribe journeyed as they did, moving the
+whole camp at once.  Other camps dispersed, not more than a dozen
+families keeping together.
+
+If they took the boy for a Cree or the friend of a Cree, they would
+count him an enemy.  Before the fish had vanished her plan was made.
+
+She brought Wilfred his boots, and took back her moccasins.  As the boy
+pulled off the soft skin sock, which drew to the shape of his foot
+without any pressure that could hurt his sprain, feeling far more like a
+glove than a shoe, he wondered at the skill which had made it.  He held
+it to the fire to examine the beautiful silk embroidery on the legging
+attached to it.  His respect for his companion was considerably
+increased.  It was difficult to believe that beads and dyed porcupine
+quills and bright-coloured skeins of silk had been the delight of her
+life.  But just now she was intent upon getting possession of his
+hunting-knife.  With this she began to cut up the firewood into chips
+and shavings.  Wilfred thought he should be the best at that sort of
+work, and went to her help, not knowing what she intended to do with it.
+
+In her nervous haste she seemed at first glad of his assistance.  Then
+she pulled the wood out of his hand, stuck the knife in his belt, and
+implored him by gestures to sit down in a hole in the floor close
+against the wall, talking to him rapidly in her soft Indian tongue, as
+if she were entreating him to be patient.
+
+Wilfred thought this was a queer kind of game, which he did not half
+like, and had a good mind to turn crusty.  But the tears came into her
+aged eyes. She clasped her hands imploringly, kissed him on both cheeks,
+as if to assure him of her good intentions, looked to the door, and laid
+a finger on his lips impressively.  In the midst of this pantomime it
+struck Wilfred suddenly "she wants to hide me."  Soon the billet stack
+was built over him with careful skill, and the chips and shavings flung
+on the top.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER VII.*
+
+                      _*FOLLOWING THE BLACKFEET.*_
+
+
+There was many a little loophole in Wilfred’s hiding-place through which
+he could take a peep unseen.  The squaw had let the fire die down to a
+smouldering heap, and this she had carefully covered over with bark, so
+that there was neither spark nor flame to shine through the broken roof.
+The hut was unusually clear of smoke, and all was still.
+
+Wilfred was soon nodding dangerously behind his billet-stack, forgetting
+in his drowsy musings the instability of his surroundings.  The squaw
+rose up from the floor, and replaced the knot of wood he had sent
+rolling.  He dreamed of Yula’s bark in the distance, and wakened to find
+the noise a reality, but not the bark.  It was not his Yula wanting to
+be let in, as he imagined, but a confused medley of sounds suggestive of
+the putting up of tent poles.  There was the ring of the hatchet among
+the trees, the crash of the breaking boughs, the thud of the falling
+trunk. Even Wilfred could not entertain a doubt that the Blackfeet were
+encamping for the night alarmingly near their buried hut.  In silence
+and darkness was their only safeguard.  It was all for the best Yula had
+run away, his uneasy growls would have betrayed them.
+
+Midnight came and passed; the sounds of work had ceased, but the
+galloping of the ponies, released from the travoys, the scraping of
+their hoofs seeking a supper beneath the snow, kept Wilfred on the rack.
+The echo of the ponies’ feet seemed at times so near he quite expected
+to see a horse’s head looking down through the hole, or, worse still,
+some unwary kick might demolish their fragile roof altogether.
+
+With the gray of the dawn the snow began again to fall.  Was ever snow
+more welcome?  The heavy flakes beat back the feeble column of smoke,
+and hissed on the smouldering wood, as they found ready entrance through
+the parting in the bark which did duty for a chimney.  No matter, it was
+filling up the path which Maxica had made and obliterating every
+footprint around the hut.  It seemed to Wilfred that the great feathery
+flakes were covering all above them, like a sheltering wing.
+
+The tell-tale duck, the little snow-birds he had hung on the pine branch
+would all be hidden now. Not a chink was left in the bark through which
+the gray snow-light of the wintry morning could penetrate.
+
+In spite of their anxiety, both the anxious watchers had fallen asleep.
+The squaw was the first to rouse. Wilfred’s temporary trap-door refused
+to move when, finding all was still around them, she had tried to push
+it aside; for the hut was stifling, and she wanted snow to refill the
+kettle.
+
+The fire was out, and the snow which had extinguished it was already
+stiffening.  She took a half-burnt brand from the hearth, and, mounting
+the stones which surrounded the fireplace, opened the smoke-vent; for
+there the snow had not had time to harden, although the frost was
+setting in with the daylight.  To get out of their hut in another hour
+might be impossible.  With last night’s supper, a spark of her former
+energy had returned.  A piece of the smoke-dried bark gave way and
+precipitated an avalanche of snow into the tiny hut.
+
+Wilfred wakened with a start.  The daylight was streaming down upon him,
+and the squaw was gone. What could have happened while he slept?  How he
+blamed himself for going to sleep at all.  But then he could not live
+without it.  As he wondered and waited and reasoned with himself thus,
+there was still the faint hope the squaw might return.  Anyhow, Wilfred
+thought it was the wisest thing he could do to remain concealed where
+she had left him.  If the Indians camping by the pool were her own
+people, they might befriend him too.  Possibly she had gone over to
+their camp to ask for aid.
+
+How long he waited he could not tell—it seemed an age—when he heard the
+joyful sound of Yula’s bark. Down leaped the dog into the very midst of
+the fireplace, scattering the ashes, and bringing with him another
+avalanche of snow.  But his exuberant joy was turned to desperation when
+he could not find his Wilfred.  He was rushing round and round, scenting
+the ground where Wilfred had sat.  Up went his head high in the air, as
+he gave vent to his feelings in a perfect yowl of despair.
+
+"Yula!  Yula!" called Wilfred softly.  The dog turned round and tore at
+the billet-stack.  Wilfred’s defence was levelled in a moment; the wood
+went rolling in every direction, and Yula mounted the breach in triumph,
+digging out his master from the debris as a dog might dig out a fox.  He
+would have him out, he would not give up.  He tugged at Wilfred’s arms,
+he butted his head under his knees; there was no resisting his
+impetuosity, he made him stand upright.  When, as Yula evidently
+believed, he had set his master free, he bounded round him in an ecstasy
+of delight.
+
+"You’ve done it, old boy," said Wilfred.  "You’ve got me out of hiding;
+and neither you nor I can pile the wood over me again, so now, whatever
+comes, we must face it together."
+
+He clasped his arms round the thick tangle of hair that almost hid the
+two bright eyes, so full of love, that were gazing at him.
+
+Wilfred could not help kissing the dear old blunderer, as he called him.
+"And now, Yula," he went on, "since you will have it so, we’ll look
+about us."
+
+Wilfred’s foot was a good deal better.  He could put his boot on for the
+first time.  He mounted the stones which the squaw had piled, and
+listened.  Yes, there were voices and laughter mingling with the
+neighing of the ponies and the lumbering sounds of the travoys.  The
+camp was moving on.  The "Far-off-Dawn" was further off than ever from
+him.  He had no longer a doubt the squaw had gone with her people.
+
+She had left him her kettle and the piece of skin. To an Indian woman
+her blanket is hood and cloak and muff all in one.  She never goes out
+of doors without it.
+
+Wilfred smoothed the gloves she had made him and pulled up the blanket
+socks.  Oh, she had been good to him!  He thought he understood it all
+now—that farewell kiss, and the desire to hide him until the fierce
+warriors of her tribe had passed on.  He wrapped the skin over his
+shoulders, slung the kettle on his arm, chose out a good strong staff to
+lean on, and held himself ready for the chapter of accidents, whatever
+they might be.
+
+No one came near him.  The sounds grew fainter and fainter.  The
+silence, the awful stillness, was creeping all around him once again.
+It became unbearable—the dread, the disappointment, the suspense.
+Wilfred climbed out of the hut and swung himself into the branches of
+the nearest pine.  The duck and the snow-birds were frozen as hard as
+stones.  But the fire was out long ago.  Wilfred had no matches, no
+means of lighting it up again.  He put back the game; even Yula could
+not eat it in that state.  He swung himself higher up in the tree, just
+in time to catch sight of the vanishing train, winding its way along the
+vast snow-covered waste.  He watched it fading to a moving line.  What
+was it leaving behind?  A lost boy.  If Wilfred passed the night in the
+tree he would be frozen to death.  If he crept back into the tumble-down
+hut he might be buried beneath another snow.  If he went down to the
+pool he might find the ashes of the Indians’ camp-fires still glowing.
+If they had left a fire behind them he must see the smoke—the
+snow-soaked branches were sure to smoke. The sleet was driving in his
+face, but he looked in vain for the dusky curling wreath that must have
+been visible at so short a distance.
+
+Was all hope gone?  His head grew dizzy.  There were no words on his
+lips, and the bitter cry in his heart died mute.  Then he seemed to hear
+again his mother’s voice reading to him, as she used to read in far-off
+days by the evening fire: "I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.  Be
+strong, and of a good courage. Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed.
+For the Lord thy God is with thee, whithersoever thou goest."
+
+The Indian train was out of sight, but the trampling of those fifty
+ponies, dragging the heavily-laden travoys, had left a beaten track—a
+path so broad he could not lose it—and he knew that it would bring him
+to some white man’s home.
+
+Wilfred sprang down from the tree, decided, resolute.  Better to try and
+find this shop in the wilderness than linger there and die.  The snow
+beneath the tree was crisp and hard.  Yula bounded on before him, eager
+to follow where the Blackfeet dogs had passed.  They were soon upon the
+road, trudging steadily onward.
+
+The dog had evidently shared the strangers’ breakfast; he was neither
+hungry nor thirsty.  Not so his poor little master, who was feeling very
+faint for want of a dinner, when he saw a bit of pemmican on the ground,
+dropped no doubt by one of the Indian children.
+
+Wilfred snatched it up and began to eat.  Pemmican is the Indians’
+favourite food.  It is made of meat cut in slices and dried.  It is then
+pounded between two smooth stones, and put in a bag of buffalo-skin.
+Melted fat is poured over it, to make it keep. To the best kinds of
+pemmican berries and sugar are added.  It forms the most solid food a
+man can have. There are different ways of cooking it, but travellers, or
+voyageurs, as they are usually called in Canada, eat it raw.  It was a
+piece of raw pemmican Wilfred had picked up.  Hunger lent it the flavour
+it might have lacked at any other time.
+
+With this for a late dinner, and a rest on a fallen tree, he felt
+himself once more, and started off again with renewed vigour.  The sleet
+was increasing with the coming dusk.  On he toiled, growing whiter and
+whiter, until his snow-covered figure was scarcely distinguishable from
+the frozen ground.  Yula was powdered from head to foot; moreover, poor
+dog, he was obliged to stop every now and then to bite off the little
+icicles which were forming between his toes.
+
+Fortunately for the weary travellers the sky began to clear when the
+moon arose.  Before them stood dark ranks of solemn, stately pines, with
+here and there a poplar thicket rising black and bare from the sparkling
+ground.  Their charred and shrivelled branches showed the work of the
+recent prairie fires, which had only been extinguished by the snowstorm.
+
+Wilfred whistled Yula closer and closer to his side, as the forest
+echoes wakened to the moose-call and the wolf-howl.  On, on they walked
+through the dusky shadows cast by the giant pines, until the strange
+meteors of the north lit up the icy night, flitting across the starry
+sky in such swift succession the Indians call it the dance of the dead
+spirits.
+
+In a scene so weird and wild the boldest heart might quail.  Wilfred
+felt his courage dwindling with every step, when Yula sprang forward
+with a bark that roused a sleeping herd, and Wilfred found himself in
+the midst of the Indian ponies, snorting and kicking at the disturber of
+their peace.  The difficulty of getting Yula out again, without losing
+the track or rousing the camp, which they must now be approaching,
+engrossed Wilfred, and taxed his powers to their uttermost.  He could
+see the gleam of their many watch-fires, and guided his course more
+warily. Imposing silence on Yula by every device he could imagine, he
+left the beaten track which would have taken him into the midst of the
+dreaded Blackfeet, and slanted further and further into the forest
+gloom, but not so far as to lose the glow of the Indians’ fires. In the
+first faint gray of the wintry dawn he heard the rushing of a mighty
+fall, and found concealment in a wide expanse of frozen reeds and
+stunted willows.
+
+Yula had been brought to order.  A tired dog is far more manageable.  He
+lay down at his master’s feet, whilst Wilfred watched and listened.  He
+was wide of the Blackfeet camp, yet not at such a distance as to be
+unable to distinguish the sounds of awakening life within it from the
+roar of the waterfall.  To his right the ground was rising.  He scarcely
+felt himself safe so near the Blackfeet, and determined to push on to
+the higher ground, where he would have a better chance of seeing what
+they were about.  If they moved on, he could go back to their
+camping-place and gather the crumbs they might have let fall, and boil
+himself some water before their fires were extinguished, and then follow
+in their wake as before.
+
+He began to climb the hill with difficulty, when he was aware of a thin,
+blue column of light smoke curling upwards in the morning air.  It was
+not from the Indian camp.  Had he nearly reached his goal? The light was
+steadily increasing, and he could clearly see on the height before him
+three or four tall pines, which had been stripped of their branches by
+the voyageur’s axe, and left to mark a landing-place. These lop-sticks,
+as the Canadians call them, were a welcome sight.  He reached them at
+last, and gained the view he had been longing to obtain.  At his feet
+rolled the majestic river, plunging in one broad, white sheet over a
+hidden precipice.
+
+In the still uncertain light of the early dawn the cataract seemed twice
+its actual size.  The jagged tops of the pine trees on the other side of
+the river rose against the pale green of coming day.  Close above the
+falls the bright star of the morning gleamed like a diamond on the rim
+of the descending flood; at its foot the silvery spray sprang high into
+the air, covering the gloomy pines which had reared their dark branches
+in many a crack and cleft with glittering spangles.
+
+Nestling at the foot of the crag on which Wilfred stood was the
+well-built stockade of the trading-fort. The faint blue line of smoke
+which he had perceived was issuing from the chimney of the trader’s
+house, but the inmates were not yet astir.
+
+He brushed the tears from his eyes, but they were mingled tears of joy
+and thankfulness and exhaustion. As he was watching, a party of Indians
+stole out from their camp, and posted themselves among the frozen reeds
+which he had so recently vacated.
+
+The chief, with a few of the Blackfeet, followed by three or four squaws
+laden with skins, advanced to the front of the stockade, where they
+halted.  The chief was waving in his hand a little flag, to show that he
+had come to trade.  After a while the sounds of life and movement began
+within the fort.  The little group outside was steadily increasing in
+numbers. Some more of the Blackfeet warriors had loaded their horses and
+their wives, and were coming up behind their chief, with their heavy
+bags of pemmican hanging like panniers across the backs of the horses,
+whilst the poor women toiled after them with the piles of skins and
+leather.
+
+All was bustle and activity inside the trader’s walls. Wilfred guessed
+they were making all sorts of prudent preparations before they ventured
+to receive so large a party.  He was thinking of the men in ambush among
+the reeds, and he longed to give some warning to the Hudson Bay officer,
+who could have no idea of the numbers lurking round his gate.
+
+But how was this to be done in time?  There was but one entrance to the
+fort.  He was afraid to descend his hill and knock for admittance, under
+the lynx-like eyes of the Blackfoot chief, who was growing impatient,
+and was making fresh signs to attract the trader’s attention.
+
+At last there was a creaking sound from the fort. Bolts and bars were
+withdrawn, and the gate was slowly opened.  Out came the Hudson Bay
+officer, carefully shutting it behind him.  He was a tall, white-haired
+man, with an air of command about him, and the easy grace of a gentleman
+in every action.  He surveyed his wild visitors for a moment or two, and
+then advanced to meet them with a smile of welcome. The chief came a
+step or two forward, shook hands with the white man, and began to make a
+speech.  A few of his companions followed his example.
+
+"Now," thought Wilfred, "while all this talking and speechifying is
+abroad, I may get a chance to reach the fort unobserved."
+
+He slid down the steep hill, with Yula after him, crept along the back
+of the stockade, and round the end farthest from the reeds.  In another
+moment he was at the gate.  A gentle tap with his hand was all he dared
+to give.  It met with no answer.  He repeated it a little louder.  Yula
+barked.  The gate was opened just a crack, and a boy about his own age
+peeped out.
+
+"Let me in," said Wilfred desperately.  "I have something to tell you."
+
+The crack was widened.  Wilfred slipped in and Yula followed.  The gate
+was shut and barred behind them.
+
+"Well?" asked the boyish porter.
+
+"There are dozens of Blackfeet Indians hiding among the frozen reeds.  I
+saw them stealing down from their camp before it was light.  I am afraid
+they mean mischief," said Wilfred, lowering his voice.
+
+"We need to be careful," returned the other, glancing round at their
+many defences; "but who are you?"
+
+"I belong to some settlers across the prairie.  I have lost my way.  I
+have been wandering about all night, following the trail of the
+Blackfeet.  That is how I came to know and see what they were doing,"
+replied Wilfred.
+
+"They always come up in numbers," answered the stranger thoughtfully,
+"ready for a brush with the Crees.  They seem friendly to us."
+
+As the boy spoke he slipped aside a little shutter in the gate, and
+peeped through a tiny grill.
+
+In the middle of the enclosure there was a wooden house painted white.
+Three or four iron funnels stuck out of the roof instead of chimneys,
+giving it a very odd appearance.  There were a few more huts and sheds.
+But Wilfred’s attention was called off from these surroundings, for a
+whole family of dogs had rushed out upon Yula, with a chorus of barking
+that deafened every other sound.  For Yula had marched straight to the
+back door of the house, where food was to be had, and was shaking it and
+whining to be let in.
+
+The young stranger Gaspé took a bit of paper and a pencil out of his
+pocket and wrote hastily: "There are lots more of the Blackfeet hiding
+amongst the reeds.  What does that mean?"
+
+"Louison!" he cried to a man at work in one of the sheds, "go outside
+and give this to grandfather."
+
+
+
+
+                            *CHAPTER VIII.*
+
+                    _*THE SHOP IN THE WILDERNESS.*_
+
+
+As soon as Gaspé had despatched his messenger he turned to Wilfred,
+observing, in tones of grateful satisfaction, "I am so glad we know in
+time."
+
+"Is that your grandfather?" asked Wilfred.
+
+Gaspé nodded.  "Come and look at him."
+
+The two boys were soon watching earnestly through the grating, their
+faces almost touching.  Gaspé’s arm was over Wilfred’s shoulder, as they
+drew closer and closer to each other.
+
+Gaspé’s grandfather took the slip of paper from his man, glanced at it,
+and crushed it in his hand.  The chief was hastily heaping a mass of
+buffalo robes and skins and bags of pemmican upon one of the horses, a
+gift for the white man, horse and all.  This was to show his big heart.
+
+"Do you hear what he is saying?" whispered Gaspé, who understood the
+Indians much better than Wilfred did.  "Listen!"
+
+"Are there any Crees here?  Crees have no manners.  Crees are like dogs,
+always ready to bite if you turn your head away; but the Blackfeet have
+large hearts, and love hospitality."
+
+"After all, those men in the reeds may only be on the watch for fear of
+a surprise from the Crees," continued Gaspé.
+
+"Will there be a fight?" asked Wilfred breathlessly.
+
+"No, I think not," answered Gaspé.  "The Crees have lived amongst us
+whites so long they have given up the war-path.  But," he added
+confidentially, "I have locked our old Indian in the kitchen, for if
+they caught sight of him they might say we were friends of the Crees,
+and set on us."
+
+One door in the white-painted house was standing open.  It led into a
+large and almost empty room. Just inside it a number of articles were
+piled on the floor—a gun, blankets, scarlet cloth, and a
+brightly-painted canister of tea.  Louison came back to fetch them, for
+a return present, with which the chief seemed highly delighted.
+
+"We see but little of you white men," he said; "and our young men do not
+always know how to behave.  But if you would come amongst us more, we
+chiefs would restrain them."
+
+"He would have hard work," laughed Wilfred, little thinking how soon his
+words were to be verified. The Blackfeet standing round their chief,
+with their piles of skins, were so obviously getting excited, and
+impatient to begin the real trading, the chief must have felt even he
+could not hold them back much longer.  But he was earnest in his
+exhortation to them not to give way to violence or rough behaviour.
+
+Gaspé’s grandfather was silently noting every face, without appearing to
+do so; and mindful of the warning he had received, he led the way to his
+gate, which he invited them to enter, observing, "My places are but
+small, friends.  All shall come in by turns, but only a few at a time."
+
+Gaspé drew back the bar and threw the gate wide.  In walked the stately
+chief, with one or two of his followers who had taken part in the
+speech-making.  The excited crowd at the back of them pushed their way
+in, as if they feared the gate might be shut in their faces.
+
+Gaspé remonstrated, assuring them there was no hurry, all should have
+their turn.
+
+The chief waved them back, and the last of the group contented
+themselves with standing in the gateway itself, to prevent it being shut
+against them.
+
+Gaspé gave up the vain attempt to close it, and resumed his post.
+
+"I am here on the watch," he whispered to Wilfred; "but you are cold and
+hungry.  Go with grandfather into the shop."
+
+"I would rather stay with you," answered Wilfred. "I am getting used to
+being hungry."
+
+Gaspé answered this by pushing into his hand a big hunch of bread and
+butter, which he had brought with him from his hurried breakfast.
+
+Meanwhile Gaspé’s grandfather had entered the house, taking with him the
+Blackfoot chief.  He invited the others to enter and seat themselves on
+the floor of the empty room into which Wilfred had already had a peep.
+He unlocked an inner door, opening into a passage, which divided the
+great waiting-room from the small shop beyond.  This had been carefully
+prepared for the reception of their wild customers.  Only a few of his
+goods were left upon the shelves, which were arranged with much
+ingenuity, and seemed to display a great variety of wares, all of them
+attractive in Indian eyes.  The bright-coloured cloths, cut in short
+lengths, were folded in fantastic heaps; the blankets were hung in
+graceful festoons.  Beads scattered lightly on trays glittered behind
+the counter, on which the empty scales were lightly swaying up and down,
+like miniature swinging-boats.
+
+A high lattice protected the front of the counter. Gaspé’s grandfather
+established himself behind it. Louison took his place as door-keeper.
+The chief and two of his particular friends were the first to be
+admitted.  Louison locked the door to keep out the others.  It was the
+only way to preserve order. The wild, fierce strangers from the
+snow-covered plain and the darksome forest drew at once to the stove—a
+great iron box in the middle of the shop, with its huge black funnel
+rising through the ceiling. Warmth without smoke was a luxury unknown in
+the wigwam.
+
+The Indians walked slowly round the shop, examining and considering the
+contents of the shelves, until their choice was made.
+
+One of the three walked up to the counter and handed his pile of skins
+to the trader, Mr. De Brunier, through a little door in the lattice,
+pointing to some bright scarlet cloth and a couple of blankets.  The
+chief was examining the guns.  All three wanted shot, and the others
+inquired earnestly for the Indians’ special delight, "tea and suga’."
+But when they saw the canister opened, and the tea poured into the
+scale, there was a grunt of dissatisfaction all round.
+
+"What for?" demanded the chief.  "Why put tea one side that swing and
+little bit of iron the other? Who wants little bit of iron?  We don’t
+know what that medicine is."
+
+The Indians call everything medicine that seems to them learned and
+wise.
+
+Mr. De Brunier tried to explain the use of his scales, and took up his
+steelyard to see if it would find more favour.
+
+"Be fair," pursued the chief; "make one side as big as the other.  Try
+bag of pemmican against your blankets and tea, then when the thing stops
+swinging you take pemmican, we blankets and tea—that fair!"
+
+His companions echoed their chief’s sentiments.
+
+"As you like," smiled the trader.  "We only want to make a fair
+exchange."
+
+So the heavy bag of pemmican was put in the place of the weight, and a
+nice heap of tea was poured upon the blanket to make the balance true.
+The Indians were delighted.
+
+"Now," continued Mr. De Brunier, "we must weigh the shot and the gun
+against your skins, according to your plan."
+
+But when the red men saw their beautiful marten and otter and fisher
+skins piling higher and higher, and the heavy bag of shot still refusing
+to rise, a grave doubt as to the correctness of their own view of the
+matter arose in the Indians’ minds.  The first served took up his
+scarlet cloth and blanket and went out quickly, whilst the others
+deliberated.
+
+The trader waited with good-humoured patience and a quiet gleam of
+amusement in the corner of his eye, when they told him at last to do it
+his own way, for the steel swing was a great medicine warriors could not
+understand.  It was plain it could only be worked by some great medicine
+man like himself.
+
+This decision had been reached so slowly, the impatience of the crowd in
+the waiting-room was at spirit-boil.
+
+The brave who had come back satisfied was exhibiting his blankets and
+his scarlet cloth, which had to be felt and looked at by all in turn.
+
+"Were there many more inside?" they asked eagerly.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+A belief that the good things would all be gone before the rest of the
+Indians could get their turn spread among the excited crowd like
+wild-fire.
+
+Gaspé still held to his watch by the gate, with Wilfred beside him.
+
+There was plenty of laughing and talking among the party of resolute men
+who kept it open; they seemed full of fun, and were joking each other in
+the highest spirits.  Gaspé’s eyes turned again and again to the frozen
+reeds, but all was quiet.
+
+Wilfred was earnestly watching for a chance to ask the mirthful
+Blackfeet if an old squaw, the Far-off-Dawn, had joined their camp.  He
+could not make them understand him, but Gaspé repeated the question.
+
+At that moment one of the fiercest-looking of the younger warriors
+rushed out of the waiting-room in a state of intense excitement.  He
+beckoned to his companions at the gate, exclaiming, "If we don’t help
+ourselves there will be nothing left for you and me."
+
+"We know who will see fair play," retorted the young chief, who was
+answering Gaspé.
+
+A whoop rang through the frosty air, and the still stiff reeds seemed
+suddenly alive with dusky faces. The crush round the inner door in the
+waiting-room became intense.
+
+"Help me," whispered Gaspé, seizing Wilfred’s arm and dragging him after
+him through the sheds to the back of the house.  He took out a key and
+unlocked a side door.  There was a second before him, with the keyhole
+at the reverse hand.  It admitted them into a darkened room, for the
+windows were closely shuttered; but Gaspé knew his ground, and was not
+at a moment’s loss.
+
+The double doors were locked and bolted in double quick time behind
+them.  Then Gaspé lifted up a heavy iron bar and banged it into its
+socket.  Noise did not matter.  The clamour in the waiting-room drowned
+every other sound.
+
+"They will clear the shop," he said, "but we must stop them getting into
+the storeroom.  Come along."
+
+Wilfred was feeling the way.  He stumbled over a chair; his hand felt a
+table.  He guessed he was in the family sitting-room.  Gaspé put his
+mouth to the keyhole of an inner door.
+
+"Chirag!" he shouted to their Indian servant, "barricade."
+
+The noises which succeeded showed that his command was being obeyed in
+that direction.
+
+Gaspé was already in the storeroom, endeavouring to push a heavy box of
+nails before the other door leading into the shop.  Wilfred was beside
+him in a moment.  He had not much pushing power left in him after his
+night of wandering.
+
+"Perhaps I can push a pound," he thought, laying his hands by Gaspé’s.
+
+"Now, steady! both together we shall do it," they said, and with one
+hard strain the box was driven along the floor.
+
+"That is something," cried Gaspé, heaving up a bag of ironmongery to put
+on the top of it.  And he looked round for something else sufficiently
+ponderous to complete his barricade.
+
+"What is this?" asked Wilfred, tugging at a chest of tools.
+
+Meanwhile a dozen hatchets’ heads were hammering at the door from the
+waiting-room where Louison was stationed.  The crack of the wood giving
+way beneath their blows inspired Gaspé with redoubled energy. The chest
+was hoisted upon the box.  He surveyed his barricade with satisfaction.
+But their work was not yet done.  He dragged forward a set of steps, and
+running up to the top, threw open a trap-door in the ceiling.  A ray of
+light streamed down into the room, showing Wilfred, very white and
+exhausted, leaning against the pile they had erected.
+
+Gaspé sprang to the ground, rushed back into the sitting-room, and began
+to rummage in the cupboard.
+
+"Here is grandfather’s essence of peppermint and the sugar-basin and
+lots of biscuits!" he exclaimed. "You are faint, you have had no
+breakfast yet. I am forgetting.  Here."
+
+Wilfred’s benumbed fingers felt in the sugar for a good-sized lump.
+Gaspé poured his peppermint drops upon it with a free hand.  The
+warming, reviving dose brought back the colour to Wilfred’s pale lips.
+
+"Feel better?" asked his energetic companion, running up the steps with
+a roll of cloth on his shoulder, which he deposited safely in the loft
+above, inviting Wilfred to follow.  The place was warm, for the iron
+chimneys ran through it, like so many black columns.  Wilfred was ready
+to embrace the nearest.
+
+Gaspé caught his arm.  "You are too much of a human icicle for that," he
+cried.  "I’ll bring up the blankets next.  Roll yourself up in them and
+get warm gradually, or you will be worse than ever. You must take care
+of yourself, for I dare not stop. It is always a bit dangerous when the
+Indians come up in such numbers to a little station like this. There is
+nobody but grandfather and me and our two men about the place, and what
+are four against a hundred?  But all know what to do.  Chirag watches
+inside the house, I outside, and Louison keeps the shop door.  That is
+the most dangerous post, because of the crush to get in."
+
+A crash and a thud in the room below verified his words.
+
+"There! down it goes," he exclaimed, as a peal of laughter from many
+voices followed the rush of the crowd from one room to the other.
+
+"They will be in here next," he added, springing down the steps for
+another load.  Wilfred tried to shake off the strange sensations which
+oppressed him, and took it from him.  Another and another followed
+quickly, until the boys had removed the greater part of the most
+valuable of the stores into the roof.  The guns and the heavy bags of
+shot had all been carried up in the early morning, before the gate of
+the fort was opened.
+
+And now the hammering began at the storeroom door, amid peals of
+uproarious laughter.
+
+Gaspé tore up the steps with another heavy roll of bright blue cloth.
+
+"We can do no more," he said, pausing for breath. "Now we will shut
+ourselves in here."
+
+"We will have these up first," returned Wilfred, seizing hold of the top
+of the steps, and trying to drag them through the trap-door.
+
+"Right!" ejaculated Gaspé.  "If we had left them standing in the middle
+of the storeroom, it would have been inviting the Blackfeet to follow
+us."
+
+They let down the trap-door as noiselessly as they could, and drew the
+heavy bolt at the very moment the door below was broken open and the
+triumphant crowd rushed wildly in, banging down their bags of pemmican
+on the floor, and seizing the first thing which came to hand in return.
+
+Louison had been knocked down in the first rush from the waiting-room,
+and was leaning against the wall, having narrowly escaped being trampled
+to death. "All right!" he shouted to his master, who had jumped up on
+his counter to see if his agile servitor had regained his feet.  It was
+wild work, but Mr. De Brunier took it all in good part, flinging his
+blankets right and left wherever he saw an eager hand outstretched to
+receive them.  He knew that it was far better to give before they had
+time to take, and so keep up a semblance of trade.  Many a beautiful
+skin and buffalo-robe was tossed across the counter in return.  The
+heterogeneous pile was growing higher and higher beside him, and in the
+confusion it was hard to tell how much was intended for purchase, how
+much for pillage.
+
+The chief, the Great Swan, as his people called him, still stood by the
+scales, determined to see if the great medicine worked fairly for all
+his people.
+
+Mr. De Brunier called to him by his Indian name: "Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu,
+do you not hear what I am saying?  Your young men are too rough.
+Restrain them.  You say you can.  How am I to weigh and measure to each
+his right portion in such a rout?"
+
+"Give them all something and they will be content," shouted the chief,
+trying his best to restore order.
+
+Dozens of gaudy cotton handkerchiefs went flying over the black heads,
+scrambling with each other to get possession of them.  Spoonfuls of
+beads were received with chuckles of delight by the nearest ranks; hut
+the Indians outside the crowd were growing hot and angry.  Turns had
+been long since disregarded. It was catch as catch can.  They broke down
+the lattice, and helped themselves from the shelves behind the counter.
+These were soon cleared.  A party of strong young fellows, laughing as
+if it were the best fun in the world, leaped clear over the counter, and
+began to chop at the storeroom door with their hatchets.  With a
+dexterous hand Mr. De Brunier flung his bright silks in their faces.
+The dancing skeins were quickly caught up.  But the work of demolition
+went forward.  The panels were reduced to matchwood.  Three glittering
+hatchets swung high over the men’s heads, came down upon the still
+resisting framework, and smashed it.  The mirthful crowd dashed in.
+
+The shop was already cleared.  Mr. De Brunier would have gone into his
+storeroom with them if he could, but a dozen guns were pointed in his
+face.  It was mere menace, no one attempted to fire.  But the chief
+thought it was going too far.  He backed to the waiting-room.  Mr. De
+Brunier seized his empty tea-canister, and offered it to him as a
+parting gift, saying in most emphatic tones, "This is not our way of
+doing business.  Some of these men have got too much, and some too
+little.  It is not my fault.  I must deal now with the tribe.  Let them
+all lay down on the floor the rest of the skins and bags they have
+brought, and take away all I have to give in exchange, and you must
+divide when you get back to your camp, to every man his right share."
+
+Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu rushed off with his canister under his arm; not
+into the storeroom, where the dismayed trader hoped his presence might
+have proved a restraint, but straight through the waiting-room with a
+mad dash into the court, and through the gate, where he halted to give a
+thunderous shout of "Crees!  Crees!"  The magic words brought out his
+followers pell-mell.  A second shout, a wilder alarm, made the tribe
+rally round their chief, in the full belief the Crees had surprised
+their camp in their hateful dog-like fashion, taking their bite at the
+women and children when the warriors’ heads were turned.
+
+But the unmannerly foe was nowhere in sight.
+
+"Over the hill!" shouted their Great Wild Swan, the man of twenty
+fights.
+
+Meanwhile the gate of the little fort was securely barred against all
+intruders.  The waiting squaws meekly turned their horses’ heads, and
+followed their deluded lords, picking up the beads and nails which had
+been dropped in their headlong haste.
+
+"Woe to Maxica," thought Wilfred, "if he should happen to be returning
+for his moose!"
+
+The wild war-whoop died away in the distance, only the roar of the
+cataract broke the stillness of the snow-laden air.
+
+De Brunier walked back into his house, to count up the gain and loss,
+and see how much reckless mischief that morning’s work had brought him.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER IX.*
+
+                            _*NEW FRIENDS.*_
+
+
+"We shall always be friends," said Gaspé, looking into Wilfred’s face,
+as they stood side by side against the chimney in the loft, emptying the
+biscuit-canister between them.
+
+Wilfred answered with a sunny smile.  The sounds below suddenly changed
+their character.  The general stampede to the gate was beginning.
+
+The boys flew to the window.  It was a double one, very small and
+thickly frozen.  They could not see the least thing through its
+glittering panes.
+
+They could scarcely believe their ears, but the sudden silence which
+succeeded convinced Gaspé their rough visitors had beaten a hasty
+retreat.
+
+"Anyhow we will wait a bit, and make sure before we go down," they
+decided.
+
+But De Brunier’s first care was for his grandson, and he was missing.
+
+"Gaspard!" he shouted, and his call was echoed by Louison and Chirag.
+
+"Here, grandfather; I am here, I am coming," answered the boy, gently
+raising the trap-door and peeping down at the dismantled storeroom.  A
+great bag of goose-feathers, which had been hoarded by some thrifty
+squaw, had been torn open, and the down was flying in every direction.
+
+There was a groan from Mr. De Brunier.  All his most valuable stores had
+vanished.
+
+"Not quite so bad as that, grandfather," cried Gaspé brightly.
+
+The trader stepped up on to the remains of the barricade the boys had
+erected, and popped his head through the open trap-door.
+
+"Well done, Gaspard!" he exclaimed.
+
+"This other boy helped me," was the instantaneous reply.
+
+The other boy came out from the midst of the blanket heap, feeling more
+dead than alive, and expecting every moment some one would say to him,
+"Now go," and he had nowhere to go.
+
+Mr. De Brunier looked at him in amazement.  A solitary boy in these lone
+wastes!  Had he dropped from the skies?
+
+"Come down, my little lad, and tell me who you are," he said kindly; but
+without waiting for a reply he walked on through the broken door to
+survey the devastation beyond.
+
+"I have grown gray in the service of the Company, and never had a more
+provoking disaster," he lamented, as he began to count the tumbled heap
+of valuable furs blocking his pathway.
+
+Louison, looking pale and feeling dizzy from his recent knock over, was
+collecting the bags of pemmican. Chirag, released from his imprisonment,
+was opening window shutters and replenishing the burnt-out fires. Gaspé
+dropped down from the roof, without waiting to replace the steps, and
+went to his grandfather’s assistance, leaving Wilfred to have a good
+sleep in the blanket heap.
+
+The poor boy was so worn out he slept heavily. When he roused himself at
+last, the October day was drawing to its close, and Gaspé was laughing
+beside him.
+
+"Have not you had sleep enough?" he asked. "Would not dinner be an
+improvement?"
+
+Wilfred wakened from his dreams of Acland’s Hut. Aunt Miriam and
+Pe-na-Koam had got strangely jumbled together; but up he jumped to grasp
+his new friend’s warm, young hand, and wondered what had happened. He
+felt as if he had been tossing like a ball from one strange scene to
+another.  When he found himself sitting on a real chair, and not on the
+hard ground, the transition was so great it seemed like another dream.
+
+The room was low, no carpet on the floor, only a few chairs ranged round
+the stove in the centre; but a real dinner, hot and smoking, was spread
+on the unpainted deal table.
+
+Mr. De Brunier, with one arm thrown over the back of his chair, was
+smoking, to recall his lost serenity.  An account-book lay beside his
+unfinished dinner.  Sometimes his eye wandered over its long rows of
+figures, and then for a while he seemed absorbed in mental calculation.
+
+He glanced at Wilfred’s thin hands and pinched cheeks.
+
+"Let the boy eat," he said to Gaspé.
+
+As the roast goose vanished from Wilfred’s plate the smile returned to
+his lips and the mirth to his heart.  He outdid the hungry hunter of
+proverbial fame.  The pause came at last; he could not quite keep on
+eating all night, Indian fashion.  He really declined the sixth helping
+Gaspé was pressing upon him.
+
+"No, thanks; I have had a Benjamin’s portion—five times as much as you
+have had—and I am dreadfully obliged to you," said Wilfred, with a bow
+to Mr. De Brunier; "but there is Yula, that is my dog.  May he have
+these bones?"
+
+"He has had something more than bones already; Chirag fed him when he
+fed my puppies," put in Gaspé.
+
+"Puppies," repeated Mr. De Brunier.  "Dogs, I say."
+
+"Not yet, grandfather," remonstrated the happy Gaspé.  "You said they
+would not be really dogs, ready for work, until they were a year old,
+and it wants a full week."
+
+"Please, sir," interrupted Wilfred abruptly, "can you tell me how I can
+get home?"
+
+"Where is your home?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"With my uncle, at Acland’s Hut," answered Wilfred promptly.
+
+"Acland’s Hut," repeated Mr. De Brunier, looking across at Gaspé for
+elucidation.  They did not know such a place existed.
+
+"It is miles away from here," added Wilfred sorrowfully.  "I went out
+hunting—"
+
+"You—a small boy like you—to go hunting alone!" exclaimed Mr. De
+Brunier.
+
+"Please, sir, I mean I rode on a pony by the cart which was to bring
+back the game," explained poor Wilfred, growing very rueful, as all hope
+of getting home again seemed to recede further and further from him.
+"The pony threw me," he added, "and when I came to myself the men were
+gone."
+
+"Have you no father?" whispered Gaspé.
+
+"My father died a year ago, and I was left at school at Garry," Wilfred
+went on.
+
+"Fort Garry!" exclaimed Mr. De Brunier, brightening. "If this had
+happened a few weeks earlier, I could easily have sent you back to Garry
+in one of the Company’s boats.  They are always rowing up and down the
+river during the busy summer months, but they have just stopped for the
+winter With this Blackfoot camp so near us, I dare not unbar my gate
+again to-night, so make yourself contented.  In the morning we will see
+what can be done."
+
+"Nothing!" thought Wilfred, as he gathered the goose-bones together for
+Yula’s benefit.  "If you do not know where Acland’s Hut is, and I cannot
+tell you, night or morning what difference can it make?"
+
+He studied the table-cloth, thinking hard.  "Bowkett and Diomé had
+talked of going to a hunters’ camp.  Where was that?"
+
+"Ask Louison," said Mr. De Brunier, in reply to his inquiry.
+
+Gaspé ran out to put the question.
+
+Louison was a hunter’s son.  He had wintered in the camp himself when he
+was a boy.  The hunters gathered there in November.  Parties would soon
+be calling at the fort, to sell their skins by the way. Wilfred could go
+on with one of them, no doubt, and then Bowkett could take him home.
+
+Wilfred’s heart grew lighter.  It was a roundabout-road, but he felt as
+if getting back to Bowkett was next to getting home.
+
+"How glad your uncle will be to see you!" cried Gaspé radiantly,
+picturing the bright home-coming in the warmth of his own sympathy.
+
+"Oh, don’t!" said Wilfred; "please, don’t.  It won’t be like that; not a
+bit.  Nobody wants me. Aunt wanted my little sister, not me.  You don’t
+understand; I am such a bother to her."
+
+Gaspé was silenced, but his hand clasped Wilfred’s a little closer.  All
+the chivalrous feelings of the knightly De Bruniers were rousing in his
+breast for the strange boy who had brought them the timely warning.  For
+some of the best and noblest blood of old France was flowing in his
+veins.  A De Brunier had come out with the early French settlers, the
+first explorers, the first voyageurs along the mighty Canadian rivers.
+A De Brunier had fought against Wolfe on the Heights of Abraham, in the
+front ranks of that gallant band who faithfully upheld their nation’s
+honour, loyal to the last to the shameless France, which despised,
+neglected, and abandoned them—men whose high sense of duty never swerved
+in the hour of trial, when they were given over into the hands of their
+enemy.  Who cared what happened in that far-off corner of the world?  It
+was not worth troubling about.  So the France of that day reasoned when
+she flung them from her.
+
+It was of those dark hours Gaspé loved to make his grandfather talk, and
+he was thinking that nothing would divert Wilfred from his troubled
+thoughts like one of grandfather’s stories.  The night drew on. The snow
+was falling thicker and denser than before. Mr. De Brunier turned his
+chair to the stove, afraid to go to bed with the Blackfoot camp within
+half-a-mile of his wooden walls.
+
+"They might," he said, "have a fancy to give us a midnight scare, to see
+what more they could get."
+
+The boys begged hard to remain.  The fire, shut in its iron box, was
+burning at its best, emitting a dull red glow, even through its prison
+walls.  Gaspé refilled his grandfather’s pipe.
+
+"Wilfred," he remarked gently, "has a home that is no home, and he
+thinks we cannot understand the ups and downs of life, or what it is to
+be pushed to the wall."
+
+Gaspé had touched the right spring.  The veteran trader smiled.  "Not
+know, my lad, what it is to be pushed to the wall, when I have been a
+servant for fifty years in the very house where my grandfather was
+master, before the golden lilies on our snow-white banner were torn down
+to make room for your Union Jack!  Why am I telling you this to-night?
+Just to show you, when all seems lost in the present, there is the
+future beyond, and no one can tell what that may hold.  The pearl lies
+hidden under the stormiest waters.  Do you know old Cumberland House?  A
+De Brunier built it, the first trading-fort in the Saskatchewan.  It was
+lost to us when the cold-hearted Bourbon flung us like a bone to the
+English mastiff. Our homes were ours no longer.  Our lives were in our
+hands, but our honour no one but ourselves could throw away.  What did
+we do?  What could we do? What all can do—our duty to the last.  We
+braved our trouble; and when all seemed lost, help came. Who was it felt
+for us?  The men who had torn from us our colours and entered our gates
+by force. Under the British flag our homes were given back, our rights
+assured.  Our Canadian Quebec remains unaltered, a transplant from the
+old France of the Bourbons.  In the long years that have followed the
+harvest has been reaped on both sides.  Now, my boy, don’t break your
+heart with thinking, If there had been anybody to care for me, I should
+not have been left senseless in a snow-covered wilderness; but rouse
+your manhood and face your trouble, for in God’s providence it may be
+more than made up to you.  Here you can stay until some opportunity
+occurs to send you to this hunters’ camp.  You are sure it will be your
+best way to get home again?"
+
+"Yes," answered Wilfred decidedly.  "I shall find Bowkett there, and I
+am sure he will take me back to Acland’s Hut.  But please, sir, I did
+not mean aunt and uncle were unkind; but I had been there such a little
+while, and somehow I was always wrong; and then I know I teased."
+
+The cloud was gathering over him again.
+
+"If—" he sighed.
+
+"Don’t dwell on the _ifs_, my boy; talk of what has been.  That will
+teach you best what may be," inter posed Mr. De Brunier.
+
+Gaspé saw the look of pain in Wilfred’s eyes, although he did not say
+again, "Please don’t talk about it," for he was afraid Mr. De Brunier
+would not call that facing his trouble.
+
+Gaspé came to the rescue.  "But, grandfather, you have not told us what
+the harvest was that Canada reaped," he put in.
+
+"Cannot you see it for yourself, Gaspard?" said Mr. De Brunier.  "When
+French and English, conquered and conqueror, settled down side by side,
+it was their respect for each other, their careful consideration for
+each other’s rights and wrongs, that taught their children and their
+children’s children the great lesson how to live and let live.  No other
+nation in the world has learned as we have done.  It is this that makes
+our Canada a land of refuge for the down-trodden slave.  And we, the
+French in Canada, what have we reaped?" he went on, shaking the ashes
+from his pipe, and looking at the two boys before him, French and
+English; but the old lines were fading, and uniting in the broader name
+of Canadian.  "Yes," he repeated, "what did we find at the bottom of our
+bitter cup?  Peace, security, and freedom, whilst the streets of Paris
+ran red with Frenchmen’s blood.  The last De Brunier in France was
+dragged from his ancestral home to the steps of the guillotine by
+Frenchmen’s hands, and the old chateau in Brittany is left a moss-grown
+ruin.  When my father saw the hereditary foe of his country walk into
+Cumberland House to turn him out, they met with a bonjour [good day];
+and when they parted this was the final word: ’You are a young man,
+Monsieur De Brunier, but your knowledge of the country and your
+influence with the Indians can render us valuable assistance.  If at any
+time you choose to take office in your old locale, you will find that
+faithful service will be handsomely requited.’  We kept our honour and
+laid down our pride.  Content.  Your British Queen has no more loyal
+subjects in all her vast dominions than her old French Canadians."
+
+There was a mist before Wilfred’s eyes, and his voice was low and husky.
+He only whispered, "I shall not forget, I never can forget to-night."
+
+The small hours of the morning were numbered before Gaspé opened the
+door of his little sleeping room, which Wilfred was to share.  It was
+not much bigger than a closet.  The bed seemed to fill it.
+
+There was just room for Gaspé’s chest of clothes and an array of pegs.
+But to Wilfred it seemed a palace, in its cozy warmth.  It made him
+think of Pe-na-Koam.  He hoped she was as comfortable in the Blackfoot
+camp.
+
+Gaspé was growing sleepy.  One arm was round Wilfred’s neck; he roused
+himself to answer, "Did not you hear what the warrior with the scalps at
+his belt told me?  She came into their camp, and they gave her food as
+long as she could eat it.  She was too old to travel, and they left her
+asleep by their camp-fires."
+
+Up sprang Wilfred.  "Whatever shall I do?  I have brought away her
+kettle; I thought she had gone to her own people, and left it behind her
+for me."
+
+"Do!" repeated Gaspé, laughing.  "Why, go to sleep old fellow; what else
+can we do at four o’clock in the morning?  If we don’t make haste about
+it, we shall have no night at all."
+
+Gaspé was quick to follow his own advice.  But the "no night" was
+Wilfred’s portion.  There was no rest for him for thinking of
+Pe-na-Koam.  How was she to get her breakfast?  The Blackfeet might have
+given her food, but how could she boil a drop of water without her
+kettle?
+
+At the first movement in the house he slipped out of bed and dressed
+himself.  The fire had burned low in the great stove in the
+sitting-room, but when he softly opened the door of their closet it
+struck fairly warm.  The noise he had heard was Louison coming in with a
+great basket of wood to build it up.
+
+"A fire in prison is a dull affair by daylight," remarked Wilfred.  "I
+think I shall go for a walk—a long walk."
+
+"Mr. De Brunier will have something to say about that after last night’s
+blizzard," returned Louison.
+
+"Then please tell him it is my duty to go, for I am afraid an old Indian
+woman, who was very kind to me, was out in last night’s snow, and I must
+go and look for her.  Will you just undo that door and let me out?"
+
+"Not quite so fast; I have two minds about that," answered Louison.
+"Better wait for Mr. De Brunier. I know I shall be wrong if I let you go
+off like this."
+
+"How can you be wrong?" retorted Wilfred.  "I came to this place to warn
+you all there was a party of Blackfeet hidden in the reeds.  Well, if I
+had waited, what good would it have been to you?  Now I find the old
+squaw who made me these gloves was out in last night’s snow, and I must
+go and look for her, and go directly."
+
+"But a boy like you will never find her," laughed Louison.
+
+"I’ll try it," said Wilfred doggedly.
+
+"Was she a Blackfoot?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then she is safe enough in camp, depend upon it," returned Louison.
+
+"No, she was left behind," persisted Wilfred.
+
+"Then come with me," said Louison, by no means sorry to have found a
+friendly reason for approaching the Blackfeet camp.  "I have a little
+bit of scout business in hand, just to find out whether these wild
+fellows are moving on, or whether they mean waiting about to pay us
+another visit."
+
+Chirag was clearing away the snow in the enclosure outside.  Wilfred
+found the kettle and the skin just where he had laid them down, inside
+the first shed. He called up Yula, and started by Louison’s side. Chirag
+was waiting to bar the gate behind them.
+
+"Beautiful morning," said the Canadians, vigorously rubbing their noses
+to keep them from freezing, and violently clapping their mittened hands
+together. The snow lay white and level, over hill and marsh, one
+sparkling sheet of silvery sheen.  The edging of ice was broadening
+along the river, and the roar of the falls came with a thunderous boom
+through the all-pervading stillness around them.
+
+The snow was already hard, as the two ran briskly forward, with Yula
+careering and bounding in extravagant delight.
+
+Wilfred looked back to the little fort, with its stout wooden walls,
+twice the height of a man, hiding the low white house with its roof of
+bark, hiding everything within but the rough lookout and the tall
+flag-staff, for
+
+    "Ever above the topmost roof the banner of England blew."
+
+
+Wilfred was picturing the feelings with which the De Bruniers had worked
+on beneath it, giving the same faithful service to their foreign masters
+that they had to the country which had cast them off.
+
+"It is a dirty old rag," said Louison; "gone all to ribbons in last
+night’s gale.  But it is good enough for a little place like this—we
+call it Hungry Hall.  We don’t keep it open all the year round.  Just
+now, in October, the Indians and the hunters are bringing in the produce
+of their summer’s hunting.  We shall shut up soon, and open later again
+for the winter trade."
+
+"A dirty old rag!" repeated Wilfred.  "Yes, but I am prouder of it than
+ever, for it means protection and safety wherever it floats.  Boy as I
+am, I can see that."
+
+"Can you see something else," asked Louison—"the crossing poles of the
+first wigwam?  We are at the camp."
+
+
+
+
+                              *CHAPTER X.*
+
+                           _*THE DOG-SLED.*_
+
+
+A cloud of smoke from its many wigwam fires overhung the Indian camp as
+Louison and Wilfred drew near.  The hunter’s son, with his quick ear,
+stole cautiously through the belt of pine trees which sheltered it from
+the north wind, listening for any sounds of awakening life.  Yesterday’s
+adventure had no doubt been followed by a prolonged feast, and men and
+dogs were still sleeping.  A few squaws, upon whom the hard work of the
+Indian world all devolves, were already astir.  Louison thought they
+were gathering firewood outside the camp.  This was well.  Louison hung
+round about the outskirts, watching their proceedings, until he saw one
+woman behind a wigwam gathering snow to fill her kettle.  Her pappoose
+in its wooden cradle was strapped to her back; but she had seen or heard
+them, for she paused in her occupation and looked up wondering.
+
+Louison stepped forward.
+
+"Now for your questions, my boy," he said to Wilfred, "and I will play
+interpreter."
+
+"Is there an old squaw in your camp named the Far-off-Dawn?"
+
+Wilfred needed no interpreter to explain the "caween" given in reply.
+
+"Tell her, Louison," he hurried on, "she was with me the night before
+last.  I thought she left me to follow this trail.  If she has not
+reached this camp, she must be lost in the snow."
+
+"Will not some of your people go and look for her," added Louison, on
+his own account, "before you move on?"
+
+"What is the use?" she asked.  "Death will have got her by this time.
+She came to the camp; she was too old to travel.  If she is alive, she
+may overtake us again.  We shall not move on until another sunrising, to
+rest the horses."
+
+"Then I shall go and look for her," said Wilfred resolutely.
+
+"Not you," retorted Louison; "wait a bit."  He put his hand in his
+pockets.  They had been well filled with tea and tobacco, in readiness
+for any emergency. "Is not there anybody in the camp who will go and
+look for her?"
+
+Louison was asking his questions for the sake of the information he
+elicited, but Wilfred caught at the idea in earnest.  "Go and see,"
+urged Louison, offering her a handful of his tea.
+
+"Thé!" she repeated.  The magic word did wonders. Louison knew if one of
+the men were willing to leave the camp to look for Pe-na-Koam, no
+further mischief was intended.  But if they were anticipating a
+repetition of "the high old time" they had enjoyed yesterday, not one of
+them could be induced to forego their portion in so congenial a lark,
+for in their eyes it was nothing more.
+
+The squaw took the tea in both her hands, gladly leaving her kettle in
+the snow, as she led the way into the camp.
+
+Wilfred, who had only seen the poor little canvas tents of the Crees,
+looked round him in astonishment. In the centre stood the lodge or moya
+of the chief—a wigwam built in true old Indian style, fourteen feet high
+at the least.  Twelve strong poles were stuck in the ground, round a
+circle fifteen feet across. They were tied together at the top, and the
+outside was covered with buffalo-skins, painted black and red in all
+sorts of figures.  Eagles seemed perching on the heads of deers, and
+serpents twisted and coiled beneath the feet of buffaloes.  The other
+wigwams built around it were in the same style, on a smaller scale, all
+brown with smoke.
+
+A goodly array of spears, bows, and shields adorned the outside of the
+moya; above them the much-coveted rifles were ranged with exceeding
+pride.  The ground between the moya and the tents was littered with
+chips and bones, among which the dogs were busy. A few children were
+pelting each other with the snow, or trying to shoot at the busy jays
+with a baby of a bow and arrows to match.
+
+Louison pushed aside the fur which hung over the entrance to the
+moya—the man-hole—and stepped inside.  A beautiful fire was burning in
+the middle of the tent.  The floor was strewed with pine brush, and
+skins were hung round the inside wall, like a dado.  They fitted very
+closely to the ground, so as to keep out all draught.  The rabbits and
+swans, the buzzards and squirrels painted on this dado were so lifelike,
+Wilfred thought it must be as good as a picture-book to the dear little
+pappoose, strapped to its flat board cradle, and set upright against the
+wall whilst mother was busy.  The sleeping-places were divided by
+wicker-screens, and seemed furnished with plenty of blankets and skins.
+One or two of them were still occupied; but Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu lay on
+a bear-skin by the fire, with his numerous pipes arranged beside him.
+The squaw explained the errand of their early visitors: a woman was lost
+in the snow, would the chief send one of his people to find her?
+
+The Great Swan looked over his shoulder and said something.  A young man
+rose up from one of the sleeping-places.
+
+Both were asking, "What was the good?"
+
+"She is one of your own people," urged Louison. "We came to tell you."
+
+This was not what Wilfred had said, and it was not all he wanted, but he
+was forced to trust it to Louison, although he was uneasy.
+
+He could see plainly enough an Indian would be far more likely to find
+her than himself, but would they?  Would any of them go?
+
+Louison offered a taste of his tobacco to the old chief and the young,
+by way of good-fellowship.
+
+"They will never do it for that," thought Wilfred growing desperate
+again.  He had but one thing about him he could offer as an inducement,
+and that was his knife.  He hesitated a moment.  He thought of
+Pe-na-Koam dying in the snow, and held it out to the young chieftain.
+
+The dusky fingers gripped the handle.
+
+"Will you take care of her and bring her here, or give her food and
+build up her hut?" asked Wilfred, making his meaning as plain as he
+could, by the help of nods and looks and signs.
+
+The young chief was outside the man-hole in another moment.  He slung
+his quiver to his belt and took down his bow, flung a stout blanket over
+his shoulder, and shouted to his squaw to catch a bronco, the usual name
+for the Canadian horse.  The kettle was in his hand.
+
+"Can we trust him?" asked Wilfred, as he left the camp by Louison’s
+side.
+
+"Trust him! yes," answered his companion.  "Young Sapoo is one of those
+Indians who never break faith. His word once given, he will keep it to
+the death."
+
+"Then I have only to pray that he may be in time," said Wilfred gravely,
+as he stood still to watch the wild red man galloping back to the
+beavers’ lakelet.
+
+"Oh, he will be in time," returned Louison cheerily.  "All their wigwam
+poles would be left standing, and plenty of pine brush and firewood
+strewing about.  She is sure to have found some shelter before the
+heaviest fall of snow; that did not come until it was nearly morning."
+
+Gaspé had climbed the lookout to watch for their return.
+
+"Wilfred, _mon cher_," he exclaimed, "you must have a perfect penchant
+for running away.  How could you give us the slip in such a shabby
+fashion? I could not believe Chirag.  If the bears were not all dropping
+off into their winter sleep, I should have thought some hungry bruin had
+breakfasted upon you."
+
+Gaspé’s grandfather had turned carpenter, and was already at work
+mending his broken doors.  Not being a very experienced workman, his
+planking and his panelling did not square.  Wood was plentiful, and more
+than one piece was thrown aside as a misfit.  Both the boys were eager
+to assist in the work of restoration. A broken shelf was mended between
+them—in first-rate workmanly style, as Wilfred really thought.  "We have
+done that well," they agreed; and when Mr. De Brunier—who was still
+chipping at his refractory panel—added a note of commendation to their
+labours, Gaspé’s spirits ran up to the very top of the mental
+thermometer.
+
+To recover his balance—for Wilfred unceremoniously declared he was off
+his head—Gaspé fell into a musing fit.  He wakened up, exclaiming,—
+
+"I’m flying high!"
+
+"Then mind you don’t fall," retorted Mr. De Brunier, who himself was
+cogitating somewhat darkly over Louison’s intelligence.  "There will be
+no peace for me," he said, "no security, whilst these Blackfeet are in
+the neighbourhood.  ’Wait for another sun-rising’—that means another
+forty-eight hours of incessant vigilance for me.  It was want of
+confidence did it all.  I should teach them to trust me in time, but it
+cannot be done in a day."
+
+As he moved on, lamenting over the scene of destruction, Gaspé laid a
+hand on Wilfred’s arm.  "How are you going to keep pace with the hunters
+with that lame foot?" he demanded.
+
+"As the tortoise did with the hare," laughed Wilfred. "Get myself left
+behind often enough, I don’t doubt that."
+
+"But I doubt if you will ever get to your home _à la tortoise_,"
+rejoined Gaspé.  "No, walking will never do for you.  I am thinking of
+making you a sled."
+
+"A sledge!" repeated Wilfred in surprise.
+
+"Oh, we drop the ’ge’ you add to it in your English dictionaries,"
+retorted Gaspé.  "We only say sled out here.  There will be plenty of
+board when grandfather has done his mending.  We may have what we want,
+I’m sure.  Your dog is a trained hauler, and why shouldn’t we teach my
+biggest pup to draw with him?  They would drag you after the hunters in
+fine style.  We can do it all, even to their jingling bells."
+
+Wilfred, who had been accustomed to the light and graceful carioles and
+sledges used in the Canadian towns, thought it was flying a bit too
+high.  But Gaspé, up in all the rough-and-ready contrivances of the
+backwoods, knew what he was about.  Louison and Chirag had to be
+consulted.
+
+When all the defences were put in order—bolts, bars, and padlocks
+doubled and trebled, and a rough but very ponderous double door added to
+the storeroom—Mr. De Brunier began to speak of rest.
+
+"The night cometh in which no man can work," he quoted, as if in
+justification of the necessary stoppage.
+
+The hammer was laid down, and he sank back in his hard chair, as if he
+were almost ashamed to indulge in his one solace, the well-filled pipe
+Gaspé was placing so coaxingly in his fingers.  A few sedative whiffs
+were enjoyed in silence; but before the boys were sent off to bed, Gaspé
+had secured the reversion of all the wooden remains of the carpentering
+bout, and as many nails as might be reasonably required.
+
+"Now," said Gaspé, as he tucked himself up by Wilfred’s side, and pulled
+the coverings well over head and ears, "I’ll show you what I can do."
+
+Three days passed quickly by.  On the morning of the fourth Louison
+walked in with a long face. The new horse, the gift of the Blackfoot
+chief, had vanished in the night.  The camp had moved on, nothing but
+the long poles of the wigwams were left standing.
+
+The loss of a horse is such an everyday occurrence in Canada, where
+horses are so often left to take care of themselves, it was by no means
+clear that Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu had resumed his gift, but it was highly
+probable.
+
+Notwithstanding, the Company had not been losers by the riotous
+marketing, for the furs the Blackfeet had brought in were splendid.
+
+"Yes, we were all on our guard—thanks to you, my little man—or it might
+have ended in the demolition of the fort," remarked Mr. De Brunier.
+"Now, if there is anything you want for your journey, tell me, and you
+shall have it."
+
+"Yes, grandfather," interposed Gaspé.  "He must have a blanket to sleep
+in, and there is the harness for the dogs, and a lot of things."
+
+Wilfred grew hot.  "Please, sir, thanks; but I don’t think I want much.
+Most of all, perhaps, something to eat."
+
+Mr. De Brunier recommended a good hunch of pemmican, to cut and come
+again.  The hunters would let him mess with them if he brought his own
+pemmican and a handful of tea to throw into their boiling kettle.  The
+hunters’ camp was about sixty miles from Hungry Hall.  They would be two
+or three days on the road.
+
+More than one party of hunters had called at the fort already, wanting
+powder and ball, matches, and a knife; and when the lynx and marten and
+wolf skins which they brought were told up, and the few necessaries they
+required were provided, the gay, careless, improvident fellows would
+invest in a tasselled cap bright with glittering beads.
+
+The longer Wilfred stayed at the fort, the more Mr. De Brunier hesitated
+about letting the boy start for so long a journey with no better
+protection. Gaspard never failed to paint the danger and magnify the
+difficulties of the undertaking, wishing to keep his new friend a little
+longer.  But Wilfred was steady to his purpose.  He saw no other chance
+of getting back to his home.  He did not say much when Mr. De Brunier
+and Gaspé were weighing chances and probabilities, hoping some
+travelling party from the north might stop by the way at Hungry Hall and
+take him on with them.  Such things did happen occasionally.
+
+But Wilfred had a vivid recollection of his cross-country journey with
+Forgill.  He could not see that he should be sure of getting home if he
+accepted Mr. De Brunier’s offer and stayed until the river was frozen
+and then went down with him to their mid-winter station, trusting to a
+seat in some of the Company’s carts or the Company’s sledges to their
+next destination.
+
+Then there would be waiting and trusting again to be sent on another
+stage, and another, and another, until he would at last find himself at
+Fort Garry. "Then," he asked, "what was he to do?  If his uncle and aunt
+knew that he was there, they might send Forgill again to fetch him.  But
+if letters reached Acland’s Hut so uncertainly, how was he to let them
+know?"
+
+As Wilfred worked the matter out thus in his own mind, he received every
+proposition of Mr. De Brunier’s with, "Please, sir, I’d rather go to
+Bowkett.  He lost me.  He will be sure to take me straight home."
+
+"The boy knew his own mind so thoroughly," Mr. De Brunier told Gaspard
+at last, "they must let him have his own way."
+
+The sled was finished.  It was a simple affair—two thin boards about
+four feet long nailed together edgeways, with a tri-cornered piece of
+wood fitted in at the end.  Two old skates were screwed on the bottom,
+and the thing was done.  The boys worked together at the harness as they
+sat round the stove in the evening.  The snow was thicker, the frost was
+harder every night.  Ice had settled on the quiet pools, and was
+spreading over the quick-running streams, but the dash of the falls
+still resisted its ever-encroaching influence.  By-and-by they too must
+yield, and the whole face of nature would be locked in its iron clasp.
+November was wearing away.  A sunny morning came now and then to cheer
+the little party so soon to separate.
+
+Gaspé proposed a run with the dogs, just to try how they would go in
+their new harness, and if, after all, the sled would run as a sled
+should.
+
+Other things were set aside, and boys and men gathered in the court.
+Even Mr. De Brunier stepped out to give his opinion about the puppies.
+Gaspé had named them from the many tongues of his native Canada.
+
+In his heart Wilfred entertained a secret belief that not one of them
+would ever be equal to his Yula. They were Athabascans.  They would
+never be as big for one thing, and no dog ever could be half as
+intelligent; that was not possible.  But he did not give utterance to
+these sentiments.  It would have looked so ungrateful, when Gaspé was
+designing the best and biggest for his parting gift.  And they were
+beauties, all four of them.
+
+There was Le Chevalier, so named because he never appeared, as Gaspé
+declared, without his white shirtfront and white gloves.  Then there was
+his bluff old English Boxer, the sturdiest of the four.  He looked like
+a hauler.  Kusky-tay-ka-atim-moos, or "the little black dog," according
+to the Cree dialect, had struck up a friendship with Yula, only a little
+less warm than that which existed between their respective masters.
+Then the little schemer with the party-coloured face was Yankee-doodle.
+
+"Try them all in harness, and see which runs the best," suggested
+grandfather, quite glad that his Gaspard should have one bright holiday
+to checker the leaden dulness of the everyday life at Hungry Hall.
+
+Louison was harnessing the team.  He nailed two long strips of leather
+to the lowest end of the sled for traces.  The dogs’ collars were made
+of soft leather, and slipped over the head.  Each one was ornamented
+with a little tinkling bell under the chin and a tuft of bright ribbon
+at the back of the ear, and a buckle on either side through which the
+traces were passed.  A band of leather round the dogs completed the
+harness, and to this the traces were also securely buckled. The dogs
+stood one before the other, about a foot apart.
+
+Yula was an experienced hand, and took the collar as a matter of course.
+Yankee was the first of the puppies to stand in the traces, and his
+severe doggie tastes were completely outraged by the amount of finery
+Gaspé and Louison seemed to think necessary for their proper appearance.
+
+Wilfred was seated on a folded blanket, with a buffalo-robe tucked over
+his feet.  Louison flourished a whip in the air to make the dogs start.
+Away went Yula with something of the velocity of an arrow from a bow,
+knocking down Gaspé, who thought of holding the back of the sled to
+guide it.
+
+He scrambled to his feet and ran after it.  Yula was careering over the
+snow at racehorse speed, ten miles an hour, and poor little Yankee,
+almost frightened out of his senses, was bent upon making a dash at the
+ribbon waving so enticingly before his eyes.  He darted forward.  He
+hung back.  He lurched from side to side.  He twisted, he turned.  He
+upset the equilibrium of the sledge.  It banged against a tree on one
+side, and all but tilted over on the other.  One end went down into a
+badger hole, leaving Wilfred and his blanket in a heap on the snow, when
+Yankee, lightened of half his load, fairly leaped upon Yula’s back and
+hopelessly entangled the traces.  The boys concealed an uneasy sense of
+ignominious failure under an assertion calculated to put as good a face
+as they could on the matter: "We have not got it quite right yet, but we
+shall."
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XI.*
+
+                         _*THE HUNTERS’ CAMP.*_
+
+
+A burst of merry laughter made the two boys look round, half afraid that
+it might be at their own expense.
+
+Wilfred felt a bit annoyed when he perceived a little party of horsemen
+spurring towards the fort. But Gaspé ran after them, waving his arms
+with a bonjour as he recognized his own Louison’s cousin, Batiste, among
+the foremost.
+
+Dog training and dog driving are the never-failing topics of interest
+among the hunters and trappers. Batiste had reined in his horse to watch
+the ineffectual efforts of the boys to disentangle the two dogs, who
+were fighting and snarling with each other over the upturned sled.
+
+Batiste and his comrades soon advanced from watching to helping.  The
+sled was lifted up, the traces disentangled, and Wilfred and Gaspé were
+told and made to feel that they knew nothing at all about dog driving,
+and might find themselves in a heap all pell-mell at the bottom of the
+river bank some day if they set about it in such a reckless fashion.
+They were letting the dogs run just where they liked.  Dogs wanted
+something to follow. Batiste jumped from his horse at last, quite unable
+to resist the pleasure of breaking in a young dog.
+
+"It takes two to manage a dog team," he asserted. "It wants a man in
+snow-shoes to walk on in front and mark a track, and another behind to
+keep them steady to their work."
+
+Dogs, horses, men, and boys all turned back together to discuss Yankee’s
+undeveloped powers.  But no, Batiste himself could do nothing with him.
+Yankee refused to haul.
+
+"I’ll make him," said Batiste.
+
+But Gaspé preferred to take his dog out of the traces rather than
+surrender him to the tender mercies of a hunter.  "I know they are very
+cruel," he whispered to Wilfred.  So Yula was left to draw the empty
+sled back to the fort, and he did it in first-rate style.
+
+"He is just cut out for hauling, as the hound is for hunting," explained
+Batiste.  "It is not any dog can do it."
+
+They entered the gate of the fort.  The men stood patting and praising
+Yula, while Batiste exchanged greetings with his cousin.
+
+Before he unlocked the door of his shop, Mr. De Brunier called Wilfred
+to him.
+
+"Now is your chance, my boy," he said kindly. "Batiste tells me he
+passed this Bowkett on his way to the camp, so you are sure to find him
+there.  Shall I arrange with Batiste to take you with him?"
+
+The opportunity had come so suddenly at last. If Wilfred had any
+misgiving, he did not show it.
+
+"What do you think I had better do, sir?" he asked.
+
+"There is so much good common sense in your own plan," answered his
+friend, "I think you had better follow it.  When we shut up, you cannot
+remain here; and unless we take you with us, this is the best thing to
+do."
+
+Wilfred put both his hands in Mr. De Brunier’s.
+
+"I can’t thank you," he said; "I can’t thank you half enough."
+
+"Never mind the thanks, my boy.  Now I want you to promise me, when you
+get back to your home, you will make yourself missed, then you will soon
+find yourself wanted."  Mr. De Brunier turned the key in the lock as he
+spoke, and went in.
+
+Wilfred crossed the court to Gaspé.  He looked up brightly, exclaiming,
+"Kusky is the boy for you; they all say Kusky will draw."
+
+"I am going," whispered Wilfred.
+
+"Going! how and why?" echoed Gaspé in consternation.
+
+"With these men," answered Wilfred.
+
+"Then I shall hate Batiste if he takes you from me!" exclaimed Gaspé
+impetuously.
+
+They stepped back into the shed the puppies had occupied, behind some
+packing-cases, where nobody could see them, for the parting words.
+
+"We shall never forget each other, never.  Shall we ever meet again?"
+asked Wilfred despairingly. "We may when we are men."
+
+"We may before," whispered Gaspé, trying to comfort him.  "Grandfather’s
+time is up this Christmas. Then he will take his pension and retire.  He
+talks of buying a farm.  Why shouldn’t it be near your uncle’s?"
+
+"Come, Gaspard, what are you about?" shouted Mr. De Brunier from the
+shop door.  "Take Wilfred in, and see that he has a good dinner."
+
+Words failed over the knife and fork.  Yula and Kusky had to be fed.
+
+"Will the sled be of any use?" asked Gaspé.
+
+Even Wilfred did not feel sure.  They had fallen very low—had no heart
+for anything.
+
+Louison was packing the sled—pemmican and tea for three days.
+
+"Put plenty," said Gaspé, as he ran out to see all was right.
+
+Louison and Batiste were talking.
+
+"We’ll teach that young dog to haul," Batiste was saying; "and if the
+boy gets tired of them, we’ll take them off his hands altogether."
+
+"With pleasure," added Louison, and they both laughed.
+
+The last moment had come.
+
+"Good-bye, good-bye!" said Wilfred, determined not to break down before
+the men, who were already mounting their horses.
+
+"God bless you!" murmured Gaspé.
+
+Batiste put Wilfred on his horse, and undertook the management of the
+sled.  The unexpected pleasure of a ride helped to soften the pain of
+parting.
+
+"I ought to be thankful," thought Wilfred—"I ought to rejoice that the
+chance I have longed for has come.  I ought to be grateful that I have a
+home, and such a good home."  But it was all too new.  No one had
+learned to love him there.  Whose hand would clasp his when he reached
+Acland’s Hut as Gaspé had done?
+
+On, on, over the wide, wild waste of sparkling snow, with his jovial
+companions laughing and talking around him.  It was so similar to his
+ride with Bowkett and Diomé, save for the increase in the cold. He did
+not mind that.
+
+But there was one thing Wilfred did mind, and that was the hard blows
+Batiste was raining down on Kusky and Yula.  He sprang down to
+remonstrate. He wanted to drive them himself.  He was laughed at for a
+self-conceited jackass, and pushed aside.
+
+Dog driving was the hunter’s hobby.  The whole party were engrossed in
+watching Yula’s progress, and quiet, affectionate little Kusky’s
+infantine endeavours to keep up with him.
+
+Batiste regarded himself as a crack trainer, and when poor Kusky brought
+the whole cavalcade to a standstill by sitting down in the midst of his
+traces, he announced his intention of curing him of such a trick with
+his first taste.
+
+"Send him to Rome," shouted one of the foremost of the hunters.  "He’ll
+not forget that in a hurry."
+
+"He is worth training well," observed another. "See what a chest he has.
+He will make as good a hauler as the old one by-and-by.  Pay him well
+first start."
+
+What "sending to Rome" might mean Wilfred did not stay to see.  Enough
+to know it was the uttermost depth of dog disgrace.  He saw Batiste
+double up his fist and raise his arm.  The sprain in his ankle was
+forgotten.  He flew to the ground, and dashed between Batiste and his
+dogs, exclaiming, "They are mine, my own, and they shan’t be hurt by
+anybody!"
+
+He caught the first blow, that was all.  He staggered backwards on the
+slippery ground.
+
+Another of the hunters had alighted.  He caught Wilfred by the arm, and
+pulled him up, observing dryly, "Well done, young ’un.  Got a settler
+unawares. That just comes of interfering.—Here, Mathurin, take him up
+behind ye."
+
+The hunter appealed to wheeled round with a good-natured laugh.
+
+But Wilfred could not stand; the horses, dogs, and snow seemed dancing
+round him.
+
+"Yula!  Kusky!" he called, like one speaking in a dream.
+
+But Yula, dragging the sled behind him, and rolling Kusky over and over
+in the tangling harness, had sprung at Batiste’s arm; but he was too
+hampered to seize him.  Wilfred was only aware of a confused _mêlée_ as
+he was hoisted into Mathurin’s strong arms and trotted away from the
+scene of action.
+
+"Come, you are the sauciest young dog of the three," said Mathurin
+rather admiringly.  "There, lay your head on me.  You’ll have to sleep
+this off a bit," he continued, gently walking his horse, and gradually
+dropping behind the rest of the party.
+
+Poor Wilfred roused up every now and then with a rather wild and
+incoherent inquiry for his dogs, to which Mathurin replied with a
+drawling, sleepy-sounding "All right."
+
+Wilfred’s eyes were so swollen over that he hardly knew it was starshine
+when Mathurin laid him down by a new-lit camping-fire.
+
+"There," said the hunter, in the self-congratulatory tone of a man who
+knows he has got over an awkward piece of business; "let him have his
+dogs, and give him a cup of tea, and he’ll be himself again by the
+morning."
+
+"Ready for the same game?" asked Batiste, who was presiding over the
+tea-kettle.
+
+The cup which Mathurin recommended was poured out; the sugar was not
+spared.  Wilfred drank it gladly without speaking.  When words were
+useless silence seemed golden.  Yula was on guard beside him, and poor
+little Kusky, cowed and cringing, was shivering at his feet.  They
+covered him up, and all he had seen and heard seemed as unreal as his
+dreams.
+
+The now familiar cry of "_Lève! lève!_" made Yula sit upright.  The
+hunters were astir before the dawn, but Wilfred was left undisturbed for
+another hour at least, until the rubeiboo was ready—that is, pemmican
+boiled in water until it makes a sort of soup.  Pemmican, as Mr. De
+Brunier had said, was the hunters’ favourite food.
+
+"Now for the best of the breakfast for the lame and tame," laughed
+Batiste, pulling up Wilfred, and looking at his disfiguring bruises with
+a whistle.
+
+Wilfred shrank from the prospect before him. Another day of bitter
+biting cold, and merciless cruelty to his poor dogs.  "Oh, if Gaspé
+knew!—if Kusky could but have run back home!"
+
+Wilfred could not eat much.  He gave his breakfast to his dogs, and
+fondled them in silence.  It was enough to make a fellow’s blood boil to
+be called Mathurin’s babby, _l’enfant endormi_ (sleepy child), and
+Pierre the pretty face.
+
+"Can we be such stoics, Yula," he whispered, "as to stand all this
+another twenty-four hours, and see our poor little Kusky beaten right
+and left?  Can we bear it till to-morrow morning?"
+
+Yula washed the nervous fingers stroking his hair out of his eyes, and
+looked the picture of patient endurance.  There was no escape, but it
+could not last long.  Wilfred set his teeth, and asserted no one but
+himself should put the harness on his dogs.
+
+"Gently, my little turkey-cock," put in Mathurin. "The puppy may be your
+own, but the stray belongs to a friend of mine, who will be glad enough
+to see him back again."
+
+Wilfred was fairly frightened now.  "Oh, if he had to give his Yula
+chummie back to some horrid stranger!"  He thought it would be the last
+straw which brings the breakdown to boy as well as camel. But he
+consoled himself at their journey’s end. Bowkett would interfere on his
+behalf.  Mathurin’s assertion was not true, by the twinkle in his eye
+and the laugh to his companions.  Louison must have told his cousin that
+Yula was a stray, or they would never have guessed it.  True or false,
+the danger of losing his dog was a real one.  They meant to take it from
+him.  One thing Wilfred had the sense to see, getting in a passion was
+of no good anyway.  "Frederick the Great lost his battle when he lost
+his temper," he thought.  "Keep mine for Yula’s sake I will."
+
+But the work was harder than he expected, although the time was shorter.
+The hardy broncos of the hunters were as untiring as their masters.
+Ten, twenty, thirty miles were got over without a sign of weariness from
+any one but Wilfred and Kusky.  If they were dead beat, what did it
+matter?  The dog was lashed along, and Wilfred was teased, to keep him
+from falling asleep.
+
+"One more push," said the hunters, "and instead of sleeping with our
+feet to a camp-fire, and our beards freezing to the blankets, we shall
+be footing it to Bowkett’s fiddle."
+
+The moon had risen clear and bright above the sleeping clouds still
+darkening the horizon.  A silent planet burned lamp-like in the western
+sky.  Forest and prairie, ridges and lowland, were sparkling in the
+sheen of the moonlight and the snow.
+
+Wilfred roused himself.  The tinkle of the dog-bells was growing fainter
+and fainter, as Mathurin galloped into the midst of a score or so of
+huts promiscuously crowded together, while many a high-piled meat-stage
+gave promise of a winter’s plenty.  Huge bones and horns, the remnants
+of yesterday’s feast, were everywhere strewing the ground, and changing
+its snowy carpet to a dingy drab.  There were wolf-skins spread over
+framework.  There were buffalo-skins to be smoked, and buffalo-robes—as
+they are called when the hair is left on—stretched out to dry. Men and
+horses, dogs and boys, women drawing water or carrying wood, jostled
+each other.  There was a glow of firelight from many a parchment window,
+and here and there the sound of a fiddle, scraped by some rough hunter’s
+hand, and the quick thud of the jovial hunter’s heel upon the earthen
+floor.
+
+It resembled nothing in the old world so much as an Irish fair, with its
+shouts of laughter and snatches of song, and that sense of inextricable
+confusion, heightened by the all too frequent fight in a most
+inconvenient corner.  The rule of contrary found a notable example in
+the name bestowed upon this charming locality.  A French missionary had
+once resided on the spot, so it was still called La Mission.
+
+Mathurin drew up before one of the biggest of the huts, where the sounds
+of mirth were loudest, and the light streamed brightest on the bank of
+snow beside the door.
+
+"Here we are!" he exclaimed, swinging Wilfred from the saddle to the
+threshold.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XII.*
+
+                         _*MAXICA’S WARNING.*_
+
+
+Mathurin knocked at the door.  It was on the latch.  He pushed Wilfred
+inside; but the boy was stubborn.
+
+"No, no, I won’t go in; I’ll stand outside and wait for the others," he
+said.  "I want my dogs."
+
+"But the little ’un’s dead beat.  You would not have him hurried.  I am
+going back to meet them," laughed Mathurin, proud of the neat way in
+which he had slipped out of all explanation of the blow Wilfred had
+received, which Bowkett might make awkward.
+
+He was in the saddle and off again in a moment, leaving Wilfred standing
+at the half-open door.
+
+"This is nothing but a dodge to get my dogs away from me," thought the
+boy, unwilling to go inside the hut without them.
+
+"I am landed at last," he sighed, with a grateful sense of relief, as he
+heard Bowkett’s voice in the pause of the dance.  His words were
+received with bursts of laughter.  But what was he saying?
+
+"It all came about through the loss of the boy. There was lamentation
+and mourning and woe when I went back without him.  The auntie would
+have given her eyes to find him.  See my gain by the endeavour.  As hope
+grew beautifully less, it dwindled down to ’Bring me some certain
+tidings of his fate, and there is nothing I can refuse you.’  As luck
+would have it, I came across a Blackfoot wearing the very knife we stuck
+in the poor boy’s belt before we started. I was not slow in bartering
+for an exchange; and when I ride next to Acland’s Hut, it is but to
+change horses and prepare for a longer drive to the nearest church.  So,
+friends, I invite you all to dance at my wedding feast.  Less than three
+days of it won’t content a hunter."
+
+A cheer went up from the noisy dancers, already calling for the fiddles.
+
+Bowkett paused with the bow upraised.  There stood Wilfred, like the
+skeleton at the feast, in the open doorway before him.
+
+"If you have not found me, I have found you, Mr. Bowkett," he was
+saying.  "I am the lost boy. I am Wilfred Acland."
+
+The dark brow of the handsome young hunter contracted with angry dismay.
+
+"Begone!" he exclaimed, with a toss of his head. "You!  I know nothing
+of you!  What business have you here?"
+
+Hugh Bowkett turned his back upon Wilfred, and fiddled away more noisily
+than before.  Two or three of his friends who stood nearest to him—men
+whom it would not have been pleasant to meet alone in the darkness of
+the night—closed round him as the dance began.
+
+"A coyote in your lamb’s-skin," laughed one, "on the lookout for a
+supper."
+
+A coyote is a little wolfish creature, a most impudent thief, for ever
+prowling round the winter camps, nibbling at the skins and watching the
+meat-stage, fought off by the dogs and trapped like a rat by the
+hunters.
+
+Wilfred looked round for Diomé.  He might have recognized him; but no
+Diomé was there.
+
+Was there not one among the merry fellows tripping before him, not one
+that had ever seen him before?  He knew he was sadly changed.  His face
+was still swollen from the disfiguring blow.  Could he wonder if Bowkett
+did not know him?  Should he run back and call the men who had brought
+him to his assistance?  He hated them, every one.  He was writhing still
+under every lash which had fallen on poor Kusky’s sides.  Turn to them?
+no, never! His dogs would be taken as payment for any help that they
+might give.  He would reason it out.  He would convince Bowkett he was
+the same boy.
+
+Three or four Indians entered behind him, and seated themselves on the
+floor, waiting for something to eat.  He knew their silent way of
+begging for food when they thought that food was plentiful in the camp:
+the high-piled meat-stage had drawn them. It was such an ordinary thing
+Wilfred paid no heed to them.  He was bent on making Bowkett listen; and
+yet he was afraid to leave the door, for fear of missing his dogs.
+
+"A word in your ear," said the most ill-looking of the hunters standing
+by Bowkett’s fiddle, trusting to the noise of the music to drown his
+words from every one but him for whom they were intended.  "You and I
+have been over the border together, sharpened up a bit among the Yankee
+bowie-knives.  You are counting Caleb Acland as a dead man.  You are
+expecting, as his sister’s husband, to step into his shoes.  Back comes
+this boy and sweeps the stakes out of your very hand.  He’ll stand
+first."
+
+"I know it," retorted Bowkett with a scowl.  "But," he added hurriedly,
+"it is not he."
+
+"Oh, it isn’t the boy you lost?  Of course not. But take my advice, turn
+this impudent young coyote out into the snow.  One midnight’s frost will
+save you from any more bother.  There are plenty of badger holes where
+he can rest safe and snug till doomsday."
+
+Bowkett would not venture a reply.  The low aside was unnoticed by the
+dancers; not the faintest breath could reach Wilfred, vainly
+endeavouring to pass between the whirling groups to Bowkett’s side; but
+every syllable was caught by the quick ear of one of the Indians on the
+floor.
+
+He picked up a tiny splinter of wood from the hearth, near which he was
+sitting; another was secreted.  There were three in the hollow of his
+hand.  Noiselessly and unobtrusively he stole behind the dancers.  A
+gentle pull at Wilfred’s coat made him look up into the half-blind eyes
+of Maxica the Cree.
+
+Not a word was said.  Maxica turned from him and seated himself once
+more on the ground, in which he deliberately stuck his three pegs.
+
+Wilfred could not make out what he was going to do, but his heart felt
+lighter at the sight of him; "for," he thought, "he will confirm my
+story.  He will tell Bowkett how he found me by the banks of the
+dried-up river."  He dropped on the floor beside the wandering Cree.
+But the Indian laid a finger on his lips, and one of his pegs was
+pressed on Wilfred’s palm; another was pointed towards Bowkett.  The
+third, which was a little charred, and therefore blackened, was turned
+to the door, which Wilfred had left open, to the darkness without, from
+whence, according to Indian belief, the evil spirits come.
+
+Then Maxica took the three pegs and moved them rapidly about the floor.
+The black peg and Bowkett’s peg were always close together, rubbing
+against each other until both were as black as a piece of charcoal. It
+was clear they were pursuing the other peg—which Wilfred took for
+himself—from corner to corner.  At last it was knocked down under them,
+driven right into the earthen floor, and the two blackened pegs were
+left sticking upright over it.
+
+Wilfred laid his hand softly on Maxica’s knee, to show his warning was
+understood.
+
+But what then?
+
+Maxica got up and glided out of the hut as noiselessly as he had entered
+it.  The black-browed hunter whispering at Bowkett’s elbow made his way
+through the dancers towards Wilfred with a menacing air.
+
+"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
+
+"Waiting to speak to Mr. Bowkett," replied Wilfred stoutly.
+
+"Then you may wait for him on the snow-bank," retorted the hunter,
+seizing Wilfred by the collar and flinging him out of the door.
+
+"What is that for?" asked several of the dancers.
+
+"I’ll vow it is the same young imp who passed us with a party of miners
+coming from a summer’s work in the Rocky Mountains, who stole my dinner
+from the spit," he went on, working himself into the semblance of a
+passion.  "I marked him with a rare black eye before we parted then, and
+I’ll give him another if he shows his face again where I am."
+
+"It is false!" cried Wilfred, rising up in the heat of his indignation.
+
+His tormentor came a step or two from the door, and gathering up a great
+lump of snow, hurled it at him.
+
+Wilfred escaped from the avalanche, and the mocking laughter which
+accompanied it, to the sheltering darkness.  He paused among the sombre
+shadows thrown by the wall of the opposite hut.  Maxica was waiting for
+him under its pine-bark eaves, surveying the cloudless heavens.
+
+"He speaks with a forked tongue," said the Cree, pointing to the man in
+the doorway, and dividing his fingers, to show that thoughts went one
+way and words another.
+
+The scorn of the savage beside him was balm to Wilfred.  The touch of
+sympathy which makes the whole world kin drew them together.  But
+between him and the hunter swaggering on the snow-bank there was a moral
+gulf nothing could bridge over. There was a sense—a strange sense—of
+deliverance. What would it have been to live on with such men, touching
+their pitch, and feeling himself becoming blackened?  That was the
+uttermost depth from which this fellow’s mistake had saved him.
+
+It was no mistake, as Maxica was quick to show him, but deliberate
+purpose.  Then Wilfred gave up every hope of getting back to his home.
+All was lost to him—even his dogs were gone.
+
+He tried to persuade Maxica to walk round the huts with him, to find out
+where they were.  But the Cree was resolute to get him away as fast as
+he could beyond the reach of Bowkett and his companions.  He expected
+that great lump of snow would be followed by a stone; that their steps
+would be dogged until they reached the open, when—he did not
+particularize the precise form that when was likeliest to assume.  The
+experiences of his wild, wandering life suggested dangers that could not
+occur to Wilfred. There must be no boyish footprint in the snow to tell
+which way they were going.  Maxica wrapped his blanket round Wilfred,
+and threw him over his shoulder as if he had been a heavy pack of skins,
+and took his way through the noisiest part of the camp, choosing the
+route a frightened boy would be the last to take.  He crossed in front
+of an outlying hut. Yula was tied by a strip of leather to one of the
+posts supporting its meat-stage, and Kusky to another. Maxica recognized
+Yula’s bark before Wilfred did. He muffled the boy’s head in the
+blanket, and drew it under his arm in such a position that Wilfred could
+scarcely either speak or hear.  Then Maxica turned his course, and left
+the dogs behind him.  But Yula could not be deceived.  He bounded
+forward to the uttermost length of his tether.  One sniff at the toe of
+Wilfred’s boot, scarcely visible beneath the blanket, made him
+desperate.  He hung at his collar; he tore up the earth; he dragged at
+the post, as if, like another Samson, he would use his unusual strength
+to pull down this prison-house.
+
+Maxica, with his long, ungainly Indian stride, was quickly out of sight.
+Then Yula forbore his wailing howl, and set himself to the tough task of
+biting through the leathern thong which secured him. Fortunately for
+him, a dog-chain was unattainable in the hunters’ camp.  Time and
+persistency were safe to set him free before the daylight.
+
+"I thought you were going to stifle me outright," said Wilfred, when
+Maxica released him.
+
+"I kept you still," returned the Cree.  "There were ears behind every
+log."
+
+"Where are we going?" asked Wilfred.
+
+But Maxica had no answer to that question.  He was stealing over the
+snow with no more definite purpose before him than to take the boy away
+somewhere beyond the hunters’ reach.  A long night walk was nothing to
+him.  He could find his way as well in the dark as in the light.
+
+They were miles from the hunters’ camp before he set Wilfred on his feet
+or paused to rest.
+
+"You have saved me, Maxica," said Wilfred, in a low, deep voice.  "You
+have saved my life from a greater danger than the snowdrift.  I can only
+pray the Good Spirit to reward you."
+
+"I was hunger-bitten, and you gave me beaver-skin," returned Maxica.
+"Now think; whilst this bad hunter keeps the gate of your house there is
+no going back for you, and you have neither trap nor bow.  I’ll guide
+you where the hunter will never follow—across the river to the pathless
+forest; and then—" he looked inquiringly, turning his dim eyes towards
+the boy.
+
+"Oh, if I were but back in Hungry Hall!" Wilfred broke forth.
+
+Maxica was leading on to where a poplar thicket concealed the entrance
+to a sheltered hollow scooped on the margin of a frozen stream.  The
+snow had fallen from its shelving sides, and lay in white masses,
+blocking the entrance from the river.  Giving Wilfred his hand, Maxica
+began to descend the slippery steep. It was one of nature’s
+hiding-places, which Maxica had frequently visited.  He scooped out his
+circle in the frozen snow at the bottom, fetched down the dead wood from
+the overhanging trees, and built his fire, as on the first night of
+their acquaintance.  But now the icy walls around them reflected the
+dancing flames in a thousand varied hues.  Between the black rocks, from
+which the raging winds had swept the recent snow, a cascade turned to
+ice hung like a drapery of crystal lace suspended in mid-air.
+
+It was the second night they had passed together, with no curtain but
+the star-lit sky.  Now Maxica threw the corner of his blanket over
+Wilfred’s shoulders, and drew him as closely to his side as if he were
+his son.  The Cree lit his pipe, and abandoned himself to an hour or two
+of pure Indian enjoyment.
+
+Wilfred nestled by his side, thinking of Jacob on his stony pillow.  The
+rainbow flashes from the frozen fall gleamed before him like stairs of
+light, by which God’s messengers could come and go.  It is at such
+moments, when we lie powerless in the grasp of a crushing danger, and
+sudden help appears in undreamed-of ways, that we know a mightier power
+than man’s is caring for us.
+
+He thought of his father and mother—the love he had missed and mourned;
+and love was springing up for him again in stranger hearts, born of the
+pity for his great trouble.
+
+There was a patter on the snow.  It was not the step of a man.  With a
+soft and stealthy movement Maxica grasped his bow, and was drawing the
+arrow from his quiver, when Yula bounded into Wilfred’s arms.  There was
+a piteous whine from the midst of the poplars, where Kusky stood
+shivering, afraid to follow.  To scramble up by the light of the fire
+and bring him down was the work of a moment.
+
+Yula’s collar was still round his neck, with the torn thong dangling
+from it; but Kusky had slipped his head out of his, only leaving a
+little of his abundant hair behind him.
+
+Three hours’ rest sufficed for Maxica.  He rose and shook himself.
+
+"That other place," he said, "where’s that?"
+
+Now his dogs were with him, Wilfred was loath to leave their icy retreat
+and face the cruel world.
+
+The fireshine and the ice, with all their mysterious beauty, held him
+spell-bound.
+
+"Maxica," he whispered, not understanding the Cree’s last question,
+"they call this the new world; but don’t you think it really is the very
+old, old world, just as God made it?  No one has touched it in all these
+ages."
+
+Yes, it was a favourite nook of Maxica’s, beautiful, he thought, as the
+happy hunting-grounds beyond the sunset—the Indian’s heaven.  Could he
+exchange the free range of his native wilds, with all their majestic
+beauty, for a settler’s hut? the trap and the bow for the plough and the
+spade, and tie himself down to one small corner?  The earth was free to
+all. Wilfred had but to take his share, and roam its plains and forests,
+as the red man roamed.
+
+But Wilfred knew better than to think he could really live their savage
+life, with its dark alternations of hunger and cold.
+
+"Could I get back to Hungry Hall in time to travel with Mr. De Brunier?"
+he asked his swarthy friend.
+
+"Yes; that other place," repeated Maxica, "where is that?"
+
+Wilfred could hardly tell him, he remembered so little of the road.
+
+"Which way did the wind blow and the snow drift past as you stood at the
+friendly gates?" asked Maxica.  "On which cheek did the wind cut keenest
+when you rode into the hunters’ camp at nightfall?"
+
+Wilfred tried to recollect.
+
+"A two days’ journey," reflected Maxica, "with the storm-wind in our
+faces."
+
+He felt the edge of his hatchet, climbed the steep ascent, and struck a
+gash in the stem of the nearest poplar.  His quick sense of touch told
+him at which edge of the cut the bark grew thickest.  That was the
+north.  He found it with the unerring precision of the mariner’s
+compass.  Although he had no names for the cardinal points, he knew them
+all.
+
+There was an hour or two yet before daylight. Wilfred found himself a
+stick, as they passed between the poplars, to help himself along, and
+caught up Kusky under his other arm; for the poor little fellow was
+stiff in every limb, and his feet were pricked and bleeding, from the
+icicles which he had suffered to gather between his toes, not yet
+knowing any better. But he was too big a dog for Wilfred to carry long.
+Wilfred carefully broke out the crimsoned spikes as soon as there was
+light enough to show him what was the matter, and Yula came and washed
+Kusky’s feet more than once; so they helped him on.
+
+Before the gray of the winter’s dawn La Mission was miles behind them,
+and breakfast a growing necessity.
+
+Maxica had struck out a new route for himself. He would not follow the
+track Batiste and his companions had taken.  The black pegs might yet
+pursue the white and trample it down in the snow if they were not wary.
+Sooner or later an Indian accomplishes his purpose.  He attributed the
+same fierce determination to Bowkett.  Wilfred lagged more and more.
+Food must be had.  Maxica left him to contrive a trap in the run of the
+game through the bushes to their right.  So Wilfred took the dogs slowly
+on.  Sitting down in the snow, without first clearing a hole or lighting
+a fire, was dangerous.
+
+Yula, sharing in the general desire for breakfast, started off on a
+little hunting expedition of his own. Kusky was limping painfully after
+him, as he darted between the tall, dark pines which began to chequer
+the landscape and warn the travellers they were nearing the river.
+
+Wilfred went after his dog to recall him.  The sun was glinting through
+the trees, and the all-pervading stillness was broken by the sound of a
+hatchet.  Had Maxica crossed over unawares?  Had Wilfred turned back
+without knowing it?  He drew to the spot. There was Diomé chopping
+firewood, which Pe-na-Koam was dragging across the snow towards a
+roughly-built log-hut.
+
+She dropped the boughs on the snow, and drawing her blanket round her,
+came to meet him.
+
+Diomé, not perceiving Wilfred’s approach, had retreated further among
+the trees, intent upon his occupation.
+
+Wilfred’s first sensation of joy at the sight of Pe-na-Koam turned to
+something like fear as he saw her companion, for he had known him only
+as Bowkett’s man.  But retreat was impossible.  The old squaw had
+shuffled up to him and grasped his arm.  The sight of Yula bounding over
+the snow had made her the first to perceive him.  She was pouring forth
+her delight in her Indian tongue, and explaining her appearance in such
+altered surroundings.  Wilfred could not understand a word, but Maxica
+was not far behind.  Kusky and Yula were already in the hut, barking for
+the wa-wa (the goose) that was roasting before the fire.
+
+When Maxica came up, walking beside Diomé, Wilfred knew escape was out
+of the question.  He must try to make a friend—at least he must meet him
+as a friend, even if he proved himself to be an enemy.  But the work was
+done already.
+
+"Ah, it is you!" cried Diomé.  "I was sure it was. You had dropped a
+button in the tumble-down hut, and the print of your boot, an English
+boot, was all over the snow when I got there.  You look dazed, my little
+man; don’t you understand what I’m talking about?  That old squaw is my
+grandmother.  You don’t know, of course, who it was sent the Blackfoot
+Sapoo to dig her out of the snow; but I happen to know.  The old man is
+going from Hungry Hall, and Louison is to be promoted.  I’m on the
+look-out to take his place with the new-comer; so when I met with him, a
+snow-bird whispered in my ear a thing or two.  But where are your
+guides?"
+
+Wilfred turned for a word with Maxica before he dared reply.
+
+Both felt the only thing before them was to win Diomé to Wilfred’s side.
+
+"Have you parted company with Bowkett?" asked Maxica cautiously.
+
+"Bowkett," answered Diomé, "is going to marry and turn farmer, and I to
+try my luck as voyageur to the Company.  This is the hunters’ idle
+month, and I am waiting here until my services are wanted at the
+fort.—What cheer?" he shouted to his bright-eyed little wife, driving
+the dogs from the door of the hut.
+
+The wa-wa shortly disappeared before Maxica’s knife, for an Indian likes
+about ten pounds of meat for a single meal.  Wilfred was asleep beside
+the fire long before it was over; when they tried to rouse him his
+senses were roaming.  The excitement and exertion, following the blow on
+his head, had taken effect at last.
+
+Pe-na-Koam, with all an Indian woman’s skill in the use of medicinal
+herbs, and the experience of a long life spent among her warrior tribe,
+knew well how to take care of him.
+
+"Leave him to me," she said to Maxica, "and go your ways."
+
+Diomé too was anxious for the Cree to depart. He was looking forward to
+taking Wilfred back to Acland’s Hut himself.  Caleb Acland’s gratitude
+would express itself in a tangible form, and he did not intend to divide
+it with Maxica.  His evident desire to get rid of the Cree put the red
+man on his guard.  Long did he sit beside the hunter’s fire in brooding
+silence, trusting that Wilfred might rise up from his lengthened sleep
+ready to travel, as an Indian might have done.  But his hope was
+abortive.  He drew out of Pe-na-Koam all he wanted to know.  Diomé had
+been long in Bowkett’s employ.  When the Cree heard this he shut his
+lips.
+
+"Watch over the boy," he said to Pe-na-Koam, "for danger threatens him."
+
+Then Maxica went out and set his traps in the fir-brake and the marsh,
+keeping stealthy watch round the hut for fear Bowkett should appear, and
+often looking in to note Wilfred’s progress.
+
+One day the casual mention of Bowkett’s name threw the poor boy into
+such a state of agitation, Diomé suspected there had been some passage
+between the two he was ignorant of.  A question now and then, before
+Wilfred was himself again, convinced him the boy had been to La Mission,
+and that Bowkett had refused to recognize him.  When he spoke of it to
+Pe-na-Koam, she thought of the danger at which Maxica had hinted.  She
+watched for the Cree. Diomé began to fear Wilfred’s reappearance might
+involve him in a quarrel with Bowkett.
+
+As Wilfred got better, and found Hungry Hall was shut up, he resolved to
+go back to Acland’s Hut, if possible, whilst his Aunt Miriam and Bowkett
+were safe out of the way on their road to the church where they were to
+be married.  Diomé said they would be gone two days.  He proposed to
+take Wilfred with him, when he went to the wedding, on the return of the
+bride and bridegroom.
+
+"Lend me your snow-shoes," entreated Wilfred, "and with Maxica for a
+guide, I can manage the journey alone.  Don’t go with me, Diomé, for
+Bowkett will never forgive the man who takes me back.  You have been
+good and kind to me, why should I bring you into trouble?"
+
+
+
+
+                            *CHAPTER XIII.*
+
+                           _*JUST IN TIME.*_
+
+
+The walk from Diomé’s log hut to Uncle Caleb’s farm was a long one, but
+the clear, bright sunshine of December had succeeded the pitiless sleet
+and blinding snow.  Lake and river had hardened in the icy breath of the
+north wind.  An iron frost held universal sway, as Wilfred and Maxica
+drew near to Acland’s Hut.
+
+[Illustration: The walk to Uncle Caleb’s farm was a long one.]
+
+The tinkle of a distant sledge-bell arrested Maxica. Had some miscount
+in the day brought them face to face with the bridal party?
+
+They turned away from the well-known gate, crept behind the farm
+buildings, and crossed the reedy pool to Forgill’s hut.
+
+With the frozen snow full three feet deep beneath their feet there was
+roadway everywhere.  Railings scarcely showed above it, and walls could
+be easily cleared with one long step.  The door of the hut was fastened,
+but Wilfred waited behind it while Maxica stole round to reconnoitre.
+
+He returned quickly.  It was not the bridal party, for there was not a
+single squaw among them.  They were travellers in a horse-sledge,
+stopping at the farm to rest.  He urged Wilfred to seize the chance and
+enter with them.  The presence of the strangers would be a protection.
+They took their way through the orchard trees, and came out boldly on
+the well-worn tracks before the gate.  It excited no surprise in the
+occupants of the sledge to see two dusky figures in their long, pointed
+snow-shoes gliding swiftly after them; travellers like themselves, no
+doubt, hoping to find hospitality at the farm.
+
+Yula and Kusky went bounding over the intervening space.
+
+There were two travellers and a sledge-driver. The dogs considered them,
+and did not bark.  Then Kusky, in frantic delight, endeavoured to leap
+into the sledge.  It drew up.  The driver thundered on the gate.
+
+"What cheer?" shouted a voice from the sledge.
+
+It was the usual traveller’s inquiry, but it thrilled through Wilfred’s
+ears, for it was—it could not be—yet it was the voice of Mr. De Brunier.
+
+Kusky was already on Gaspé’s knee devouring him with his doggie
+caresses.
+
+"Is it a dream, or is it real?" asked Wilfred, as with one long slide he
+overtook the sledge, and grasped a hand of each.
+
+"I didn’t know you, coming after us in your seven-league boots," laughed
+Gaspé, pointing to the long, oval frame of Wilfred’s snow-shoes,
+reaching a foot or more before and behind his boot.
+
+But Wilfred did not answer, he was whispering rapidly to Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"Wilfred, _mon ami_," (my friend), pursued Gaspé, bent upon interrupting
+the low-voiced confidence, "it was for your sake grandfather decided to
+make his first inquiries for a farm in this neighbourhood. Batiste was
+so ambiguous and so loath to speak of your journey when he came after
+Louison’s post, we grew uneasy about you.  All the more glad to find you
+safe at home."
+
+"At home, but not in home," answered Wilfred, significantly laying his
+finger on his lips, to prevent any exclamation from his bewildered
+friend.
+
+"All right," said Mr. De Brunier.  "We will enter together."
+
+Pête, who was already opening the gate, bade them heartily welcome.
+Hospitality in the lone North-West becomes a duty.
+
+Wilfred dropped behind the sledge, slouched his fur cap well over his
+eyes, and let Maxica fold his blanket round him, Indian fashion.
+
+Pête led the way into the kitchen, Wilfred followed behind the
+sledge-driver, and the Cree was the last to enter.  A long row of joints
+were roasting before the ample fire, giving undoubted indications of an
+approaching feast.
+
+"Just in time," observed Mr. De Brunier with a smile, which gained a
+peculiar significance as it rested on Wilfred.
+
+"Ay, and that you are," returned old Pête; "for the missis is gone to be
+married, and I was on the look-out for her return when I heard the
+jingling of your sledge-bells.  The house will be full enough by
+nightfall, I reckon."
+
+Wilfred undid the strap of his snow-shoes, gave them to Maxica, and
+walked softly to the door of his uncle’s room.
+
+He opened it with a noiseless hand, and closed it behind him.
+
+Mr. De Brunier’s retort about the welcome which awaited uninvited guests
+on a bridal night kept Pête from noticing his movements.
+
+The logs crackled and the sparks flew on the kitchen hearth.  The fat
+from the savoury roast fell hissing in the pan, and the hungry
+travellers around it seemed to have eyes for nothing else.
+
+Wilfred crept to his uncle’s bed.  He was asleep. The boy glanced round.
+He threw off his wraps. His first care was to find his uncle’s comb and
+brush. It was a luxury unknown since his departure from Hungry Hall.  He
+was giving a good tug at his tangled locks, hoping to make himself look
+a little more like the schoolboy who had once before roused the old man
+from his sleep, when a cough and an exclamation sounding like, "Who is
+there?" told him his uncle was awake.
+
+"O uncle, you surely have not forgotten me—me, your nephew, Wilfred!
+Got home at last.  The pony threw me, and I was utterly lost.  An Indian
+guided me here," he answered, tumbling his words one upon another as
+fast as he could, for his heart was beating wildly.
+
+Caleb Acland raised himself on one elbow and grasped Wilfred by the
+wrist.  "It is he!  It is flesh and blood!" he ejaculated.  "The boy
+himself Pête!  Pête!"  He felt for the stick left leaning against his
+bed, and stamped it on the floor.
+
+A great sob burst unawares from the poor boy’s lips.
+
+"Don’t!" said the old man in alarm.  "What are you crying for, lad?
+What’s happened?  I don’t understand.  Give me your hand!  That’s cold
+enough—death cold.  Pête!  Pête! what are ye about? Have you grown deaf
+that you can’t hear me?"
+
+He pulled Wilfred’s cold fingers under the blankets and tried to chafe
+them between his swollen hands.
+
+"I’m not crying," protested Wilfred, brushing his other hand across his
+eyes.  "It is the ice melting out of me.  I’m thawing all over.  It is
+because I have got back uncle, and you are glad to have me. I should
+have been dead but for the Cree who brought me home.  I was almost
+starving at times. I have wandered in the snow all night."
+
+"God bless the boy!" ejaculated the old man, thundering on the floor
+once more.
+
+"Here, Pête!  Pête!  Something quick to eat."
+
+Pête’s head appeared at the door at last.
+
+"Whatever do you want now, master?" he demanded in an injured tone.  "I
+thought I had put everything ready for you, as handy as could be; and
+you said you wouldn’t call me off, with the bride expected every minute,
+and the supper to cook, as you know."
+
+"Cook away then," returned his master impatiently. "It is the hour for
+the fatted calf.  Oh, you’ve no eyes, none!  Whom have I got here?  Who
+is this?"
+
+Pête backed to the door in wide-eyed wonder. "I’m struck of a heap!" he
+gasped, staring at Wilfred as if he thought he would melt away into
+vacancy.
+
+"Where were you that you did not see him come in?" asked his master
+sharply.
+
+"Where?" repeated Pête indignantly.  "At your own gate, answering a
+party of travellers—men who’ve come down to buy land; and," he added,
+changing his tone, "there is a gentleman among them says he must speak
+to you, master, your own self particular, this very night."
+
+"It is Mr. De Brunier, uncle.  He took me in, and sent me to the
+hunters’ camp, where Mr. Bowkett was to be found," interposed Wilfred.
+
+This name was spoken with an effort.  Like many a noble-minded boy,
+Wilfred hated to tell of another. He hesitated, then went on abruptly:
+"I thought he would be sure to bring me home.  Well, I got there. He did
+not seem to know me.  He was all for fiddling and dancing.  They were a
+rough set, uncle, a very rough set.  Father would not have liked to have
+seen me with such men.  I got away again as quickly as I could.  The
+Cree who had saved me before guided me home at last."
+
+"What is that?  Did you say Bowkett, Hugh Bowkett?" repeated the old
+man.  "Why, your aunt was married to him this morning."
+
+When Pête disappeared into his master’s room, Maxica, who had seated
+himself on the kitchen floor, rose suddenly, and leaning over Mr. De
+Brunier, asked, "Who in this place is friend to the boy without a
+father?"
+
+"I can answer your question for myself, but no further, for I am a
+stranger here," replied Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"We are four," said Maxica, counting on his fingers. "I hear the voice
+of the man at the gate—the man who spoke against the white boy with a
+forked tongue; the man who drove him out into the frosty night, that it
+might kill him.  We have brought the marten to the trap.  If it closes
+on him, Maxica stays to break it."
+
+"Come outside, where we can talk freely," answered Mr. De Brunier,
+leading the way.
+
+Gaspé and the sledge-driver were left to the enjoyment of the roaring
+fire.  They were considering the state of Kusky’s feet.  Gaspé was
+removing the icicles from his toes, and the man of the sledge was warmly
+recommending boots, and describing the way to make them, when the shouts
+at the gate told them the bridal party had arrived.  The stupid Pête, as
+they began to think, had vanished, for no one answered the summons.
+Gaspé guessed the reason, and sent the man to open the gate.  He
+silenced the dogs, and drew back into the corner, with instinctive good
+breeding, to make himself as little in the way as possible.
+
+The great farm-house kitchen was entrance-hall as well.  Every door
+opened into it.  On one hand was the dining-room, reserved chiefly for
+state occasions; on the other, the storeroom.  The family sleeping rooms
+were at the back.  Like a provident housewife, Aunt Miriam had set the
+tables for her marriage feast, and filled the storeroom with good
+things, before she went to church.  Pête, with a Frenchman’s genius for
+the spit, could manage the rest.
+
+The arrival of one or two other guests at the same moment detained the
+bridal party with their noisy greetings.
+
+When Aunt Miriam entered the kitchen, leaning on her bridegroom’s arm,
+Gaspé was almost asleep in his dim corner.
+
+Out ran Pête, effervescing with congratulations, and crossing the
+heartiness of the bridal welcome with the startling exclamation, "The
+boy, Mrs. Bowkett!—the boy’s come home!"
+
+The bridegroom looked sharply round.  "The boy," he repeated, seeing
+Gaspé by the fire.  "There he is."
+
+Up sprang Gaspé, bowing to the bride with all the courtly grace of the
+chivalrous De Bruniers of Breton days.
+
+Aunt Miriam turned her head away.  "O Pête!" she groaned, "I thought—I
+thought you meant—"
+
+Bowkett did not let her finish her sentence, he hurried her into the
+dining-room.  Behind him came his bright-eyed sister, who had played the
+part of bridesmaid, and was eager for the dancing and the fun, so soon
+to commence.  At her side walked Forgill in his Sunday best, all
+important with the responsibility of his position, acting as proxy for
+his old master.  He had given the bride away, and was at that moment
+cogitating over some half-dozen sentences destined for the after-dinner
+speech which he knew would be required of him.  They were restive, and
+would not follow each other.  "Happy day" and "Best wishes" wanted
+setting up on stilts, with a few long words to back them, for such an
+occasion.  He knew the Indian love of speechifying would be too strong
+in their hunter guests to let him off.  He had got as far as,
+"Uncommonly happy day for us all."  But "uncommonly" sounded far too
+common in his critical ears.  He was searching for a finer-sounding
+word, and thought he had got it in "preternaturally," when he heard the
+feeble voice of his master calling out, "Miriam!  Here, Miriam."
+
+"Are they all deaf?" said Caleb Acland to Wilfred. "Open the door, my
+lad, and show yourself to your aunt."
+
+Slowly and reluctantly Wilfred obeyed him.  He held it open just a
+hand-breadth, and met the scowling brow of the owner of the forked
+tongue.
+
+There was mutual recognition in the glance exchanged.
+
+Wilfred shut the door softly, and drew the bolt without attracting his
+uncle’s attention.
+
+"The place is full of strangers," he said; "I shall see auntie soon.
+I’d rather wait here with you.  I shall be sure to see her before she
+goes to her new home."
+
+"As you like, my boy;—that Pête’s a cow.  There is no going away to a
+new home.  It is bringing in a new master here before the old one is
+gone, so that your aunt should not be left unprotected a single day."
+
+As Caleb Acland spoke, Wilfred felt himself growing hard and desperate
+in the cold clutch of a giant despair.  The star of hope dropped from
+his sky. He saw himself in the hand of the man who had turned him from
+his door into the killing frost.
+
+It was too late to speak out; Bowkett would be sure to deny it, and hate
+him the more.  No, not a word to Uncle Caleb until he had taken counsel
+with Mr. De Brunier.  But in his hasty glance into the outer world Mr.
+De Brunier was nowhere to be seen.
+
+Wilfred was sure he would not go away without seeing him again.  There
+was nothing for it but to gain a little time, wait with his uncle until
+the wedding guests were shut in the dining-room, and then go out and
+find Mr. De Brunier, unless Aunt Miriam had invited him to sit down with
+them.  Yes, she was sure to do that, and Gaspé would be with his
+grandfather.  But Maxica was there.  He had saved him twice.  He knew
+what Maxica would say: "To the free wild forest, and learn the use of
+the trap and the bow with me."
+
+Wilfred was sorely tempted to run away.  The recollection of Mr. De
+Brunier’s old-world stories restrained him.  He thought of the Breton
+emigrants. "What did they do in their despair?  What all men can do,
+their duty."  He kept on saying these words over and over, asking
+himself, "What is my duty? Have I no duty to the helpless old man who
+has welcomed me so kindly?  How will Bowkett behave to him?"  Wilfred
+felt much stronger to battle through with the hunter on his uncle’s
+behalf, than when he thought only of himself.  "The brave and loyal die
+at their posts.  Gaspé would, rather than run away—rather than do
+anything that looked like running away."
+
+"What is the matter with you, Wilfred?" asked his uncle anxiously.
+"What makes you stand like that, my boy?"
+
+"I am so tired," answered Wilfred, "I have walked all day to-day, and
+all day yesterday.  If I take the cushion out of your chair for a
+pillow, I might lie down before the stove, uncle."
+
+"That Pête is an ass not to bring something to eat, as if he could not
+make those fellows in the dining-room wait half-a-minute.  But stop,
+there is some broth keeping hot on the stove.  Take that, and come and
+lie down on the bed by me; then I can see you and feel you, and know I
+have got you again," answered Uncle Caleb, as if he had some
+presentiment of what was passing in Wilfred’s mind.
+
+Glad enough to obey, Wilfred drank the broth eagerly, and came to the
+bed.  The old man took him by both hands and gazed in his face,
+murmuring, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace."
+
+The peace that Uncle Caleb rejoiced in was his own alone; all around him
+strife was brewing.  But his peace was of that kind which circumstances
+cannot give or take away.
+
+"Kneel down beside me just one minute, my boy," he went on.  "We must
+not be like the nine lepers, who forgot the thanks when the good had
+come. They wouldn’t even with the tailors, for in the whole nine put
+together there was not one bit of a true man, or they could not have
+done it."
+
+Wilfred fell on his knees and repeated softly the Christ-taught prayer
+of the ages, "Our Father who art in heaven."  He remembered how he had
+been fed from the wild bird’s _cache_, and saved by the wild man’s pity,
+and his heart was swelling.  But when he came to "Forgive us our
+trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us," he stopped
+abruptly.
+
+"Go on," whispered the old man softly.
+
+"I can’t," muttered Wilfred.  "It isn’t in my heart; I daren’t go on.
+It is speaking with a forked tongue: words one way, thoughts another;
+telling lies to God."
+
+Caleb Acland looked at him as if he were slowly grasping the position.
+
+"Is it Bowkett that you can’t forgive?" he asked gently.  "Did you think
+he need not have lost you? Did you think he would not know you, my poor
+boy?"
+
+"Have I got to live with him always?" returned Wilfred.
+
+"No, not if you don’t like him.  I’ll send you back to school," answered
+his uncle in a tone of decision.
+
+"Do you mean it, uncle?  Do you really say that I shall go back to
+school?" exclaimed the boy, his heavy heart’s lead beginning to melt, as
+the way of escape opened so unexpectedly before him.
+
+"It is a promise," repeated the old man soothingly. It was obvious now
+there was something wrong, which the boy refused to explain.
+
+"Patience a bit," he thought; "I can’t distress him. It will leak out
+soon; but it is growing strange that nobody comes near us."
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XIV*
+
+                          _*WEDDING GUESTS.*_
+
+
+More guests were arriving—Diomé, Batiste, Mathurin, and a dozen others.
+Bowkett came out into the porch to receive them, and usher one after the
+other into the dining-room.  As the last went in before him, his friend
+Dick Vanner of the forked tongue tapped him on the shoulder.
+
+"Who is in there?" he whispered.  "Did you see?" pointing as he spoke to
+the door of Uncle Caleb’s room.
+
+Gaspé was on the alert in a moment, longing to break a lance in his
+friend’s behalf.  The men dropped their voices, but the echo of one
+sentence reached him.  It sounded like, "No, she only saw the other
+boy."
+
+"So, Wilfred, _mon cher_, you and I have changed places, and I have
+become that ’other boy,’" laughed Gaspé to himself, lying perdu with an
+open ear.
+
+As the two separated they muttered, "Outwit us? Like to see it done!"
+
+"Keep that door shut, and leave the rest to me," added Vanner,
+sauntering up to the fire.—"Accommodation is scanty here to-night.  How
+many are there in your party?" he asked, looking down on Gaspé. "Pête
+said four—three men and a boy.  Was not it five—three men and two boys?"
+
+"Yes, five," answered Gaspé.
+
+"You boys must want something to eat," remarked Vanner, carelessly
+pushing open the door of the storeroom, and returning with a partridge
+pie.  "Here, fall to.  Where’s your chum?"
+
+Gaspé saw the trap into which he was expected to walk.  He stepped over
+it.
+
+"Have not you been taught to look out for number one?" asked Gaspé.
+"I’ll have a turn at that pie by myself, now I have got the chance,
+before I call on a chum to help me.  I can tell you that."
+
+"Confound you, you greedy young beggar!" exclaimed Vanner.
+
+"Try thirty miles in an open sled, with twenty-five degrees of frost on
+the ground, and see if you would be willing to divide your pie at the
+end of it," retorted Gaspé.
+
+"That is a cool way of asking for one apiece," remarked Vanner,
+abstracting a second pie from the storeroom shelves.
+
+"If you’ve another to spare I’d like two for myself," persisted Gaspé.
+
+"Then have it," said Vanner.  "I am bound to give you a satisfaction.
+We do not reckon on a wedding feast every night.  Now, where is the
+other boy?  You can’t object to call him.  Here is a sausage as long as
+your arm.  Walk into that."
+
+"You will not get me to move with this dish before me," returned the
+undaunted Gaspé, and Vanner felt it waste of time to urge him further.
+He went back to his friends.
+
+Gaspé was at Caleb Acland’s door in a moment, singing through the
+keyhole,—
+
+    "St. George he is for England, St. Denis is for France.
+    _Honi soit qui mal y pense._"
+
+
+Wilfred rose to open the door as he recognized his friend’s voice.
+
+"Keep where you are.  Don’t come out for anybody," urged Gaspé,
+retreating as he heard a noise: but it was only his grandfather
+re-entering the porch.
+
+He flew to his side.  "What’s up?" he asked breathlessly.
+
+"A goodly crop of suspicions, if all the Cree tells me is true.  Your
+poor friend is fitted with an uncle in this Bowkett after their old
+ballad type of the Babes in the Wood."
+
+"Now listen to me, grandfather, and I can tell you a little bit more,"
+answered Gaspé, giving his narrative with infinite delight at the
+success of his manoeuvring.
+
+The moon shone clear and bright.  The tree in the centre of the court,
+laden with hoar-frost, glittered in its crystal white like some bridal
+bouquet of gigantic size.  The house was ablaze with light from every
+window.  The hunters had turned their horses adrift.  They were
+galloping at will among the orchard trees to keep themselves warm.
+Maxica was wandering in their midst, counting their numbers to ascertain
+the size of the party.  Mr. De Brunier crossed over to him, to discuss
+Gaspé’s intelligence, and sent his grandson back indoors, where the
+sledge-driver was ready to assist him in the demolition of the pies
+which had so signally failed to lure Wilfred from his retreat.
+
+Mr. De Brunier followed his grandson quickly, and walking straight to
+Uncle Caleb’s door, knocked for admittance.
+
+The cowkeeper, the only individual at Acland’s Hut who did not know
+Wilfred personally, was sent by Bowkett to keep up the kitchen fire.
+
+The man stared.  "The master has got his door fastened," he said; "I
+can’t make it out."
+
+"Is Mr. Acland ready to see me?" asked Mr. De Brunier, repeating his
+summons.
+
+"Yes," answered Uncle Caleb; "come in."
+
+Wilfred opened the door.
+
+Uncle Caleb raised himself on his elbow, and catching sight of the
+dishes on the kitchen-table, said, "It seems to me the old man’s orders
+are to go for little. But whilst the life is in me I am master in this
+place. Be so good, sir, as to tell that fellow of mine to bring that pie
+in here, and give this child something to eat."
+
+"With pleasure," returned his visitor.
+
+Wilfred’s supper provided for, the two looked well at each other.
+
+"What sort are you?" was the question in both minds.  They trusted, as
+we all do more or less, to the expression.  A good honest character
+writes itself on the face.  They shook hands.
+
+"I have to thank you for bringing back my boy," said Uncle Caleb.
+
+"Not me," returned Mr. De Brunier, briefly recapitulating the
+circumstances which led to Wilfred’s sojourn at Hungry Hall, and why he
+sent him to the hunters’ camp.  "Since then," he added, "your nephew has
+been wandering among the Indians.  It was a Cree who guided him home—the
+same Cree who warned him not to trust himself with Bowkett."
+
+"Come here, Wilfred, and tell me exactly what this Indian said,"
+interposed Caleb Acland, a grave look gathering on his wrinkled brow.
+
+"Not one word, uncle.  Maxica did not speak," answered Wilfred.  "He
+brought me three queer bits of wood from the hearth and stuck them in
+the floor before me, so, and so," continued the boy, trying to explain
+the way in which the warning had been given to him.
+
+Uncle Caleb was getting so much exhausted with the excitement of
+Wilfred’s return, and the effort of talking to a stranger, he did not
+quite understand all Wilfred was saying.
+
+"We can’t condemn a fellow on evidence like that," moaned the old man,
+"and one so near to me as Bowkett.  What does it mean for Miriam?"
+
+"Will you see this Cree and hear for yourself?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+"We are neither judge nor jury.  We are not here to acquit or condemn,
+but a warning like this is not to be despised.  I came to put you on
+your guard."
+
+The feeble hand grasped his, "I am about spent," groaned Caleb.  "It is
+my breath.  Let me rest a bit. I’ll think this over.  Come again."
+
+The gasping words came with such painful effort, Mr. De Brunier could
+only lay him back amongst his pillows and promise to return in the
+morning, or earlier if it were wished.  He was at the door, when Caleb
+Acland signed to him to return.
+
+"Not a word to my sister yet.  The boy is safe here.  Tell him he is not
+to go out of this room."
+
+Mr. De Brunier shook the feeble hand once more, and gave the required
+promise.  There was one more word.  "What was that about buying land?  I
+might help you there; a little business between us, you understand."
+
+"Yes, yes," answered Mr. De Brunier, feeling as if such another effort
+might shake the labouring breath out of the enfeebled frame in a moment.
+
+"Keep in here.  Keep quiet; and remember, whatever happens, I shall be
+near," was Mr. De Brunier’s parting charge to Wilfred as he went back
+into the kitchen, intending to watch there through the night, if no one
+objected to his presence.
+
+The old man started as the door closed after him. "Don’t fasten it,
+lad!" he exclaimed.  "It looks too much like being afraid of them."
+
+Mr. De Brunier joined Gaspé and the sledge-driver at their supper.
+Gaspé watched him attentively as they ate on in silence.
+
+Bowkett came out and spoke to them.  "I am sorry," he said, "to seem
+inhospitable, but the house is so full to-night I really cannot offer
+you any further accommodation.  But the men have a sleeping hut round
+the corner, under the pines, where you can pass the night.  I’ll send
+one of them with you to show you the way and light a fire."
+
+No exception could be taken to this.  The three finished their supper
+and were soon ready to depart.
+
+"I must see Mr. Acland again about the land business," remarked Mr. De
+Brunier, recalling Uncle Caleb’s hint.
+
+Bowkett summoned his man, and Diomé came out with him.  He strolled
+through the porch and looked about him, as if he were considering the
+weather.
+
+Maxica was still prowling behind the orchard trees, like a hungry coyote
+watching for the remnants of the feast, as it seemed.  The two met.
+
+"There will be mischief before these fellows part," said Diomé.  "Keep a
+sharp look-out for the boy."
+
+Diomé went on to catch Dick Vanner’s pony. Maxica stole up to the house.
+The travellers were just coming out.  He gave Yula a call.  Gaspé was
+the only one who perceived him, as Yula bounded between them.
+
+It was hard for Gaspé to go away and leave his friend without another
+word.  He had half a mind to take Kusky with him.  He lingered
+irresolute a moment or two behind his grandfather.  Bowkett had opened
+the door of Caleb Acland’s room, and he saw Kusky creeping in between
+Bowkett’s legs.
+
+"How is this?" the latter was saying in a noisy voice.  "Wilfred got
+home, and won’t show his face!—won’t come out amongst us to have his
+dinner and speak to his aunt!  What is the meaning of it? What makes him
+afraid of being seen?"
+
+There was not a word from Wilfred.  It was the feeble voice of his Uncle
+Caleb that was speaking:—
+
+"Yes, it is Wilfred come back.  I’ve got him here beside me all safe.
+He has been wandering about among the redskins, half dead and nearly
+starved. Don’t disturb us.  I am getting him to sleep.  Tell Miriam she
+must come here and look at him.  You can all come and look at him;
+Forgill and your Diomé too. They all know my boy.  How has Miriam
+managed to keep away?"
+
+"As if we could spare the bride from the marriage feast," laughed
+Bowkett, raising his voice that every one might hear what they were
+saying.
+
+"Neither can I spare my boy out of my sight a single moment," said the
+old man quietly.
+
+"That’s capital," laughed Gaspé to himself, as he ran after his
+grandfather.
+
+They did not encounter Maxica, but they passed Diomé trying to catch the
+horse, and gave him a little help by the way.
+
+"You are not going?" he asked anxiously.  "I thought you would be sure
+to stay the night.  You are a friend of Wilfred Acland’s, are you not,
+Mr. De Brunier?  He was so disappointed when he found Hungry Hall was
+shut up.  I thought you would know him; so do I.  Mrs. Bowkett says the
+boy is not her nephew."
+
+"I rather think that has been said for her," remarked Mr. De Brunier
+quietly.
+
+"I see through it," exclaimed Gaspé; "I see what they are driving at.
+Her husband told her I was the boy.  She came and looked at me.  Bowkett
+knows well enough the real Wilfred is in his uncle’s room, If they could
+get him out into the kitchen, they would make a great clamour and
+declare he is an impostor trying to take the old man in."
+
+"You’ve hit it," muttered Diomé.  "But they shan’t give him lynch law.
+I’ll not stand by and see that."
+
+"Come back, grandfather," cried Gaspé.  "Give me one of your English
+sovereigns with a little silver threepenny on either side to kiss it.
+I’ll string them on my watch-chain for a lady’s locket, walk in with it
+for a wedding present, and undeceive the bride before them all."
+
+"Not so fast, Gaspard.  We should only bring the crisis before we have
+raised our safeguards," rejoined Mr. De Brunier thoughtfully.  "I saw
+many a gun set down against the wall, as the hunters came in."
+
+"That is nothing," put in Diomé; "we are never without them."
+
+"That is everything," persisted Mr. De Brunier. "Men with arms
+habitually in their hands use them with small provocation, and things
+are done which would never be done by deliberate purpose."
+
+"I am not Dick Vanner’s groom," said Diomé, "but he wants me to hold his
+horse in the shadow of those pines or under the orchard wall; and I’ll
+hold it as long as he likes, and walk it about half the night in
+readiness for him, and then I shall know where he is bound for."
+
+"The American frontier, with Wilfred behind him, unless I am making a
+great mistake.  If Bowkett laid a finger on him here, half his guests
+would turn upon him," observed Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"That’s about it," returned Diomé.  "Now I am going to shut up this
+horse in one of the sheds, ready for Vanner at a moment’s notice, and
+then I’ll try for a word with Forgill.  He is working so hard with the
+carving-knife there is no getting at him."
+
+"There is one of the Aclands’ men lighting a fire in his hut, ready for
+us," put in Gaspé.
+
+Diomé shook his head.  "He!" he repeated in accents of contempt; "he
+would let it all out at the wrong time."
+
+"Is the Cree gone?"
+
+"Maxica is on the scent already,’ replied Diomé, whistling carelessly as
+they parted.
+
+"Gaspard," said Mr. De Brunier, as they entered the hut, "do you
+remember passing a policeman on the road.  He was watching for a Yankee
+spirit cart, contraband of course.  He will have caught it by this time,
+and emptied the barrels, according to our new Canadian law.  Go back in
+the sledge—you will meet him returning—and bring him here.  If he rides
+into the farm-court before daybreak, your little friend is safe.  As for
+me, I must keep watch here.  No one can leave the house without me
+seeing him, the night is so clear.  A dark figure against the white
+ground is visible at twice this distance; and Maxica is somewhere by the
+back of the homestead.  Neither sight nor sound will escape an Indian."
+
+Mr. De Brunier despatched the sledge-driver back to the farm with the
+man Bowkett had sent to light their fire, to try to procure a fresh
+horse.  This was easily managed.  Bowkett was delighted to think the
+travellers were about to resume their journey, and declared the better
+half of hospitality was to speed the parting guest.
+
+The sledge went round to Forgill’s hut.  Gaspé wrapped himself in the
+bearskin and departed.  No one saw him go; no one knew that Mr. De
+Brunier was left behind.  He built up the fire and reconnoitred his
+ground.  In one corner of the hut was a good stout cudgel.
+
+"I must anticipate your owner’s permission and adopt you," he said, as
+he gave it a flourish to try its weight.  Then he looked to the revolver
+in his breast pocket, and began his walk, so many paces in front of the
+hut, with his eye on the farm-house porch, and so many paces walking
+backwards, with it still in sight—a self-appointed sentry, ready to
+challenge the enemy single-handed, for he did not count much upon Diomé.
+He saw how loath he was to come into collision with Bowkett, and
+reckoned him more as a friend in the camp than as an active ally.  There
+was Maxica, ready like a faithful mastiff to fly at the throat of the
+first man who dared to lay a hand on Wilfred, regardless of
+consequences.  He did not know Maxica, but he knew the working of the
+Indian mind.  Revenge is the justice of the savage.  It was Maxica’s
+retaliation that he feared.  Diomé had spoken of Forgill, but Mr. De
+Brunier knew nothing of him, so he left him out of count.  It was clear
+he must chiefly rely on his own coolness and courage.  "The moral force
+will tell in such an encounter as this, and that is all on my side," he
+said to himself.  "It will tell on the outsiders and the farm-servants.
+I shall find some to second me."  He heard the scrape of the fiddle and
+the merry chorus of some hunting-song, followed by the quick beat of the
+dancers’ footsteps.
+
+Hour succeeded hour.  The fire in the hut burned low.  De Brunier left
+his post for a moment to throw on fresh logs.  He returned to his watch.
+The house-door opened.  Out came Diomé and crossed to the cattle-sheds.
+Mr. De Brunier saw him come back with Vanner’s horse.  He changed his
+position, creeping in behind the orchard trees, until he was within a
+few yards of the house.  The three feet of snow beneath his feet gave
+him an elevation.  He was looking down into the court, where the snow
+had been partially cleared.
+
+Diomé was walking the horse up and down before the door.  It was not a
+night in which any one could stand still.  His impatient stamping to
+warm his feet brought out Vanner and Bowkett, with half-a-dozen others.
+The leave-taking was noisy and prolonged. Batiste’s head appeared in the
+doorway.
+
+"I cannot count on his assistance," thought Mr. De Brunier, "but I can
+count on his neutrality; and Diomé must know that a word from me would
+bring about his dismissal from his new master."
+
+Vanner mounted and rode off along the slippery ground as only a hunter
+could ride.
+
+"Now for the first act," thought Mr. De Brunier. "May my Gaspard be
+speeding on his errand.  The hour draws near."
+
+As Bowkett and his friends turned back into the house, Diomé walked
+rapidly across the other end of the orchard and went towards Forgill’s
+hut.  With cautious steps De Brunier followed.
+
+Diomé was standing moodily by the fire.  He started.
+
+"Well," demanded Mr. De Brunier, "how goes the night?"
+
+"For God’s sake keep out of the way, sir.  They have made this hut the
+rendezvous, believing you had started hours ago," exclaimed Diomé
+brightening.
+
+"Did you think I had deserted the poor boy?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"I was thinking," answered Diomé, waiving the question, "Dick Vanner is
+a dangerous fellow to thwart when the bowie-knife is in his hand."
+
+"Well, you will see it done, and then you may find him not quite so
+dangerous as he seems," was the quiet reply.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XV.*
+
+                           _*TO THE RESCUE.*_
+
+
+Diomé had no more information to give.  "For the love of life, sir," he
+entreated, as the brief conference ended, "move off to the other side of
+the house, or you will be seen by Vanner as he returns. A hunter’s eye,
+Mr. De Brunier, notices the least change in the shadows.  You mean to
+hide among the orchard trees, but you can’t stand still.  You will be
+frozen to death, and a moving shadow will betray you."
+
+His cautionary counsels were wasted on a preoccupied mind.  De Brunier
+was examining the fastenings of the door.  There was a lock, but the key
+was with the owners of the hut.  There was also a bar which secured it
+on the inside.  Forgill’s basket of tools stood by the chimney.
+
+"How much time have we?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"A good half-hour, sir," replied Diomé.
+
+"Time enough for me to transfer this staple to the outside of the
+doorpost?"
+
+Diomé hesitated before he answered this inquiry. "Well then?" he asked
+in turn.
+
+"Well then," repeated Mr. De Brunier, "this Vanner is to meet you here.
+Don’t go out of the hut to take his horse; beckon him to come inside.
+Shut the door, as if for caution, and tell him you have seen me watching
+him from the orchard trees.  He will listen to that.  Two minutes will
+be enough for me to bar the door on the outside, and we shall have caged
+the wild hawk before he has had time to pounce upon his prey.  I must
+shut you in together; but play your part well, and leave the rest to
+me."
+
+"Shut me in with Dick Vanner in a rage!" exclaimed Diomé.  "He would
+smell treachery in a moment.  Not for me."
+
+It went hard with Diomé to turn against his old companions.  It was
+clear to Mr. De Brunier the man was afraid of a hand-to-hand encounter.
+With such half-hearted help the attempt was too hazardous. He changed
+his tactics.
+
+"I am not in their secrets," protested Diomé.  "I am only here to hold
+his horse.  They don’t trust me."
+
+"And I," added Mr. De Brunier, "am intent upon preventing mischief.
+I’ll walk round once more. Should you hear the house-door open, you will
+probably find I have gone in."
+
+Yes, Mr. De Brunier was beginning to regret leaving the house; and yet,
+if he had not done so, he could not have started Gaspé to intercept the
+policeman.  "Now," he thought, "the boy will be carried off before they
+can arrive."  His thoughts were turning to a probable pursuit.  He
+crossed to the back of the house to look for the Cree.  No one better
+than an Indian for work like that.
+
+The light from the windows of the farm-house was reflected from the
+shining ground, making it bright as day before them, and deepening the
+gloom of the shadows beyond.  A low, deep growl from Yula brought Mr. De
+Brunier to the opposite corner of the house, where he discovered Maxica
+lying on the ground, with his ear to the end of one of the largest logs
+with which the house was built.  They recognized each other instantly,
+but not a word was said.  They were at the angle of the building where
+the logs crossed each other.
+
+Suddenly Mr. De Brunier remembered the capacity in the uncut trunk of a
+tree for transmitting sound, and following Maxica’s example he too laid
+his ear to the end of another log, and found himself, as it were, in a
+whispering gallery.  The faintest sound at the other end of the log was
+distinctly audible.  They tried each corner of the house.  The music and
+the dancing from dining-room to kitchen did not detain them long.  At
+the back they could hear the regular breathing of a healthy sleeper and
+the laboured, painful respiration of the broken-down old man.
+
+The log which crossed the one at which they were now listening ran at
+the end of the storeroom, and gave back no sound.  It was evident both
+Wilfred and his uncle had fallen asleep, and were therefore off their
+guard.
+
+To drive up the loose ponies and make them gallop round the house to
+waken them was a task Yula took off their hands and accomplished so well
+that Bowkett, listening in the midst of the whirling dancers, believed
+that Vanner had returned.
+
+Maxica was back at the angle of the logs, moving his ear from one to the
+other.  He raised a warning finger, and laid his ear a little closer to
+the storeroom side.  Mr. De Brunier leaned over him and pressed his own
+to the tier above.  Some one had entered the storeroom.
+
+"Anything here?" asked a low voice.
+
+"What’s that behind the door?" whispered another in reply.
+
+"A woman’s ironing board."
+
+"A woman’s what?"
+
+"Never mind what it is if it will slide through the window," interposed
+a third impatiently, and they were gone.
+
+But the watchers without had heard enough to shape their plan.  Maxica
+was ear, Mr. De Brunier was eye, and so they waited for the first faint
+echo of the horse-hoofs in the distance or the tinkle of the
+sledge-bell.
+
+Within the house the merriment ran high.  Bridal healths were drank with
+three times three.  The stamp of the untiring dancers drowned the
+galloping of the ponies.
+
+Aunt Miriam paused a moment, leaning on her bridegroom’s arm.  "I am
+dizzy with tiredness," she said.  "I think I have danced with every one.
+I can surely slip away and speak to Caleb now.  What made him fasten his
+door?"
+
+"To keep those travellers out; and now he won’t undo it: an old man’s
+crotchet, my dear.  I have spoken to him.  He is all right, and his cry
+is, ’Don’t disturb me, I must sleep,’" answered Bowkett.  "You’ll give
+Batiste his turn? just one more round."
+
+Wilfred was wakened by his Yula’s bark beneath the window.  Kusky, who
+was sleeping by the stove, sprang up and answered it, and then crept
+stealthily to Wilfred’s feet.
+
+"That dog will wake the master," said some one in the kitchen.
+
+The bedroom door was softly opened, a low whistle and a tempting bone
+lured Kusky away.  Wilfred was afraid to attempt to detain him, not
+venturing to show himself to he knew not whom.  There was a noise at the
+window.  He remembered it was a double one.  It seemed to him somebody
+was trying to force open the outer pane.
+
+A cry of "Thieves! thieves!" was raised in the kitchen.  Wilfred sprang
+upright.  Uncle Caleb wakened with a groan.
+
+"Look to the door.  Guard every window," shouted Bowkett, rushing into
+the room, followed by half-a-dozen of his friends, who had seized their
+guns as they ran.
+
+The outer window was broken.  Through the inner, which was not so
+thickly frozen, Wilfred could see the shadow of a man.  He knew that
+Bowkett was by the side of the bed, but his eyes were fixed on the pane.
+
+At the first smash of the butt end of Vanner’s gun, through shutter and
+frame, Mr. De Brunier laid a finger on Maxica’s arm.  The Cree, who was
+holding down Yula, suddenly let him go with a growl and a spring.
+Vanner half turned his head, but Yula’s teeth were in his collar.  The
+thickness of the hunter’s clothing kept the grip from his throat, but he
+was dragged backwards.  Maxica knelt upon him in a moment, with a huge
+stone upraised, ready to dash his brains out if he ventured to utter a
+cry.  Mr. De Brunier stepped out from the shadow and stood before the
+window, waiting in Vanner’s stead.  For what? He hardly dared to think.
+The window was raised a finger’s breadth, and the muzzle of a hunter’s
+gun was pointed at his ear.  He drew a little aside and flattened
+himself against the building.  The gun was fired into the air.
+
+"That is a feint," thought Mr. De Brunier.  "They have not seen us yet.
+When they do, the tug comes. Two against twenty at the very least,
+unless we hear the sledge-bell first.  It is a question of time.  The
+clock is counting life and death for more than one of us.  All hinges on
+my Gaspé.  Thank God, I know he will do his very best.  There is no
+mistrust of Gaspé; and if I fall before he comes, if I meet death in
+endeavouring to rescue this fatherless boy, the God who sees it all, in
+whose hand these lawless hunters are but as grasshoppers, will never
+forget my Gaspé."
+
+The report of Bowkett’s gun roused old Caleb’s latent fire.
+
+"What is it?" he demanded.  "Are the Indians upon us?  Where is Miriam?"
+
+Wilfred threw the bearskin across his feet over the old man’s back.
+
+"I am here!" cried Bowkett, with an ostentatious air of protection.
+"I’ll defend the place; but the attack is at this end of the house.
+First of all, I carry you to Miriam and safety at the other."
+
+Bowkett, in the full pride of his strength, lifted up the feeble old man
+as if he were a child and carried him out of the room.
+
+"Wilfred, my boy, keep close to me, keep close," called Uncle Caleb; but
+a strong man’s hand seized hold of Wilfred and pulled him back.
+
+"Who are you?" demanded Wilfred, struggling with all his might.  "Let me
+go, I tell you; let me go!"
+
+The door was banged up behind Uncle Caleb and Bowkett.  The room was
+full of men.
+
+Wilfred knew too well the cry of "Thieves" was all humbug—a sham to get
+him away from his uncle.
+
+"Forgill!  Forgill!" he shouted.  "Pête!  Pête! Help me! help me!"
+
+A pillow was tossed in his face.
+
+"Don’t cram the little turkey-cock with his own feathers," said a voice
+he was almost glad to recognize, for he could not feel that Mathurin
+would really hurt him.  He kicked against his captor, and getting one
+hand free, he tried to grasp at this possible friend; but the corner of
+the pillow, crushed into his mouth, choked his shouts.  "So it’s
+Mathurin’s own old babby, is it?" continued the deep, jovial voice.
+"Didn’t I tell ye he was uncommon handy with his little fists? But he is
+a regular mammy’s darling for all that.  It is Mathurin will put the
+pappoose in its cradle.  Ah! but if it won’t lie still, pat it on its
+little head; Batiste can show you how."
+
+In all this nonsense Wilfred comprehended the threat and the caution.
+His frantic struggles were useless.  They only provoked fresh bursts of
+merriment.  Oh, it was hard to know they were useless, and feel the
+impotency of his rage!  He was forced to give in.  They bound him in the
+sheets.
+
+Mathurin was shouting for—
+
+    "A rabbit-skin,
+    To wrap his baby bunting in.
+
+
+They took the rug from the floor and wrapped it round Wilfred.  He was
+laid on the ironing board.
+
+He felt the strong, firm straps that were binding him to it growing
+tighter and tighter.
+
+What were they going to do with him? and where was Mr. De Brunier?
+
+The hunters set him up against the wall, like the pappoose in the wigwam
+of the Blackfoot chief, whilst they opened the window.
+
+Mr. De Brunier stood waiting, his arms uplifted before his face, ready
+to receive the burden they were to let fall.  It was but a little bit of
+face that was ever visible beneath a Canadian fur cap, such as both the
+men were wearing.  Smoked skin was the only clothing which could resist
+the climate, therefore the sleeves of one man’s coat were like the
+sleeves of another.  The noisy group in the bedroom, who had been
+drinking healths all night, saw little but the outstretched arms, and
+took no notice.
+
+"Young lambs to sell!" shouted Mathurin, heaving up the board.
+
+"What if he takes to blaring?" said one of the others.
+
+"Let him blare as he likes when once he is outside," retorted a third.
+
+"Lull him off with ’Yankee-doodle,’" laughed another.
+
+"He’ll just lie quiet like a little angel, and then nothing will hurt
+him," continued the incorrigible Mathurin, "till we come to—
+
+    "’Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top,
+    When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
+    When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
+    Then down goes cradle, and baby, and all.’"
+
+
+This ridiculous nursery ditty, originated by the sight of the Indian
+pappooses hung so often on the bough of a tree when their mothers are
+busy, read to Wilfred his doom.
+
+Would these men really take him out into the darksome forest, and hang
+him to some giant pine, and leave him there, as Pe-na-Koam was left, to
+die alone of hunger and cold?
+
+It was an awful moment.  The end of the board to which he was bound was
+resting on the window-sill.
+
+"Gently now," said one.
+
+"Steady there," retorted another.
+
+"Now it is going beautifully," cried a third.
+
+"Ready, Vanner, ready," they exclaimed in chorus. Caution and prudence
+had long since gone to the winds with the greater part of them.
+Mathurin alone kept the control.
+
+Mr. De Brunier nodded, and placed himself between the window and the two
+men on the snow in deadly silent wrestle, trusting that his own dark
+shadow might screen them from observation yet a little longer. He saw
+Wilfred’s feet appear at the window.  His hand was up to guide the board
+in a moment, acting in concert with the men above.  They slid it easily
+to the ground.
+
+Mr. De Brunier’s foot was on a knot in the logs of the wall, and
+stretching upwards he shut the window from the outside.  It was beyond
+his power to fasten it; but a moment or two were gained.  His knife was
+soon hacking at the straps which bound Wilfred to his impromptu cradle.
+They looked in each other’s faces; not a word was breathed.  Wilfred’s
+hands were freed.  He sat up and drew out his feet from the thick folds
+of the rug.  Mr. De Brunier seized his hand, and they ran, as men run
+for their lives, straight to Forgill’s hut.
+
+Diomé saw them coming.  He was still leading Vanner’s horse.  He wheeled
+it round and covered their retreat, setting it off prancing and
+curvetting between them and the house.
+
+Through the open door of Forgill’s hut the fire was glowing like a
+beacon across the snow.  It was the darkest hour of all that brilliant
+night.  The moon was sinking low, the stars were fading; the dawning was
+at hand.
+
+The hut was gained at last.  The door was shut behind the fugitives, and
+instantly barred.  Every atom of furniture the hut contained was piled
+against it, and then they listened for the return of the sledge. Whether
+daylight would increase their danger or diminish it, Mr. De Brunier
+hardly knew.  But with the dreaded daylight came the faint tinkle of a
+distant bell and the jingling of a chain bridle.
+
+The Canadian police in the Dominion of the far North-West are an
+experienced troop of cavalry. Trooper and charger are alike fitted for
+the difficult task of maintaining law and order among the scattered,
+lawless population sprinkling its vast plains and forest wilds.  No
+bronco can outride the splendid war-horse, and the mere sight of his
+scarlet-coated rider produces an effect which we in England little
+imagine.  For he is the representative of the strong and even hand of
+British justice, which makes itself felt wherever it touches, ruling all
+alike with firmness and mercy, exerting a moral force to which even the
+Blackfoot in his moya yields.
+
+Mr. De Brunier pulled down his barricade almost before it was finished,
+for the sledge came shooting down the clearing with the policeman behind
+it.
+
+Wilfred clasped his hands together at the joyful sight.  "They come!
+they come!" he cried.
+
+Out ran Mr. De Brunier, waving his arms in the air to attract attention,
+and direct the policeman to the back of the farm-house, where he had
+left Dick Vanner writhing under Maxica’s grasp on the frozen ground.
+
+When the window was so suddenly closed from the outside, the hunters,
+supposing Vanner had shut it, let it alone for a few minutes, until
+wonder prompted Mathurin to open it just a crack for a peep-hole.
+
+At the sight of Vanner held down by his Indian antagonist he threw it to
+its widest.  Gun after gun was raised and pointed at Maxica’s head; but
+none of them dared to fire, for the ball would have struck Vanner also.
+Mathurin was leaping out of the window to his assistance, when Yula
+relaxed his hold of Vanner’s collar, and sprang at Mathurin, seizing him
+by the leg, and keeping him half in half out of the window, so that no
+one else could get out over him or release him from the inside.
+
+There was a general rush to the porch; but the house-door had been
+locked and barred by Bowkett’s orders, and the key was in his pocket.
+
+He did it to prevent any of the Aclands’ old servants going out of the
+house to interfere with Vanner.  It was equally successful in keeping in
+the friends who would have gone to his help.
+
+"The key! the key!" roared Batiste.
+
+Another seized on old Pête and shook him because he would not open the
+door.  In vain Pête protested the key was missing.  They were getting
+furious. "The key! the key!" was reiterated in an ever-increasing
+crescendo.
+
+They seized on Pête and shook him again.  They would have the key.
+
+Mathurin’s yell for help grew more desperate.  With one hand holding on
+to the window-frame, he could not beat off the dog.  The blows he aimed
+at him with the other were uncertain and feeble.
+
+"Who let the brute out?" demanded Batiste.
+
+He had seen Yula lying by the kitchen fire when he first arrived, and of
+course knew him again. Ah! and the dog had recognized him also, for he
+had saluted him with a low, deep growl.  It had watched its chance.  It
+was paying back old scores.  Batiste knew that well.
+
+Another howl of pain from Mathurin.
+
+The heel of an English boot might have given such a kick under the lock
+that it would have sent the spring back with a jerk; but they were all
+wearing the soft, glove-like moccasin, and knew no more about the
+mechanism of a lock than a baby.  Their life had been passed in the
+open; when they left the saddle for the hut in the winter camp, their
+ideas of door-fastening never rose beyond the latch and the bar.  A
+dozen gun-stocks battered on the door.  It was tough and strong, and
+never stirred.
+
+Pête was searching everywhere for the key.  He would have let them out
+gladly, only too thankful to rid the house of such a noisy crew, and
+leave them to fight the thieves outside; but no key was to be found.
+
+"We always hang it on this nail," he protested, groping about the floor.
+
+Patience could hold out no longer.  There was a shout for Bowkett.
+
+"Don’t leave me," Miriam had entreated, when Bowkett brought her brother
+into the dining-room and set him in the arm-chair by the fire; for she
+thought the old man’s life would go every moment, and Forgill shared her
+fears.
+
+"There are enough to defend the place," he said, "without me;" and he
+gave all his care to his master.
+
+"The boy!  Wilfred!" gasped Caleb Acland, making vain attempts to return
+to find him.  His sister and Forgill thought he was wandering, and
+trusted in Bowkett’s strong arm to hold him back.
+
+How could Bowkett leave his bride?  He was keeping his hands clean.
+There were plenty to do his dirty work.  He himself was to have nothing
+to do with it, according to Vanner’s programme.  He would not go.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XVI.*
+
+                           _*IN CONFUSION.*_
+
+
+There was a thundering rap at the dining-room window, and a voice
+Bowkett instantly recognized as Diomé’s rang out the warning word,—
+
+"The police!  The police are here!"
+
+"Thank God!" exclaimed Miriam; but her bridegroom’s cheek grew deadly
+pale, and he rushed into the kitchen, key in hand.  The clamouring group
+around the door divided before him, as Diomé hissed his warning through
+the keyhole.
+
+The door flew open.  Bowkett was almost knocked down by his hurrying
+guests.  Each man for his horse.  Some snatched up their guns, some left
+them behind.  Broncos were caught by the mane, by the ear, by the tail.
+Their masters sprang upon their backs.  Each man leaped upon the first
+horse he could lay hold of, saddle or no saddle, bridle or no bridle.
+What did it matter so that they got away? or else, horrors of horrors!
+such an escapade as they had been caught in might get one or other among
+them shut up for a month or two in Garry Jail. They scattered in every
+direction, as chickens scatter at the flutter of the white owl’s wing.
+
+Diomé put the bridle of Vanner’s horse into Bowkett’s hand.  "To the
+frontier," he whispered. "You know the shortest road.  We are parting
+company; for I go northwards."
+
+Bowkett looked over his shoulder to where Pête stood staring in the
+doorway.  "Tell your mistress we are starting in pursuit," he shouted,
+loud enough for all to hear, as he sprang on Vanner’s horse and galloped
+off, following the course of the wild geese to Yankee land.
+
+Within ten minutes after the first jingling sound from the light shake
+of the trooper’s bridle the place was cleared.
+
+"Oh, I did it!" said Gaspé, with his arm round Wilfred’s neck.  "I was
+back to a minute, wasn’t I, grandfather?"
+
+Mr. De Brunier scarcely waited to watch the break-neck flight.  He was
+off with the sledge-driver to the policeman’s assistance.  He beckoned
+to the boys to follow him at a cautious distance, judging it safer than
+leaving them unguarded in Forgill’s hut.
+
+The policeman, seeing Yula had already arrested Mathurin, turned to the
+two on the ground.  He knocked the stone out of Maxica’s hand, and
+handcuffed Vanner.
+
+Mr. De Brunier was giving his evidence on the spot.  "I was warned there
+would be mischief here before morning.  I sent my messenger for you, and
+watched the house all night.  The Indian and the dog were with me.  I
+saw this fellow attempt to break in at that window.  The dog flew on
+him, dragged him to the ground, and the Indian held him there. That
+other man I denounce as an accomplice indoors, evidently acting in
+concert with him."
+
+Wilfred shook off Gaspé’s arm and flew to Yula. "Leave go," he said,
+"leave go."  His hands went round the dog’s throat to enforce obedience
+as he whispered, "I am not quite a babby to choke him off like that, am
+I?  Draw your leg up, Mathurin, and run.  You meant to save me—I saw it
+in your face—and I’ll save you.  The porch-door stands open, run!"
+
+Mathurin drew up his leg with a groan, but Yula’s teeth had gone so
+deeply into the flesh he could scarcely move for pain.  If Mathurin
+could not run, the sledge-driver could.  He was round the house and
+through the porch before Mathurin could reach it. He collared him by the
+kitchen-table, to Pête’s amazement.  Forgill burst out of the
+dining-room, ready to identify him as one of their guests, and was
+pushed aside.  The policeman was dragging in his prisoner.
+
+Mr. De Brunier held Wilfred by the arm.  "You should not have done
+that," he was saying.  "Your dog knew what he was about better than you
+did. At any other time to call him off would only have been humane and
+right, but in such circumstances—"
+
+He never finished his sentence.  There was Mathurin cowed and trembling
+at the sight of Yula, who was marching into the porch with his head up
+and his tail wagging in triumph.
+
+Aunt Miriam, aghast and pale, stood in the doorway of the dining-room.
+Mr. De Brunier led her aside for a word of explanation.  "The thieves
+among the guests of her wedding party, incredible!"  She was stunned.
+
+Yula seated himself in front of Mathurin, daring him to move hand or
+foot.
+
+Wilfred was looking round him for the Cree, who was feeling for his bow
+and arrows, thrown somewhere on the ground during his prolonged
+struggle.  When the stone was struck from Maxica’s grasp, and he knew
+that Vanner was dragged off helpless, he felt himself in the presence of
+a power that was mightier than his own.  As Wilfred caught up the bow
+and put it in his hand, he said solemnly, "You are safe under the shadow
+of that great white warrior chief, and Maxica is no longer needed; for
+as the horse is as seven to the dog, so is the great white medicine as
+seven to one, therefore the redman shuns his presence, and here we
+part."
+
+"Not yet, not yet," urged Wilfred desperately; but whilst he was
+speaking the Cree was gone.  He had vanished with the morning shadows
+behind the pine trees.
+
+Wilfred stretched out his arms to recall him; but Gaspé, who had
+followed his friend like his shadow, pulled him back.  "It would be but
+poor gratitude for Maxica’s gallant rescue to run your head into the
+noose a second time," he said.  "With these hunters lurking about the
+place, we ought to make our way indoors as fast as we can."
+
+The chill of the morning wrapped them round. They were shivering in the
+icy mist, through which the rising sun was struggling.  It was folly to
+linger. Gaspé knew the Indian was afraid to trust himself in the company
+of the policeman.
+
+"Shall I never see him more?" burst out Wilfred mournfully.
+
+"Don’t say that," retorted Gaspé.  "He is sure to come again to Hungry
+Hall with the furs from his winter’s hunting.  You can meet him then."
+
+"I?  I shall be at school at Garry.  How can I go there?" asked Wilfred.
+
+"At Garry," repeated his consoler, brightening. "Well, from Garry you
+can send him anything you like by the winter packet of letters.  You
+know our postman, the old Indian, who carries them in his dog-sled to
+every one of the Hudson Bay stations.  You can send what you like by him
+to Hungry Hall. Sooner or later it will be sure to reach your dusky
+friend."
+
+"It will be something to let him know I don’t forget," sighed Wilfred,
+whose foot was in his uncle’s porch, where safety was before him.
+
+There was a sudden stillness about the place.  A kind of paralysis had
+seized upon the household, as it fell under the startling interdict of
+the policeman: "Not a thing on the premises to be touched; not an
+individual to leave them until he gave permission."  This utter
+standstill was more appalling to the farm-servants than the riotous
+confusion which had preceded it.  The dread of what would come next lay
+like a nightmare over master and men.
+
+Wilfred scarcely looked at prisoners or policeman; he made his way to
+his uncle.
+
+"I can finish my prayer this morning, and I will—I will try to do my
+duty.  Tell me what it is?"
+
+"To speak the truth," returned old Caleb solemnly, "without fear or
+prevarication.  No, no! don’t tell me beforehand what you are going to
+say, or that fellow in the scarlet coat will assert I have tutored you."
+
+Gaspé began to speak.
+
+"No, no!" continued Uncle Caleb, "you must not talk it over with your
+friend.  Sit down, my boy; think of all that has happened in the night
+quietly and calmly, and God help us to bear the result."
+
+Again he rocked himself backwards and forwards, murmuring under his
+breath, "My poor Miriam!  I have two to think of—my poor, poor Miriam!"
+
+Wilfred’s own clear commonsense came to his aid; he looked up brightly.
+The old man’s tears were slowly trickling down his furrowed cheeks.
+"Uncle," he urged, "my friends have not only saved me, they have saved
+you all.  They stopped those fellows short, before they had time to do
+their worst.  They will not be punished for what they were going to do,
+but for what they actually did do."
+
+A sudden rush of gratitude came over Wilfred as he recalled his peril.
+His arms went round Gaspé with a clasp that seemed to know no
+unloosening.  A friend is worth all hazards.
+
+His turn soon came.  Aunt Miriam had preceded her nephew.  She had so
+little to tell.  "In the midst of the dancing there was a cry of
+’Thieves!’  The men ran.  Her husband came back to her, bringing her
+invalid brother to the safest part of the house. He stayed to guard
+them, until there arose a second cry, ’The police!’  She supposed the
+thieves made off.  Her husband had started in pursuit."
+
+In pursuit, when there was nothing to pursue; the aggressor was already
+taken.  Aunt Miriam saw the inevitable inference: her husband had fled
+with his guests.  She never looked up.  She could not meet the eyes
+around her, until she was asked if Vanner and Mathurin were among her
+guests.  Her pale cheeks grew paler.
+
+Their own men were stupid and sleepy, and could only stare at each
+other.  All they had had to say confirmed their mistress’s statements.
+
+Mr. De Brunier had fetched Wilfred whilst his aunt was speaking.  He
+looked at the men crowding round the table, pushed between the
+sledge-driver and Pête to where his aunt was standing, and squeezed her
+hand.  There was just one look exchanged between them.  Of all the
+startling events in that strange night, it was strangest of all to Aunt
+Miriam to see him there.  The fervency in the pressure she returned set
+Wilfred’s heart at ease.  One determination possessed them both—not to
+make a scene.
+
+Aunt Miriam got back into her own room; how, she never knew.  She threw
+herself on her knees beside her bed, and listened; for in that
+wood-built house every word could be heard as plainly as if she had
+remained in the kitchen.  Her grief and shame were hidden, that was all.
+
+Wilfred’s clear, straightforward answers made it plain there were no
+thieves in the case.  Her wedding guests had set upon her little
+wanderer in the moment of his return.
+
+Vanner, scowling and sullen, never uttered a single word.
+
+Mathurin protested volubly.  He never meant to let them hurt the boy,
+but some amongst them owed him a grudge, and they were bent on paying it
+off before they parted.
+
+"A base and cowardly trick, by your own showing, to break into an old
+man’s room in the dead of the night with a false alarm; not to mention
+your behaviour to the boy.  If this outrage hastens the old gentleman’s
+end, you will find yourselves in a very awkward position.  His seizure
+in the night was solely due to the unwarrantable alarm," observed the
+policeman.
+
+Mathurin began to interrupt.  He checked him.
+
+"If you have anything to say for yourself, reserve it for the proper
+time and place; for the present you must step into that sledge and come
+with me at once.—Mr. De Brunier, I shall meet you and your son at Garry
+on the twenty-ninth."
+
+He marched his prisoners through the porch; a sullen silence reigned
+around.  The sledge-bell tinkled, the snow gleamed white as ever in the
+morning sunshine, as Vanner and Mathurin left the farm.
+
+With the air of a mute at a funeral, Forgill bolted the door behind
+them.  Mr. De Brunier walked into the sleeping-room, to examine the
+scene of confusion it presented for himself.
+
+Aunt Miriam came out, leaving the door behind her open, without knowing
+it.  She moved like one in a dream.  "I cannot understand all this," she
+said, "but we must do the thing that is nearest."
+
+She directed Forgill to board up the broken window and to see that the
+house was secure, and took Pête with her to make up a bed for her
+brother in the dining-room.  She laid her hand on Wilfred’s shoulder as
+she passed him, but the words died on her lips.
+
+The men obeyed her without reply.  Forgill was afraid to go out of the
+house alone.  As the cowman followed him, he patted Yula’s head,
+observing, "After all that’s said and done, it was this here dog which
+caught ’em.  I reckon he’s worth his weight in gold, wherever he comes
+from, that I do."
+
+Yula shook off the stranger’s caress as if it were an impertinent
+freedom.  His eye was fixed on two small moccasined feet peeping out
+from under Aunt Miriam’s bed.
+
+There was a spring, but Wilfred’s hand was in his collar.
+
+"I know I had better stop him," he whispered, looking up at Gaspé, as he
+thought of Mr. De Brunier’s reproof.
+
+"Right enough now," cried Gaspé.  "Wilfred, it is a girl."
+
+He ran to the bed and handed out Bowkett’s young sister, Anastasia.  Her
+dress was of the universal smoked skin, but its gay embroidery of beads
+and the white ribbons which adorned it spoke of the recent bridal.  Her
+black hair fell in one long, heavy braid to her waist.
+
+"Oh, you uncomplimentary creatures!" she exclaimed, "not one of you
+remembered my existence; but I’ll forgive you two"—extending a hand to
+each—"because you did not know of it.  I crawled in here at the first
+alarm, and here I have lain trembling, and nobody missed me.  But, I
+declare, you men folk have been going on awful.  You will be the death
+of us all some of these days.  I could have knocked your heads together
+until I had knocked some sense into you.  Put your pappoose in its
+cradle, indeed!  I wish you were all pappooses; I would soon let you
+know what I think of upsetting a poor old man like that."
+
+The indignant young beauty shook the dust from her embroidery, and
+twirled her white ribbons into their places as she spoke.
+
+"Spoiling all the fun," she added.
+
+"Now don’t perform upon us, Miss Bowkett," put in Gaspé.  "We are not
+the representatives of last night’s rowdyism.  My poor friend here is
+chief sufferer from it.  Only he had a four-footed friend, and a
+dark-skinned friend, and two others at the back of them of a very
+ordinary type, but still friends with hands and feet.  So the tables
+were turned, and the two real representatives are gone up for their
+exam."
+
+"I daren’t be the first to tell a tale like this in the hunters’ camp.
+Besides," she demanded, "who is to take me there?  This is what the day
+after brings," she pouted, passing the boys as she went into the
+kitchen. The guns which the hunters had left behind them had been
+carefully unloaded by the policeman and Mr. De Brunier, and were piled
+together in one corner, waiting for their owners to reclaim them. Every
+one knew the hunters could not live without their trading guns; they
+must come back to fetch them.  Anastasia, too, was aware she had only to
+wait for the first who should put in an appearance to escort her home.
+Little was said, for Aunt Miriam knew Anastasia’s departure from
+Acland’s Hut would be Hugh Bowkett’s recall.
+
+When Mr. De Brunier understood this, his anxiety on Wilfred’s account
+was redoubled.
+
+But when Uncle Caleb revived enough for conversation, he spoke of the
+little business to be settled between them, and asked for Mr. De
+Brunier.
+
+"I have thought it all through," he said.  "In the face of the Cree’s
+warning, and all that happened under this roof, I can never leave my
+nephew and Hugh Bowkett to live together beneath it.  As soon as he
+hears from his sister how matters stand here, and finds sentence has
+been passed on Vanner and Mathurin, he may come back at any hour.  I
+want to leave my nephew to your care; a better friend he could not
+have."
+
+"As he has had it already, he shall always have it, as if he were next
+to Gaspé, I promise you," was the ready answer.
+
+"I want a little more than that," Uncle Caleb continued.  "I want you to
+take him away at once, and send him back to school.  You spoke of buying
+land; buy half of mine.  That will be Wilfred’s portion. Invest the
+money in the Hudson Bay Company, where Bowkett can never touch it, and I
+shall feel my boy is safe.  As for Miriam, she will still have a good
+home and a good farm; and the temptation out of his reach, Bowkett may
+settle down."
+
+"I have no faith in bribery for making a man better.  It wants the
+change here, and that is God’s work, not man’s," returned Mr. De
+Brunier, tapping his own breast.
+
+Caleb Acland had but one more charge: "Let nobody tell poor Miriam the
+worst."  But she knew enough without the telling.
+
+When Wilfred found he was to return to Garry with his friends the next
+day his arms went round his dogs, and a look of mute appeal wandered
+from Mr. De Brunier to Aunt Miriam.
+
+"Had not I better take back Kusky?" suggested Gaspé.  "And could not we
+have Yula too?"
+
+"Yula!" repeated Aunt Miriam.  "It is I who must take care of Yula.  He
+shall never want a bone whilst I have one.  I shall feed him, Wilfred,
+with my own hands till you come back to claim him."
+
+
+
+
+                                THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+                           LOST IN THE WILDS
+
+
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost
+no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
+under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
+eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license.
+
+
+
+Title: Lost in the Wilds
+       A Canadian Story
+Author: Eleanor Stredder
+Release Date: September 03, 2013 [EBook #43640]
+Language: English
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST IN THE WILDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Cover]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: It was an awful moment.]
+
+
+
+
+                           LOST IN THE WILDS
+
+                            A CANADIAN STORY
+
+
+                          BY ELEANOR STREDDER
+
+
+
+                           LONDON, EDINBURGH,
+                           DUBLIN, & NEW YORK
+                             THOMAS NELSON
+                                AND SONS
+                                  1893
+
+
+
+
+                              *CONTENTS.*
+
+      I. _In Acland's Hut_
+     II. _Hunting the Buffalo_
+    III. _The First Snowstorm_
+     IV. _Maxica, the Cree Indian_
+      V. _In the Birch-bark Hut_
+     VI. _Searching for a Supper_
+    VII. _Following the Blackfeet_
+   VIII. _The Shop in the Wilderness_
+     IX. _New Friends_
+      X. _The Dog-sled_
+     XI. _The Hunters' Camp_
+    XII. _Maxica's Warning_
+   XIII. _Just in Time_
+    XIV. _Wedding Guests_
+     XV. _To the Rescue_
+    XVI. _In Confusion_
+
+
+
+
+                          *LOST IN THE WILDS.*
+
+
+
+                              *CHAPTER I.*
+
+                          _*IN ACLAND'S HUT.*_
+
+
+The October sun was setting over a wild, wide waste of waving grass,
+growing dry and yellow in the autumn winds.  The scarlet hips gleamed
+between the whitening blades wherever the pale pink roses of summer had
+shed their fragrant leaves.
+
+But now the brief Indian summer was drawing to its close, and winter was
+coming down upon that vast Canadian plain with rapid strides.  The
+wailing cry of the wild geese rang through the gathering stillness.
+
+The driver of a rough Red River cart slapped the boy by his side upon
+the shoulder, and bade him look aloft at the swiftly-moving cloud of
+chattering beaks and waving wings.
+
+For a moment or two the twilight sky was darkened, and the air was
+filled with the restless beat of countless pinions.  The flight of the
+wild geese to the warmer south told the same story, of approaching snow,
+to the bluff carter.  He muttered something about finding the cows which
+his young companion did not understand.  The boy's eyes had travelled
+from the winged files of retreating geese to the vast expanse of sky and
+plain.  The west was all aglow with myriad tints of gold and saffron and
+green, reflected back from many a gleaming lakelet and curving river,
+which shone like jewels on the broad breast of the grassy ocean.  Where
+the dim sky-line faded into darkness the Touchwood Hills cast a
+blackness of shadow on the numerous thickets which fringed their
+sheltering slopes.  Onward stole the darkness, while the prairie fires
+shot up in wavy lines, like giant fireworks.
+
+Between the fire-flash and the dying sun the boy's quick eye was aware
+of the long winding course of the great trail to the north.  It was a
+comfort to perceive it in the midst of such utter loneliness; for if men
+had come and gone, they had left no other record behind them.  He seemed
+to feel the stillness of an unbroken solitude, and to hear the silence
+that was brooding over lake and thicket, hill and waste alike.
+
+He turned to his companion.  "Forgill," he asked, in a low venturing
+tone, "can you find your way in the dark?"
+
+He was answered by a low, short laugh, too expressive of contempt to
+suffer him to repeat his question.
+
+One broad flash of crimson light yet lingered along the western sky, and
+the evening star gleamed out upon the shadowy earth, which the night was
+hugging to itself closer and closer every moment.
+
+Still the cart rumbled on.  It was wending now by the banks of a
+nameless river, where the pale, faint star-shine reflected in its watery
+depths gave back dim visions of inverted trees in wavering, uncertain
+lines.
+
+"How far are we now from Acland's Hut?" asked the boy, disguising his
+impatience to reach their journey's end in careless tones.
+
+"Acland's Hut," repeated the driver; "why, it is close at hand."
+
+The horse confirmed this welcome piece of intelligence by a joyous neigh
+to his companion, who was following in the rear.  A Canadian always
+travels with two horses, which he drives by turns.  The horses
+themselves enter into the arrangement so well that there is no trouble
+about it.  The loose horse follows his master like a dog, and trots up
+when the cart comes to a standstill, to take the collar warm from his
+companion's shoulders.
+
+But for once the loose pony had galloped past them in the darkness, and
+was already whinnying at the well-known gate of Acland's Hut.
+
+The driver put his hand to his mouth and gave a shout, which seemed to
+echo far and wide over the silent prairie.  It was answered by a chorus
+of barking from the many dogs about the farm.  A lantern gleamed through
+the darkness, and friendly voices shouted in reply.  Another bend in the
+river brought them face to face with the rough, white gate of Acland's
+Hut.  Behind lay the low farm-house, with its log-built walls and roof
+of clay.  Already the door stood wide, and the cheerful blaze from the
+pine-logs burning on the ample hearth within told of the hospitable
+welcome awaiting the travellers.
+
+An unseen hand undid the creaking gate, and a gruff voice from the
+darkness exchanged a hearty "All right" with Forgill.  The lantern
+seemed to dance before the horse's head, as he drew up beneath the
+solitary tree which had been left for a hen-roost in the centre of the
+enclosure.
+
+Forgill jumped down.  He gave a helping hand to his boy companion,
+observing, "There is your aunt watching for you at the open door.  Go
+and make friends; you won't be strangers long."
+
+"Have you got the child, Forgill?" asked an anxious woman's voice.
+
+An old Frenchman, who fulfilled the double office of man and maid at
+Acland's Hut, walked up to the cart and held out his arms to receive the
+expected visitor.
+
+Down leaped the boy, altogether disdaining the over-attention of the
+farming man.  Then he heard Forgill whisper, "It isn't the little girl
+she expected, it is this here boy; but I have brought him all the same."
+
+This piece of intelligence was received with a low chuckle, and all
+three of the men became suddenly intent upon the buckles of the harness,
+leaving aunt and nephew to rectify the little mistake which had clearly
+arisen--not that they had anything to do with it.
+
+"Come in," said the aunt in kindly tones, scarcely knowing whether it
+was a boy or a girl that she was welcoming.  But when the rough
+deer-skin in which Forgill had enveloped his charge as the night drew on
+was thrown aside, the look which spread over her face was akin to
+consternation, as she asked his name and heard the prompt reply,
+"Wilfred Acland; and are you my own Aunt Miriam?  How is my uncle?"  But
+question was exchanged for question with exceeding rapidity.  Then
+remembering the boy's long journey, Aunt Miriam drew a three-legged
+stool in front of the blazing fire, and bade him be seated.
+
+The owner of Acland's Hut was an aged man, the eldest of a large family,
+while Wilfred's father was the youngest.  They had been separated from
+each other in early life; the brotherly tie between them was loosely
+knitted.  Intervals of several years' duration occurred in their
+correspondence, and many a kindly-worded epistle failed to reach its
+destination; for the adventurous daring of the elder brother led him
+again and again to sell his holding, and push his way still farther
+west.  He loved the ring of the woodman's axe, the felling and the
+clearing.  He grew rich from the abundant yield of the virgin soil, and
+his ever-increasing droves of cattle grew fat and fine in the grassy sea
+which surrounded his homestead. All went well until his life of arduous
+toil brought on an attack of rheumatic fever, which had left him a
+bedridden old man.  Everything now depended upon the energy of his sole
+surviving sister, who had shared his fortunes.
+
+Aunt Miriam retained a more affectionate remembrance of Wilfred's
+father, who had been her playmate. When the letter arrived announcing
+his death she was plunged in despondency.  The letter had been sent from
+place to place, and was nine months after date before it reached
+Acland's Hut, on the verge of the lonely prairie between the Qu'appelle
+and South Saskatchewan rivers.  The letter was written by a Mr. Cromer,
+who promised to take care of the child the late Mr. Acland had left,
+until he heard from the uncle he was addressing.
+
+The brother and sister at Acland's Hut at once started the most capable
+man on their farm to purchase their winter stores and fetch the orphan
+child.  Aunt Miriam looked back to the old letters to ascertain its age.
+In one of them the father rejoiced over the birth of a son; in another
+he spoke of a little daughter, named after herself; a third, which
+lamented the death of his wife, told also of the loss of a child--which,
+it did not say.  Aunt Miriam, with a natural partiality for her
+namesake, decided, as she re-read the brief letter, that it must be the
+girl who was living; for it was then a baby, and every one would have
+called it "the baby."  By using the word "child," the poor father must
+have referred to the eldest, the boy.
+
+"Ah! very likely," answered her brother, who had no secret preference to
+bias his expectations.  So the conjecture came to be regarded as a
+certainty, until Wilfred shook off the deer-skin and stood before his
+aunt, a strong hearty boy of thirteen summers, awkwardly shy, and
+alarmingly hungry.
+
+But her welcome was not the less kindly, as she heaped his plate again
+and again.  Wilfred was soon nodding over his supper in the very front
+of the blazing fire, basking in its genial warmth.  But the delightful
+sense of comfort and enjoyment was rather shaken when he heard his aunt
+speaking in the inner room.
+
+"Forgill has come back, Caleb; and after all it is the boy."
+
+"The boy, God bless him!  I only wish he were more of a man, to take my
+place," answered the dreamy voice of her sick brother, just rousing from
+his slumbers.
+
+"Oh, but I am so disappointed!" retorted Aunt Miriam.  "I had been
+looking forward to a dear little niece to cheer me through the winter.
+I felt so sure--"
+
+"Now, now!" laughed the old man, "that is just where it is.  If once you
+get an idea in your head, there it wedges to the exclusion of everything
+else. You like your own way, Miriam, but you cannot turn your wishes
+into a coach and six to override everything.  You cannot turn him into a
+girl."
+
+Wilfred burst out laughing, as he felt himself very unpromising material
+for the desired metamorphosis.
+
+"How shall I keep him out of mischief when we are all shut in with the
+snow?" groaned Aunt Miriam.
+
+"Let me look at him," said her brother, growing excited.
+
+When Wilfred stood by the bedside, his uncle took the boy's warm hands
+in both his own and looked earnestly in his bright open face.
+
+"He will do," murmured the old man, sinking back amongst his pillows.
+"There, be a good lad; mind what your aunt says to you, and make
+yourself at home."
+
+While he was speaking all the light there was in the shadowy room shone
+full on Wilfred.
+
+"He is like his father," observed Aunt Miriam.
+
+"You need not tell me that," answered Caleb Acland, turning away his
+face.
+
+"Could we ever keep him out of mischief?" she sighed.
+
+Wilfred's merry laugh jarred on their ears.  They forgot the lapse of
+time since his father's death, and wondered to find him so cheerful.
+Aunt and nephew were decidedly out of time, and out of time means out of
+tune, as Wilfred dimly felt, without divining the reason.
+
+Morning showed him his new home in its brightest aspect.  He was up
+early and out with Forgill and the dogs, busy in the long row of
+cattle-sheds which sheltered one end of the farm-house, whilst a
+well-planted orchard screened the other.
+
+Wilfred was rejoicing in the clear air, the joyous sunshine, and the
+wonderful sense of freedom which seemed to pervade the place.  The wind
+was whispering through the belt of firs at the back of the clearing
+where Forgill had built his hut, as he made his way through the long,
+tawny grass to gather the purple vetches and tall star-like asters,
+still to be found by the banks of the reed-fringed pool where Forgill
+was watering the horses.
+
+Wilfred was intent upon propitiating his aunt, when he returned to the
+house with his autumn bouquet, and a large basket of eggs which Forgill
+had intrusted to his care.
+
+Wilfred rushed into the kitchen, elate with his morning ramble, and
+quite regardless of the long trail of muddy footsteps with which he was
+soiling the freshly-cleaned floor.
+
+"Look!" cried Aunt Miriam; but she spoke to deaf ears, for Wilfred's
+attention was suddenly absorbed by the appearance of a stranger at the
+gate.  His horse and gun proclaimed him an early visitor.  His jaunty
+air and the glittering beads and many tassels which adorned his
+riding-boots made Wilfred wonder who he was.  He set his basket on the
+ground, and was darting off again to open the gate, when Aunt Miriam,
+finding her remonstrances vain, leaned across the table on which she was
+arranging the family breakfast and caught him by the arm.  Wilfred was
+going so fast that the sudden stoppage upset his equilibrium; down he
+went, smash into the basket of eggs.  Out flew one-half in a frantic
+dance, while the mangled remains of the other streamed across the floor.
+
+"Oh! the eggs, the eggs!" exclaimed Wilfred.
+
+Aunt Miriam, who was on the other side of the table when he came in, had
+not noticed the basket he was carrying.  She held up her hands in
+dismay, exclaiming, "I am afraid, Wilfred, you are one of the most
+aggravating boys that ever walked this earth."
+
+For the frost was coming, and eggs were growing scarce.
+
+"And so, auntie, since you can't transform me, you have abased me
+utterly.  I humbly beg your pardon from the very dust, and lay my poor
+bruised offering at your indignant feet.  I thought the coach and six
+was coming over me, I did indeed!" exclaimed Wilfred.
+
+"Get up" reiterated Aunt Miriam angrily, her vexation heightened by the
+burst of laughter which greeted her ears from the open door, where the
+stranger now stood shaking with merriment at the ridiculous scene.
+
+"Yes, off with you, you young beggar!" he repeated, stepping aside
+good-naturedly to let Wilfred pass. For what could a fellow do but go in
+such disastrous circumstances?
+
+"It is not to be expected that the missis will put up with this sort of
+game," remarked P�tre Fleurie, as he passed him.
+
+Wilfred began to think it better to forego his breakfast than face his
+indignant aunt.  What did she care for the handful of weeds?  The mud he
+had gone through to get them had caused all the mischief. Everywhere
+else the ground was dry and crisp with the morning frost.  "What an
+unlucky dog I am!" thought Wilfred dolefully.  "Haven't I made a bad
+beginning, and I never meant to."  He crept under the orchard railing to
+hide himself in his repentance and keep out of everybody's way.
+
+But it was not the weather for standing still, and he longed for
+something to do.  He took to running in and out amongst the now almost
+leafless fruit-trees to keep himself warm.
+
+Forgill, who was at work in the court putting the meat-stage in order,
+looked down into the orchard from the top of the ladder on which he was
+mounted, and called to Wilfred to come and help him.
+
+It was a very busy time on the farm.  Marley, the other labourer, who
+was Forgill's chum in the little hut in the corner, was away in the
+prairie looking up the cows, which had been turned loose in the early
+summer to get their own living, and must now be brought in and
+comfortably housed for the winter. Forgill had been away nearly a
+fortnight.  Hands were short on the farm now the poor old master was
+laid aside.  There was land to be sold all round them; but at present it
+was unoccupied, and the nearest settler was dozens of miles away.  Their
+only neighbours were the roving hunters, who had no settled home, but
+wandered about like gipsies, living entirely by the chase and selling
+furs.  They were partly descended from the old French settlers, and
+partly Indians.  They were a careless, light-hearted, dashing set of
+fellows, who made plenty of money when skins were dear, and spent it
+almost as fast as it came. Uncle Caleb thought it prudent to keep on
+friendly terms with these roving neighbours, who were always ready to
+give him occasional help, as they were always well paid for it.
+
+"There is one of these hunter fellows here now," said Forgill.  "The
+missis is arranging with him to help me to get in the supply of meat for
+the winter."
+
+The stage at which Forgill was hammering resembled the framework of a
+very high, long, narrow table, with four tall fir poles for its legs.
+Here the meat was to be laid, high up above the reach of the many
+animals, wild and tame.  It would soon be frozen through and through as
+hard as a stone, and keep quite good until the spring thaws set in.
+
+Wilfred was quickly on the top of the stage, enjoying the prospect, for
+the atmosphere in Canada is so clear that the eye can distinguish
+objects a very long way off.  He had plenty of amusement watching the
+great buzzards and hawks, which are never long out of sight.  He had
+entered a region where birds abounded.  There were cries in the air
+above and the drumming note of the prairie-hen in the grass below. There
+were gray clouds of huge white pelicans flapping heavily along, and
+faster-flying strings of small white birds, looking like rows of pearls
+waving in the morning air.  A moving band, also of snowy white, crossing
+the blue water of a distant lakelet, puzzled him a while, until it rose
+with a flutter and scream, and proved itself another flock of northern
+geese on wing for the south, just pausing on its way to drink.
+
+Presently Wilfred was aware that P�tre was at the foot of the ladder
+talking earnestly to Forgill.  An unpleasant tingling in his cheek told
+the subject of their conversation.  He turned his back towards them, not
+choosing to hear the remarks they might be making upon his escapade of
+the morning, until old P�tre--or P�te as he was usually called, for
+somehow the "r" slipped out of his name on the English lips around
+him--raised his voice, protesting, "You and I know well how the black
+mud by the reed pool sticks like glue.  Now, I say, put him on the
+little brown pony, and take him with you."
+
+"Follow the hunt!" cried Wilfred, overjoyed.  "Oh, may I, Forgill?"
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER II.*
+
+                        _*HUNTING THE BUFFALO.*_
+
+
+The cloudy morning ended in a brilliant noon. Wilfred was in ecstasies
+when he found himself mounted on the sagacious Brownie, who had followed
+them like a dog on the preceding evening.
+
+Aunt Miriam had consented to P�te's proposal with a thankfulness which
+led the hunter, Hugh Bowkett, to remark, as Wilfred trotted beside him,
+"Come, you young scamp! so you are altogether beyond petticoat
+government, are you?"
+
+"That is not true," retorted Wilfred, "for I was never out of her
+Majesty's dominion for a single hour in my life."
+
+It was a chance hit, for Bowkett had been over the frontier more than
+once, wintering among the Yankee roughs on the other side of the border,
+a proceeding which is synonymous in the North-West Dominion with
+"getting out of the way."
+
+Bowkett was a handsome fellow, and a first-rate shot, who could
+accomplish the difficult task of hunting the long-eared, cunning
+moose-deer as well as a born Red Indian.  Wilfred looked up at him with
+secret admiration.  Not so Forgill, who owned to P�te there was no
+dependence on these half-and-half characters.  But without Bowkett's
+help there would be no meat for the winter; and since the master had
+decided the boy was to go with them, there was nothing more to be said.
+
+Aunt Miriam came to the gate, in her hood and cloak, to see them depart.
+
+"Good-bye! good-bye, auntie!" shouted Wilfred. "I am awfully sorry about
+those eggs."
+
+"Ah, you rogue! do you think I am going to believe you?"  She laughed,
+shaking a warning finger at him; and so they parted, little dreaming of
+all that would happen before they met again.
+
+Wilfred was equipped in an old, smoked deer-skin coat of his uncle's,
+and a fur cap with a flap falling like a cape on his neck, and
+ear-pieces which met under his chin.  He was a tall boy of his age, and
+his uncle was a little, wiry man.  The coat was not very much too long
+for him.  It wrapped over famously in front, and was belted round the
+waist.  P�te had filled the pockets with a good supply of biscuit, and
+one or two potatoes, which he thought Wilfred could roast for his supper
+in the ashes of the campfire.  For the hunting-party expected to camp
+out in the open for a night or two, as the buffaloes they were in quest
+of were further to seek and harder to find every season.
+
+Forgill had stuck a hunting-knife in Wilfred's belt, to console him for
+the want of a gun.  The boy would have liked to carry a gun like the
+others, but on that point there was a resolute "No" all round.
+
+As they left the belt of pine trees, and struck out into the vast,
+trackless sea of grass, Wilfred looked back to the light blue column of
+smoke from the farm-house chimney, and wistfully watched it curling
+upwards in the clear atmosphere, with a dash of regret that he had not
+yet made friends with his uncle, or recovered his place in Aunt Miriam's
+good graces. But it scarcely took off the edge of his delight.
+
+Forgill was in the cart, which he hoped to bring back loaded with game.
+At the corner of the first bluff, as the hills in Canada are usually
+called, they encountered Bowkett's man with a string of horses, one of
+which he rode.  There was a joyous blaze of sunshine glinting through
+the broad fringes of white pines which marked the course of the river,
+making redder the red stems of the Norwegians which sprang up here and
+there in vivid contrast.  A light canoe of tawny birch-bark, with its
+painted prow, was threading a narrow passage by the side of a tiny eyot
+or islet, where the pine boughs seemed to meet high overhead.  The
+hunters exchanged a shout of recognition with its skilful rower, ere a
+stately heron, with grand crimson eye and leaden wings, came slowly
+flapping down the stream intent on fishing.  Then the little party wound
+their way by ripple-worn rocks, covered with mosses and lichens.  At
+last, on one of the few bare spots on a distant hillside, some dark
+moving specks became visible.  The hunt began in earnest. Away went the
+horsemen over the wide, open plain. Wilfred and the cart following more
+slowly, yet near enough to watch the change to the stealthy approach and
+the cautious outlook over the hill-top, where the hunter's practised eye
+had detected the buffalo.
+
+"Keep close by me," said Forgill to his young companion, as they wound
+their way upwards, and reached the brow of the hill just in time to
+watch the wild charge upon the herd, which scattered in desperate
+flight, until the hindmost turned to bay upon his reckless pursuers, his
+shaggy head thrown up as he stood for a moment at gaze.  With a whoop
+and a cheer, in which Wilfred could not help joining, Bowkett again gave
+chase, followed by his man Diom�. A snap shot rattled through the air.
+Forgill drew the cart aside to the safer shelter of a wooded copse, out
+of the line of the hunters.  He knew the infuriated buffalo would
+shortly turn on his pursuers.  The loose horses were racing after their
+companions, and Brownie was quivering with excitement.
+
+"Hold hard!" cried Forgill, who saw the boy was longing to give the pony
+its head and follow suit. "Quiet, my lad," he continued.  "None of us
+are up to that sort of work.  It takes your breath to look at them."
+
+The buffalo was wheeling round.  Huge and unwieldy as the beast
+appeared, it changed its front with the rapidity of lightning.  Then
+Bowkett backed his horse and fled.  On the proud beast thundered, with
+lowered eyes flashing furiously under its shaggy brows.  A bullet from
+Diom�'s gun struck him on the forehead.  He only shook his haughty head
+and bellowed till the prairie rang; but his pace slackened as the
+answering cries of the retreating herd seemed to call him back.  He was
+within a yard of Bowkett's horse, when round he swung as swiftly and
+suddenly as he had advanced.  Wilfred stood up in his stirrups to watch
+him galloping after his companions, through a gap in a broken bluff at
+no great distance.  Away went Bowkett and Diom�, urging on their horses
+with shout and spur.
+
+"Halt a bit," said Forgill, restraining Wilfred and his pony, until they
+saw the two hunters slowly returning over the intervening ridge with
+panting horses.  They greeted the approach of the cart with a hurrah of
+success, proposing, as they drew nearer, to halt for dinner in the
+shelter of the gap through which the buffalo had taken its way.
+
+Wilfred was soon busy with Diom� gathering the dry branches last night's
+wind had broken to make a fire, whilst Bowkett and Forgill went forward
+with the cart to look for the fallen quarry.
+
+It was the boy's first lesson in camping out, and he enjoyed it
+immensely, taking his turn at the frying-pan with such success that
+Diom� proposed to hand it over to his exclusive use for the rest of
+their expedition.
+
+It was hard work to keep the impudent blue jays, with which the prairie
+abounded, from darting at the savoury fry, and pecking out the very
+middle of the steak, despite the near neighbourhood of smoke and flame,
+which threatened to singe their wings in the mad attempt.
+
+But in spite of the thievish birds, dinner was eaten and appreciated in
+the midst of so much laughter and chaff that even Forgill unbent.
+
+But a long day's work was yet before them, spurring over the sand-ridges
+and through the rustling grass. They had almost reached one of the
+westward jutting spurs of the Touchwood Hills, when the sun went down.
+As it neared the earth and sank amidst the glorious hues of emerald and
+gold, the dark horizon line became visible for a few brief instants
+across its blood-red face; but so distant did it seem, so very far away,
+the whole scene became dreamlike from its immensity.
+
+"We've done, my lads!" shouted Bowkett; "we have about ended as glorious
+a day's sport as ever I had."
+
+"Not yet," retorted Diom�.  "Just listen."  There was a trampling,
+snorting sound as of many cattle on the brink of a lakelet sheltering at
+the foot of the neighbouring hills.
+
+Were they not in the midst of what the early Canadian settlers used to
+call the Land of the Wild Cows?  Those sounds proceeded from another
+herd coming down for its evening drink.  On they crept with stealthy
+steps through bush and bulrush to get a nearer view in the bewildering
+shadows, which were growing darker and darker every moment.
+
+"Stop! stop!" cried Forgill, hurrying forward, as the light yet
+lingering on the lake showed the familiar faces of his master's cows
+stooping down to reach the pale blue water at their feet.  Yes, there
+they were, the truant herd Marley was endeavouring in vain to find.
+
+Many a horned head was lifted at the sound of Forgill's well-known call.
+Away he went into the midst of the group, pointing out the great "A" he
+had branded deep in the thick hair on the left shoulder before he had
+turned them loose.
+
+What was now to be done?
+
+"Drive them home," said the careful Forgill, afraid of losing them
+again.  But Bowkett was not willing to return.
+
+Meanwhile Diom� and Wilfred were busy preparing for the night at the
+spot where they had halted, when the presence of the herd was first
+perceived. They had brought the horses down to the lake to water at a
+sufficient distance from the cows not to disturb them.  But one or two
+of the wanderers began to "moo," as if they partially recognized their
+former companions.
+
+"They will follow me and the horses," pursued Forgill, who knew he could
+guide his way across the trackless prairie by the aid of the stars.
+
+"If you come upon Marley," he said, "he can take my place in the cart,
+for he has most likely found the trail of the cows by this time; or if I
+cross his path, I shall leave him to drive home the herd and return. You
+will see one of us before morning."
+
+"As you like," replied Bowkett, who knew he could do without either man
+provided he kept the cart. "You will probably see us back at the gate of
+Acland's Hut by to-morrow night; and if we do not bring you game enough,
+we must plan a second expedition when you have more leisure."
+
+So it was settled between them.
+
+Forgill hurried back to the camping place to get his supper before he
+started.  Bowkett lingered behind, surveying the goodly herd, whilst
+vague schemes for combining the twofold advantages of hunter and farmer
+floated through his mind.
+
+When he rejoined his companions he found them seated round a blazing
+fire, enjoying the boiling kettle of tea, the fried steak, and biscuit
+which composed their supper.  The saddles were hung up on the branches
+of the nearest tree, and the skins and blankets which were to make their
+bed were already spread upon the pine brush which strewed the ground.
+
+"Now, young 'un," said Forgill solemnly, "strikes me I had better keep
+you alongside anyhow."
+
+"No, no," retorted Diom�.  "The poor little fellow has been in the
+saddle all day, and he is dead asleep already; leave him under his
+blankets.  He'll be right enough; must learn to rough it sooner or
+later."
+
+Forgill, who had to be his own tailor and washer-woman, was lamenting
+over a rent in his sleeve, which he was endeavouring to stitch up.  For
+a housewife, with its store of needles and thread, was never absent from
+his pocket.
+
+His awkward attempts awakened the mirth of his companions.
+
+"What, poor old boy! haven't you got a wife at home to do the stitching
+for you?" asked Diom�.
+
+"When you have passed the last oak which grows on this side the Red
+River, are there a dozen English women in a thousand miles?" asked
+Forgill; and then he added, "The few there are are mostly real ladies,
+the wives of district governors and chief factors.  A fellow must make
+up his mind to do for himself and rub through as he can."
+
+"Unless he follows my father's example," put in Bowkett, "and chooses
+himself a faithful drudge from an Indian wigwam.  He would want no other
+tailor or washerwoman, for there are no such diligent workers in the
+world.  Look at that," he continued, pointing to his beautifully
+embroidered leggings, the work of his Indian relations.
+
+"Pay a visit to our hunters' winter camp," added Diom�, "and we will
+show you what an old squaw can do to make home comfortable."
+
+There was this difference between the men: Diom� who had been left by
+his French father to be brought up by his Indian mother, resembled her
+in many things; whilst Bowkett, whose father was English, despised his
+Indian mother, and tried to make himself more and more of an Englishman.
+This led him to cultivate the acquaintance with the Aclands.
+
+"I am going to send your mistress a present," he said, "of a mantle
+woven of wild dogs' hair.  It belonged to the daughter of an Indian
+chief from the Rocky Mountains.  It has a fringe a foot deep, and is
+covered all over with embroidery.  You will see then what a squaw can
+do."
+
+Forgill did not seem over-pleased at this information.
+
+"Are you talking of my Aunt Miriam?" asked Wilfred, opening his sleepy
+eyes.
+
+"So you are thinking about her," returned Forgill. "That's right, my
+lad; for your aunt and uncle at Acland's Hut are the only kith and kin
+you have left, and they are quite ready to make much of you, and you
+can't make too much of them."
+
+"You have overshot the mark there," laughed Bowkett; "rather think the
+missis was glad to be rid of the young plague on any terms."
+
+Diom� pulled the blankets over Wilfred's head, and wished him a _bonne
+nuit_ (good night).
+
+When the boy roused up at last Forgill had long since departed, and
+Diom�, who had been the first to awaken, was vigorously clapping his
+hands to warm them, and was shouting, "_L�ve! l�ve! l�ve!_" to his
+sleepy companions.
+
+"Get up," interpreted Bowkett, who saw that Wilfred did not understand
+his companion's provincial French.  Then suiting the action to the word,
+he crawled out from between the shafts of the cart, where he had passed
+the night, tossed off his blankets and gave himself a shake, dressing
+being no part of the morning performances during camping out in the
+Canadian wilds, as every one puts on all the clothing he has at going to
+bed, to keep himself warm through the night.
+
+The fire was reduced to a smouldering ash-heap, and every leaf and twig
+around was sparkling with hoar-frost, for the frost had deepened in the
+night, and joints were stiff and limbs were aching.  A run for a mile
+was Bowkett's remedy, and a look round for the horses, which had been
+turned loose, Canadian fashion, to get their supper where they could
+find it.
+
+The first red beams of the rising sun were tinging the glassy surface of
+the lake when Bowkett came upon the scattered quadrupeds, and drove
+them, with Wilfred's assistance, down to its blue waters for their
+morning drink.
+
+Diom�'s shouts recalled them to their own breakfast.  He was a man of
+many tongues, invariably scolding in French--especially the horses and
+dogs, who heeded it, he asserted, better than any other language except
+Esquimau--explaining in English, and coming out with the Indian "Caween"
+when discourse required an animated "no."  "Caween," he reiterated now,
+as Bowkett asked, "Are we to dawdle about all day for these English
+cow-keepers?"  For neither Forgill nor Marley had yet put in an
+appearance.
+
+The breakfast was not hurried over.  The fire was built up bigger than
+ever before they left, that its blackened remains might mark their
+camping place for days, if the farming men came after them.
+
+Wilfred, who had buckled the saddle on Brownie, received a riding
+lesson, and then they started, Diom� driving the cart.  Wilfred kept
+beside him at first, but growing bolder as his spirits rose, he trotted
+onward to exchange a word with Bowkett.
+
+The sharp, frosty night seemed likely to be followed by a day of bright
+and mellow sunshine.  The exhilarating morning breeze banished all
+thoughts of fear and care from the light-hearted trio; and when the tall
+white stems of the pines appeared to tremble in the mid-day mirage,
+Wilfred scampered hither and thither, as merry as the little gopher, or
+ground squirrel, that was gambolling across his path.  But no large game
+had yet been sighted.  Then all unexpectedly a solitary buffalo stalked
+majestically across what was now the entrance to a valley, but what
+would become the bed of a rushing river when the ice was melting in the
+early spring.
+
+Bowkett paused, looked to his rifle and saddle-girths, waved his arm to
+Wilfred to fall back, and with a shout that made the boy's heart leap
+dashed after it.  Wilfred urged his Brownie up the bank, where he
+thought he could safely watch the chase and enjoy a repetition of the
+exciting scenes of yesterday.
+
+Finding itself pursued, the buffalo doubled.  On it came, tearing up the
+ground in its course, and seeming to shake the quivering trees with its
+mighty bellow. Brownie plunged and reared, and Wilfred was flung
+backwards, a senseless heap at the foot of the steep bank.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER III.*
+
+                        _*THE FIRST SNOWSTORM.*_
+
+
+IN the midst of the danger and excitement of the chase, Bowkett had not
+a thought to spare for Wilfred.  He and Diom� were far too busy to even
+wonder what had become of him.  It was not until their work was done,
+and the proverbial hunger of the hunter urged them to prepare for
+dinner, that the question arose.
+
+"Where on earth is that young scoundrel of a boy? Has he fallen back so
+far that it will take him all day to recover ground?" asked Bowkett.
+
+"And if it is so," remarked Diom�, "he has only to give that cunning
+little brute its head.  It is safe to follow the track of the
+cart-wheel, and bring him in for the glorious teasing that is waiting to
+sugar his tea."
+
+"Rare seasoning for the frying-pan," retorted Bowkett, as he lit his
+pipe, and proposed to halt a bit longer until the truant turned up.
+
+"Maybe," suggested Diom�, "if May bees fly in October, that moose-eared
+pony [the long ears of the moose detect the faintest sound at an
+inconceivable distance] has been more than a match for his raw
+equestrianism.  It has heard the jog-trot of that solemn and sober
+cowherd, and galloped him off to join his old companions.  What will
+become of the scattered flock?"
+
+"Without a leader," put in Bowkett.  "I have a great mind to bid for the
+office."
+
+"Oh, oh!" laughed Diom�.  "I have something of the keen scent of my
+Indian grandfather; I began to sniff the wind when that mantle was
+talked about last night.  Now then, are we going to track back to find
+this boy?"
+
+"I do not know where you propose to look for him, but I can tell you
+where you will find him--munching cakes on his auntie's lap.  We may as
+well save time by looking in the likeliest place first," retorted
+Bowkett.
+
+The bivouac over, they returned to Acland's Hut with their well-laden
+cart, and Wilfred was left behind them, no one knew where.  The hunters'
+careless conclusions were roughly shaken, when they saw a riderless pony
+trotting leisurely after them to the well-known door.  Old P�te came out
+and caught it by the bridle.  An ever-rising wave of consternation was
+spreading.  No one as yet had put it into words, until Forgill emerged
+from the cattle-sheds with a sack on his shoulder, exclaiming, "Where's
+the boy?"
+
+"With you, is not he?  He did not say much to us; either he or his pony
+started off to follow you. He was an unruly one, you know," replied
+Bowkett. Forgill's only answer was a hoarse shout to Marley, who had
+returned from his wanderings earlier in the day, to come with torches.
+Diom� joined them in the search.
+
+Bowkett stepped into the house to allay Aunt Miriam's fears with his
+regret the boy had somehow given them the slip, but Forgill and Diom�
+had gone back for him.
+
+An abundant and what seemed to them a luxuriant supper had been provided
+for the hunting party. Whilst Bowkett sat down to enjoy it to his
+heart's content, Aunt Miriam wandered restlessly from room to room,
+cautiously breaking the ill news to her brother, by telling him only
+half the hunting party had yet turned up.  P�te was watching for the
+stragglers.
+
+He roused himself up to ask her who was missing.
+
+But her guarded reply reassured him, and he settled back to sleep.  Such
+mishaps were of every-day occurrence.
+
+"A cold night for camping out," he murmured. "You will see them with the
+daylight."
+
+But the chilly hour which precedes the dawn brought with it a heavy fall
+of snow.
+
+Aunt Miriam's heart sank like lead, for she knew that every track would
+be obliterated now.  Bowkett still laughed away her fears.  Find the boy
+they would, benumbed perhaps at the foot of a tree, or huddled up in
+some sheltering hollow.
+
+Then Aunt Miriam asked Bowkett if he would earn her everlasting
+gratitude, by taking the dogs and P�te, with skins and blankets--
+
+"And bringing the truant home," responded Bowkett boastfully.
+
+The farm-house, with its double doors and windows, its glowing stoves in
+every room, was as warm and cozy within as the night without was
+cheerless and cold.  Bowkett, who had been enjoying his taste of true
+English comfort, felt its allurements enhanced by the force of the
+contrast.  Aunt Miriam barred the door behind him with a great deal of
+unearned gratitude in her heart.  Her confidence in Forgill was shaken.
+He ought not to have brought home the cows and left her nephew behind.
+Yet the herd was so valuable, and he felt himself responsible to his
+master for their well-being.  She did not blame Forgill; she blamed
+herself for letting Wilfred go with him.  She leaned upon the hunter's
+assurances, for she knew that his resource and daring, and his knowledge
+of the country, were far greater than that possessed by either of the
+farming men.
+
+The storm which had burst at daybreak had shrouded all around in a dense
+white sheet of driving snowflakes.  Even objects close at hand showed
+dim and indistinct in the gray snow-light.  On the search-party went,
+groping their way through little clumps of stunted bushes, which
+frequently deceived them by a fancied resemblance to a boyish figure,
+now throwing up its arms to call attention, now huddled in a darkling
+heap.  Their shouts received no answer: that went for little.  The boy
+must long ago have succumbed to such a night without fire or shelter
+They felt among the bushes.  The wet mass of snow struck icily cold on
+hands and faces.  A bitter, biting wind swept down the river from the
+north-east, breaking the tall pine branches and uprooting many a
+sapling.  The two search-parties found each other that was all.  Such
+weather in itself makes many a man feel savage-tempered and sullen.  If
+they spoke at all, it was to blame one another.
+
+While thus they wandered to and fro over the hunting-ground of
+yesterday, where was the boy they failed to meet?  Where was Wilfred?
+Fortunately for him the grass grew thick and tall at the bottom of the
+bank down which he had fallen.  Lost to view amid the waving yellow
+tufts which had sprung up to giant size in the bed of the dried-up
+stream, he lay for some time in utter unconsciousness; whilst the
+frightened pony, finding itself free, galloped madly away over the sandy
+ridges they had been crossing earlier in the morning.
+
+By slow degrees sight and sound returned to the luckless boy.  He was
+bruised and shaken, and one ankle which he had bent under him made him
+cry out with pain when he tried to rise.  At last he drew himself into a
+sitting posture and looked around. Recollections came back confusedly at
+first.  As his ideas grew clearer, he began to realize what had
+happened. Overhead the sky was gloomy and dark.  A stormy wind swept the
+whitened grass around him into billowy waves.  Wilfred's first thought
+was to shout to his companions; but his voice was weak and faint, and a
+longing for a little water overcame him.
+
+Finding himself unable to walk, he dropped down again in the grassy nest
+which he had formed for himself, and tried to think.  The weight of his
+fall had crushed the grass beneath him into the soft clayey mud at the
+bottom of the valley.  But the pain in his ankle predominated over every
+other consideration. His first attempt to help himself was to take the
+knife out of his belt and cut down some of the grass within reach, and
+make a softer bed on which to rest it.  His limbs were stiffening with
+the cold, and whilst he had still feeling enough in his fingers to undo
+his boot, he determined to try to bind up his ankle.  Whilst he held it
+pressed between both his hands it seemed easier.
+
+But Wilfred knew he must not sit there waiting for Forgill, who, he felt
+sure, would come and look for him if he had rejoined the hunting party:
+if--there were so many _ifs_ clinging to every thought Wilfred grew
+desperate.  He grasped a great handful of the sticky clay and pressed it
+round his ankle in a stiff, firm band.  There was a change in the
+atmosphere.  In the morning that clay would have been hard and crisp
+with the frost, now it was yielding in his hand; surely the snow was
+coming.  Boy as he was, he knew what that would do for him--he should be
+buried beneath it in the hole in which he lay.  It roused him to the
+uttermost.  Deep down in Wilfred's nature there was a vein of that cool
+daring which the great Napoleon called "two o'clock in the morning
+courage"--a feeling which rises highest in the face of danger, borrowing
+little from its surroundings, and holding only to its own.
+
+"If," repeated Wilfred, as his thoughts ran on--"if they could not find
+me, and that is likely enough, am I going to lie here and die?"
+
+He looked up straight into the leaden sky.  "There is nothing between us
+and God's heaven," he thought. "It is we who see such a little way.  He
+can send me help.  It may be coming for what I know, one way or another.
+What is the use of sitting here thinking? Has Bowkett missed me?  Will
+he turn back to look me up?  Will Forgill come?  If I fall asleep down
+in this grass, how could they see me?  Any way, I must get out of this
+hole."  He tore the lining out of his cap and knotted it round his
+ankle, to keep the clay in place; but to put his boot on again was an
+impossibility.  Even he knew his toes would freeze before morning if he
+left them uncovered.  He took his knife and cut off the fur edge down
+the front of the old skin coat, and wound his foot up in it as fast as
+he could.  Then, dragging his boot along with him, he tried hard to
+crawl up the bank; but it was too steep for him, and he slipped back
+again, hurting himself a little more at every slide.
+
+This, he told himself, was most unnecessary, as he was sore enough and
+stiff enough before.  Another bad beginning.  What was the use of
+stopping short at a bad beginning?  He thought of Bruce and his spider.
+He had not tried seven times yet.
+
+Wilfred's next attempt was to crawl towards the entrance of the
+valley--this was easier work.  Then he remembered the biscuit in his
+pocket.  It was not all gone yet.  He drew himself up and began to eat
+it gladly enough, for he had had nothing since his breakfast.  The
+biscuit was very hard, and he crunched it, making all the noise he
+could.  It seemed a relief to make any sort of sound in that awful
+stillness.
+
+He was growing almost cheery as he ate.  "If I can only find the
+cart-track," he thought; "and I must be near it.  Diom� was behind us
+when I was thrown; he must have driven past the end of this valley.  If
+I could only climb a tree, I might see where the grass was crushed by
+the cart-wheel."
+
+But this was just what Wilfred could not do.  The last piece of biscuit
+was in his hand, when a dog leaped out of the bushes on the bank above
+him and flew at it. Wilfred seized his boot to defend himself; but that
+was hopeless work, crawling on the ground.  It was a better thought to
+fling the biscuit to the dog, for if he enraged it--ah! it might tear
+him to pieces.  It caught the welcome boon in its teeth, and devoured
+it, pawing the ground impatiently for more.  Wilfred had but one potato
+left.  He began to cut it in slices and toss them to the dog.  A bright
+thought had struck him: this dog might have a master near.  No doubt
+about that; and if he were only a wild Red Indian, he was yet a man.
+Full of this idea, Wilfred emptied out his pockets to see if a corner of
+biscuit was left at the bottom.  There were plenty of crumbs.  He forgot
+his own hunger, and held out his hand to the dog. It was evidently
+starving.  It sat down before him, wagging its bushy tail and moving its
+jaws beseechingly, in a mute appeal for food.  Wilfred drew himself a
+little nearer, talking and coaxing.  One sweep of the big tongue and the
+pile of crumbs had vanished.
+
+There was a sound--a crashing, falling sound--in the distance.  How they
+both listened!  Off rushed the furry stranger.
+
+"It is my chance," thought Wilfred, "my only chance."
+
+He picked up the half-eaten potato and scrambled after the dog, quite
+forgetting his pain in his desperation. A vociferous barking in the
+distance urged him on.
+
+It was not Bowkett, by the strange dog; but another hunting party might
+be near.  The noise he had heard was the fall of some big game.  Hope
+rose high; but he soon found himself obliged to rest, and then he
+shouted with all his might.  He was making his way up the valley now.
+He saw before him a clump of willows, whose drooping boughs must have
+lapped the stream.  His boot was too precious to be left behind; he
+slung it to his belt, and then crawled on.  One more effort.  He had
+caught the nearest bough, and, by its help, he drew himself upright.  Oh
+the pain in the poor foot when he let it touch the ground! it made him
+cry out again and again.  Still he persisted in his purpose.  He grasped
+a stronger stem arching higher overhead, and swung himself clear from
+the ground.  The pliant willow swayed hither and thither in the stormy
+blast.  Wilfred almost lost his hold. The evening shadows were gathering
+fast.  The dead leaves swept down upon him with every gust.  The wind
+wailed and sighed amongst the tall white grass and the bulrushes at his
+feet.  It was impossible to resist a feeling of utter desolation.
+
+Wilfred shut his eyes upon the dreary scene.  The snatch of prayer on
+his lips brought back the bold spirit of an hour ago.  He rested the
+poor injured ankle on his other foot, and drew himself up, hand over
+hand, higher and higher, to the topmost bough, and there he clung, until
+a stronger blast than ever flung him backwards towards the bank.  He
+felt the bough giving way beneath his weight, and, with a desperate
+spring, clutched at the stunted bushes which had scratched his cheek
+when for one moment, in the toss of the gale, he had touched the hard,
+firm, stony ridge.  Another moment, and Wilfred found himself, gasping
+and breathless, on the higher ground.  An uprooted tree came down with a
+shock of thunder, shaking the earth beneath him, loosening the
+water-washed stones, and crashing among the decaying branches of its
+fellow pines.
+
+At last the whirl of dust and stones subsided, and the barking of the
+dog made itself heard once more above the roar of the gale.  Trembling
+at his hair-breadth escape, Wilfred cleared the dust from his eyes and
+looked about him.  A dark form was lying upon the shelving ground.  He
+could just distinguish the outstretched limbs and branching antlers of a
+wild moose-deer.
+
+Whoever the hunter might be he would seek his quarry.  Wilfred felt
+himself saved.  The tears swam before his eyes.  He was looking upward
+in the intensity of his thankfulness.  He did not see the arrow
+quivering still in the dead deer's flank, or he would have known that it
+could only have flown from some Indian bow.
+
+He had nothing to do but to wait, to wait and shout. A warm touch on the
+tip of his ear made him look round; the dog had returned to him.  It,
+too, had been struck--a similar arrow was sticking in the back of its
+neck.  It twisted its head round as far as it was possible, vainly
+trying to reach it, and then looked at Wilfred with a mute, appealing
+glance there was no mistaking.  The boy sat up, laid one hand on the
+dog's back, and grasped the arrow with the other. He tugged at it with
+all his might; the point was deep in the flesh.  But it came out at
+last, followed by a gush of blood.
+
+"Stand still, good dog.  There, quiet, quiet!" cried Wilfred quickly, as
+he tore a bit of fur off his cap and plugged the hole.
+
+The poor wounded fellow seemed to understand all about it.  He only
+turned his head and licked the little bit of Wilfred's face that was
+just visible under his overwhelming cap.  A doggie's gratitude is never
+wanting.
+
+"Don't, you stupid," said Wilfred.  "How am I to see what I am about if
+you keep washing me between my eyes?  There! just what I expected, it is
+out again.  Now, steady."
+
+Another try, and the plug was in again, firmer than before.
+
+"There, there!  lie down, and let me hold it a bit," continued Wilfred,
+carefully considering his shaggy acquaintance.
+
+He was a big, handsome fellow, with clean, strong legs and a hairy coat,
+which hung about his keen, bright eyes and almost concealed them.  But
+the fur was worn and chafed around his neck and across his back, leaving
+no doubt in Wilfred's mind as to what he was.
+
+"You have been driven in a sledge, old boy," he said, as he continued to
+fondle him.  "You've worn harness until it has torn your coat and made
+it shabbier than mine.  You are no hunter's dog, as I hoped.  I expect
+you have been overdriven, lashed along until you dropped down in the
+traces; and then your hard-hearted driver undid your harness, and left
+you to live or die.  Oh!  I know their cruel ways.  How long have you
+been wandering?  It isn't in nature that I shouldn't feel for you, for I
+am afraid, old fellow, I am in for such another 'do.'"
+
+Wilfred was not talking to deaf ears.  The dog lay down beside him, and
+stretched its long paws across his knee, looking up in his face, as if a
+word of kindness were something so new, so unimagined, so utterly
+incomprehensible.  Was it the first he had ever heard?
+
+No sunset glory brightened the dreary scene.  All around them was an
+ever-deepening gloom.  Wilfred renewed his shouts at intervals, and the
+dog barked as if in answer.  Then followed a long silent pause, when
+Wilfred listened as if his whole soul were in his ears.  Was there the
+faintest echo of a sound? Who could distinguish in the teeth of the
+gale, still tearing away the yellow leaves from the storm-tossed
+branches, and scaring the wild fowl from marsh and lakelet?  Who could
+tell?  And yet there was a shadow thrown across the white pine stem.
+
+Another desperate shout.  Wilfred's heart was in his mouth as he strove
+to make himself heard above the roar of the wind.  On came the stately
+figure of a wild Cree chief.  His bow was in his hand, but he was
+glancing upwards at the stormy sky.  His stealthy movements and his
+light and noiseless tread had been unheard, even by the dog.
+
+The Indian was wearing the usual dress of the Cree--a coat of skin with
+a scarlet belt, and, as the night was cold, his raven elf-locks were
+covered with a little cap his squaw had manufactured from a rat-skin.
+His blue cloth leggings and beautiful embroidered moccasins were not so
+conspicuous in the fading light.  Wilfred could but notice the
+fingerless deer-skin mittens covering the hand which grasped his bow.
+His knife and axe were stuck in his belt, from which his well-filled
+quiver hung.
+
+Wilfred tumbled himself on to one knee, and holding out the arrow he had
+extracted from the dog, he pointed to the dead game on the bank.
+
+Wilfred was more truly afraid of the wild-looking creature before him
+than he would have been of the living moose.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER IV.*
+
+                      _*MAXICA, THE CREE INDIAN.*_
+
+
+Wilfred thought his fears were only too well-founded when he saw the
+Indian lay an arrow on his bow-string and point it towards him. He had
+heard that Indians shoot high.  Down he flung himself flat on his face,
+exclaiming, "Spare me! spare me!  I'm nothing but a boy."
+
+The dog growled savagely beside him.
+
+Despite the crash of the storm the Indian's quick ear had detected the
+sound of a human voice, and his hand was stayed.  He seemed groping
+about him, as if to find the speaker.
+
+"I am here," shouted Wilfred, "and there is the moose your arrow has
+brought down."
+
+The Indian pointed to his own swarthy face, saying with a grave dignity,
+"The day has gone from me.  I know it no longer.  In the dim, dim
+twilight which comes before the night I perceive the movement, but I no
+longer see the game.  Yet I shoot, for the blind man must eat."
+
+Wilfred turned upon his side, immensely comforted to hear himself
+answered in such intelligent English. He crawled a little nearer to the
+wild red man, and surveyed him earnestly as he tried to explain the
+disaster which had left him helpless in so desolate a spot.  He knew he
+was in the hunting-grounds of the Crees, one of the most friendly of the
+Indian tribes.  His being there gave no offence to the blind archer, for
+the Indians hold the earth is free to all.
+
+The chief was wholly intent upon securing the moose Wilfred had told him
+his arrow had brought down.
+
+"I have missed the running stream," he went on. "I felt the willow
+leaves, but the bed by which they are growing is a grassy slope."
+
+"How could you know it?" asked Wilfred, in astonishment.
+
+The Indian picked up a stone and threw it over the bank.  "Listen," he
+said; "no splash, no gurgle, no water there."  He stumbled against the
+fallen deer, and stooping down, felt it all over with evident rejoicing.
+
+He had been medicine man and interpreter for his tribe before the
+blindness to which the Indians are so subject had overwhelmed him.  It
+arises from the long Canadian winter, the dazzling whiteness of the
+frozen snow, over which they roam for three parts of the year, which
+they only exchange for the choking smoke that usually fills their
+chimneyless wig-wams.
+
+The Cree was thinking now how best to secure his prize.  He carefully
+gathered together the dry branches the storm was breaking and tearing
+away in every direction, and carefully covered it over.  Then he took
+his axe from his belt and cut a gash in the bark of the nearest tree to
+mark the spot.
+
+Wilfred sat watching every movement with a nervous excitement, which
+helped to keep his blood from freezing and his heart from failing.
+
+The dog was walking cautiously round and round whilst this work was
+going forward.
+
+The Cree turned to Wilfred.
+
+"You are a boy of the Moka-manas?" (big knives, an Indian name for the
+white men).
+
+"Yes," answered Wilfred.
+
+When the _cache_, as the Canadians call such a place as the Indian was
+making, was finished, the darkness of night had fallen.  Poor Wilfred
+sat clapping his hands, rubbing his knees, and hugging the dog to keep
+himself from freezing altogether.  He could scarcely tell what his
+companion was about, but he heard the breaking of sticks and a steady
+sound of chopping and clearing.  Suddenly a bright flame shot up in the
+murky midnight, and Wilfred saw before him a well-built pyramid of logs
+and branches, through which the fire was leaping and running until the
+whole mass became one steady blaze.  Around the glowing heap the Indian
+had cleared away the thick carpet of pine brush and rubbish, banking it
+up in a circle as a defence from the cutting wind.
+
+He invited Wilfred to join him, as he seated himself in front of the
+glowing fire, wrapped his bearskin round him, and lit his pipe.
+
+The whole scene around them was changed as if by magic.  The freezing
+chill, the unutterable loneliness had vanished.  The ruddy light of the
+fire played and flickered among the shadowy trees, casting bright
+reflections of distorted forms along the whitening ground, and lighting
+up the cloudy sky with a radiance that must have been visible for miles.
+Wilfred was not slow in making his way into the charmed circle.  He got
+over the ground like a worm, wriggling himself along until his feet were
+over the bank, and down he dropped in front of the glorious fire.  He
+coiled himself round with a sense of exquisite enjoyment, stretching his
+stiffened limbs and spreading his hands to the glowing warmth, and
+altogether behaving in as senseless a fashion as the big doggie himself.
+He had waited for no invitation, bounding up to Wilfred in extravagant
+delight, and now lay rolling over and over before the fire, giving
+sharp, short barks of delight at the unexpected pleasure.
+
+It was bliss, it was ecstasy, it was paradise, that sudden change from
+the bleak, dark, shivering night to the invigorating warmth and the
+cheery glow.
+
+The Cree sat back in dreamy silence, sending great whiffs of smoke from
+the carved red-stone bowl of his long pipe, and watching the dog and the
+boy at play. Their presence in noways detracted from his Indian comfort,
+for the puppy and the pappoose are the Cree's delight by his wigwam
+fire.
+
+Hunger and thirst were almost forgotten, until Wilfred remembered his
+potato, and began to busy himself with roasting it in the ashes.  But
+the dog, mistaking his purpose, and considering it a most inappropriate
+gift to the fire, rolled it out again before it was half roasted, and
+munched it up with great gusto.
+
+"There's a shame! you bad old greedy boy," exclaimed Wilfred, when he
+found out what the dog was eating.  "Well," he philosophised, determined
+to make the best of what could not now be helped, "I had a breakfast,
+and you--why, you look as if you had had neither breakfast, dinner, nor
+supper for many a long day.  How have you existed?"
+
+But this question was answered before the night was out.  The potato was
+hot, and the impatient dog burned his lips.  After sundry shakings and
+rubbings of his nose in the earth, the sagacious old fellow jumped up
+the bank and ran off.  When he returned, his tongue touched damp and
+cool, and there were great drops of water hanging in his hair.  Up
+sprang the thirsty Wilfred to search for the spring.  The Cree was
+nodding; but the boy had no fear of losing himself, with that glorious
+fire-shine shedding its radiance far and wide through the lonely night.
+He called the dog to follow him, and groped along the edge of the
+dried-up watercourse, sometimes on all fours, sometimes trying to take a
+step.  Painful as it was, he was satisfied his foot was none the worse
+for a little movement. His effort was rewarded.  He caught the echo of a
+trickling sound from a corner of rock jutting out of the stunted bushes.
+The dog, which seemed now to guess the object of his search, led him up
+to a breakage in the lichen-covered stone, through which a bubbling
+spring dashed its warm spray into their faces.  Yes, it was warm; and
+when Wilfred stooped to catch the longed-for water in his hands, it was
+warm to his lips, with a strong disagreeable taste.  No matter, it was
+water; it was life.  It was more than simple water; he had lighted on a
+sulphur spring.  Wilfred drank eagerly as he felt its tonic effects
+fortifying him against the benumbing cold.  For the wind seemed cutting
+the skin from his face, and the snowflakes driving before the blast were
+changing the dog from black to white.
+
+Much elated with his discovery, Wilfred returned to the fire, where the
+Cree still sat in statue-like repose.
+
+"He is fast asleep," thought Wilfred, as he got down again as
+noiselessly as he could; but the Indian's sleep was like the sleep of
+the wild animal.  Hearing was scarcely closed.  He opened one eye,
+comprehended that it was Wilfred returning, and shut it, undisturbed by
+the whirling snow.  Wilfred set up two great pieces of bark like a
+penthouse over his head, and coaxed the dog to nestle by his side.
+Sucking the tip of his beaver-skin gloves to still the craving for his
+supper, he too fell asleep, to awake shivering in the gray of the dawn
+to a changing world.  Everywhere around him there was one vast dazzling
+whirl of driving sleet and dancing snow.  The fire had become a
+smouldering pile, emitting a fitful visionary glow.  On every side dim
+uncertain shapes loomed through the whitened atmosphere.  A scene so
+weird and wild struck a chill to his heart.  The dog moved by Wilfred's
+side, and threw off something of the damp, cold weight that was
+oppressing him.  He sat upright.
+
+Maxica, or Crow's Foot--for that was the Cree's name--was groping round
+and round the circle, pulling out pieces of dead wood from under the
+snow to replenish the dying fire.  But he only succeeded in making it
+hiss and crackle and send up volumes of choking smoke, instead of the
+cheery flames of last night.
+
+Between the dark, suffocating cloud which hovered over the fire and the
+white whirling maze beyond it, Maxica, with his failing sight, was
+completely bewildered. All tracks were long since buried and lost.  It
+was equally impossible to find the footprints of Wilfred's hunting
+party, or to follow his own trail back to the birch-bark canoe which had
+been his home during the brief, bright summer.  He folded his arms in
+hopeless, stony despair.
+
+"We are in for a two days' snow," he said; "if the fire fails us and
+refuses to burn, we are as good as lost."
+
+The dog leaped out of the sunken circle, half-strangled with the smoke,
+and Wilfred was coughing.  One thought possessed them both, to get back
+to the water. Snow or no snow, the dog would find it.  The Cree yielded
+to Wilfred's entreaty not to part company.
+
+"I'll be eyes for both," urged the boy, "if you will only hold my hand."
+
+Maxica replied by catching him round the waist and carrying him under
+one arm.  They were soon at the spring.  It was gushing and bubbling
+through the snow which surrounded it, hot and stinging as before. The
+dog was lapping at the little rill ere it lost itself in the
+all-shrouding snow.
+
+In another minute Wilfred and the Cree were bending down beside it.
+Wilfred was guiding the rough, red hand to the right spot; and as Maxica
+drank, he snatched a drop for himself.
+
+To linger beside it seemed to Wilfred their wisest course, but Maxica
+knew the snow was falling so thick and fast they should soon be buried
+beneath it.  The dog, however, did not share in their perplexity.
+Perhaps, like Maxica, he knew they must keep moving, for he dashed
+through the pathless waste, barking loudly to Wilfred to follow.
+
+The snow was now a foot deep, at least, on the highest ground, and
+Wilfred could no longer make his way through it.  Maxica had to lift him
+out of it again and again.  At last he took him on his back, and from
+this unwonted elevation Wilfred commanded a better outlook.  The dog was
+some way in advance, making short bounds across the snow and leaving a
+succession of holes behind him.  He at least appeared to know where he
+was going, for he kept as straight a course as if he were following some
+beaten path.
+
+But Maxica knew well no such path existed.  Every now and then they
+paused at one of the holes their pioneer had made, to recover breath.
+
+"How long will this go on?" thought Wilfred.  "If Maxica tires and lays
+me down my fate is sealed."
+
+He began to long for another draught of the warm, sulphurous water.  But
+the faint hope they both entertained, that the dog might be leading them
+to some camping spot of hunter or Indian, made them afraid to turn back.
+
+It was past the middle of the day when Wilfred perceived a round dark
+spot rising out of the snow, towards which the dog was hurrying.  The
+snow beat full in their faces, but with the eddying gusts which almost
+swept them off their feet the Cree's keen sense of smell detected a
+whiff of smoke.  This urged him on.  Another and a surer sign of help at
+hand--the dog had vanished.  Yet Maxica was sure he could hear him
+barking wildly in the distance. But Wilfred could no longer distinguish
+the round dark spot towards which they had been hastening. Maxica stood
+still in calm and proud despair.  It was as impossible now to go, back
+to the _cache_ of game and the sulphur spring as it was to force his way
+onward.  They had reached a snow-drift.  The soft yielding wall of white
+through which he was striding grew higher and higher.
+
+In vain did Wilfred's eyes wander from one side to the other.  As far as
+he could see the snow lay round them, one wide, white, level sheet, in
+which the Cree was standing elbow-deep.  Were they, indeed, beyond the
+reach of human aid?
+
+Wilfred was silent, hushed; but it was the hush of secret prayer.
+
+Suddenly Maxica exclaimed, "Can the Good Spirit the white men talk of,
+can he hear us?  Will he show us the path?"
+
+Such a question from such wild lips, at such an hour, how strangely it
+struck on Wilfred's ear.  He had scarcely voice enough left to make
+himself heard, for the storm was raging round them more fiercely than
+ever.
+
+"I was thinking of him, Maxica.  While we are yet speaking, will he
+hear?"
+
+Wilfred's words were cut short, for Maxica had caught his foot against
+something buried in the snow, and stumbled.  Wilfred was thrown forward.
+The ground seemed giving way beneath him.  He was tumbled through the
+roof of the little birch-bark hut, which they had been wandering round
+and round without knowing it.  Wilfred was only aware of a faint glimmer
+of light through a column of curling, blinding smoke.  He thought he
+must be descending a chimney, but his outstretched hands were already
+touching the ground, and he wondered more and more where he could have
+alighted.  Not so Maxica.  He had grasped the firm pole supporting the
+fragile birch-bark walls, through which Wilfred had forced his way.  One
+touch was sufficient to convince him they had groped their way to an
+Indian hut.  The column of smoke rushing through the hole Wilfred had
+made in his most lucky tumble told the Cree of warmth and shelter
+within.
+
+There was a scream from a feeble woman's voice, but the exclamation was
+in the rich, musical dialect of the Blackfeet, the hereditary enemies of
+his tribe. In the blind warrior's mind it was a better thing to hide
+himself beneath the snow and freeze to death, than submit to the
+scalping-knife of a hated foe.
+
+Out popped Wilfred's head to assure him there was only a poor old woman
+inside, but she had got a fire.
+
+The latter half of his confidences had been already made plain by the
+dense smoke, which was producing such a state of strangulation Wilfred
+could say no more.
+
+But the hut was clearing; Maxica once more grasped the nearest pole, and
+swung himself down.
+
+A few words with the terrified squaw were enough for the Cree, who knew
+so well the habits of their wandering race.  The poor old creature had
+probably journeyed many hundreds of miles, roaming over their wide
+hunting-grounds, until she had sunk by the way, too exhausted to proceed
+any further.  Then her people had built her this little hut, lit a fire
+in the hastily-piled circle of stones in the middle of it, heaped up the
+dry wood on one side to feed it, placed food and water on the other, and
+left her lying on her blankets to die alone.  It was the custom of the
+wild, wandering tribes.  She had accepted her fate with Indian
+resignation, simply saying that her hour had come.  But the rest she so
+much needed had restored her failing powers, and whilst her stock of
+food lasted she was getting better.  They had found her gathering
+together the last handful of sticks to make up the fire once more, and
+then she would lie down before it and starve.  Every Indian knows what
+starvation means, and few can bear it as well. Living as they do
+entirely by the chase, the feast which follows the successful hunt is
+too often succeeded by a lengthy fast.  Her shaking hands were gathering
+up the lumps of snow which had come down on the pieces of the broken
+roof, to fill her empty kettle.
+
+Wilfred picked up the bits of bark to which it had been sticking, and
+threw them on the fire.
+
+"My bow and quiver for a few old shreds of beaver-skin, and we are
+saved," groaned the Cree, who knew that all his garments were made from
+the deer.  He felt the hem of the old squaw's tattered robe, but beaver
+there was none.
+
+"What do you want it for, Maxica?" asked Wilfred, as he pulled off his
+gloves and offered them to him.  "There is nothing about me that I would
+not give you, and be only too delighted to have got it to give, when I
+think how you carried me through the snowdrift.  These are new
+beaver-skin; take them, Maxica."
+
+A smile lit up the chief's dark face as he carefully felt the proffered
+gloves, and to make assurance doubly sure added taste to touch.  Then he
+began to tear them into shreds, which he directed Wilfred to drop into
+the melting snow in the kettle, explaining to him as well as he could
+that there was an oiliness in the beaver-skin which never quite dried
+out of it, and would boil down into a sort of soup.
+
+"A kind of coarse isinglass, I should say," put in Wilfred.  But the
+Cree knew nothing of isinglass and its nourishing qualities; yet he knew
+the good of the beaver-skin when other food had failed.  It was a
+wonderful discovery to Wilfred, to think his gloves could provide them
+all with a dinner; but they required some long hours' boiling, and the
+fire was dying down again for want of fuel.  Maxica ventured out to
+search for driftwood under the snow.  He carefully drew out a pole from
+the structure of the hut, and using it as an alpenstock, swung himself
+out of the hollow in which the hut had been built for shelter, and where
+the snow had accumulated to such a depth that it was completely buried.
+
+Whilst he was gone Wilfred and the squaw were beside the fire, sitting
+on the ground face to face, regarding each other attentively.
+
+
+
+
+                              *CHAPTER V.*
+
+                       _*IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT.*_
+
+
+The squaw was a very ugly woman; starvation and old age combined had
+made her perfectly hideous.  As Wilfred sat in silence watching the
+simmering kettle, he thought she was the ugliest creature he had ever
+seen.  Her complexion was a dark red-brown.  Her glittering black eyes
+seemed to glare on him in the darkness of the hut like a cat's.  Her
+shrivelled lips showed a row of formidably long teeth, which made
+Wilfred think of Little Red Ridinghood's grandmother, and he hoped she
+would not pounce on him and devour him before Maxica returned.
+
+He wronged her shamefully, for she had been watching his limping
+movements with genuine pity. What did it matter that her gown was scant
+and short, or that her leggings, which had once been of bright-coloured
+cloth, curiously worked with beads, were reduced by time to a sort of
+no-colour and the tracery upon them to a dirty line?  They hid a good,
+kind heart.
+
+She loosened the English handkerchief tied over her head, and the long,
+raven locks, now streaked with white, fell over her shoulders.
+
+She was a wild-looking being, but her awakening glance of alertness need
+not have alarmed Wilfred, for she was only intent upon dipping him a cup
+of water from the steaming kettle.  She was careful to taste it and cool
+it with a little of the snow still driving through the hole in the roof,
+until she made it the right degree of heat that was safest for Wilfred
+in his starving, freezing condition.
+
+"What would Aunt Miriam think if she could see me now?" mused the boy,
+as he fixed his eyes on the dying embers and turned away from the
+steaming cup he longed to snatch at.
+
+Yet when the squaw held it towards him, he put it back with a smile,
+resolutely repeating "After you," for was she not a woman?
+
+He made her drink.  A little greasy water, oh! how nice!  Then he
+refilled the cup and took his share.
+
+The tottering creature smoothed the blanket from which she had risen on
+Wilfred's summary entrance, and motioned to him to lie down.
+
+"It will be all glove with us now," laughed Wilfred to himself--"hand
+and glove with the Red Indians. If any one whispered that in uncle's
+ear, wouldn't he think me a queer fish!  But I owe my life to Maxica,
+and I know it."
+
+He threw himself down on the blanket, glad indeed of the rest for his
+swollen ankle.  From this lowly bed he fell to contemplating his
+temporary refuge. It looked so very temporary, especially the side from
+which Maxica had abstracted his alpenstock, Wilfred began to fear the
+next disaster would be its downfall. He was dozing, when a sudden noise
+made him start up, in the full belief the catastrophe he had dreaded had
+arrived; but it was only Maxica dropping the firewood he had with
+difficulty collected through the hole in the roof.
+
+He called out to Wilfred that he had discovered his atim digging in the
+snow at some distance.
+
+What his atim might prove to be Wilfred could not imagine.  He was
+choosing a stick from the heap of firewood.  Balancing himself on one
+foot, he popped his head through the hole to reconnoitre.  He fancied he
+too could see a moving speck in the distance.
+
+"The dog!" he cried joyfully, giving a long, shrill whistle that brought
+it bounding over the crisping snow towards him with a ptarmigan in its
+mouth.
+
+After much coaxing, Wilfred induced the dog to lay the bird down, to lap
+the melting snow which was filling the hollows in the floor with little
+puddles.
+
+The squaw pounced upon the bird as a welcome addition to the beaver-skin
+soup.  Where had the dog found it?  He had not killed it, that was
+clear, for it was frozen hard.  Yet it had not been frozen to death. The
+quick Indian perception of the squaw pointed to the bite on its breast.
+It was not the tooth of a dog, but the sharp beak of some bird of prey
+which had killed it.  The atim had found the _cache_ of a great white
+owl; a provident bird, which, when once its hunger is satisfied, stores
+the remainder of its prey in some handy crevice.
+
+The snow had ceased to fall.  The moon was rising. The thick white
+carpet which covered all around was hardening under the touch of the
+coming frost.
+
+Another cup from the half-made soup, and Maxica proposed to start with
+Wilfred to search for the supposed store.  The dog was no longer hungry.
+It had stretched itself on the ground at Wilfred's feet for a
+comfortable slumber.
+
+An Indian never stops for pain or illness.  With the grasp of death upon
+him, he will follow the war-path or the hunting track, so that Maxica
+paid no regard to Wilfred's swollen foot.  If the boy could not walk,
+his shoulder was ready, but go he must; the atim would lead his own
+master to the spot, but it would never show it to a stranger.
+
+Wilfred glanced up quickly, and then looked down with a nod to himself.
+It would not do to make much of his hurt in such company.  Well, he had
+added a word to his limited stock of Indian.  "Atim" was Cree for dog,
+that at least was clear; and they had added the atim to his slender
+possessions.  They thought the dog was his own, and why should not he
+adopt him?  They were both lost, they might as well be chums.
+
+This conclusion arrived at, Wilfred caught up the wing of the ptarmigan,
+and showing it to the dog did his best to incite him to find another.
+He caught sight of a long strip of moose-skin which had evidently tied
+up the squaw's blanket on her journey.  He persuaded her to lend it to
+him, making more use of signs than of words.
+
+"Ugh! ugh!" she replied, and her "yes" was as intelligible to Wilfred as
+Diom�'s "caween."  He soon found that "yes" and "no" alone can go a good
+way in making our wants understood by any one as naturally quick and
+observant as an Indian.
+
+The squaw saw what Wilfred was trying to do, and helped him, feeble as
+she was, to make a sling for his foot.  With the stick in his hand, when
+this was accomplished, he managed to hobble after Maxica and the dog.
+
+The Cree went first, treading down a path, and partially clearing the
+way before him with his pole. But a disappointment awaited them.  The
+dog led them intelligently enough to the very spot where it had
+unquestionably found a most abundant dinner, by the bones and feathers
+still sticking in the snow. Maxica, guided by his long experience, felt
+about him until he found two rats, still wedged in a hole in a decaying
+tree which had gone down before the gale. But he would not take them,
+for fear the owl might abandon her reserve.
+
+"The otowuck-oho," said Maxica, mimicking the cry of the formidable
+bird, "will fill it again before the dawn.  Wait and watch.  Maxica have
+the otowuck himself.  See!"
+
+With all the skill of the Indian at constructing traps, he began his
+work, intending to catch the feathered Nimrod by one leg the next time
+it visited its larder, when all in a moment an alarm was sounded--a cry
+that rent the air, so hoarse, so hollow, and so solemn Wilfred clung to
+his guide in the chill of fear.  It was a call that might have roused to
+action a whole garrison of soldiers.  The Indian drew back.  Again that
+dread "Waugh O!" rang out, and then the breathless silence which
+followed was broken by half-suppressed screams, as of some one
+suffocating in the throttling grasp of an enemy.
+
+The dog, with his tail between his legs, crouched cowering at their
+feet.
+
+"The Blackfeet are upon us," whispered the Cree, with his hand on his
+bow, when a moving shadow became visible above the distant pine trees.
+
+The Cree breathed freely, and drew aside his half-made trap, abandoned
+at the first word that broke from Wilfred's lips: "It is not human; it
+is coming through the air."
+
+"It is the otowuck itself," answered Maxica.  "Be off, or it will have
+our eyes out if it finds us near its roost."
+
+He was looking round him for some place of concealment.  On came the
+dreaded creature, sailing in rapid silence towards its favourite haunt,
+gliding with outstretched pinions over the glistening snow, its great
+round eyes flashing like stars, or gleams of angry lightning, as it
+swept the whitened earth, shooting downwards to strike at some furry
+prey, then rising as suddenly in the clear, calm night, until it floated
+like a fleecy cloud above their heads, as ready to swoop upon the
+sparrow nestling on its tiny twig as upon the wild turkey-hen roosting
+among the stunted bushes.
+
+Maxica trembled for the dog, for he knew the special hatred with which
+it regarded dogs.  If it recognized the thief at its hoard, its doom was
+sealed.
+
+Maxica pushed his alpenstock into an empty badger hole big enough for
+the boy and dog to creep into. Then, as the owl drew near, he sent an
+arrow whizzing through the air.  It was aimed at the big white breast,
+but the unerring precision of other days was over.  It struck the
+feathery wing.  The bird soared aloft unharmed, and the archer,
+crouching in the snow, barely escaped its vengeance.  Down it pounced,
+striking its talons in his shoulder, as he turned his back towards it to
+protect his face.  Wilfred sprang out of the friendly burrow, snatched
+the pole from Maxica's hand, and beat off the owl; and the dog, unable
+to rush past Wilfred, barked furiously.  The onslaught and the noise
+were at least distasteful. Hissing fiercely, with the horn-like feathers
+above its glaring eyes erect and bristling, the bird spread its gigantic
+wings, wheeling slowly and gracefully above their ambush; for Wilfred
+had retreated as quickly as he had emerged, and Maxica lay on his face
+as still as death.  More attractive game presented itself.  A hawk flew
+past.  What hawk could resist the pleasure of a passing pounce?  Away
+went the two, chasing and fighting, across the snowy waste.
+
+[Illustration: Wilfred sprang and beat off the owl.]
+
+When the owl was out of sight, the Cree rose to his feet to complete the
+snare.  Wilfred crept out of his burrow, to find his fingers as hard and
+white and useless as if they had turned to stone.  He had kept his
+gloveless hands well cuddled up in the long sleeves of his coat during
+the walk, but their exposure to the cold when he struck at the owl had
+changed them to a lump of ice.
+
+Maxica heard the exclamation, "Oh, my hands! my hands!" and seizing a
+great lump of snow began to rub them vigorously.
+
+The return to the hut was easier than the outgoing, for the snow was
+harder.  The pain in Wilfred's fingers was turning him sick and faint as
+they reached the hut a little past midnight.
+
+The gloves were reduced to jelly, but the state of Wilfred's hands
+troubled the old squaw.  She had had her supper from the beaver-skin
+soup, but was quite ready, Indian fashion, to begin again.
+
+The three seated themselves on the floor, and the cup was passed from
+one to the other, until the whole of the soup was drank.
+
+The walk had been fruitless, as Wilfred said.  They had returned with
+nothing but the key of the big owl's larder, which, after such an
+encounter, it would probably desert.
+
+The Cree lit his pipe, the squaw lay down to sleep, and Wilfred talked
+to his dog.
+
+"Do you understand our bargain, old fellow?" he asked.  "You and I are
+going to chum together. Now it is clear I must give you a name.  Let us
+see which you will like best."
+
+Wilfred ran through a somewhat lengthy list, for nowhere but in Canada
+are dogs accommodated with such an endless variety.  There are names in
+constant use from every Indian dialect, but of the Atims and the
+Chistlis the big, old fellow took no heed.  He sat up before his new
+master, looking very sagacious, as if he quite entered into the
+important business of choosing a name.  But clearly Indian would not do.
+even Mist-atim, which Wilfred could now interpret as "big dog,"--a name
+the Cree usually bestows upon his horse,--was heard with a contemptuous
+"Ach!"  Chistli, "seven dogs" in the Sircie dialect, which appeared to
+Wilfred highly complimentary to his furry friend, met with no
+recognition.  Then he went over the Spankers and Ponys and Boxers, to
+which the numerous hauling dogs so often responded.  No better success.
+The pricked ears were more erect than ever. The head was turned away in
+positive indifference.
+
+"Are you a Frenchman?" asked Wilfred, going over all the old French
+names he could remember. Diom� thought the dogs had a special partiality
+for French.  It would not do, however.  This particular dog might hate
+it.  There were Yankee names in plenty from over the border, and uncouth
+sounding Esquimau from the far north.
+
+Wilfred began to question if his dog had ever had a name, when Yula
+caught his ear, and "Yula chummie" brought the big shaggy head rubbing
+on Wilfred's knee.  Few dogs are honoured with the choice of their own
+name, but it answered, and "Yula chummie" was adhered to by boy and dog.
+
+This weighty matter settled, Wilfred was startled to see Maxica rouse
+himself up with a shake, and look to the man-hole, as the Cree called
+their place of exit.  He was going.  Wilfred sprang up in alarm.
+
+"Don't leave me!" he entreated.  "How shall I ever find my way home
+without you?"
+
+It might be four o'clock, for the east was not yet gray, and the morning
+stars shone brightly on the glistening snow.  Maxica paused, regarding
+earth and sky attentively, until he had ascertained the way of the wind.
+It was still blowing from the north-east. More snow was surely coming.
+His care was for his canoe, which he had left in safe mooring by the
+river bank.  No one but an Indian could have hoped, in his forlorn
+condition, to have recovered the lost path to the running stream.  His
+one idea was to grope about until he did find it, with the wonderful
+persistency of his race.  The Indian rarely fails in anything he sets
+his mind to accomplish.  But to take the lame boy with him was out of
+the question.  He might have many miles to traverse before he reached
+the spot.  He tried to explain to Wilfred that he must now pack up his
+canoe for the winter.  He was going to turn it keel upwards, among the
+branches of some strong tree, and cover it with boughs, until the spring
+of the leaf came round again.
+
+"Will it be safe?" asked Wilfred.
+
+"Safe! perfectly."
+
+Maxica's own particular mark was on boat and paddle.  No Indian, no
+hunter would touch it.  Who else was there in that wide, lone land?  As
+for Wilfred, his own people would come and look for him, now the storm
+was over.
+
+"I am not so sure of that," said the poor boy sadly, remembering
+Bowkett's words.--"My aunt Miriam did not take to me.  She may not
+trouble herself about me.  How could I be so stupid as to set her
+against me," he was thinking, "all for nothing?"
+
+"Then," urged Maxica, "stay here with the Far-off-Dawn"--for that was
+the old squaw's name.  In his Indian tongue he called her Pe-na-Koam.
+"Will not the Good Spirit take care of you?  Did not he guide us out of
+the snowdrift?"
+
+Wilfred was silenced.  "I never did think much of myself," he said at
+last, "but I believe I grow worse and worse.  How is it that I know and
+don't know--that I cannot realize this love that never will forsake;
+always more ready to hear than we to ask?  If I could but feel it true,
+all true for me, I should not be afraid."
+
+Under that longing the trust was growing stronger and stronger in his
+heart.
+
+"I shall come again for the moose," said Maxica, as he shook the red and
+aching fingers which just peeped out from Wilfred's long sleeve; and so
+he left him.
+
+The boy watched the Indian's lithe figure striding across the snow,
+until he could see him no longer. Then a cold, dreary feeling crept over
+him.  Was he abandoned by all the world--forgotten--disliked? Did nobody
+care for him?  He tucked his hands into the warm fur which folded over
+his breast, and tried to throw off the fear.  The tears gushed from his
+eyes.  Well, there was nobody to see.
+
+He had forgotten Yula.  Those unwonted raindrops had brought him,
+wondering and troubled, to Wilfred's side.  A big head was poking its
+way under his arm, and two strong paws were brushing at his knee. Yula
+was saying, "Don't, don't cry," in every variety of doggie language.
+Never had he been so loving, so comforting, so warm to hug, so quick to
+understand. He was doing his best to melt the heavy heart's lead that
+was weighing poor Wilfred down.
+
+He built up the fire, and knelt before it, with Yula's head on his
+shoulder; for the cold grew sharper in the gray of the dawn.  The squaw,
+now the pangs of hunger were so far appeased, was sleeping heavily. But
+there was no sleep for Wilfred.  As the daylight grew stronger he went
+again to his look-out.  His thoughts were turning to Forgill.  He had
+seen so much more of Forgill than of any one else at his uncle's, and he
+had been so careful over him on the journey.  It was wrong to think they
+would all forget him.  He would trust and hope.
+
+He filled the kettle with fresh snow, and put it on to boil.
+
+The sun was streaming through the hole in the roof when the squaw awoke,
+like another creature, but not in the least surprised to find Maxica had
+departed. She seemed thankful to see the fire still burning, and poured
+out her gratitude to Wilfred.  Her smiles and gestures gave the meaning
+of the words he did not understand.
+
+Then he asked himself, "What would have become of her if he too had gone
+away with Maxica?"
+
+She looked pityingly at Wilfred's unfortunate fingers as he offered her
+a cup of hot water, their sole breakfast.  But they could not live on
+hot water.  Where was the daily bread to come from for them both?
+Pe-na-Koam was making signs.  Could Wilfred set a trap?  Alas! he knew
+nothing of the Indian traps and snares.  He sent out Yula to forage for
+himself, hoping he might bring them back a bird, as he had done the
+night before.  Wilfred lingered by the hole in the roof, watching him
+dashing through the snow, and casting many a wistful glance to the
+far-away south, almost expecting to see Forgill's fur cap and broad
+capote advancing towards him; for help would surely come.  But there are
+the slow, still hours, as well as the sudden bursts of storm and
+sunshine.  All have their share in the making of a brave and constant
+spirit.  God's time is not our time, as Wilfred had yet to learn.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER VI.*
+
+                      _*SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER.*_
+
+
+Pe-na-Koam insisted upon examining Wilfred's hands and feet, and tending
+to them after her native fashion.  She would not suffer him to leave the
+hut, but ventured out herself, for the storm was followed by a day of
+glorious sunshine.  She returned with her lap full of a peculiar kind of
+moss, which she had scraped from under the snow.  In her hand she
+carried a bunch of fine brown fibres.
+
+"Wattape!" she exclaimed, holding them up before him, with such evident
+pleasure he thought it was something to eat; but no, the moss went into
+the kettle to boil for dinner, but the wattape was laid carefully aside.
+
+The squaw had been used to toil from morning to night, doing all the
+work of her little world, whilst her warrior, when under shelter, slept
+or smoked by the fire.  She expected no help from Wilfred within the
+hut, but she wanted to incite him to go and hunt. She took a
+sharp-pointed stick and drew a bow and arrow on the floor.  Then she
+made sundry figures. which he took for traps; but he could only shake
+his head.  He was thinking of a visit to the owl's tree. But when they
+had eaten the moss, Pe-na-Koam drew out a piece of skin from under her
+blanket, and spreading it on the floor laid her fingers beseechingly on
+his hunting-knife.  With this she cut him out a pair of gloves,
+fingerless it is true, shaped like a baby's first glove, but oh! so
+warm.  Wilfred now discovered the use of the wattape, as she drew out
+one long thread after another, and began to sew the gloves together with
+it, pricking the holes through which she passed it with a quill she
+produced from some part of her dress.
+
+Wilfred took up the brown tangle and examined it closely.  It had been
+torn from the fine fibrous root of the pine.  He stood still to watch
+her, wondering whether there was anything he could do.  He took the
+stick she had used and drew the rough figure of a man fishing on the
+earthen floor.  He felt sure they must be near some stream or lakelet.
+The Indians would never have left her beyond the reach of water. The
+wrinkled face lit up with hopeful smiles.  Away she worked more
+diligently than ever.
+
+Wilfred built up the fire to give her a better blaze. They had wood
+enough to last them through to-morrow. Before it was all burnt up he
+must try to get in some more.  The use was returning to his hands. He
+took up some of the soft mud, made by the melting of the snow on the
+earthen floor, and tried to stop up the cracks in the bark which formed
+the walls of the hut.
+
+They both worked on in silence, hour after hour, as if there were not a
+moment to lose.  At last the gloves were finished.  The Far-off-Dawn
+considered her blanket, and decided a piece might be spared off every
+corner.  Out of these she cut a pair of socks. The Indians themselves
+often wear three or four pairs of such blanket socks at once in the very
+coldest of the weather.  But Wilfred could find nothing in the hut out
+of which to make a fishing line.  The only thing he could do was to pay
+a visit to the white owl's larder.  He was afraid to touch Maxica's
+trap. He did not think he could manage it.  Poor boy, his spirit was
+failing him for want of food.  Yet he determined to go and see if there
+was anything to be found.  Wilfred got up with an air of resolution, and
+began to arrange the sling for his foot.  But the Far-off-Dawn soon made
+him understand he must not go without his socks, which she was hurrying
+to finish.
+
+"I believe I am changing into a snail," thought Wilfred; "I do nothing
+but crawl about.  Yet twenty slips brought the snail to the top of his
+wall.  Twenty slips and twenty climbs--that is something to think of."
+
+The moon was rising.  The owl would leave her haunt to seek for prey.
+
+"Now it strikes me," exclaimed Wilfred, "why she always perches on a
+leafless tree.  Her blinking eyes are dazzled by the flicker of the
+leaves: but they are nearly gone now, she will have a good choice. She
+may not go far a-field, if she does forsake her last night's roost."
+This reflection was wondrously consolatory.
+
+The squaw had kept her kettle filled with melting snow all day, so that
+they could both have a cup of hot water whenever they liked.  The
+Far-off-Dawn was as anxious to equip him for his foraging expedition as
+he was to take it.  The socks were finished; she had worked hard, and
+Wilfred knew it.  He began to think there was something encouraging in
+her very name--the Far-off-Dawn.  Was it not what they were waiting for?
+It was an earnest that their night would end.
+
+She made him put both the blanket socks on the swollen foot, and then
+persuaded him to exchange his boots for her moccasins, which were a much
+better protection against the snow.  The strip of fur, no longer needed
+to protect his toes, was wound round and round his wrists.
+
+Then the squaw folded her blanket over his shoulder, and started him,
+pointing out as well as she could the streamlet and the pool which had
+supplied her with water when she was strong enough to fetch it.
+
+Both knew their lives depended upon his success. Yula was by his side.
+Wilfred turned back with a great piece of bark, to cover up the hole in
+the roof of the hut to keep the squaw warm.  She had wrapped the skin
+over her feet and was lying before the fire, trying to sleep in her dumb
+despair.  She had discovered there was no line and hook forthcoming from
+any one of his many pockets.  How then could he catch the fish with
+which she knew the Canadian waters everywhere abounded?
+
+Pe-na-Koam had pointed out the place of the pool so earnestly that
+Wilfred thought, "I will go there first; perhaps it was there she found
+the moss."
+
+The northern lights were flashing overhead, shooting long lines of
+roseate glory towards the zenith, as if some unseen angel's hand were
+stringing heaven's own harp.  But the full chord which flowed beneath
+its touch was light instead of music.
+
+Wilfred stood silent, rapt in admiring wonder, as he gazed upon those
+glowing splendours, forgetting everything beside.  Yula recalled him to
+the work in hand.  He hobbled on as fast as he could.  He was drawing
+near the pool, for tall rushes bent and shivered above the all-covering
+snow, and pines and willows rocked in the night wind overhead.  Another
+wary step, and the pool lay stretched before him like a silver shield.
+
+A colony of beavers had made their home in this quiet spot, building
+their mounds of earth like a dam across the water.  But the busy workers
+were all settling within doors to their winter sleep--drawbridges drawn
+up, and gates barred against intruders.  "You are wiseheads," thought
+Wilfred, "and I almost wish I could do the same--work all summer like
+bees, and sleep all winter like dormice; but then the winter is so
+long."
+
+"Would not it be a grand thing to take home a beaver, Yula?" he
+exclaimed, suddenly remembering his gloves in their late reduced
+condition, and longing for another cup of the unpalatable soup; for the
+keen air sharpened the keener appetite, until he felt as if he could
+have eaten the said gloves, boiled or unboiled.
+
+But how to get at the clever sleepers under their well-built dome was
+the difficulty, almost the impossibility.
+
+"Yula, it can't be done--that is by you and me, old boy," he sighed.
+"We have not got their house-door key for certain.  We shall have to put
+up with the moss, and think ourselves lucky if we find it."
+
+The edge of the pool was already fringed with ice, and many a shallow
+basin where it had overflowed its banks was already frozen over.
+Wilfred was brushing away the crisp snow in his search for moss, when he
+caught sight of a big white fish, made prisoner by the ice in an awkward
+corner, where the rising flood had one day scooped a tiny reservoir.
+Making Yula sit down in peace and quietness, and remember manners, he
+set to work.  He soon broke the ice with a blow from the handle of his
+knife, and took out the fish.  As he expected, the hungry dog stood
+ready to devour it; but Wilfred, suspecting his intention, tied it up in
+the blanket, and swung it over his shoulder.  Fortune did not favour him
+with such another find, although he searched about the edge of the lake
+until it grew so slippery he was afraid of falling in.  He had now to
+retrace his steps, following the marks in the snow back to the hut.
+
+The joy of Pe-na-Koam was unbounded when he untied the blanket and slid
+the fish into her hands.
+
+The prospect of the hot supper it would provide for them nerved Wilfred
+to go a little further and try to reach the big owl's roost, for fear
+another snow should bury the path Maxica had made to it. Once lost he
+might never find it again.  The owl was still their most trusty friend
+and most formidable foe.  Thanks to the kindly labours of Maxica's pole,
+Wilfred could trudge along much faster now; but before he reached the
+hollow tree, strange noises broke the all-pervading stillness.  There
+was a barking of dogs in the distance, to which Yula replied with all
+the energy in his nature.  There was a tramping as of many feet, and of
+horses, coming nearer and nearer with a lumbering thud on the ground,
+deadened and muffled by the snow, but far too plain not to attract all
+Wilfred's attention.
+
+There was a confusion of sounds, as of a concourse of people; too many
+for a party of hunters, unless the winter camp of which Diom� had spoken
+was assembling.  Oh joy! if this could be.  Wilfred was working himself
+into a state of excitement scarcely less than Yula's.
+
+He hurried on to the roosting-tree, for it carried him nearer still to
+the trampling and the hum.
+
+What could it mean?  Yula was before him, paws up, climbing the old dead
+trunk, bent still lower by the recent storm.  A snatch, and he had
+something out of that hole in the riven bark.  Wilfred scrambled on, for
+fear his dog should forestall him.  The night was clear around him, he
+saw the aurora flashes come and go.  Yula had lain down at the foot of
+the tree, devouring his prize.  Wilfred's hand, fumbling in its
+fingerless gloves, at last found the welcome hole.  It was full once
+more.  Soft feathers and furs: a gopher--the small ground
+squirrel--crammed against some little snow-birds.
+
+Wilfred gave the squirrel to his dog, for he had many fears the squaw
+would be unwilling to give him anything but water in their dearth of
+food.  The snow-birds he transferred to his pocket, looking nervously
+round as he did so; but there was no owl in sight.  The white breasts of
+the snow-birds were round and plump; but they were little things, not
+much bigger than sparrows, and remembering Maxica's caution, he dare not
+take them all.
+
+His hand went lower: a few mice--he could leave them behind him without
+any reluctance.  But stop, he had not got to the bottom yet.  Better
+than ever: he had felt the webbed feet of a wild duck.  Mrs. Owl was
+nearly forgiven the awful scare of the preceding night.  Growing bolder
+in his elation, Wilfred seated himself on the roots of the tree, from
+which Yula's ascent had cleared the snow.  He began to prepare his game,
+putting back the skin and feathers to conceal his depredations from the
+savage tenant, lest she should change her domicile altogether.
+
+"I hope she can't count," said Wilfred, who knew not how to leave the
+spot without ascertaining the cause of the sounds, which kept him
+vibrating between hope and fear.
+
+Suddenly Yula sprang forward with a bound and rushed over the
+snow-covered waste with frantic fury.
+
+"The Blackfeet! the Blackfeet!" gasped Wilfred, dropping like lightning
+into the badger hole where Maxica had hidden him from the owl's
+vengeance. A singular cavalcade came in sight: forty or fifty Indian
+warriors, armed with their bows and guns and scalping-knives, the chiefs
+with their eagles' feathers nodding as they marched.  Behind them
+trotted a still greater number of ponies, on which their squaws were
+riding man fashion, each with her pappoose or baby tucked up as warm as
+it could be in its deer-skin, and strapped safely to its wooden cradle,
+which its mother carried on her back.
+
+Every pony was dragging after it what the Indians call a travoy--that
+is, two fir poles, the thin ends of which are harnessed to the pony's
+shoulders, while the butt ends drag on the ground; another piece of wood
+is fastened across them, making a sort of truck, on which the skins and
+household goods are piled. The bigger children were seated on the top of
+many a well-laden travoy, so that the squaws came on but slowly.
+
+Wilfred was right in his conjecture: they were the Blackfeet Maxica
+feared to encounter, coming up to trade with the nearest Hudson Bay
+Company's fort. They were bringing piles of furs and robes of skin, and
+bags of pemmican, to exchange for shot and blankets, sugar and tea,
+beads, and such other things as Indians desire to possess.  They always
+came up in large parties, because they were crossing the hunting-grounds
+of their enemies the Crees.  They had a numerous following of dogs, and
+many a family of squalling puppies, on the children's laps.
+
+The grave, stern, savage aspect of the men, the ugly, anxious, careworn
+faces of the toiling women, filled Wilfred with alarm.  Maxica in his
+semi-blindness might well fear to be the one against so many. Wilfred
+dared not even call back Yula, for fear of attracting their attention.
+They were passing on to encamp by the pool he had just quitted.
+Friendly or unfriendly, Yula was barking and snarling in the midst of
+the new-comers.
+
+"Was his Yula, his Yula chummie, going to leave him?" asked Wilfred in
+his dismay.  "What if he had belonged originally to this roving tribe,
+and they should take him away!"  This thought cut deeper into Wilfred's
+heart than anything else at that moment. He crept out of his badger
+hole, and crawled along the ditch-like path, afraid to show his head
+above the snow, and still more afraid to remain where he was, for fear
+of the owl's return.
+
+He kept up a hope that Yula might come back of his own accord.  He was
+soon at the birch-bark hut, but no Yula had turned up.
+
+He tumbled in, breathless and panting.  Pe-na-Koam was sure he had been
+frightened, but thought only of the owl.  She had run a stick through
+the tail of the fish, and was broiling it in the front of the fire. The
+cheery light flickered and danced along the misshapen walls, which
+seemed to lean more and more each day from the pressure of the snow
+outside them.
+
+"The blessed snow!" exclaimed Wilfred.  "It hides us so completely no
+one can see there is a hut at all, unless the smoke betrays us."
+
+How was he to make the squaw understand the dreaded Blackfeet were here?
+He snatched up their drawing stick, as he called it, and began to sketch
+in a rough and rapid fashion the moving Indian camp which he had seen.
+A man with a bow in his hand, with a succession of strokes behind him to
+denote his following, and a horse's head with the poles of the travoy,
+were quite sufficient to enlighten the aged woman.  She grasped
+Wilfred's hand and shook it. Then she raised her other arm, as if to
+strike, and looked inquiringly in his face.  Friend or foe?  That was
+the all-important question neither could answer.
+
+Before he returned his moccasins to their rightful owner, Wilfred limped
+out of the hut and hung up the contents of his blanket game-bag in the
+nearest pine.  They were already frozen.
+
+Not knowing what might happen if their refuge were discovered, they
+seated themselves before the fire to enjoy the supper Wilfred had
+secured.  The fish was nearly the size of a salmon trout.  The squaw
+removed the sticks from which it depended a little further from the
+scorch of the fire, and fell to--pulling off the fish in flakes from one
+side of the backbone, and signing to Wilfred to help himself in similar
+fashion from the other.
+
+"Fingers were made before forks," thought the boy, his hunger overcoming
+all reluctance to satisfy it in such a heathenish way.  But the old
+squaw's brow was clouded and her thoughts were troubled. She was
+trembling for Wilfred's safety.
+
+She knew by the number of dashes on the floor the party was large--a
+band of her own people; no other tribe journeyed as they did, moving the
+whole camp at once.  Other camps dispersed, not more than a dozen
+families keeping together.
+
+If they took the boy for a Cree or the friend of a Cree, they would
+count him an enemy.  Before the fish had vanished her plan was made.
+
+She brought Wilfred his boots, and took back her moccasins.  As the boy
+pulled off the soft skin sock, which drew to the shape of his foot
+without any pressure that could hurt his sprain, feeling far more like a
+glove than a shoe, he wondered at the skill which had made it.  He held
+it to the fire to examine the beautiful silk embroidery on the legging
+attached to it.  His respect for his companion was considerably
+increased.  It was difficult to believe that beads and dyed porcupine
+quills and bright-coloured skeins of silk had been the delight of her
+life.  But just now she was intent upon getting possession of his
+hunting-knife.  With this she began to cut up the firewood into chips
+and shavings.  Wilfred thought he should be the best at that sort of
+work, and went to her help, not knowing what she intended to do with it.
+
+In her nervous haste she seemed at first glad of his assistance.  Then
+she pulled the wood out of his hand, stuck the knife in his belt, and
+implored him by gestures to sit down in a hole in the floor close
+against the wall, talking to him rapidly in her soft Indian tongue, as
+if she were entreating him to be patient.
+
+Wilfred thought this was a queer kind of game, which he did not half
+like, and had a good mind to turn crusty.  But the tears came into her
+aged eyes. She clasped her hands imploringly, kissed him on both cheeks,
+as if to assure him of her good intentions, looked to the door, and laid
+a finger on his lips impressively.  In the midst of this pantomime it
+struck Wilfred suddenly "she wants to hide me."  Soon the billet stack
+was built over him with careful skill, and the chips and shavings flung
+on the top.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER VII.*
+
+                      _*FOLLOWING THE BLACKFEET.*_
+
+
+There was many a little loophole in Wilfred's hiding-place through which
+he could take a peep unseen.  The squaw had let the fire die down to a
+smouldering heap, and this she had carefully covered over with bark, so
+that there was neither spark nor flame to shine through the broken roof.
+The hut was unusually clear of smoke, and all was still.
+
+Wilfred was soon nodding dangerously behind his billet-stack, forgetting
+in his drowsy musings the instability of his surroundings.  The squaw
+rose up from the floor, and replaced the knot of wood he had sent
+rolling.  He dreamed of Yula's bark in the distance, and wakened to find
+the noise a reality, but not the bark.  It was not his Yula wanting to
+be let in, as he imagined, but a confused medley of sounds suggestive of
+the putting up of tent poles.  There was the ring of the hatchet among
+the trees, the crash of the breaking boughs, the thud of the falling
+trunk. Even Wilfred could not entertain a doubt that the Blackfeet were
+encamping for the night alarmingly near their buried hut.  In silence
+and darkness was their only safeguard.  It was all for the best Yula had
+run away, his uneasy growls would have betrayed them.
+
+Midnight came and passed; the sounds of work had ceased, but the
+galloping of the ponies, released from the travoys, the scraping of
+their hoofs seeking a supper beneath the snow, kept Wilfred on the rack.
+The echo of the ponies' feet seemed at times so near he quite expected
+to see a horse's head looking down through the hole, or, worse still,
+some unwary kick might demolish their fragile roof altogether.
+
+With the gray of the dawn the snow began again to fall.  Was ever snow
+more welcome?  The heavy flakes beat back the feeble column of smoke,
+and hissed on the smouldering wood, as they found ready entrance through
+the parting in the bark which did duty for a chimney.  No matter, it was
+filling up the path which Maxica had made and obliterating every
+footprint around the hut.  It seemed to Wilfred that the great feathery
+flakes were covering all above them, like a sheltering wing.
+
+The tell-tale duck, the little snow-birds he had hung on the pine branch
+would all be hidden now. Not a chink was left in the bark through which
+the gray snow-light of the wintry morning could penetrate.
+
+In spite of their anxiety, both the anxious watchers had fallen asleep.
+The squaw was the first to rouse. Wilfred's temporary trap-door refused
+to move when, finding all was still around them, she had tried to push
+it aside; for the hut was stifling, and she wanted snow to refill the
+kettle.
+
+The fire was out, and the snow which had extinguished it was already
+stiffening.  She took a half-burnt brand from the hearth, and, mounting
+the stones which surrounded the fireplace, opened the smoke-vent; for
+there the snow had not had time to harden, although the frost was
+setting in with the daylight.  To get out of their hut in another hour
+might be impossible.  With last night's supper, a spark of her former
+energy had returned.  A piece of the smoke-dried bark gave way and
+precipitated an avalanche of snow into the tiny hut.
+
+Wilfred wakened with a start.  The daylight was streaming down upon him,
+and the squaw was gone. What could have happened while he slept?  How he
+blamed himself for going to sleep at all.  But then he could not live
+without it.  As he wondered and waited and reasoned with himself thus,
+there was still the faint hope the squaw might return.  Anyhow, Wilfred
+thought it was the wisest thing he could do to remain concealed where
+she had left him.  If the Indians camping by the pool were her own
+people, they might befriend him too.  Possibly she had gone over to
+their camp to ask for aid.
+
+How long he waited he could not tell--it seemed an age--when he heard
+the joyful sound of Yula's bark. Down leaped the dog into the very midst
+of the fireplace, scattering the ashes, and bringing with him another
+avalanche of snow.  But his exuberant joy was turned to desperation when
+he could not find his Wilfred.  He was rushing round and round, scenting
+the ground where Wilfred had sat.  Up went his head high in the air, as
+he gave vent to his feelings in a perfect yowl of despair.
+
+"Yula!  Yula!" called Wilfred softly.  The dog turned round and tore at
+the billet-stack.  Wilfred's defence was levelled in a moment; the wood
+went rolling in every direction, and Yula mounted the breach in triumph,
+digging out his master from the debris as a dog might dig out a fox.  He
+would have him out, he would not give up.  He tugged at Wilfred's arms,
+he butted his head under his knees; there was no resisting his
+impetuosity, he made him stand upright.  When, as Yula evidently
+believed, he had set his master free, he bounded round him in an ecstasy
+of delight.
+
+"You've done it, old boy," said Wilfred.  "You've got me out of hiding;
+and neither you nor I can pile the wood over me again, so now, whatever
+comes, we must face it together."
+
+He clasped his arms round the thick tangle of hair that almost hid the
+two bright eyes, so full of love, that were gazing at him.
+
+Wilfred could not help kissing the dear old blunderer, as he called him.
+"And now, Yula," he went on, "since you will have it so, we'll look
+about us."
+
+Wilfred's foot was a good deal better.  He could put his boot on for the
+first time.  He mounted the stones which the squaw had piled, and
+listened.  Yes, there were voices and laughter mingling with the
+neighing of the ponies and the lumbering sounds of the travoys.  The
+camp was moving on.  The "Far-off-Dawn" was further off than ever from
+him.  He had no longer a doubt the squaw had gone with her people.
+
+She had left him her kettle and the piece of skin. To an Indian woman
+her blanket is hood and cloak and muff all in one.  She never goes out
+of doors without it.
+
+Wilfred smoothed the gloves she had made him and pulled up the blanket
+socks.  Oh, she had been good to him!  He thought he understood it all
+now--that farewell kiss, and the desire to hide him until the fierce
+warriors of her tribe had passed on.  He wrapped the skin over his
+shoulders, slung the kettle on his arm, chose out a good strong staff to
+lean on, and held himself ready for the chapter of accidents, whatever
+they might be.
+
+No one came near him.  The sounds grew fainter and fainter.  The
+silence, the awful stillness, was creeping all around him once again.
+It became unbearable--the dread, the disappointment, the suspense.
+Wilfred climbed out of the hut and swung himself into the branches of
+the nearest pine.  The duck and the snow-birds were frozen as hard as
+stones.  But the fire was out long ago.  Wilfred had no matches, no
+means of lighting it up again.  He put back the game; even Yula could
+not eat it in that state.  He swung himself higher up in the tree, just
+in time to catch sight of the vanishing train, winding its way along the
+vast snow-covered waste.  He watched it fading to a moving line.  What
+was it leaving behind?  A lost boy.  If Wilfred passed the night in the
+tree he would be frozen to death.  If he crept back into the tumble-down
+hut he might be buried beneath another snow.  If he went down to the
+pool he might find the ashes of the Indians' camp-fires still glowing.
+If they had left a fire behind them he must see the smoke--the
+snow-soaked branches were sure to smoke. The sleet was driving in his
+face, but he looked in vain for the dusky curling wreath that must have
+been visible at so short a distance.
+
+Was all hope gone?  His head grew dizzy.  There were no words on his
+lips, and the bitter cry in his heart died mute.  Then he seemed to hear
+again his mother's voice reading to him, as she used to read in far-off
+days by the evening fire: "I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.  Be
+strong, and of a good courage. Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed.
+For the Lord thy God is with thee, whithersoever thou goest."
+
+The Indian train was out of sight, but the trampling of those fifty
+ponies, dragging the heavily-laden travoys, had left a beaten track--a
+path so broad he could not lose it--and he knew that it would bring him
+to some white man's home.
+
+Wilfred sprang down from the tree, decided, resolute.  Better to try and
+find this shop in the wilderness than linger there and die.  The snow
+beneath the tree was crisp and hard.  Yula bounded on before him, eager
+to follow where the Blackfeet dogs had passed.  They were soon upon the
+road, trudging steadily onward.
+
+The dog had evidently shared the strangers' breakfast; he was neither
+hungry nor thirsty.  Not so his poor little master, who was feeling very
+faint for want of a dinner, when he saw a bit of pemmican on the ground,
+dropped no doubt by one of the Indian children.
+
+Wilfred snatched it up and began to eat.  Pemmican is the Indians'
+favourite food.  It is made of meat cut in slices and dried.  It is then
+pounded between two smooth stones, and put in a bag of buffalo-skin.
+Melted fat is poured over it, to make it keep. To the best kinds of
+pemmican berries and sugar are added.  It forms the most solid food a
+man can have. There are different ways of cooking it, but travellers, or
+voyageurs, as they are usually called in Canada, eat it raw.  It was a
+piece of raw pemmican Wilfred had picked up.  Hunger lent it the flavour
+it might have lacked at any other time.
+
+With this for a late dinner, and a rest on a fallen tree, he felt
+himself once more, and started off again with renewed vigour.  The sleet
+was increasing with the coming dusk.  On he toiled, growing whiter and
+whiter, until his snow-covered figure was scarcely distinguishable from
+the frozen ground.  Yula was powdered from head to foot; moreover, poor
+dog, he was obliged to stop every now and then to bite off the little
+icicles which were forming between his toes.
+
+Fortunately for the weary travellers the sky began to clear when the
+moon arose.  Before them stood dark ranks of solemn, stately pines, with
+here and there a poplar thicket rising black and bare from the sparkling
+ground.  Their charred and shrivelled branches showed the work of the
+recent prairie fires, which had only been extinguished by the snowstorm.
+
+Wilfred whistled Yula closer and closer to his side, as the forest
+echoes wakened to the moose-call and the wolf-howl.  On, on they walked
+through the dusky shadows cast by the giant pines, until the strange
+meteors of the north lit up the icy night, flitting across the starry
+sky in such swift succession the Indians call it the dance of the dead
+spirits.
+
+In a scene so weird and wild the boldest heart might quail.  Wilfred
+felt his courage dwindling with every step, when Yula sprang forward
+with a bark that roused a sleeping herd, and Wilfred found himself in
+the midst of the Indian ponies, snorting and kicking at the disturber of
+their peace.  The difficulty of getting Yula out again, without losing
+the track or rousing the camp, which they must now be approaching,
+engrossed Wilfred, and taxed his powers to their uttermost.  He could
+see the gleam of their many watch-fires, and guided his course more
+warily. Imposing silence on Yula by every device he could imagine, he
+left the beaten track which would have taken him into the midst of the
+dreaded Blackfeet, and slanted further and further into the forest
+gloom, but not so far as to lose the glow of the Indians' fires. In the
+first faint gray of the wintry dawn he heard the rushing of a mighty
+fall, and found concealment in a wide expanse of frozen reeds and
+stunted willows.
+
+Yula had been brought to order.  A tired dog is far more manageable.  He
+lay down at his master's feet, whilst Wilfred watched and listened.  He
+was wide of the Blackfeet camp, yet not at such a distance as to be
+unable to distinguish the sounds of awakening life within it from the
+roar of the waterfall.  To his right the ground was rising.  He scarcely
+felt himself safe so near the Blackfeet, and determined to push on to
+the higher ground, where he would have a better chance of seeing what
+they were about.  If they moved on, he could go back to their
+camping-place and gather the crumbs they might have let fall, and boil
+himself some water before their fires were extinguished, and then follow
+in their wake as before.
+
+He began to climb the hill with difficulty, when he was aware of a thin,
+blue column of light smoke curling upwards in the morning air.  It was
+not from the Indian camp.  Had he nearly reached his goal? The light was
+steadily increasing, and he could clearly see on the height before him
+three or four tall pines, which had been stripped of their branches by
+the voyageur's axe, and left to mark a landing-place. These lop-sticks,
+as the Canadians call them, were a welcome sight.  He reached them at
+last, and gained the view he had been longing to obtain.  At his feet
+rolled the majestic river, plunging in one broad, white sheet over a
+hidden precipice.
+
+In the still uncertain light of the early dawn the cataract seemed twice
+its actual size.  The jagged tops of the pine trees on the other side of
+the river rose against the pale green of coming day.  Close above the
+falls the bright star of the morning gleamed like a diamond on the rim
+of the descending flood; at its foot the silvery spray sprang high into
+the air, covering the gloomy pines which had reared their dark branches
+in many a crack and cleft with glittering spangles.
+
+Nestling at the foot of the crag on which Wilfred stood was the
+well-built stockade of the trading-fort. The faint blue line of smoke
+which he had perceived was issuing from the chimney of the trader's
+house, but the inmates were not yet astir.
+
+He brushed the tears from his eyes, but they were mingled tears of joy
+and thankfulness and exhaustion. As he was watching, a party of Indians
+stole out from their camp, and posted themselves among the frozen reeds
+which he had so recently vacated.
+
+The chief, with a few of the Blackfeet, followed by three or four squaws
+laden with skins, advanced to the front of the stockade, where they
+halted.  The chief was waving in his hand a little flag, to show that he
+had come to trade.  After a while the sounds of life and movement began
+within the fort.  The little group outside was steadily increasing in
+numbers. Some more of the Blackfeet warriors had loaded their horses and
+their wives, and were coming up behind their chief, with their heavy
+bags of pemmican hanging like panniers across the backs of the horses,
+whilst the poor women toiled after them with the piles of skins and
+leather.
+
+All was bustle and activity inside the trader's walls. Wilfred guessed
+they were making all sorts of prudent preparations before they ventured
+to receive so large a party.  He was thinking of the men in ambush among
+the reeds, and he longed to give some warning to the Hudson Bay officer,
+who could have no idea of the numbers lurking round his gate.
+
+But how was this to be done in time?  There was but one entrance to the
+fort.  He was afraid to descend his hill and knock for admittance, under
+the lynx-like eyes of the Blackfoot chief, who was growing impatient,
+and was making fresh signs to attract the trader's attention.
+
+At last there was a creaking sound from the fort. Bolts and bars were
+withdrawn, and the gate was slowly opened.  Out came the Hudson Bay
+officer, carefully shutting it behind him.  He was a tall, white-haired
+man, with an air of command about him, and the easy grace of a gentleman
+in every action.  He surveyed his wild visitors for a moment or two, and
+then advanced to meet them with a smile of welcome. The chief came a
+step or two forward, shook hands with the white man, and began to make a
+speech.  A few of his companions followed his example.
+
+"Now," thought Wilfred, "while all this talking and speechifying is
+abroad, I may get a chance to reach the fort unobserved."
+
+He slid down the steep hill, with Yula after him, crept along the back
+of the stockade, and round the end farthest from the reeds.  In another
+moment he was at the gate.  A gentle tap with his hand was all he dared
+to give.  It met with no answer.  He repeated it a little louder.  Yula
+barked.  The gate was opened just a crack, and a boy about his own age
+peeped out.
+
+"Let me in," said Wilfred desperately.  "I have something to tell you."
+
+The crack was widened.  Wilfred slipped in and Yula followed.  The gate
+was shut and barred behind them.
+
+"Well?" asked the boyish porter.
+
+"There are dozens of Blackfeet Indians hiding among the frozen reeds.  I
+saw them stealing down from their camp before it was light.  I am afraid
+they mean mischief," said Wilfred, lowering his voice.
+
+"We need to be careful," returned the other, glancing round at their
+many defences; "but who are you?"
+
+"I belong to some settlers across the prairie.  I have lost my way.  I
+have been wandering about all night, following the trail of the
+Blackfeet.  That is how I came to know and see what they were doing,"
+replied Wilfred.
+
+"They always come up in numbers," answered the stranger thoughtfully,
+"ready for a brush with the Crees.  They seem friendly to us."
+
+As the boy spoke he slipped aside a little shutter in the gate, and
+peeped through a tiny grill.
+
+In the middle of the enclosure there was a wooden house painted white.
+Three or four iron funnels stuck out of the roof instead of chimneys,
+giving it a very odd appearance.  There were a few more huts and sheds.
+But Wilfred's attention was called off from these surroundings, for a
+whole family of dogs had rushed out upon Yula, with a chorus of barking
+that deafened every other sound.  For Yula had marched straight to the
+back door of the house, where food was to be had, and was shaking it and
+whining to be let in.
+
+The young stranger Gasp� took a bit of paper and a pencil out of his
+pocket and wrote hastily: "There are lots more of the Blackfeet hiding
+amongst the reeds.  What does that mean?"
+
+"Louison!" he cried to a man at work in one of the sheds, "go outside
+and give this to grandfather."
+
+
+
+
+                            *CHAPTER VIII.*
+
+                    _*THE SHOP IN THE WILDERNESS.*_
+
+
+As soon as Gasp� had despatched his messenger he turned to Wilfred,
+observing, in tones of grateful satisfaction, "I am so glad we know in
+time."
+
+"Is that your grandfather?" asked Wilfred.
+
+Gasp� nodded.  "Come and look at him."
+
+The two boys were soon watching earnestly through the grating, their
+faces almost touching.  Gasp�'s arm was over Wilfred's shoulder, as they
+drew closer and closer to each other.
+
+Gasp�'s grandfather took the slip of paper from his man, glanced at it,
+and crushed it in his hand.  The chief was hastily heaping a mass of
+buffalo robes and skins and bags of pemmican upon one of the horses, a
+gift for the white man, horse and all.  This was to show his big heart.
+
+"Do you hear what he is saying?" whispered Gasp�, who understood the
+Indians much better than Wilfred did.  "Listen!"
+
+"Are there any Crees here?  Crees have no manners.  Crees are like dogs,
+always ready to bite if you turn your head away; but the Blackfeet have
+large hearts, and love hospitality."
+
+"After all, those men in the reeds may only be on the watch for fear of
+a surprise from the Crees," continued Gasp�.
+
+"Will there be a fight?" asked Wilfred breathlessly.
+
+"No, I think not," answered Gasp�.  "The Crees have lived amongst us
+whites so long they have given up the war-path.  But," he added
+confidentially, "I have locked our old Indian in the kitchen, for if
+they caught sight of him they might say we were friends of the Crees,
+and set on us."
+
+One door in the white-painted house was standing open.  It led into a
+large and almost empty room. Just inside it a number of articles were
+piled on the floor--a gun, blankets, scarlet cloth, and a
+brightly-painted canister of tea.  Louison came back to fetch them, for
+a return present, with which the chief seemed highly delighted.
+
+"We see but little of you white men," he said; "and our young men do not
+always know how to behave.  But if you would come amongst us more, we
+chiefs would restrain them."
+
+"He would have hard work," laughed Wilfred, little thinking how soon his
+words were to be verified. The Blackfeet standing round their chief,
+with their piles of skins, were so obviously getting excited, and
+impatient to begin the real trading, the chief must have felt even he
+could not hold them back much longer.  But he was earnest in his
+exhortation to them not to give way to violence or rough behaviour.
+
+Gasp�'s grandfather was silently noting every face, without appearing to
+do so; and mindful of the warning he had received, he led the way to his
+gate, which he invited them to enter, observing, "My places are but
+small, friends.  All shall come in by turns, but only a few at a time."
+
+Gasp� drew back the bar and threw the gate wide.  In walked the stately
+chief, with one or two of his followers who had taken part in the
+speech-making.  The excited crowd at the back of them pushed their way
+in, as if they feared the gate might be shut in their faces.
+
+Gasp� remonstrated, assuring them there was no hurry, all should have
+their turn.
+
+The chief waved them back, and the last of the group contented
+themselves with standing in the gateway itself, to prevent it being shut
+against them.
+
+Gasp� gave up the vain attempt to close it, and resumed his post.
+
+"I am here on the watch," he whispered to Wilfred; "but you are cold and
+hungry.  Go with grandfather into the shop."
+
+"I would rather stay with you," answered Wilfred. "I am getting used to
+being hungry."
+
+Gasp� answered this by pushing into his hand a big hunch of bread and
+butter, which he had brought with him from his hurried breakfast.
+
+Meanwhile Gasp�'s grandfather had entered the house, taking with him the
+Blackfoot chief.  He invited the others to enter and seat themselves on
+the floor of the empty room into which Wilfred had already had a peep.
+He unlocked an inner door, opening into a passage, which divided the
+great waiting-room from the small shop beyond.  This had been carefully
+prepared for the reception of their wild customers.  Only a few of his
+goods were left upon the shelves, which were arranged with much
+ingenuity, and seemed to display a great variety of wares, all of them
+attractive in Indian eyes.  The bright-coloured cloths, cut in short
+lengths, were folded in fantastic heaps; the blankets were hung in
+graceful festoons.  Beads scattered lightly on trays glittered behind
+the counter, on which the empty scales were lightly swaying up and down,
+like miniature swinging-boats.
+
+A high lattice protected the front of the counter. Gasp�'s grandfather
+established himself behind it. Louison took his place as door-keeper.
+The chief and two of his particular friends were the first to be
+admitted.  Louison locked the door to keep out the others.  It was the
+only way to preserve order. The wild, fierce strangers from the
+snow-covered plain and the darksome forest drew at once to the stove--a
+great iron box in the middle of the shop, with its huge black funnel
+rising through the ceiling. Warmth without smoke was a luxury unknown in
+the wigwam.
+
+The Indians walked slowly round the shop, examining and considering the
+contents of the shelves, until their choice was made.
+
+One of the three walked up to the counter and handed his pile of skins
+to the trader, Mr. De Brunier, through a little door in the lattice,
+pointing to some bright scarlet cloth and a couple of blankets.  The
+chief was examining the guns.  All three wanted shot, and the others
+inquired earnestly for the Indians' special delight, "tea and suga'."
+But when they saw the canister opened, and the tea poured into the
+scale, there was a grunt of dissatisfaction all round.
+
+"What for?" demanded the chief.  "Why put tea one side that swing and
+little bit of iron the other? Who wants little bit of iron?  We don't
+know what that medicine is."
+
+The Indians call everything medicine that seems to them learned and
+wise.
+
+Mr. De Brunier tried to explain the use of his scales, and took up his
+steelyard to see if it would find more favour.
+
+"Be fair," pursued the chief; "make one side as big as the other.  Try
+bag of pemmican against your blankets and tea, then when the thing stops
+swinging you take pemmican, we blankets and tea--that fair!"
+
+His companions echoed their chief's sentiments.
+
+"As you like," smiled the trader.  "We only want to make a fair
+exchange."
+
+So the heavy bag of pemmican was put in the place of the weight, and a
+nice heap of tea was poured upon the blanket to make the balance true.
+The Indians were delighted.
+
+"Now," continued Mr. De Brunier, "we must weigh the shot and the gun
+against your skins, according to your plan."
+
+But when the red men saw their beautiful marten and otter and fisher
+skins piling higher and higher, and the heavy bag of shot still refusing
+to rise, a grave doubt as to the correctness of their own view of the
+matter arose in the Indians' minds.  The first served took up his
+scarlet cloth and blanket and went out quickly, whilst the others
+deliberated.
+
+The trader waited with good-humoured patience and a quiet gleam of
+amusement in the corner of his eye, when they told him at last to do it
+his own way, for the steel swing was a great medicine warriors could not
+understand.  It was plain it could only be worked by some great medicine
+man like himself.
+
+This decision had been reached so slowly, the impatience of the crowd in
+the waiting-room was at spirit-boil.
+
+The brave who had come back satisfied was exhibiting his blankets and
+his scarlet cloth, which had to be felt and looked at by all in turn.
+
+"Were there many more inside?" they asked eagerly.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+A belief that the good things would all be gone before the rest of the
+Indians could get their turn spread among the excited crowd like
+wild-fire.
+
+Gasp� still held to his watch by the gate, with Wilfred beside him.
+
+There was plenty of laughing and talking among the party of resolute men
+who kept it open; they seemed full of fun, and were joking each other in
+the highest spirits.  Gasp�'s eyes turned again and again to the frozen
+reeds, but all was quiet.
+
+Wilfred was earnestly watching for a chance to ask the mirthful
+Blackfeet if an old squaw, the Far-off-Dawn, had joined their camp.  He
+could not make them understand him, but Gasp� repeated the question.
+
+At that moment one of the fiercest-looking of the younger warriors
+rushed out of the waiting-room in a state of intense excitement.  He
+beckoned to his companions at the gate, exclaiming, "If we don't help
+ourselves there will be nothing left for you and me."
+
+"We know who will see fair play," retorted the young chief, who was
+answering Gasp�.
+
+A whoop rang through the frosty air, and the still stiff reeds seemed
+suddenly alive with dusky faces. The crush round the inner door in the
+waiting-room became intense.
+
+"Help me," whispered Gasp�, seizing Wilfred's arm and dragging him after
+him through the sheds to the back of the house.  He took out a key and
+unlocked a side door.  There was a second before him, with the keyhole
+at the reverse hand.  It admitted them into a darkened room, for the
+windows were closely shuttered; but Gasp� knew his ground, and was not
+at a moment's loss.
+
+The double doors were locked and bolted in double quick time behind
+them.  Then Gasp� lifted up a heavy iron bar and banged it into its
+socket.  Noise did not matter.  The clamour in the waiting-room drowned
+every other sound.
+
+"They will clear the shop," he said, "but we must stop them getting into
+the storeroom.  Come along."
+
+Wilfred was feeling the way.  He stumbled over a chair; his hand felt a
+table.  He guessed he was in the family sitting-room.  Gasp� put his
+mouth to the keyhole of an inner door.
+
+"Chirag!" he shouted to their Indian servant, "barricade."
+
+The noises which succeeded showed that his command was being obeyed in
+that direction.
+
+Gasp� was already in the storeroom, endeavouring to push a heavy box of
+nails before the other door leading into the shop.  Wilfred was beside
+him in a moment.  He had not much pushing power left in him after his
+night of wandering.
+
+"Perhaps I can push a pound," he thought, laying his hands by Gasp�'s.
+
+"Now, steady! both together we shall do it," they said, and with one
+hard strain the box was driven along the floor.
+
+"That is something," cried Gasp�, heaving up a bag of ironmongery to put
+on the top of it.  And he looked round for something else sufficiently
+ponderous to complete his barricade.
+
+"What is this?" asked Wilfred, tugging at a chest of tools.
+
+Meanwhile a dozen hatchets' heads were hammering at the door from the
+waiting-room where Louison was stationed.  The crack of the wood giving
+way beneath their blows inspired Gasp� with redoubled energy. The chest
+was hoisted upon the box.  He surveyed his barricade with satisfaction.
+But their work was not yet done.  He dragged forward a set of steps, and
+running up to the top, threw open a trap-door in the ceiling.  A ray of
+light streamed down into the room, showing Wilfred, very white and
+exhausted, leaning against the pile they had erected.
+
+Gasp� sprang to the ground, rushed back into the sitting-room, and began
+to rummage in the cupboard.
+
+"Here is grandfather's essence of peppermint and the sugar-basin and
+lots of biscuits!" he exclaimed. "You are faint, you have had no
+breakfast yet. I am forgetting.  Here."
+
+Wilfred's benumbed fingers felt in the sugar for a good-sized lump.
+Gasp� poured his peppermint drops upon it with a free hand.  The
+warming, reviving dose brought back the colour to Wilfred's pale lips.
+
+"Feel better?" asked his energetic companion, running up the steps with
+a roll of cloth on his shoulder, which he deposited safely in the loft
+above, inviting Wilfred to follow.  The place was warm, for the iron
+chimneys ran through it, like so many black columns.  Wilfred was ready
+to embrace the nearest.
+
+Gasp� caught his arm.  "You are too much of a human icicle for that," he
+cried.  "I'll bring up the blankets next.  Roll yourself up in them and
+get warm gradually, or you will be worse than ever. You must take care
+of yourself, for I dare not stop. It is always a bit dangerous when the
+Indians come up in such numbers to a little station like this. There is
+nobody but grandfather and me and our two men about the place, and what
+are four against a hundred?  But all know what to do.  Chirag watches
+inside the house, I outside, and Louison keeps the shop door.  That is
+the most dangerous post, because of the crush to get in."
+
+A crash and a thud in the room below verified his words.
+
+"There! down it goes," he exclaimed, as a peal of laughter from many
+voices followed the rush of the crowd from one room to the other.
+
+"They will be in here next," he added, springing down the steps for
+another load.  Wilfred tried to shake off the strange sensations which
+oppressed him, and took it from him.  Another and another followed
+quickly, until the boys had removed the greater part of the most
+valuable of the stores into the roof.  The guns and the heavy bags of
+shot had all been carried up in the early morning, before the gate of
+the fort was opened.
+
+And now the hammering began at the storeroom door, amid peals of
+uproarious laughter.
+
+Gasp� tore up the steps with another heavy roll of bright blue cloth.
+
+"We can do no more," he said, pausing for breath. "Now we will shut
+ourselves in here."
+
+"We will have these up first," returned Wilfred, seizing hold of the top
+of the steps, and trying to drag them through the trap-door.
+
+"Right!" ejaculated Gasp�.  "If we had left them standing in the middle
+of the storeroom, it would have been inviting the Blackfeet to follow
+us."
+
+They let down the trap-door as noiselessly as they could, and drew the
+heavy bolt at the very moment the door below was broken open and the
+triumphant crowd rushed wildly in, banging down their bags of pemmican
+on the floor, and seizing the first thing which came to hand in return.
+
+Louison had been knocked down in the first rush from the waiting-room,
+and was leaning against the wall, having narrowly escaped being trampled
+to death. "All right!" he shouted to his master, who had jumped up on
+his counter to see if his agile servitor had regained his feet.  It was
+wild work, but Mr. De Brunier took it all in good part, flinging his
+blankets right and left wherever he saw an eager hand outstretched to
+receive them.  He knew that it was far better to give before they had
+time to take, and so keep up a semblance of trade.  Many a beautiful
+skin and buffalo-robe was tossed across the counter in return.  The
+heterogeneous pile was growing higher and higher beside him, and in the
+confusion it was hard to tell how much was intended for purchase, how
+much for pillage.
+
+The chief, the Great Swan, as his people called him, still stood by the
+scales, determined to see if the great medicine worked fairly for all
+his people.
+
+Mr. De Brunier called to him by his Indian name: "Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu,
+do you not hear what I am saying?  Your young men are too rough.
+Restrain them.  You say you can.  How am I to weigh and measure to each
+his right portion in such a rout?"
+
+"Give them all something and they will be content," shouted the chief,
+trying his best to restore order.
+
+Dozens of gaudy cotton handkerchiefs went flying over the black heads,
+scrambling with each other to get possession of them.  Spoonfuls of
+beads were received with chuckles of delight by the nearest ranks; hut
+the Indians outside the crowd were growing hot and angry.  Turns had
+been long since disregarded. It was catch as catch can.  They broke down
+the lattice, and helped themselves from the shelves behind the counter.
+These were soon cleared.  A party of strong young fellows, laughing as
+if it were the best fun in the world, leaped clear over the counter, and
+began to chop at the storeroom door with their hatchets.  With a
+dexterous hand Mr. De Brunier flung his bright silks in their faces.
+The dancing skeins were quickly caught up.  But the work of demolition
+went forward.  The panels were reduced to matchwood.  Three glittering
+hatchets swung high over the men's heads, came down upon the still
+resisting framework, and smashed it.  The mirthful crowd dashed in.
+
+The shop was already cleared.  Mr. De Brunier would have gone into his
+storeroom with them if he could, but a dozen guns were pointed in his
+face.  It was mere menace, no one attempted to fire.  But the chief
+thought it was going too far.  He backed to the waiting-room.  Mr. De
+Brunier seized his empty tea-canister, and offered it to him as a
+parting gift, saying in most emphatic tones, "This is not our way of
+doing business.  Some of these men have got too much, and some too
+little.  It is not my fault.  I must deal now with the tribe.  Let them
+all lay down on the floor the rest of the skins and bags they have
+brought, and take away all I have to give in exchange, and you must
+divide when you get back to your camp, to every man his right share."
+
+Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu rushed off with his canister under his arm; not
+into the storeroom, where the dismayed trader hoped his presence might
+have proved a restraint, but straight through the waiting-room with a
+mad dash into the court, and through the gate, where he halted to give a
+thunderous shout of "Crees!  Crees!"  The magic words brought out his
+followers pell-mell.  A second shout, a wilder alarm, made the tribe
+rally round their chief, in the full belief the Crees had surprised
+their camp in their hateful dog-like fashion, taking their bite at the
+women and children when the warriors' heads were turned.
+
+But the unmannerly foe was nowhere in sight.
+
+"Over the hill!" shouted their Great Wild Swan, the man of twenty
+fights.
+
+Meanwhile the gate of the little fort was securely barred against all
+intruders.  The waiting squaws meekly turned their horses' heads, and
+followed their deluded lords, picking up the beads and nails which had
+been dropped in their headlong haste.
+
+"Woe to Maxica," thought Wilfred, "if he should happen to be returning
+for his moose!"
+
+The wild war-whoop died away in the distance, only the roar of the
+cataract broke the stillness of the snow-laden air.
+
+De Brunier walked back into his house, to count up the gain and loss,
+and see how much reckless mischief that morning's work had brought him.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER IX.*
+
+                            _*NEW FRIENDS.*_
+
+
+"We shall always be friends," said Gasp�, looking into Wilfred's face,
+as they stood side by side against the chimney in the loft, emptying the
+biscuit-canister between them.
+
+Wilfred answered with a sunny smile.  The sounds below suddenly changed
+their character.  The general stampede to the gate was beginning.
+
+The boys flew to the window.  It was a double one, very small and
+thickly frozen.  They could not see the least thing through its
+glittering panes.
+
+They could scarcely believe their ears, but the sudden silence which
+succeeded convinced Gasp� their rough visitors had beaten a hasty
+retreat.
+
+"Anyhow we will wait a bit, and make sure before we go down," they
+decided.
+
+But De Brunier's first care was for his grandson, and he was missing.
+
+"Gaspard!" he shouted, and his call was echoed by Louison and Chirag.
+
+"Here, grandfather; I am here, I am coming," answered the boy, gently
+raising the trap-door and peeping down at the dismantled storeroom.  A
+great bag of goose-feathers, which had been hoarded by some thrifty
+squaw, had been torn open, and the down was flying in every direction.
+
+There was a groan from Mr. De Brunier.  All his most valuable stores had
+vanished.
+
+"Not quite so bad as that, grandfather," cried Gasp� brightly.
+
+The trader stepped up on to the remains of the barricade the boys had
+erected, and popped his head through the open trap-door.
+
+"Well done, Gaspard!" he exclaimed.
+
+"This other boy helped me," was the instantaneous reply.
+
+The other boy came out from the midst of the blanket heap, feeling more
+dead than alive, and expecting every moment some one would say to him,
+"Now go," and he had nowhere to go.
+
+Mr. De Brunier looked at him in amazement.  A solitary boy in these lone
+wastes!  Had he dropped from the skies?
+
+"Come down, my little lad, and tell me who you are," he said kindly; but
+without waiting for a reply he walked on through the broken door to
+survey the devastation beyond.
+
+"I have grown gray in the service of the Company, and never had a more
+provoking disaster," he lamented, as he began to count the tumbled heap
+of valuable furs blocking his pathway.
+
+Louison, looking pale and feeling dizzy from his recent knock over, was
+collecting the bags of pemmican. Chirag, released from his imprisonment,
+was opening window shutters and replenishing the burnt-out fires. Gasp�
+dropped down from the roof, without waiting to replace the steps, and
+went to his grandfather's assistance, leaving Wilfred to have a good
+sleep in the blanket heap.
+
+The poor boy was so worn out he slept heavily. When he roused himself at
+last, the October day was drawing to its close, and Gasp� was laughing
+beside him.
+
+"Have not you had sleep enough?" he asked. "Would not dinner be an
+improvement?"
+
+Wilfred wakened from his dreams of Acland's Hut. Aunt Miriam and
+Pe-na-Koam had got strangely jumbled together; but up he jumped to grasp
+his new friend's warm, young hand, and wondered what had happened. He
+felt as if he had been tossing like a ball from one strange scene to
+another.  When he found himself sitting on a real chair, and not on the
+hard ground, the transition was so great it seemed like another dream.
+
+The room was low, no carpet on the floor, only a few chairs ranged round
+the stove in the centre; but a real dinner, hot and smoking, was spread
+on the unpainted deal table.
+
+Mr. De Brunier, with one arm thrown over the back of his chair, was
+smoking, to recall his lost serenity.  An account-book lay beside his
+unfinished dinner.  Sometimes his eye wandered over its long rows of
+figures, and then for a while he seemed absorbed in mental calculation.
+
+He glanced at Wilfred's thin hands and pinched cheeks.
+
+"Let the boy eat," he said to Gasp�.
+
+As the roast goose vanished from Wilfred's plate the smile returned to
+his lips and the mirth to his heart.  He outdid the hungry hunter of
+proverbial fame.  The pause came at last; he could not quite keep on
+eating all night, Indian fashion.  He really declined the sixth helping
+Gasp� was pressing upon him.
+
+"No, thanks; I have had a Benjamin's portion--five times as much as you
+have had--and I am dreadfully obliged to you," said Wilfred, with a bow
+to Mr. De Brunier; "but there is Yula, that is my dog.  May he have
+these bones?"
+
+"He has had something more than bones already; Chirag fed him when he
+fed my puppies," put in Gasp�.
+
+"Puppies," repeated Mr. De Brunier.  "Dogs, I say."
+
+"Not yet, grandfather," remonstrated the happy Gasp�.  "You said they
+would not be really dogs, ready for work, until they were a year old,
+and it wants a full week."
+
+"Please, sir," interrupted Wilfred abruptly, "can you tell me how I can
+get home?"
+
+"Where is your home?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"With my uncle, at Acland's Hut," answered Wilfred promptly.
+
+"Acland's Hut," repeated Mr. De Brunier, looking across at Gasp� for
+elucidation.  They did not know such a place existed.
+
+"It is miles away from here," added Wilfred sorrowfully.  "I went out
+hunting--"
+
+"You--a small boy like you--to go hunting alone!" exclaimed Mr. De
+Brunier.
+
+"Please, sir, I mean I rode on a pony by the cart which was to bring
+back the game," explained poor Wilfred, growing very rueful, as all hope
+of getting home again seemed to recede further and further from him.
+"The pony threw me," he added, "and when I came to myself the men were
+gone."
+
+"Have you no father?" whispered Gasp�.
+
+"My father died a year ago, and I was left at school at Garry," Wilfred
+went on.
+
+"Fort Garry!" exclaimed Mr. De Brunier, brightening. "If this had
+happened a few weeks earlier, I could easily have sent you back to Garry
+in one of the Company's boats.  They are always rowing up and down the
+river during the busy summer months, but they have just stopped for the
+winter With this Blackfoot camp so near us, I dare not unbar my gate
+again to-night, so make yourself contented.  In the morning we will see
+what can be done."
+
+"Nothing!" thought Wilfred, as he gathered the goose-bones together for
+Yula's benefit.  "If you do not know where Acland's Hut is, and I cannot
+tell you, night or morning what difference can it make?"
+
+He studied the table-cloth, thinking hard.  "Bowkett and Diom� had
+talked of going to a hunters' camp.  Where was that?"
+
+"Ask Louison," said Mr. De Brunier, in reply to his inquiry.
+
+Gasp� ran out to put the question.
+
+Louison was a hunter's son.  He had wintered in the camp himself when he
+was a boy.  The hunters gathered there in November.  Parties would soon
+be calling at the fort, to sell their skins by the way. Wilfred could go
+on with one of them, no doubt, and then Bowkett could take him home.
+
+Wilfred's heart grew lighter.  It was a roundabout-road, but he felt as
+if getting back to Bowkett was next to getting home.
+
+"How glad your uncle will be to see you!" cried Gasp� radiantly,
+picturing the bright home-coming in the warmth of his own sympathy.
+
+"Oh, don't!" said Wilfred; "please, don't.  It won't be like that; not a
+bit.  Nobody wants me. Aunt wanted my little sister, not me.  You don't
+understand; I am such a bother to her."
+
+Gasp� was silenced, but his hand clasped Wilfred's a little closer.  All
+the chivalrous feelings of the knightly De Bruniers were rousing in his
+breast for the strange boy who had brought them the timely warning.  For
+some of the best and noblest blood of old France was flowing in his
+veins.  A De Brunier had come out with the early French settlers, the
+first explorers, the first voyageurs along the mighty Canadian rivers.
+A De Brunier had fought against Wolfe on the Heights of Abraham, in the
+front ranks of that gallant band who faithfully upheld their nation's
+honour, loyal to the last to the shameless France, which despised,
+neglected, and abandoned them--men whose high sense of duty never
+swerved in the hour of trial, when they were given over into the hands
+of their enemy.  Who cared what happened in that far-off corner of the
+world?  It was not worth troubling about.  So the France of that day
+reasoned when she flung them from her.
+
+It was of those dark hours Gasp� loved to make his grandfather talk, and
+he was thinking that nothing would divert Wilfred from his troubled
+thoughts like one of grandfather's stories.  The night drew on. The snow
+was falling thicker and denser than before. Mr. De Brunier turned his
+chair to the stove, afraid to go to bed with the Blackfoot camp within
+half-a-mile of his wooden walls.
+
+"They might," he said, "have a fancy to give us a midnight scare, to see
+what more they could get."
+
+The boys begged hard to remain.  The fire, shut in its iron box, was
+burning at its best, emitting a dull red glow, even through its prison
+walls.  Gasp� refilled his grandfather's pipe.
+
+"Wilfred," he remarked gently, "has a home that is no home, and he
+thinks we cannot understand the ups and downs of life, or what it is to
+be pushed to the wall."
+
+Gasp� had touched the right spring.  The veteran trader smiled.  "Not
+know, my lad, what it is to be pushed to the wall, when I have been a
+servant for fifty years in the very house where my grandfather was
+master, before the golden lilies on our snow-white banner were torn down
+to make room for your Union Jack!  Why am I telling you this to-night?
+Just to show you, when all seems lost in the present, there is the
+future beyond, and no one can tell what that may hold.  The pearl lies
+hidden under the stormiest waters.  Do you know old Cumberland House?  A
+De Brunier built it, the first trading-fort in the Saskatchewan.  It was
+lost to us when the cold-hearted Bourbon flung us like a bone to the
+English mastiff. Our homes were ours no longer.  Our lives were in our
+hands, but our honour no one but ourselves could throw away.  What did
+we do?  What could we do? What all can do--our duty to the last.  We
+braved our trouble; and when all seemed lost, help came. Who was it felt
+for us?  The men who had torn from us our colours and entered our gates
+by force. Under the British flag our homes were given back, our rights
+assured.  Our Canadian Quebec remains unaltered, a transplant from the
+old France of the Bourbons.  In the long years that have followed the
+harvest has been reaped on both sides.  Now, my boy, don't break your
+heart with thinking, If there had been anybody to care for me, I should
+not have been left senseless in a snow-covered wilderness; but rouse
+your manhood and face your trouble, for in God's providence it may be
+more than made up to you.  Here you can stay until some opportunity
+occurs to send you to this hunters' camp.  You are sure it will be your
+best way to get home again?"
+
+"Yes," answered Wilfred decidedly.  "I shall find Bowkett there, and I
+am sure he will take me back to Acland's Hut.  But please, sir, I did
+not mean aunt and uncle were unkind; but I had been there such a little
+while, and somehow I was always wrong; and then I know I teased."
+
+The cloud was gathering over him again.
+
+"If--" he sighed.
+
+"Don't dwell on the _ifs_, my boy; talk of what has been.  That will
+teach you best what may be," inter posed Mr. De Brunier.
+
+Gasp� saw the look of pain in Wilfred's eyes, although he did not say
+again, "Please don't talk about it," for he was afraid Mr. De Brunier
+would not call that facing his trouble.
+
+Gasp� came to the rescue.  "But, grandfather, you have not told us what
+the harvest was that Canada reaped," he put in.
+
+"Cannot you see it for yourself, Gaspard?" said Mr. De Brunier.  "When
+French and English, conquered and conqueror, settled down side by side,
+it was their respect for each other, their careful consideration for
+each other's rights and wrongs, that taught their children and their
+children's children the great lesson how to live and let live.  No other
+nation in the world has learned as we have done.  It is this that makes
+our Canada a land of refuge for the down-trodden slave.  And we, the
+French in Canada, what have we reaped?" he went on, shaking the ashes
+from his pipe, and looking at the two boys before him, French and
+English; but the old lines were fading, and uniting in the broader name
+of Canadian.  "Yes," he repeated, "what did we find at the bottom of our
+bitter cup?  Peace, security, and freedom, whilst the streets of Paris
+ran red with Frenchmen's blood.  The last De Brunier in France was
+dragged from his ancestral home to the steps of the guillotine by
+Frenchmen's hands, and the old chateau in Brittany is left a moss-grown
+ruin.  When my father saw the hereditary foe of his country walk into
+Cumberland House to turn him out, they met with a bonjour [good day];
+and when they parted this was the final word: 'You are a young man,
+Monsieur De Brunier, but your knowledge of the country and your
+influence with the Indians can render us valuable assistance.  If at any
+time you choose to take office in your old locale, you will find that
+faithful service will be handsomely requited.'  We kept our honour and
+laid down our pride.  Content.  Your British Queen has no more loyal
+subjects in all her vast dominions than her old French Canadians."
+
+There was a mist before Wilfred's eyes, and his voice was low and husky.
+He only whispered, "I shall not forget, I never can forget to-night."
+
+The small hours of the morning were numbered before Gasp� opened the
+door of his little sleeping room, which Wilfred was to share.  It was
+not much bigger than a closet.  The bed seemed to fill it.
+
+There was just room for Gasp�'s chest of clothes and an array of pegs.
+But to Wilfred it seemed a palace, in its cozy warmth.  It made him
+think of Pe-na-Koam.  He hoped she was as comfortable in the Blackfoot
+camp.
+
+Gasp� was growing sleepy.  One arm was round Wilfred's neck; he roused
+himself to answer, "Did not you hear what the warrior with the scalps at
+his belt told me?  She came into their camp, and they gave her food as
+long as she could eat it.  She was too old to travel, and they left her
+asleep by their camp-fires."
+
+Up sprang Wilfred.  "Whatever shall I do?  I have brought away her
+kettle; I thought she had gone to her own people, and left it behind her
+for me."
+
+"Do!" repeated Gasp�, laughing.  "Why, go to sleep old fellow; what else
+can we do at four o'clock in the morning?  If we don't make haste about
+it, we shall have no night at all."
+
+Gasp� was quick to follow his own advice.  But the "no night" was
+Wilfred's portion.  There was no rest for him for thinking of
+Pe-na-Koam.  How was she to get her breakfast?  The Blackfeet might have
+given her food, but how could she boil a drop of water without her
+kettle?
+
+At the first movement in the house he slipped out of bed and dressed
+himself.  The fire had burned low in the great stove in the
+sitting-room, but when he softly opened the door of their closet it
+struck fairly warm.  The noise he had heard was Louison coming in with a
+great basket of wood to build it up.
+
+"A fire in prison is a dull affair by daylight," remarked Wilfred.  "I
+think I shall go for a walk--a long walk."
+
+"Mr. De Brunier will have something to say about that after last night's
+blizzard," returned Louison.
+
+"Then please tell him it is my duty to go, for I am afraid an old Indian
+woman, who was very kind to me, was out in last night's snow, and I must
+go and look for her.  Will you just undo that door and let me out?"
+
+"Not quite so fast; I have two minds about that," answered Louison.
+"Better wait for Mr. De Brunier. I know I shall be wrong if I let you go
+off like this."
+
+"How can you be wrong?" retorted Wilfred.  "I came to this place to warn
+you all there was a party of Blackfeet hidden in the reeds.  Well, if I
+had waited, what good would it have been to you?  Now I find the old
+squaw who made me these gloves was out in last night's snow, and I must
+go and look for her, and go directly."
+
+"But a boy like you will never find her," laughed Louison.
+
+"I'll try it," said Wilfred doggedly.
+
+"Was she a Blackfoot?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then she is safe enough in camp, depend upon it," returned Louison.
+
+"No, she was left behind," persisted Wilfred.
+
+"Then come with me," said Louison, by no means sorry to have found a
+friendly reason for approaching the Blackfeet camp.  "I have a little
+bit of scout business in hand, just to find out whether these wild
+fellows are moving on, or whether they mean waiting about to pay us
+another visit."
+
+Chirag was clearing away the snow in the enclosure outside.  Wilfred
+found the kettle and the skin just where he had laid them down, inside
+the first shed. He called up Yula, and started by Louison's side. Chirag
+was waiting to bar the gate behind them.
+
+"Beautiful morning," said the Canadians, vigorously rubbing their noses
+to keep them from freezing, and violently clapping their mittened hands
+together. The snow lay white and level, over hill and marsh, one
+sparkling sheet of silvery sheen.  The edging of ice was broadening
+along the river, and the roar of the falls came with a thunderous boom
+through the all-pervading stillness around them.
+
+The snow was already hard, as the two ran briskly forward, with Yula
+careering and bounding in extravagant delight.
+
+Wilfred looked back to the little fort, with its stout wooden walls,
+twice the height of a man, hiding the low white house with its roof of
+bark, hiding everything within but the rough lookout and the tall
+flag-staff, for
+
+    "Ever above the topmost roof the banner of England blew."
+
+
+Wilfred was picturing the feelings with which the De Bruniers had worked
+on beneath it, giving the same faithful service to their foreign masters
+that they had to the country which had cast them off.
+
+"It is a dirty old rag," said Louison; "gone all to ribbons in last
+night's gale.  But it is good enough for a little place like this--we
+call it Hungry Hall.  We don't keep it open all the year round.  Just
+now, in October, the Indians and the hunters are bringing in the produce
+of their summer's hunting.  We shall shut up soon, and open later again
+for the winter trade."
+
+"A dirty old rag!" repeated Wilfred.  "Yes, but I am prouder of it than
+ever, for it means protection and safety wherever it floats.  Boy as I
+am, I can see that."
+
+"Can you see something else," asked Louison--"the crossing poles of the
+first wigwam?  We are at the camp."
+
+
+
+
+                              *CHAPTER X.*
+
+                           _*THE DOG-SLED.*_
+
+
+A cloud of smoke from its many wigwam fires overhung the Indian camp as
+Louison and Wilfred drew near.  The hunter's son, with his quick ear,
+stole cautiously through the belt of pine trees which sheltered it from
+the north wind, listening for any sounds of awakening life.  Yesterday's
+adventure had no doubt been followed by a prolonged feast, and men and
+dogs were still sleeping.  A few squaws, upon whom the hard work of the
+Indian world all devolves, were already astir.  Louison thought they
+were gathering firewood outside the camp.  This was well.  Louison hung
+round about the outskirts, watching their proceedings, until he saw one
+woman behind a wigwam gathering snow to fill her kettle.  Her pappoose
+in its wooden cradle was strapped to her back; but she had seen or heard
+them, for she paused in her occupation and looked up wondering.
+
+Louison stepped forward.
+
+"Now for your questions, my boy," he said to Wilfred, "and I will play
+interpreter."
+
+"Is there an old squaw in your camp named the Far-off-Dawn?"
+
+Wilfred needed no interpreter to explain the "caween" given in reply.
+
+"Tell her, Louison," he hurried on, "she was with me the night before
+last.  I thought she left me to follow this trail.  If she has not
+reached this camp, she must be lost in the snow."
+
+"Will not some of your people go and look for her," added Louison, on
+his own account, "before you move on?"
+
+"What is the use?" she asked.  "Death will have got her by this time.
+She came to the camp; she was too old to travel.  If she is alive, she
+may overtake us again.  We shall not move on until another sunrising, to
+rest the horses."
+
+"Then I shall go and look for her," said Wilfred resolutely.
+
+"Not you," retorted Louison; "wait a bit."  He put his hand in his
+pockets.  They had been well filled with tea and tobacco, in readiness
+for any emergency. "Is not there anybody in the camp who will go and
+look for her?"
+
+Louison was asking his questions for the sake of the information he
+elicited, but Wilfred caught at the idea in earnest.  "Go and see,"
+urged Louison, offering her a handful of his tea.
+
+"Th�!" she repeated.  The magic word did wonders. Louison knew if one of
+the men were willing to leave the camp to look for Pe-na-Koam, no
+further mischief was intended.  But if they were anticipating a
+repetition of "the high old time" they had enjoyed yesterday, not one of
+them could be induced to forego their portion in so congenial a lark,
+for in their eyes it was nothing more.
+
+The squaw took the tea in both her hands, gladly leaving her kettle in
+the snow, as she led the way into the camp.
+
+Wilfred, who had only seen the poor little canvas tents of the Crees,
+looked round him in astonishment. In the centre stood the lodge or moya
+of the chief--a wigwam built in true old Indian style, fourteen feet
+high at the least.  Twelve strong poles were stuck in the ground, round
+a circle fifteen feet across. They were tied together at the top, and
+the outside was covered with buffalo-skins, painted black and red in all
+sorts of figures.  Eagles seemed perching on the heads of deers, and
+serpents twisted and coiled beneath the feet of buffaloes.  The other
+wigwams built around it were in the same style, on a smaller scale, all
+brown with smoke.
+
+A goodly array of spears, bows, and shields adorned the outside of the
+moya; above them the much-coveted rifles were ranged with exceeding
+pride.  The ground between the moya and the tents was littered with
+chips and bones, among which the dogs were busy. A few children were
+pelting each other with the snow, or trying to shoot at the busy jays
+with a baby of a bow and arrows to match.
+
+Louison pushed aside the fur which hung over the entrance to the
+moya--the man-hole--and stepped inside.  A beautiful fire was burning in
+the middle of the tent.  The floor was strewed with pine brush, and
+skins were hung round the inside wall, like a dado.  They fitted very
+closely to the ground, so as to keep out all draught.  The rabbits and
+swans, the buzzards and squirrels painted on this dado were so lifelike,
+Wilfred thought it must be as good as a picture-book to the dear little
+pappoose, strapped to its flat board cradle, and set upright against the
+wall whilst mother was busy.  The sleeping-places were divided by
+wicker-screens, and seemed furnished with plenty of blankets and skins.
+One or two of them were still occupied; but Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu lay on
+a bear-skin by the fire, with his numerous pipes arranged beside him.
+The squaw explained the errand of their early visitors: a woman was lost
+in the snow, would the chief send one of his people to find her?
+
+The Great Swan looked over his shoulder and said something.  A young man
+rose up from one of the sleeping-places.
+
+Both were asking, "What was the good?"
+
+"She is one of your own people," urged Louison. "We came to tell you."
+
+This was not what Wilfred had said, and it was not all he wanted, but he
+was forced to trust it to Louison, although he was uneasy.
+
+He could see plainly enough an Indian would be far more likely to find
+her than himself, but would they?  Would any of them go?
+
+Louison offered a taste of his tobacco to the old chief and the young,
+by way of good-fellowship.
+
+"They will never do it for that," thought Wilfred growing desperate
+again.  He had but one thing about him he could offer as an inducement,
+and that was his knife.  He hesitated a moment.  He thought of
+Pe-na-Koam dying in the snow, and held it out to the young chieftain.
+
+The dusky fingers gripped the handle.
+
+"Will you take care of her and bring her here, or give her food and
+build up her hut?" asked Wilfred, making his meaning as plain as he
+could, by the help of nods and looks and signs.
+
+The young chief was outside the man-hole in another moment.  He slung
+his quiver to his belt and took down his bow, flung a stout blanket over
+his shoulder, and shouted to his squaw to catch a bronco, the usual name
+for the Canadian horse.  The kettle was in his hand.
+
+"Can we trust him?" asked Wilfred, as he left the camp by Louison's
+side.
+
+"Trust him! yes," answered his companion.  "Young Sapoo is one of those
+Indians who never break faith. His word once given, he will keep it to
+the death."
+
+"Then I have only to pray that he may be in time," said Wilfred gravely,
+as he stood still to watch the wild red man galloping back to the
+beavers' lakelet.
+
+"Oh, he will be in time," returned Louison cheerily.  "All their wigwam
+poles would be left standing, and plenty of pine brush and firewood
+strewing about.  She is sure to have found some shelter before the
+heaviest fall of snow; that did not come until it was nearly morning."
+
+Gasp� had climbed the lookout to watch for their return.
+
+"Wilfred, _mon cher_," he exclaimed, "you must have a perfect penchant
+for running away.  How could you give us the slip in such a shabby
+fashion? I could not believe Chirag.  If the bears were not all dropping
+off into their winter sleep, I should have thought some hungry bruin had
+breakfasted upon you."
+
+Gasp�'s grandfather had turned carpenter, and was already at work
+mending his broken doors.  Not being a very experienced workman, his
+planking and his panelling did not square.  Wood was plentiful, and more
+than one piece was thrown aside as a misfit.  Both the boys were eager
+to assist in the work of restoration. A broken shelf was mended between
+them--in first-rate workmanly style, as Wilfred really thought.  "We
+have done that well," they agreed; and when Mr. De Brunier--who was
+still chipping at his refractory panel--added a note of commendation to
+their labours, Gasp�'s spirits ran up to the very top of the mental
+thermometer.
+
+To recover his balance--for Wilfred unceremoniously declared he was off
+his head--Gasp� fell into a musing fit.  He wakened up, exclaiming,--
+
+"I'm flying high!"
+
+"Then mind you don't fall," retorted Mr. De Brunier, who himself was
+cogitating somewhat darkly over Louison's intelligence.  "There will be
+no peace for me," he said, "no security, whilst these Blackfeet are in
+the neighbourhood.  'Wait for another sun-rising'--that means another
+forty-eight hours of incessant vigilance for me.  It was want of
+confidence did it all.  I should teach them to trust me in time, but it
+cannot be done in a day."
+
+As he moved on, lamenting over the scene of destruction, Gasp� laid a
+hand on Wilfred's arm.  "How are you going to keep pace with the hunters
+with that lame foot?" he demanded.
+
+"As the tortoise did with the hare," laughed Wilfred. "Get myself left
+behind often enough, I don't doubt that."
+
+"But I doubt if you will ever get to your home _� la tortoise_,"
+rejoined Gasp�.  "No, walking will never do for you.  I am thinking of
+making you a sled."
+
+"A sledge!" repeated Wilfred in surprise.
+
+"Oh, we drop the 'ge' you add to it in your English dictionaries,"
+retorted Gasp�.  "We only say sled out here.  There will be plenty of
+board when grandfather has done his mending.  We may have what we want,
+I'm sure.  Your dog is a trained hauler, and why shouldn't we teach my
+biggest pup to draw with him?  They would drag you after the hunters in
+fine style.  We can do it all, even to their jingling bells."
+
+Wilfred, who had been accustomed to the light and graceful carioles and
+sledges used in the Canadian towns, thought it was flying a bit too
+high.  But Gasp�, up in all the rough-and-ready contrivances of the
+backwoods, knew what he was about.  Louison and Chirag had to be
+consulted.
+
+When all the defences were put in order--bolts, bars, and padlocks
+doubled and trebled, and a rough but very ponderous double door added to
+the storeroom--Mr. De Brunier began to speak of rest.
+
+"The night cometh in which no man can work," he quoted, as if in
+justification of the necessary stoppage.
+
+The hammer was laid down, and he sank back in his hard chair, as if he
+were almost ashamed to indulge in his one solace, the well-filled pipe
+Gasp� was placing so coaxingly in his fingers.  A few sedative whiffs
+were enjoyed in silence; but before the boys were sent off to bed, Gasp�
+had secured the reversion of all the wooden remains of the carpentering
+bout, and as many nails as might be reasonably required.
+
+"Now," said Gasp�, as he tucked himself up by Wilfred's side, and pulled
+the coverings well over head and ears, "I'll show you what I can do."
+
+Three days passed quickly by.  On the morning of the fourth Louison
+walked in with a long face. The new horse, the gift of the Blackfoot
+chief, had vanished in the night.  The camp had moved on, nothing but
+the long poles of the wigwams were left standing.
+
+The loss of a horse is such an everyday occurrence in Canada, where
+horses are so often left to take care of themselves, it was by no means
+clear that Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu had resumed his gift, but it was highly
+probable.
+
+Notwithstanding, the Company had not been losers by the riotous
+marketing, for the furs the Blackfeet had brought in were splendid.
+
+"Yes, we were all on our guard--thanks to you, my little man--or it
+might have ended in the demolition of the fort," remarked Mr. De
+Brunier.  "Now, if there is anything you want for your journey, tell me,
+and you shall have it."
+
+"Yes, grandfather," interposed Gasp�.  "He must have a blanket to sleep
+in, and there is the harness for the dogs, and a lot of things."
+
+Wilfred grew hot.  "Please, sir, thanks; but I don't think I want much.
+Most of all, perhaps, something to eat."
+
+Mr. De Brunier recommended a good hunch of pemmican, to cut and come
+again.  The hunters would let him mess with them if he brought his own
+pemmican and a handful of tea to throw into their boiling kettle.  The
+hunters' camp was about sixty miles from Hungry Hall.  They would be two
+or three days on the road.
+
+More than one party of hunters had called at the fort already, wanting
+powder and ball, matches, and a knife; and when the lynx and marten and
+wolf skins which they brought were told up, and the few necessaries they
+required were provided, the gay, careless, improvident fellows would
+invest in a tasselled cap bright with glittering beads.
+
+The longer Wilfred stayed at the fort, the more Mr. De Brunier hesitated
+about letting the boy start for so long a journey with no better
+protection. Gaspard never failed to paint the danger and magnify the
+difficulties of the undertaking, wishing to keep his new friend a little
+longer.  But Wilfred was steady to his purpose.  He saw no other chance
+of getting back to his home.  He did not say much when Mr. De Brunier
+and Gasp� were weighing chances and probabilities, hoping some
+travelling party from the north might stop by the way at Hungry Hall and
+take him on with them.  Such things did happen occasionally.
+
+But Wilfred had a vivid recollection of his cross-country journey with
+Forgill.  He could not see that he should be sure of getting home if he
+accepted Mr. De Brunier's offer and stayed until the river was frozen
+and then went down with him to their mid-winter station, trusting to a
+seat in some of the Company's carts or the Company's sledges to their
+next destination.
+
+Then there would be waiting and trusting again to be sent on another
+stage, and another, and another, until he would at last find himself at
+Fort Garry. "Then," he asked, "what was he to do?  If his uncle and aunt
+knew that he was there, they might send Forgill again to fetch him.  But
+if letters reached Acland's Hut so uncertainly, how was he to let them
+know?"
+
+As Wilfred worked the matter out thus in his own mind, he received every
+proposition of Mr. De Brunier's with, "Please, sir, I'd rather go to
+Bowkett.  He lost me.  He will be sure to take me straight home."
+
+"The boy knew his own mind so thoroughly," Mr. De Brunier told Gaspard
+at last, "they must let him have his own way."
+
+The sled was finished.  It was a simple affair--two thin boards about
+four feet long nailed together edgeways, with a tri-cornered piece of
+wood fitted in at the end.  Two old skates were screwed on the bottom,
+and the thing was done.  The boys worked together at the harness as they
+sat round the stove in the evening.  The snow was thicker, the frost was
+harder every night.  Ice had settled on the quiet pools, and was
+spreading over the quick-running streams, but the dash of the falls
+still resisted its ever-encroaching influence.  By-and-by they too must
+yield, and the whole face of nature would be locked in its iron clasp.
+November was wearing away.  A sunny morning came now and then to cheer
+the little party so soon to separate.
+
+Gasp� proposed a run with the dogs, just to try how they would go in
+their new harness, and if, after all, the sled would run as a sled
+should.
+
+Other things were set aside, and boys and men gathered in the court.
+Even Mr. De Brunier stepped out to give his opinion about the puppies.
+Gasp� had named them from the many tongues of his native Canada.
+
+In his heart Wilfred entertained a secret belief that not one of them
+would ever be equal to his Yula. They were Athabascans.  They would
+never be as big for one thing, and no dog ever could be half as
+intelligent; that was not possible.  But he did not give utterance to
+these sentiments.  It would have looked so ungrateful, when Gasp� was
+designing the best and biggest for his parting gift.  And they were
+beauties, all four of them.
+
+There was Le Chevalier, so named because he never appeared, as Gasp�
+declared, without his white shirtfront and white gloves.  Then there was
+his bluff old English Boxer, the sturdiest of the four.  He looked like
+a hauler.  Kusky-tay-ka-atim-moos, or "the little black dog," according
+to the Cree dialect, had struck up a friendship with Yula, only a little
+less warm than that which existed between their respective masters.
+Then the little schemer with the party-coloured face was Yankee-doodle.
+
+"Try them all in harness, and see which runs the best," suggested
+grandfather, quite glad that his Gaspard should have one bright holiday
+to checker the leaden dulness of the everyday life at Hungry Hall.
+
+Louison was harnessing the team.  He nailed two long strips of leather
+to the lowest end of the sled for traces.  The dogs' collars were made
+of soft leather, and slipped over the head.  Each one was ornamented
+with a little tinkling bell under the chin and a tuft of bright ribbon
+at the back of the ear, and a buckle on either side through which the
+traces were passed.  A band of leather round the dogs completed the
+harness, and to this the traces were also securely buckled. The dogs
+stood one before the other, about a foot apart.
+
+Yula was an experienced hand, and took the collar as a matter of course.
+Yankee was the first of the puppies to stand in the traces, and his
+severe doggie tastes were completely outraged by the amount of finery
+Gasp� and Louison seemed to think necessary for their proper appearance.
+
+Wilfred was seated on a folded blanket, with a buffalo-robe tucked over
+his feet.  Louison flourished a whip in the air to make the dogs start.
+Away went Yula with something of the velocity of an arrow from a bow,
+knocking down Gasp�, who thought of holding the back of the sled to
+guide it.
+
+He scrambled to his feet and ran after it.  Yula was careering over the
+snow at racehorse speed, ten miles an hour, and poor little Yankee,
+almost frightened out of his senses, was bent upon making a dash at the
+ribbon waving so enticingly before his eyes.  He darted forward.  He
+hung back.  He lurched from side to side.  He twisted, he turned.  He
+upset the equilibrium of the sledge.  It banged against a tree on one
+side, and all but tilted over on the other.  One end went down into a
+badger hole, leaving Wilfred and his blanket in a heap on the snow, when
+Yankee, lightened of half his load, fairly leaped upon Yula's back and
+hopelessly entangled the traces.  The boys concealed an uneasy sense of
+ignominious failure under an assertion calculated to put as good a face
+as they could on the matter: "We have not got it quite right yet, but we
+shall."
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XI.*
+
+                         _*THE HUNTERS' CAMP.*_
+
+
+A burst of merry laughter made the two boys look round, half afraid that
+it might be at their own expense.
+
+Wilfred felt a bit annoyed when he perceived a little party of horsemen
+spurring towards the fort. But Gasp� ran after them, waving his arms
+with a bonjour as he recognized his own Louison's cousin, Batiste, among
+the foremost.
+
+Dog training and dog driving are the never-failing topics of interest
+among the hunters and trappers. Batiste had reined in his horse to watch
+the ineffectual efforts of the boys to disentangle the two dogs, who
+were fighting and snarling with each other over the upturned sled.
+
+Batiste and his comrades soon advanced from watching to helping.  The
+sled was lifted up, the traces disentangled, and Wilfred and Gasp� were
+told and made to feel that they knew nothing at all about dog driving,
+and might find themselves in a heap all pell-mell at the bottom of the
+river bank some day if they set about it in such a reckless fashion.
+They were letting the dogs run just where they liked.  Dogs wanted
+something to follow. Batiste jumped from his horse at last, quite unable
+to resist the pleasure of breaking in a young dog.
+
+"It takes two to manage a dog team," he asserted. "It wants a man in
+snow-shoes to walk on in front and mark a track, and another behind to
+keep them steady to their work."
+
+Dogs, horses, men, and boys all turned back together to discuss Yankee's
+undeveloped powers.  But no, Batiste himself could do nothing with him.
+Yankee refused to haul.
+
+"I'll make him," said Batiste.
+
+But Gasp� preferred to take his dog out of the traces rather than
+surrender him to the tender mercies of a hunter.  "I know they are very
+cruel," he whispered to Wilfred.  So Yula was left to draw the empty
+sled back to the fort, and he did it in first-rate style.
+
+"He is just cut out for hauling, as the hound is for hunting," explained
+Batiste.  "It is not any dog can do it."
+
+They entered the gate of the fort.  The men stood patting and praising
+Yula, while Batiste exchanged greetings with his cousin.
+
+Before he unlocked the door of his shop, Mr. De Brunier called Wilfred
+to him.
+
+"Now is your chance, my boy," he said kindly. "Batiste tells me he
+passed this Bowkett on his way to the camp, so you are sure to find him
+there.  Shall I arrange with Batiste to take you with him?"
+
+The opportunity had come so suddenly at last. If Wilfred had any
+misgiving, he did not show it.
+
+"What do you think I had better do, sir?" he asked.
+
+"There is so much good common sense in your own plan," answered his
+friend, "I think you had better follow it.  When we shut up, you cannot
+remain here; and unless we take you with us, this is the best thing to
+do."
+
+Wilfred put both his hands in Mr. De Brunier's.
+
+"I can't thank you," he said; "I can't thank you half enough."
+
+"Never mind the thanks, my boy.  Now I want you to promise me, when you
+get back to your home, you will make yourself missed, then you will soon
+find yourself wanted."  Mr. De Brunier turned the key in the lock as he
+spoke, and went in.
+
+Wilfred crossed the court to Gasp�.  He looked up brightly, exclaiming,
+"Kusky is the boy for you; they all say Kusky will draw."
+
+"I am going," whispered Wilfred.
+
+"Going! how and why?" echoed Gasp� in consternation.
+
+"With these men," answered Wilfred.
+
+"Then I shall hate Batiste if he takes you from me!" exclaimed Gasp�
+impetuously.
+
+They stepped back into the shed the puppies had occupied, behind some
+packing-cases, where nobody could see them, for the parting words.
+
+"We shall never forget each other, never.  Shall we ever meet again?"
+asked Wilfred despairingly. "We may when we are men."
+
+"We may before," whispered Gasp�, trying to comfort him.  "Grandfather's
+time is up this Christmas. Then he will take his pension and retire.  He
+talks of buying a farm.  Why shouldn't it be near your uncle's?"
+
+"Come, Gaspard, what are you about?" shouted Mr. De Brunier from the
+shop door.  "Take Wilfred in, and see that he has a good dinner."
+
+Words failed over the knife and fork.  Yula and Kusky had to be fed.
+
+"Will the sled be of any use?" asked Gasp�.
+
+Even Wilfred did not feel sure.  They had fallen very low--had no heart
+for anything.
+
+Louison was packing the sled--pemmican and tea for three days.
+
+"Put plenty," said Gasp�, as he ran out to see all was right.
+
+Louison and Batiste were talking.
+
+"We'll teach that young dog to haul," Batiste was saying; "and if the
+boy gets tired of them, we'll take them off his hands altogether."
+
+"With pleasure," added Louison, and they both laughed.
+
+The last moment had come.
+
+"Good-bye, good-bye!" said Wilfred, determined not to break down before
+the men, who were already mounting their horses.
+
+"God bless you!" murmured Gasp�.
+
+Batiste put Wilfred on his horse, and undertook the management of the
+sled.  The unexpected pleasure of a ride helped to soften the pain of
+parting.
+
+"I ought to be thankful," thought Wilfred--"I ought to rejoice that the
+chance I have longed for has come.  I ought to be grateful that I have a
+home, and such a good home."  But it was all too new.  No one had
+learned to love him there.  Whose hand would clasp his when he reached
+Acland's Hut as Gasp� had done?
+
+On, on, over the wide, wild waste of sparkling snow, with his jovial
+companions laughing and talking around him.  It was so similar to his
+ride with Bowkett and Diom�, save for the increase in the cold. He did
+not mind that.
+
+But there was one thing Wilfred did mind, and that was the hard blows
+Batiste was raining down on Kusky and Yula.  He sprang down to
+remonstrate. He wanted to drive them himself.  He was laughed at for a
+self-conceited jackass, and pushed aside.
+
+Dog driving was the hunter's hobby.  The whole party were engrossed in
+watching Yula's progress, and quiet, affectionate little Kusky's
+infantine endeavours to keep up with him.
+
+Batiste regarded himself as a crack trainer, and when poor Kusky brought
+the whole cavalcade to a standstill by sitting down in the midst of his
+traces, he announced his intention of curing him of such a trick with
+his first taste.
+
+"Send him to Rome," shouted one of the foremost of the hunters.  "He'll
+not forget that in a hurry."
+
+"He is worth training well," observed another. "See what a chest he has.
+He will make as good a hauler as the old one by-and-by.  Pay him well
+first start."
+
+What "sending to Rome" might mean Wilfred did not stay to see.  Enough
+to know it was the uttermost depth of dog disgrace.  He saw Batiste
+double up his fist and raise his arm.  The sprain in his ankle was
+forgotten.  He flew to the ground, and dashed between Batiste and his
+dogs, exclaiming, "They are mine, my own, and they shan't be hurt by
+anybody!"
+
+He caught the first blow, that was all.  He staggered backwards on the
+slippery ground.
+
+Another of the hunters had alighted.  He caught Wilfred by the arm, and
+pulled him up, observing dryly, "Well done, young 'un.  Got a settler
+unawares. That just comes of interfering.--Here, Mathurin, take him up
+behind ye."
+
+The hunter appealed to wheeled round with a good-natured laugh.
+
+But Wilfred could not stand; the horses, dogs, and snow seemed dancing
+round him.
+
+"Yula!  Kusky!" he called, like one speaking in a dream.
+
+But Yula, dragging the sled behind him, and rolling Kusky over and over
+in the tangling harness, had sprung at Batiste's arm; but he was too
+hampered to seize him.  Wilfred was only aware of a confused _m�l�e_ as
+he was hoisted into Mathurin's strong arms and trotted away from the
+scene of action.
+
+"Come, you are the sauciest young dog of the three," said Mathurin
+rather admiringly.  "There, lay your head on me.  You'll have to sleep
+this off a bit," he continued, gently walking his horse, and gradually
+dropping behind the rest of the party.
+
+Poor Wilfred roused up every now and then with a rather wild and
+incoherent inquiry for his dogs, to which Mathurin replied with a
+drawling, sleepy-sounding "All right."
+
+Wilfred's eyes were so swollen over that he hardly knew it was starshine
+when Mathurin laid him down by a new-lit camping-fire.
+
+"There," said the hunter, in the self-congratulatory tone of a man who
+knows he has got over an awkward piece of business; "let him have his
+dogs, and give him a cup of tea, and he'll be himself again by the
+morning."
+
+"Ready for the same game?" asked Batiste, who was presiding over the
+tea-kettle.
+
+The cup which Mathurin recommended was poured out; the sugar was not
+spared.  Wilfred drank it gladly without speaking.  When words were
+useless silence seemed golden.  Yula was on guard beside him, and poor
+little Kusky, cowed and cringing, was shivering at his feet.  They
+covered him up, and all he had seen and heard seemed as unreal as his
+dreams.
+
+The now familiar cry of "_L�ve! l�ve!_" made Yula sit upright.  The
+hunters were astir before the dawn, but Wilfred was left undisturbed for
+another hour at least, until the rubeiboo was ready--that is, pemmican
+boiled in water until it makes a sort of soup.  Pemmican, as Mr. De
+Brunier had said, was the hunters' favourite food.
+
+"Now for the best of the breakfast for the lame and tame," laughed
+Batiste, pulling up Wilfred, and looking at his disfiguring bruises with
+a whistle.
+
+Wilfred shrank from the prospect before him. Another day of bitter
+biting cold, and merciless cruelty to his poor dogs.  "Oh, if Gasp�
+knew!--if Kusky could but have run back home!"
+
+Wilfred could not eat much.  He gave his breakfast to his dogs, and
+fondled them in silence.  It was enough to make a fellow's blood boil to
+be called Mathurin's babby, _l'enfant endormi_ (sleepy child), and
+Pierre the pretty face.
+
+"Can we be such stoics, Yula," he whispered, "as to stand all this
+another twenty-four hours, and see our poor little Kusky beaten right
+and left?  Can we bear it till to-morrow morning?"
+
+Yula washed the nervous fingers stroking his hair out of his eyes, and
+looked the picture of patient endurance.  There was no escape, but it
+could not last long.  Wilfred set his teeth, and asserted no one but
+himself should put the harness on his dogs.
+
+"Gently, my little turkey-cock," put in Mathurin. "The puppy may be your
+own, but the stray belongs to a friend of mine, who will be glad enough
+to see him back again."
+
+Wilfred was fairly frightened now.  "Oh, if he had to give his Yula
+chummie back to some horrid stranger!"  He thought it would be the last
+straw which brings the breakdown to boy as well as camel. But he
+consoled himself at their journey's end. Bowkett would interfere on his
+behalf.  Mathurin's assertion was not true, by the twinkle in his eye
+and the laugh to his companions.  Louison must have told his cousin that
+Yula was a stray, or they would never have guessed it.  True or false,
+the danger of losing his dog was a real one.  They meant to take it from
+him.  One thing Wilfred had the sense to see, getting in a passion was
+of no good anyway.  "Frederick the Great lost his battle when he lost
+his temper," he thought.  "Keep mine for Yula's sake I will."
+
+But the work was harder than he expected, although the time was shorter.
+The hardy broncos of the hunters were as untiring as their masters.
+Ten, twenty, thirty miles were got over without a sign of weariness from
+any one but Wilfred and Kusky.  If they were dead beat, what did it
+matter?  The dog was lashed along, and Wilfred was teased, to keep him
+from falling asleep.
+
+"One more push," said the hunters, "and instead of sleeping with our
+feet to a camp-fire, and our beards freezing to the blankets, we shall
+be footing it to Bowkett's fiddle."
+
+The moon had risen clear and bright above the sleeping clouds still
+darkening the horizon.  A silent planet burned lamp-like in the western
+sky.  Forest and prairie, ridges and lowland, were sparkling in the
+sheen of the moonlight and the snow.
+
+Wilfred roused himself.  The tinkle of the dog-bells was growing fainter
+and fainter, as Mathurin galloped into the midst of a score or so of
+huts promiscuously crowded together, while many a high-piled meat-stage
+gave promise of a winter's plenty.  Huge bones and horns, the remnants
+of yesterday's feast, were everywhere strewing the ground, and changing
+its snowy carpet to a dingy drab.  There were wolf-skins spread over
+framework.  There were buffalo-skins to be smoked, and buffalo-robes--as
+they are called when the hair is left on--stretched out to dry. Men and
+horses, dogs and boys, women drawing water or carrying wood, jostled
+each other.  There was a glow of firelight from many a parchment window,
+and here and there the sound of a fiddle, scraped by some rough hunter's
+hand, and the quick thud of the jovial hunter's heel upon the earthen
+floor.
+
+It resembled nothing in the old world so much as an Irish fair, with its
+shouts of laughter and snatches of song, and that sense of inextricable
+confusion, heightened by the all too frequent fight in a most
+inconvenient corner.  The rule of contrary found a notable example in
+the name bestowed upon this charming locality.  A French missionary had
+once resided on the spot, so it was still called La Mission.
+
+Mathurin drew up before one of the biggest of the huts, where the sounds
+of mirth were loudest, and the light streamed brightest on the bank of
+snow beside the door.
+
+"Here we are!" he exclaimed, swinging Wilfred from the saddle to the
+threshold.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XII.*
+
+                         _*MAXICA'S WARNING.*_
+
+
+Mathurin knocked at the door.  It was on the latch.  He pushed Wilfred
+inside; but the boy was stubborn.
+
+"No, no, I won't go in; I'll stand outside and wait for the others," he
+said.  "I want my dogs."
+
+"But the little 'un's dead beat.  You would not have him hurried.  I am
+going back to meet them," laughed Mathurin, proud of the neat way in
+which he had slipped out of all explanation of the blow Wilfred had
+received, which Bowkett might make awkward.
+
+He was in the saddle and off again in a moment, leaving Wilfred standing
+at the half-open door.
+
+"This is nothing but a dodge to get my dogs away from me," thought the
+boy, unwilling to go inside the hut without them.
+
+"I am landed at last," he sighed, with a grateful sense of relief, as he
+heard Bowkett's voice in the pause of the dance.  His words were
+received with bursts of laughter.  But what was he saying?
+
+"It all came about through the loss of the boy. There was lamentation
+and mourning and woe when I went back without him.  The auntie would
+have given her eyes to find him.  See my gain by the endeavour.  As hope
+grew beautifully less, it dwindled down to 'Bring me some certain
+tidings of his fate, and there is nothing I can refuse you.'  As luck
+would have it, I came across a Blackfoot wearing the very knife we stuck
+in the poor boy's belt before we started. I was not slow in bartering
+for an exchange; and when I ride next to Acland's Hut, it is but to
+change horses and prepare for a longer drive to the nearest church.  So,
+friends, I invite you all to dance at my wedding feast.  Less than three
+days of it won't content a hunter."
+
+A cheer went up from the noisy dancers, already calling for the fiddles.
+
+Bowkett paused with the bow upraised.  There stood Wilfred, like the
+skeleton at the feast, in the open doorway before him.
+
+"If you have not found me, I have found you, Mr. Bowkett," he was
+saying.  "I am the lost boy. I am Wilfred Acland."
+
+The dark brow of the handsome young hunter contracted with angry dismay.
+
+"Begone!" he exclaimed, with a toss of his head. "You!  I know nothing
+of you!  What business have you here?"
+
+Hugh Bowkett turned his back upon Wilfred, and fiddled away more noisily
+than before.  Two or three of his friends who stood nearest to him--men
+whom it would not have been pleasant to meet alone in the darkness of
+the night--closed round him as the dance began.
+
+"A coyote in your lamb's-skin," laughed one, "on the lookout for a
+supper."
+
+A coyote is a little wolfish creature, a most impudent thief, for ever
+prowling round the winter camps, nibbling at the skins and watching the
+meat-stage, fought off by the dogs and trapped like a rat by the
+hunters.
+
+Wilfred looked round for Diom�.  He might have recognized him; but no
+Diom� was there.
+
+Was there not one among the merry fellows tripping before him, not one
+that had ever seen him before?  He knew he was sadly changed.  His face
+was still swollen from the disfiguring blow.  Could he wonder if Bowkett
+did not know him?  Should he run back and call the men who had brought
+him to his assistance?  He hated them, every one.  He was writhing still
+under every lash which had fallen on poor Kusky's sides.  Turn to them?
+no, never! His dogs would be taken as payment for any help that they
+might give.  He would reason it out.  He would convince Bowkett he was
+the same boy.
+
+Three or four Indians entered behind him, and seated themselves on the
+floor, waiting for something to eat.  He knew their silent way of
+begging for food when they thought that food was plentiful in the camp:
+the high-piled meat-stage had drawn them. It was such an ordinary thing
+Wilfred paid no heed to them.  He was bent on making Bowkett listen; and
+yet he was afraid to leave the door, for fear of missing his dogs.
+
+"A word in your ear," said the most ill-looking of the hunters standing
+by Bowkett's fiddle, trusting to the noise of the music to drown his
+words from every one but him for whom they were intended.  "You and I
+have been over the border together, sharpened up a bit among the Yankee
+bowie-knives.  You are counting Caleb Acland as a dead man.  You are
+expecting, as his sister's husband, to step into his shoes.  Back comes
+this boy and sweeps the stakes out of your very hand.  He'll stand
+first."
+
+"I know it," retorted Bowkett with a scowl.  "But," he added hurriedly,
+"it is not he."
+
+"Oh, it isn't the boy you lost?  Of course not. But take my advice, turn
+this impudent young coyote out into the snow.  One midnight's frost will
+save you from any more bother.  There are plenty of badger holes where
+he can rest safe and snug till doomsday."
+
+Bowkett would not venture a reply.  The low aside was unnoticed by the
+dancers; not the faintest breath could reach Wilfred, vainly
+endeavouring to pass between the whirling groups to Bowkett's side; but
+every syllable was caught by the quick ear of one of the Indians on the
+floor.
+
+He picked up a tiny splinter of wood from the hearth, near which he was
+sitting; another was secreted.  There were three in the hollow of his
+hand.  Noiselessly and unobtrusively he stole behind the dancers.  A
+gentle pull at Wilfred's coat made him look up into the half-blind eyes
+of Maxica the Cree.
+
+Not a word was said.  Maxica turned from him and seated himself once
+more on the ground, in which he deliberately stuck his three pegs.
+
+Wilfred could not make out what he was going to do, but his heart felt
+lighter at the sight of him; "for," he thought, "he will confirm my
+story.  He will tell Bowkett how he found me by the banks of the
+dried-up river."  He dropped on the floor beside the wandering Cree.
+But the Indian laid a finger on his lips, and one of his pegs was
+pressed on Wilfred's palm; another was pointed towards Bowkett.  The
+third, which was a little charred, and therefore blackened, was turned
+to the door, which Wilfred had left open, to the darkness without, from
+whence, according to Indian belief, the evil spirits come.
+
+Then Maxica took the three pegs and moved them rapidly about the floor.
+The black peg and Bowkett's peg were always close together, rubbing
+against each other until both were as black as a piece of charcoal. It
+was clear they were pursuing the other peg--which Wilfred took for
+himself--from corner to corner.  At last it was knocked down under them,
+driven right into the earthen floor, and the two blackened pegs were
+left sticking upright over it.
+
+Wilfred laid his hand softly on Maxica's knee, to show his warning was
+understood.
+
+But what then?
+
+Maxica got up and glided out of the hut as noiselessly as he had entered
+it.  The black-browed hunter whispering at Bowkett's elbow made his way
+through the dancers towards Wilfred with a menacing air.
+
+"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
+
+"Waiting to speak to Mr. Bowkett," replied Wilfred stoutly.
+
+"Then you may wait for him on the snow-bank," retorted the hunter,
+seizing Wilfred by the collar and flinging him out of the door.
+
+"What is that for?" asked several of the dancers.
+
+"I'll vow it is the same young imp who passed us with a party of miners
+coming from a summer's work in the Rocky Mountains, who stole my dinner
+from the spit," he went on, working himself into the semblance of a
+passion.  "I marked him with a rare black eye before we parted then, and
+I'll give him another if he shows his face again where I am."
+
+"It is false!" cried Wilfred, rising up in the heat of his indignation.
+
+His tormentor came a step or two from the door, and gathering up a great
+lump of snow, hurled it at him.
+
+Wilfred escaped from the avalanche, and the mocking laughter which
+accompanied it, to the sheltering darkness.  He paused among the sombre
+shadows thrown by the wall of the opposite hut.  Maxica was waiting for
+him under its pine-bark eaves, surveying the cloudless heavens.
+
+"He speaks with a forked tongue," said the Cree, pointing to the man in
+the doorway, and dividing his fingers, to show that thoughts went one
+way and words another.
+
+The scorn of the savage beside him was balm to Wilfred.  The touch of
+sympathy which makes the whole world kin drew them together.  But
+between him and the hunter swaggering on the snow-bank there was a moral
+gulf nothing could bridge over. There was a sense--a strange sense--of
+deliverance. What would it have been to live on with such men, touching
+their pitch, and feeling himself becoming blackened?  That was the
+uttermost depth from which this fellow's mistake had saved him.
+
+It was no mistake, as Maxica was quick to show him, but deliberate
+purpose.  Then Wilfred gave up every hope of getting back to his home.
+All was lost to him--even his dogs were gone.
+
+He tried to persuade Maxica to walk round the huts with him, to find out
+where they were.  But the Cree was resolute to get him away as fast as
+he could beyond the reach of Bowkett and his companions.  He expected
+that great lump of snow would be followed by a stone; that their steps
+would be dogged until they reached the open, when--he did not
+particularize the precise form that when was likeliest to assume.  The
+experiences of his wild, wandering life suggested dangers that could not
+occur to Wilfred. There must be no boyish footprint in the snow to tell
+which way they were going.  Maxica wrapped his blanket round Wilfred,
+and threw him over his shoulder as if he had been a heavy pack of skins,
+and took his way through the noisiest part of the camp, choosing the
+route a frightened boy would be the last to take.  He crossed in front
+of an outlying hut. Yula was tied by a strip of leather to one of the
+posts supporting its meat-stage, and Kusky to another. Maxica recognized
+Yula's bark before Wilfred did. He muffled the boy's head in the
+blanket, and drew it under his arm in such a position that Wilfred could
+scarcely either speak or hear.  Then Maxica turned his course, and left
+the dogs behind him.  But Yula could not be deceived.  He bounded
+forward to the uttermost length of his tether.  One sniff at the toe of
+Wilfred's boot, scarcely visible beneath the blanket, made him
+desperate.  He hung at his collar; he tore up the earth; he dragged at
+the post, as if, like another Samson, he would use his unusual strength
+to pull down this prison-house.
+
+Maxica, with his long, ungainly Indian stride, was quickly out of sight.
+Then Yula forbore his wailing howl, and set himself to the tough task of
+biting through the leathern thong which secured him. Fortunately for
+him, a dog-chain was unattainable in the hunters' camp.  Time and
+persistency were safe to set him free before the daylight.
+
+"I thought you were going to stifle me outright," said Wilfred, when
+Maxica released him.
+
+"I kept you still," returned the Cree.  "There were ears behind every
+log."
+
+"Where are we going?" asked Wilfred.
+
+But Maxica had no answer to that question.  He was stealing over the
+snow with no more definite purpose before him than to take the boy away
+somewhere beyond the hunters' reach.  A long night walk was nothing to
+him.  He could find his way as well in the dark as in the light.
+
+They were miles from the hunters' camp before he set Wilfred on his feet
+or paused to rest.
+
+"You have saved me, Maxica," said Wilfred, in a low, deep voice.  "You
+have saved my life from a greater danger than the snowdrift.  I can only
+pray the Good Spirit to reward you."
+
+"I was hunger-bitten, and you gave me beaver-skin," returned Maxica.
+"Now think; whilst this bad hunter keeps the gate of your house there is
+no going back for you, and you have neither trap nor bow.  I'll guide
+you where the hunter will never follow--across the river to the pathless
+forest; and then--" he looked inquiringly, turning his dim eyes towards
+the boy.
+
+"Oh, if I were but back in Hungry Hall!" Wilfred broke forth.
+
+Maxica was leading on to where a poplar thicket concealed the entrance
+to a sheltered hollow scooped on the margin of a frozen stream.  The
+snow had fallen from its shelving sides, and lay in white masses,
+blocking the entrance from the river.  Giving Wilfred his hand, Maxica
+began to descend the slippery steep. It was one of nature's
+hiding-places, which Maxica had frequently visited.  He scooped out his
+circle in the frozen snow at the bottom, fetched down the dead wood from
+the overhanging trees, and built his fire, as on the first night of
+their acquaintance.  But now the icy walls around them reflected the
+dancing flames in a thousand varied hues.  Between the black rocks, from
+which the raging winds had swept the recent snow, a cascade turned to
+ice hung like a drapery of crystal lace suspended in mid-air.
+
+It was the second night they had passed together, with no curtain but
+the star-lit sky.  Now Maxica threw the corner of his blanket over
+Wilfred's shoulders, and drew him as closely to his side as if he were
+his son.  The Cree lit his pipe, and abandoned himself to an hour or two
+of pure Indian enjoyment.
+
+Wilfred nestled by his side, thinking of Jacob on his stony pillow.  The
+rainbow flashes from the frozen fall gleamed before him like stairs of
+light, by which God's messengers could come and go.  It is at such
+moments, when we lie powerless in the grasp of a crushing danger, and
+sudden help appears in undreamed-of ways, that we know a mightier power
+than man's is caring for us.
+
+He thought of his father and mother--the love he had missed and mourned;
+and love was springing up for him again in stranger hearts, born of the
+pity for his great trouble.
+
+There was a patter on the snow.  It was not the step of a man.  With a
+soft and stealthy movement Maxica grasped his bow, and was drawing the
+arrow from his quiver, when Yula bounded into Wilfred's arms.  There was
+a piteous whine from the midst of the poplars, where Kusky stood
+shivering, afraid to follow.  To scramble up by the light of the fire
+and bring him down was the work of a moment.
+
+Yula's collar was still round his neck, with the torn thong dangling
+from it; but Kusky had slipped his head out of his, only leaving a
+little of his abundant hair behind him.
+
+Three hours' rest sufficed for Maxica.  He rose and shook himself.
+
+"That other place," he said, "where's that?"
+
+Now his dogs were with him, Wilfred was loath to leave their icy retreat
+and face the cruel world.
+
+The fireshine and the ice, with all their mysterious beauty, held him
+spell-bound.
+
+"Maxica," he whispered, not understanding the Cree's last question,
+"they call this the new world; but don't you think it really is the very
+old, old world, just as God made it?  No one has touched it in all these
+ages."
+
+Yes, it was a favourite nook of Maxica's, beautiful, he thought, as the
+happy hunting-grounds beyond the sunset--the Indian's heaven.  Could he
+exchange the free range of his native wilds, with all their majestic
+beauty, for a settler's hut? the trap and the bow for the plough and the
+spade, and tie himself down to one small corner?  The earth was free to
+all. Wilfred had but to take his share, and roam its plains and forests,
+as the red man roamed.
+
+But Wilfred knew better than to think he could really live their savage
+life, with its dark alternations of hunger and cold.
+
+"Could I get back to Hungry Hall in time to travel with Mr. De Brunier?"
+he asked his swarthy friend.
+
+"Yes; that other place," repeated Maxica, "where is that?"
+
+Wilfred could hardly tell him, he remembered so little of the road.
+
+"Which way did the wind blow and the snow drift past as you stood at the
+friendly gates?" asked Maxica.  "On which cheek did the wind cut keenest
+when you rode into the hunters' camp at nightfall?"
+
+Wilfred tried to recollect.
+
+"A two days' journey," reflected Maxica, "with the storm-wind in our
+faces."
+
+He felt the edge of his hatchet, climbed the steep ascent, and struck a
+gash in the stem of the nearest poplar.  His quick sense of touch told
+him at which edge of the cut the bark grew thickest.  That was the
+north.  He found it with the unerring precision of the mariner's
+compass.  Although he had no names for the cardinal points, he knew them
+all.
+
+There was an hour or two yet before daylight. Wilfred found himself a
+stick, as they passed between the poplars, to help himself along, and
+caught up Kusky under his other arm; for the poor little fellow was
+stiff in every limb, and his feet were pricked and bleeding, from the
+icicles which he had suffered to gather between his toes, not yet
+knowing any better. But he was too big a dog for Wilfred to carry long.
+Wilfred carefully broke out the crimsoned spikes as soon as there was
+light enough to show him what was the matter, and Yula came and washed
+Kusky's feet more than once; so they helped him on.
+
+Before the gray of the winter's dawn La Mission was miles behind them,
+and breakfast a growing necessity.
+
+Maxica had struck out a new route for himself. He would not follow the
+track Batiste and his companions had taken.  The black pegs might yet
+pursue the white and trample it down in the snow if they were not wary.
+Sooner or later an Indian accomplishes his purpose.  He attributed the
+same fierce determination to Bowkett.  Wilfred lagged more and more.
+Food must be had.  Maxica left him to contrive a trap in the run of the
+game through the bushes to their right.  So Wilfred took the dogs slowly
+on.  Sitting down in the snow, without first clearing a hole or lighting
+a fire, was dangerous.
+
+Yula, sharing in the general desire for breakfast, started off on a
+little hunting expedition of his own. Kusky was limping painfully after
+him, as he darted between the tall, dark pines which began to chequer
+the landscape and warn the travellers they were nearing the river.
+
+Wilfred went after his dog to recall him.  The sun was glinting through
+the trees, and the all-pervading stillness was broken by the sound of a
+hatchet.  Had Maxica crossed over unawares?  Had Wilfred turned back
+without knowing it?  He drew to the spot. There was Diom� chopping
+firewood, which Pe-na-Koam was dragging across the snow towards a
+roughly-built log-hut.
+
+She dropped the boughs on the snow, and drawing her blanket round her,
+came to meet him.
+
+Diom�, not perceiving Wilfred's approach, had retreated further among
+the trees, intent upon his occupation.
+
+Wilfred's first sensation of joy at the sight of Pe-na-Koam turned to
+something like fear as he saw her companion, for he had known him only
+as Bowkett's man.  But retreat was impossible.  The old squaw had
+shuffled up to him and grasped his arm.  The sight of Yula bounding over
+the snow had made her the first to perceive him.  She was pouring forth
+her delight in her Indian tongue, and explaining her appearance in such
+altered surroundings.  Wilfred could not understand a word, but Maxica
+was not far behind.  Kusky and Yula were already in the hut, barking for
+the wa-wa (the goose) that was roasting before the fire.
+
+When Maxica came up, walking beside Diom�, Wilfred knew escape was out
+of the question.  He must try to make a friend--at least he must meet
+him as a friend, even if he proved himself to be an enemy.  But the work
+was done already.
+
+"Ah, it is you!" cried Diom�.  "I was sure it was. You had dropped a
+button in the tumble-down hut, and the print of your boot, an English
+boot, was all over the snow when I got there.  You look dazed, my little
+man; don't you understand what I'm talking about?  That old squaw is my
+grandmother.  You don't know, of course, who it was sent the Blackfoot
+Sapoo to dig her out of the snow; but I happen to know.  The old man is
+going from Hungry Hall, and Louison is to be promoted.  I'm on the
+look-out to take his place with the new-comer; so when I met with him, a
+snow-bird whispered in my ear a thing or two.  But where are your
+guides?"
+
+Wilfred turned for a word with Maxica before he dared reply.
+
+Both felt the only thing before them was to win Diom� to Wilfred's side.
+
+"Have you parted company with Bowkett?" asked Maxica cautiously.
+
+"Bowkett," answered Diom�, "is going to marry and turn farmer, and I to
+try my luck as voyageur to the Company.  This is the hunters' idle
+month, and I am waiting here until my services are wanted at the
+fort.--What cheer?" he shouted to his bright-eyed little wife, driving
+the dogs from the door of the hut.
+
+The wa-wa shortly disappeared before Maxica's knife, for an Indian likes
+about ten pounds of meat for a single meal.  Wilfred was asleep beside
+the fire long before it was over; when they tried to rouse him his
+senses were roaming.  The excitement and exertion, following the blow on
+his head, had taken effect at last.
+
+Pe-na-Koam, with all an Indian woman's skill in the use of medicinal
+herbs, and the experience of a long life spent among her warrior tribe,
+knew well how to take care of him.
+
+"Leave him to me," she said to Maxica, "and go your ways."
+
+Diom� too was anxious for the Cree to depart. He was looking forward to
+taking Wilfred back to Acland's Hut himself.  Caleb Acland's gratitude
+would express itself in a tangible form, and he did not intend to divide
+it with Maxica.  His evident desire to get rid of the Cree put the red
+man on his guard.  Long did he sit beside the hunter's fire in brooding
+silence, trusting that Wilfred might rise up from his lengthened sleep
+ready to travel, as an Indian might have done.  But his hope was
+abortive.  He drew out of Pe-na-Koam all he wanted to know.  Diom� had
+been long in Bowkett's employ.  When the Cree heard this he shut his
+lips.
+
+"Watch over the boy," he said to Pe-na-Koam, "for danger threatens him."
+
+Then Maxica went out and set his traps in the fir-brake and the marsh,
+keeping stealthy watch round the hut for fear Bowkett should appear, and
+often looking in to note Wilfred's progress.
+
+One day the casual mention of Bowkett's name threw the poor boy into
+such a state of agitation, Diom� suspected there had been some passage
+between the two he was ignorant of.  A question now and then, before
+Wilfred was himself again, convinced him the boy had been to La Mission,
+and that Bowkett had refused to recognize him.  When he spoke of it to
+Pe-na-Koam, she thought of the danger at which Maxica had hinted.  She
+watched for the Cree. Diom� began to fear Wilfred's reappearance might
+involve him in a quarrel with Bowkett.
+
+As Wilfred got better, and found Hungry Hall was shut up, he resolved to
+go back to Acland's Hut, if possible, whilst his Aunt Miriam and Bowkett
+were safe out of the way on their road to the church where they were to
+be married.  Diom� said they would be gone two days.  He proposed to
+take Wilfred with him, when he went to the wedding, on the return of the
+bride and bridegroom.
+
+"Lend me your snow-shoes," entreated Wilfred, "and with Maxica for a
+guide, I can manage the journey alone.  Don't go with me, Diom�, for
+Bowkett will never forgive the man who takes me back.  You have been
+good and kind to me, why should I bring you into trouble?"
+
+
+
+
+                            *CHAPTER XIII.*
+
+                           _*JUST IN TIME.*_
+
+
+The walk from Diom�'s log hut to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one, but
+the clear, bright sunshine of December had succeeded the pitiless sleet
+and blinding snow.  Lake and river had hardened in the icy breath of the
+north wind.  An iron frost held universal sway, as Wilfred and Maxica
+drew near to Acland's Hut.
+
+[Illustration: The walk to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one.]
+
+The tinkle of a distant sledge-bell arrested Maxica. Had some miscount
+in the day brought them face to face with the bridal party?
+
+They turned away from the well-known gate, crept behind the farm
+buildings, and crossed the reedy pool to Forgill's hut.
+
+With the frozen snow full three feet deep beneath their feet there was
+roadway everywhere.  Railings scarcely showed above it, and walls could
+be easily cleared with one long step.  The door of the hut was fastened,
+but Wilfred waited behind it while Maxica stole round to reconnoitre.
+
+He returned quickly.  It was not the bridal party, for there was not a
+single squaw among them.  They were travellers in a horse-sledge,
+stopping at the farm to rest.  He urged Wilfred to seize the chance and
+enter with them.  The presence of the strangers would be a protection.
+They took their way through the orchard trees, and came out boldly on
+the well-worn tracks before the gate.  It excited no surprise in the
+occupants of the sledge to see two dusky figures in their long, pointed
+snow-shoes gliding swiftly after them; travellers like themselves, no
+doubt, hoping to find hospitality at the farm.
+
+Yula and Kusky went bounding over the intervening space.
+
+There were two travellers and a sledge-driver. The dogs considered them,
+and did not bark.  Then Kusky, in frantic delight, endeavoured to leap
+into the sledge.  It drew up.  The driver thundered on the gate.
+
+"What cheer?" shouted a voice from the sledge.
+
+It was the usual traveller's inquiry, but it thrilled through Wilfred's
+ears, for it was--it could not be--yet it was the voice of Mr. De
+Brunier.
+
+Kusky was already on Gasp�'s knee devouring him with his doggie
+caresses.
+
+"Is it a dream, or is it real?" asked Wilfred, as with one long slide he
+overtook the sledge, and grasped a hand of each.
+
+"I didn't know you, coming after us in your seven-league boots," laughed
+Gasp�, pointing to the long, oval frame of Wilfred's snow-shoes,
+reaching a foot or more before and behind his boot.
+
+But Wilfred did not answer, he was whispering rapidly to Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"Wilfred, _mon ami_," (my friend), pursued Gasp�, bent upon interrupting
+the low-voiced confidence, "it was for your sake grandfather decided to
+make his first inquiries for a farm in this neighbourhood. Batiste was
+so ambiguous and so loath to speak of your journey when he came after
+Louison's post, we grew uneasy about you.  All the more glad to find you
+safe at home."
+
+"At home, but not in home," answered Wilfred, significantly laying his
+finger on his lips, to prevent any exclamation from his bewildered
+friend.
+
+"All right," said Mr. De Brunier.  "We will enter together."
+
+P�te, who was already opening the gate, bade them heartily welcome.
+Hospitality in the lone North-West becomes a duty.
+
+Wilfred dropped behind the sledge, slouched his fur cap well over his
+eyes, and let Maxica fold his blanket round him, Indian fashion.
+
+P�te led the way into the kitchen, Wilfred followed behind the
+sledge-driver, and the Cree was the last to enter.  A long row of joints
+were roasting before the ample fire, giving undoubted indications of an
+approaching feast.
+
+"Just in time," observed Mr. De Brunier with a smile, which gained a
+peculiar significance as it rested on Wilfred.
+
+"Ay, and that you are," returned old P�te; "for the missis is gone to be
+married, and I was on the look-out for her return when I heard the
+jingling of your sledge-bells.  The house will be full enough by
+nightfall, I reckon."
+
+Wilfred undid the strap of his snow-shoes, gave them to Maxica, and
+walked softly to the door of his uncle's room.
+
+He opened it with a noiseless hand, and closed it behind him.
+
+Mr. De Brunier's retort about the welcome which awaited uninvited guests
+on a bridal night kept P�te from noticing his movements.
+
+The logs crackled and the sparks flew on the kitchen hearth.  The fat
+from the savoury roast fell hissing in the pan, and the hungry
+travellers around it seemed to have eyes for nothing else.
+
+Wilfred crept to his uncle's bed.  He was asleep. The boy glanced round.
+He threw off his wraps. His first care was to find his uncle's comb and
+brush. It was a luxury unknown since his departure from Hungry Hall.  He
+was giving a good tug at his tangled locks, hoping to make himself look
+a little more like the schoolboy who had once before roused the old man
+from his sleep, when a cough and an exclamation sounding like, "Who is
+there?" told him his uncle was awake.
+
+"O uncle, you surely have not forgotten me--me, your nephew, Wilfred!
+Got home at last.  The pony threw me, and I was utterly lost.  An Indian
+guided me here," he answered, tumbling his words one upon another as
+fast as he could, for his heart was beating wildly.
+
+Caleb Acland raised himself on one elbow and grasped Wilfred by the
+wrist.  "It is he!  It is flesh and blood!" he ejaculated.  "The boy
+himself P�te!  P�te!"  He felt for the stick left leaning against his
+bed, and stamped it on the floor.
+
+A great sob burst unawares from the poor boy's lips.
+
+"Don't!" said the old man in alarm.  "What are you crying for, lad?
+What's happened?  I don't understand.  Give me your hand!  That's cold
+enough--death cold.  P�te!  P�te! what are ye about? Have you grown deaf
+that you can't hear me?"
+
+He pulled Wilfred's cold fingers under the blankets and tried to chafe
+them between his swollen hands.
+
+"I'm not crying," protested Wilfred, brushing his other hand across his
+eyes.  "It is the ice melting out of me.  I'm thawing all over.  It is
+because I have got back uncle, and you are glad to have me. I should
+have been dead but for the Cree who brought me home.  I was almost
+starving at times. I have wandered in the snow all night."
+
+"God bless the boy!" ejaculated the old man, thundering on the floor
+once more.
+
+"Here, P�te!  P�te!  Something quick to eat."
+
+P�te's head appeared at the door at last.
+
+"Whatever do you want now, master?" he demanded in an injured tone.  "I
+thought I had put everything ready for you, as handy as could be; and
+you said you wouldn't call me off, with the bride expected every minute,
+and the supper to cook, as you know."
+
+"Cook away then," returned his master impatiently. "It is the hour for
+the fatted calf.  Oh, you've no eyes, none!  Whom have I got here?  Who
+is this?"
+
+P�te backed to the door in wide-eyed wonder. "I'm struck of a heap!" he
+gasped, staring at Wilfred as if he thought he would melt away into
+vacancy.
+
+"Where were you that you did not see him come in?" asked his master
+sharply.
+
+"Where?" repeated P�te indignantly.  "At your own gate, answering a
+party of travellers--men who've come down to buy land; and," he added,
+changing his tone, "there is a gentleman among them says he must speak
+to you, master, your own self particular, this very night."
+
+"It is Mr. De Brunier, uncle.  He took me in, and sent me to the
+hunters' camp, where Mr. Bowkett was to be found," interposed Wilfred.
+
+This name was spoken with an effort.  Like many a noble-minded boy,
+Wilfred hated to tell of another. He hesitated, then went on abruptly:
+"I thought he would be sure to bring me home.  Well, I got there. He did
+not seem to know me.  He was all for fiddling and dancing.  They were a
+rough set, uncle, a very rough set.  Father would not have liked to have
+seen me with such men.  I got away again as quickly as I could.  The
+Cree who had saved me before guided me home at last."
+
+"What is that?  Did you say Bowkett, Hugh Bowkett?" repeated the old
+man.  "Why, your aunt was married to him this morning."
+
+When P�te disappeared into his master's room, Maxica, who had seated
+himself on the kitchen floor, rose suddenly, and leaning over Mr. De
+Brunier, asked, "Who in this place is friend to the boy without a
+father?"
+
+"I can answer your question for myself, but no further, for I am a
+stranger here," replied Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"We are four," said Maxica, counting on his fingers. "I hear the voice
+of the man at the gate--the man who spoke against the white boy with a
+forked tongue; the man who drove him out into the frosty night, that it
+might kill him.  We have brought the marten to the trap.  If it closes
+on him, Maxica stays to break it."
+
+"Come outside, where we can talk freely," answered Mr. De Brunier,
+leading the way.
+
+Gasp� and the sledge-driver were left to the enjoyment of the roaring
+fire.  They were considering the state of Kusky's feet.  Gasp� was
+removing the icicles from his toes, and the man of the sledge was warmly
+recommending boots, and describing the way to make them, when the shouts
+at the gate told them the bridal party had arrived.  The stupid P�te, as
+they began to think, had vanished, for no one answered the summons.
+Gasp� guessed the reason, and sent the man to open the gate.  He
+silenced the dogs, and drew back into the corner, with instinctive good
+breeding, to make himself as little in the way as possible.
+
+The great farm-house kitchen was entrance-hall as well.  Every door
+opened into it.  On one hand was the dining-room, reserved chiefly for
+state occasions; on the other, the storeroom.  The family sleeping rooms
+were at the back.  Like a provident housewife, Aunt Miriam had set the
+tables for her marriage feast, and filled the storeroom with good
+things, before she went to church.  P�te, with a Frenchman's genius for
+the spit, could manage the rest.
+
+The arrival of one or two other guests at the same moment detained the
+bridal party with their noisy greetings.
+
+When Aunt Miriam entered the kitchen, leaning on her bridegroom's arm,
+Gasp� was almost asleep in his dim corner.
+
+Out ran P�te, effervescing with congratulations, and crossing the
+heartiness of the bridal welcome with the startling exclamation, "The
+boy, Mrs. Bowkett!--the boy's come home!"
+
+The bridegroom looked sharply round.  "The boy," he repeated, seeing
+Gasp� by the fire.  "There he is."
+
+Up sprang Gasp�, bowing to the bride with all the courtly grace of the
+chivalrous De Bruniers of Breton days.
+
+Aunt Miriam turned her head away.  "O P�te!" she groaned, "I thought--I
+thought you meant--"
+
+Bowkett did not let her finish her sentence, he hurried her into the
+dining-room.  Behind him came his bright-eyed sister, who had played the
+part of bridesmaid, and was eager for the dancing and the fun, so soon
+to commence.  At her side walked Forgill in his Sunday best, all
+important with the responsibility of his position, acting as proxy for
+his old master.  He had given the bride away, and was at that moment
+cogitating over some half-dozen sentences destined for the after-dinner
+speech which he knew would be required of him.  They were restive, and
+would not follow each other.  "Happy day" and "Best wishes" wanted
+setting up on stilts, with a few long words to back them, for such an
+occasion.  He knew the Indian love of speechifying would be too strong
+in their hunter guests to let him off.  He had got as far as,
+"Uncommonly happy day for us all."  But "uncommonly" sounded far too
+common in his critical ears.  He was searching for a finer-sounding
+word, and thought he had got it in "preternaturally," when he heard the
+feeble voice of his master calling out, "Miriam!  Here, Miriam."
+
+"Are they all deaf?" said Caleb Acland to Wilfred. "Open the door, my
+lad, and show yourself to your aunt."
+
+Slowly and reluctantly Wilfred obeyed him.  He held it open just a
+hand-breadth, and met the scowling brow of the owner of the forked
+tongue.
+
+There was mutual recognition in the glance exchanged.
+
+Wilfred shut the door softly, and drew the bolt without attracting his
+uncle's attention.
+
+"The place is full of strangers," he said; "I shall see auntie soon.
+I'd rather wait here with you.  I shall be sure to see her before she
+goes to her new home."
+
+"As you like, my boy;--that P�te's a cow.  There is no going away to a
+new home.  It is bringing in a new master here before the old one is
+gone, so that your aunt should not be left unprotected a single day."
+
+As Caleb Acland spoke, Wilfred felt himself growing hard and desperate
+in the cold clutch of a giant despair.  The star of hope dropped from
+his sky. He saw himself in the hand of the man who had turned him from
+his door into the killing frost.
+
+It was too late to speak out; Bowkett would be sure to deny it, and hate
+him the more.  No, not a word to Uncle Caleb until he had taken counsel
+with Mr. De Brunier.  But in his hasty glance into the outer world Mr.
+De Brunier was nowhere to be seen.
+
+Wilfred was sure he would not go away without seeing him again.  There
+was nothing for it but to gain a little time, wait with his uncle until
+the wedding guests were shut in the dining-room, and then go out and
+find Mr. De Brunier, unless Aunt Miriam had invited him to sit down with
+them.  Yes, she was sure to do that, and Gasp� would be with his
+grandfather.  But Maxica was there.  He had saved him twice.  He knew
+what Maxica would say: "To the free wild forest, and learn the use of
+the trap and the bow with me."
+
+Wilfred was sorely tempted to run away.  The recollection of Mr. De
+Brunier's old-world stories restrained him.  He thought of the Breton
+emigrants. "What did they do in their despair?  What all men can do,
+their duty."  He kept on saying these words over and over, asking
+himself, "What is my duty? Have I no duty to the helpless old man who
+has welcomed me so kindly?  How will Bowkett behave to him?"  Wilfred
+felt much stronger to battle through with the hunter on his uncle's
+behalf, than when he thought only of himself.  "The brave and loyal die
+at their posts.  Gasp� would, rather than run away--rather than do
+anything that looked like running away."
+
+"What is the matter with you, Wilfred?" asked his uncle anxiously.
+"What makes you stand like that, my boy?"
+
+"I am so tired," answered Wilfred, "I have walked all day to-day, and
+all day yesterday.  If I take the cushion out of your chair for a
+pillow, I might lie down before the stove, uncle."
+
+"That P�te is an ass not to bring something to eat, as if he could not
+make those fellows in the dining-room wait half-a-minute.  But stop,
+there is some broth keeping hot on the stove.  Take that, and come and
+lie down on the bed by me; then I can see you and feel you, and know I
+have got you again," answered Uncle Caleb, as if he had some
+presentiment of what was passing in Wilfred's mind.
+
+Glad enough to obey, Wilfred drank the broth eagerly, and came to the
+bed.  The old man took him by both hands and gazed in his face,
+murmuring, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace."
+
+The peace that Uncle Caleb rejoiced in was his own alone; all around him
+strife was brewing.  But his peace was of that kind which circumstances
+cannot give or take away.
+
+"Kneel down beside me just one minute, my boy," he went on.  "We must
+not be like the nine lepers, who forgot the thanks when the good had
+come. They wouldn't even with the tailors, for in the whole nine put
+together there was not one bit of a true man, or they could not have
+done it."
+
+Wilfred fell on his knees and repeated softly the Christ-taught prayer
+of the ages, "Our Father who art in heaven."  He remembered how he had
+been fed from the wild bird's _cache_, and saved by the wild man's pity,
+and his heart was swelling.  But when he came to "Forgive us our
+trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us," he stopped
+abruptly.
+
+"Go on," whispered the old man softly.
+
+"I can't," muttered Wilfred.  "It isn't in my heart; I daren't go on.
+It is speaking with a forked tongue: words one way, thoughts another;
+telling lies to God."
+
+Caleb Acland looked at him as if he were slowly grasping the position.
+
+"Is it Bowkett that you can't forgive?" he asked gently.  "Did you think
+he need not have lost you? Did you think he would not know you, my poor
+boy?"
+
+"Have I got to live with him always?" returned Wilfred.
+
+"No, not if you don't like him.  I'll send you back to school," answered
+his uncle in a tone of decision.
+
+"Do you mean it, uncle?  Do you really say that I shall go back to
+school?" exclaimed the boy, his heavy heart's lead beginning to melt, as
+the way of escape opened so unexpectedly before him.
+
+"It is a promise," repeated the old man soothingly. It was obvious now
+there was something wrong, which the boy refused to explain.
+
+"Patience a bit," he thought; "I can't distress him. It will leak out
+soon; but it is growing strange that nobody comes near us."
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XIV*
+
+                          _*WEDDING GUESTS.*_
+
+
+More guests were arriving--Diom�, Batiste, Mathurin, and a dozen others.
+Bowkett came out into the porch to receive them, and usher one after the
+other into the dining-room.  As the last went in before him, his friend
+Dick Vanner of the forked tongue tapped him on the shoulder.
+
+"Who is in there?" he whispered.  "Did you see?" pointing as he spoke to
+the door of Uncle Caleb's room.
+
+Gasp� was on the alert in a moment, longing to break a lance in his
+friend's behalf.  The men dropped their voices, but the echo of one
+sentence reached him.  It sounded like, "No, she only saw the other
+boy."
+
+"So, Wilfred, _mon cher_, you and I have changed places, and I have
+become that 'other boy,'" laughed Gasp� to himself, lying perdu with an
+open ear.
+
+As the two separated they muttered, "Outwit us? Like to see it done!"
+
+"Keep that door shut, and leave the rest to me," added Vanner,
+sauntering up to the fire.--"Accommodation is scanty here to-night.  How
+many are there in your party?" he asked, looking down on Gasp�. "P�te
+said four--three men and a boy.  Was not it five--three men and two
+boys?"
+
+"Yes, five," answered Gasp�.
+
+"You boys must want something to eat," remarked Vanner, carelessly
+pushing open the door of the storeroom, and returning with a partridge
+pie.  "Here, fall to.  Where's your chum?"
+
+Gasp� saw the trap into which he was expected to walk.  He stepped over
+it.
+
+"Have not you been taught to look out for number one?" asked Gasp�.
+"I'll have a turn at that pie by myself, now I have got the chance,
+before I call on a chum to help me.  I can tell you that."
+
+"Confound you, you greedy young beggar!" exclaimed Vanner.
+
+"Try thirty miles in an open sled, with twenty-five degrees of frost on
+the ground, and see if you would be willing to divide your pie at the
+end of it," retorted Gasp�.
+
+"That is a cool way of asking for one apiece," remarked Vanner,
+abstracting a second pie from the storeroom shelves.
+
+"If you've another to spare I'd like two for myself," persisted Gasp�.
+
+"Then have it," said Vanner.  "I am bound to give you a satisfaction.
+We do not reckon on a wedding feast every night.  Now, where is the
+other boy?  You can't object to call him.  Here is a sausage as long as
+your arm.  Walk into that."
+
+"You will not get me to move with this dish before me," returned the
+undaunted Gasp�, and Vanner felt it waste of time to urge him further.
+He went back to his friends.
+
+Gasp� was at Caleb Acland's door in a moment, singing through the
+keyhole,--
+
+    "St. George he is for England, St. Denis is for France.
+    _Honi soit qui mal y pense._"
+
+
+Wilfred rose to open the door as he recognized his friend's voice.
+
+"Keep where you are.  Don't come out for anybody," urged Gasp�,
+retreating as he heard a noise: but it was only his grandfather
+re-entering the porch.
+
+He flew to his side.  "What's up?" he asked breathlessly.
+
+"A goodly crop of suspicions, if all the Cree tells me is true.  Your
+poor friend is fitted with an uncle in this Bowkett after their old
+ballad type of the Babes in the Wood."
+
+"Now listen to me, grandfather, and I can tell you a little bit more,"
+answered Gasp�, giving his narrative with infinite delight at the
+success of his manoeuvring.
+
+The moon shone clear and bright.  The tree in the centre of the court,
+laden with hoar-frost, glittered in its crystal white like some bridal
+bouquet of gigantic size.  The house was ablaze with light from every
+window.  The hunters had turned their horses adrift.  They were
+galloping at will among the orchard trees to keep themselves warm.
+Maxica was wandering in their midst, counting their numbers to ascertain
+the size of the party.  Mr. De Brunier crossed over to him, to discuss
+Gasp�'s intelligence, and sent his grandson back indoors, where the
+sledge-driver was ready to assist him in the demolition of the pies
+which had so signally failed to lure Wilfred from his retreat.
+
+Mr. De Brunier followed his grandson quickly, and walking straight to
+Uncle Caleb's door, knocked for admittance.
+
+The cowkeeper, the only individual at Acland's Hut who did not know
+Wilfred personally, was sent by Bowkett to keep up the kitchen fire.
+
+The man stared.  "The master has got his door fastened," he said; "I
+can't make it out."
+
+"Is Mr. Acland ready to see me?" asked Mr. De Brunier, repeating his
+summons.
+
+"Yes," answered Uncle Caleb; "come in."
+
+Wilfred opened the door.
+
+Uncle Caleb raised himself on his elbow, and catching sight of the
+dishes on the kitchen-table, said, "It seems to me the old man's orders
+are to go for little. But whilst the life is in me I am master in this
+place. Be so good, sir, as to tell that fellow of mine to bring that pie
+in here, and give this child something to eat."
+
+"With pleasure," returned his visitor.
+
+Wilfred's supper provided for, the two looked well at each other.
+
+"What sort are you?" was the question in both minds.  They trusted, as
+we all do more or less, to the expression.  A good honest character
+writes itself on the face.  They shook hands.
+
+"I have to thank you for bringing back my boy," said Uncle Caleb.
+
+"Not me," returned Mr. De Brunier, briefly recapitulating the
+circumstances which led to Wilfred's sojourn at Hungry Hall, and why he
+sent him to the hunters' camp.  "Since then," he added, "your nephew has
+been wandering among the Indians.  It was a Cree who guided him
+home--the same Cree who warned him not to trust himself with Bowkett."
+
+"Come here, Wilfred, and tell me exactly what this Indian said,"
+interposed Caleb Acland, a grave look gathering on his wrinkled brow.
+
+"Not one word, uncle.  Maxica did not speak," answered Wilfred.  "He
+brought me three queer bits of wood from the hearth and stuck them in
+the floor before me, so, and so," continued the boy, trying to explain
+the way in which the warning had been given to him.
+
+Uncle Caleb was getting so much exhausted with the excitement of
+Wilfred's return, and the effort of talking to a stranger, he did not
+quite understand all Wilfred was saying.
+
+"We can't condemn a fellow on evidence like that," moaned the old man,
+"and one so near to me as Bowkett.  What does it mean for Miriam?"
+
+"Will you see this Cree and hear for yourself?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+"We are neither judge nor jury.  We are not here to acquit or condemn,
+but a warning like this is not to be despised.  I came to put you on
+your guard."
+
+The feeble hand grasped his, "I am about spent," groaned Caleb.  "It is
+my breath.  Let me rest a bit. I'll think this over.  Come again."
+
+The gasping words came with such painful effort, Mr. De Brunier could
+only lay him back amongst his pillows and promise to return in the
+morning, or earlier if it were wished.  He was at the door, when Caleb
+Acland signed to him to return.
+
+"Not a word to my sister yet.  The boy is safe here.  Tell him he is not
+to go out of this room."
+
+Mr. De Brunier shook the feeble hand once more, and gave the required
+promise.  There was one more word.  "What was that about buying land?  I
+might help you there; a little business between us, you understand."
+
+"Yes, yes," answered Mr. De Brunier, feeling as if such another effort
+might shake the labouring breath out of the enfeebled frame in a moment.
+
+"Keep in here.  Keep quiet; and remember, whatever happens, I shall be
+near," was Mr. De Brunier's parting charge to Wilfred as he went back
+into the kitchen, intending to watch there through the night, if no one
+objected to his presence.
+
+The old man started as the door closed after him. "Don't fasten it,
+lad!" he exclaimed.  "It looks too much like being afraid of them."
+
+Mr. De Brunier joined Gasp� and the sledge-driver at their supper.
+Gasp� watched him attentively as they ate on in silence.
+
+Bowkett came out and spoke to them.  "I am sorry," he said, "to seem
+inhospitable, but the house is so full to-night I really cannot offer
+you any further accommodation.  But the men have a sleeping hut round
+the corner, under the pines, where you can pass the night.  I'll send
+one of them with you to show you the way and light a fire."
+
+No exception could be taken to this.  The three finished their supper
+and were soon ready to depart.
+
+"I must see Mr. Acland again about the land business," remarked Mr. De
+Brunier, recalling Uncle Caleb's hint.
+
+Bowkett summoned his man, and Diom� came out with him.  He strolled
+through the porch and looked about him, as if he were considering the
+weather.
+
+Maxica was still prowling behind the orchard trees, like a hungry coyote
+watching for the remnants of the feast, as it seemed.  The two met.
+
+"There will be mischief before these fellows part," said Diom�.  "Keep a
+sharp look-out for the boy."
+
+Diom� went on to catch Dick Vanner's pony. Maxica stole up to the house.
+The travellers were just coming out.  He gave Yula a call.  Gasp� was
+the only one who perceived him, as Yula bounded between them.
+
+It was hard for Gasp� to go away and leave his friend without another
+word.  He had half a mind to take Kusky with him.  He lingered
+irresolute a moment or two behind his grandfather.  Bowkett had opened
+the door of Caleb Acland's room, and he saw Kusky creeping in between
+Bowkett's legs.
+
+"How is this?" the latter was saying in a noisy voice.  "Wilfred got
+home, and won't show his face!--won't come out amongst us to have his
+dinner and speak to his aunt!  What is the meaning of it? What makes him
+afraid of being seen?"
+
+There was not a word from Wilfred.  It was the feeble voice of his Uncle
+Caleb that was speaking:--
+
+"Yes, it is Wilfred come back.  I've got him here beside me all safe.
+He has been wandering about among the redskins, half dead and nearly
+starved. Don't disturb us.  I am getting him to sleep.  Tell Miriam she
+must come here and look at him.  You can all come and look at him;
+Forgill and your Diom� too. They all know my boy.  How has Miriam
+managed to keep away?"
+
+"As if we could spare the bride from the marriage feast," laughed
+Bowkett, raising his voice that every one might hear what they were
+saying.
+
+"Neither can I spare my boy out of my sight a single moment," said the
+old man quietly.
+
+"That's capital," laughed Gasp� to himself, as he ran after his
+grandfather.
+
+They did not encounter Maxica, but they passed Diom� trying to catch the
+horse, and gave him a little help by the way.
+
+"You are not going?" he asked anxiously.  "I thought you would be sure
+to stay the night.  You are a friend of Wilfred Acland's, are you not,
+Mr. De Brunier?  He was so disappointed when he found Hungry Hall was
+shut up.  I thought you would know him; so do I.  Mrs. Bowkett says the
+boy is not her nephew."
+
+"I rather think that has been said for her," remarked Mr. De Brunier
+quietly.
+
+"I see through it," exclaimed Gasp�; "I see what they are driving at.
+Her husband told her I was the boy.  She came and looked at me.  Bowkett
+knows well enough the real Wilfred is in his uncle's room, If they could
+get him out into the kitchen, they would make a great clamour and
+declare he is an impostor trying to take the old man in."
+
+"You've hit it," muttered Diom�.  "But they shan't give him lynch law.
+I'll not stand by and see that."
+
+"Come back, grandfather," cried Gasp�.  "Give me one of your English
+sovereigns with a little silver threepenny on either side to kiss it.
+I'll string them on my watch-chain for a lady's locket, walk in with it
+for a wedding present, and undeceive the bride before them all."
+
+"Not so fast, Gaspard.  We should only bring the crisis before we have
+raised our safeguards," rejoined Mr. De Brunier thoughtfully.  "I saw
+many a gun set down against the wall, as the hunters came in."
+
+"That is nothing," put in Diom�; "we are never without them."
+
+"That is everything," persisted Mr. De Brunier. "Men with arms
+habitually in their hands use them with small provocation, and things
+are done which would never be done by deliberate purpose."
+
+"I am not Dick Vanner's groom," said Diom�, "but he wants me to hold his
+horse in the shadow of those pines or under the orchard wall; and I'll
+hold it as long as he likes, and walk it about half the night in
+readiness for him, and then I shall know where he is bound for."
+
+"The American frontier, with Wilfred behind him, unless I am making a
+great mistake.  If Bowkett laid a finger on him here, half his guests
+would turn upon him," observed Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"That's about it," returned Diom�.  "Now I am going to shut up this
+horse in one of the sheds, ready for Vanner at a moment's notice, and
+then I'll try for a word with Forgill.  He is working so hard with the
+carving-knife there is no getting at him."
+
+"There is one of the Aclands' men lighting a fire in his hut, ready for
+us," put in Gasp�.
+
+Diom� shook his head.  "He!" he repeated in accents of contempt; "he
+would let it all out at the wrong time."
+
+"Is the Cree gone?"
+
+"Maxica is on the scent already,' replied Diom�, whistling carelessly as
+they parted.
+
+"Gaspard," said Mr. De Brunier, as they entered the hut, "do you
+remember passing a policeman on the road.  He was watching for a Yankee
+spirit cart, contraband of course.  He will have caught it by this time,
+and emptied the barrels, according to our new Canadian law.  Go back in
+the sledge--you will meet him returning--and bring him here.  If he
+rides into the farm-court before daybreak, your little friend is safe.
+As for me, I must keep watch here.  No one can leave the house without
+me seeing him, the night is so clear.  A dark figure against the white
+ground is visible at twice this distance; and Maxica is somewhere by the
+back of the homestead.  Neither sight nor sound will escape an Indian."
+
+Mr. De Brunier despatched the sledge-driver back to the farm with the
+man Bowkett had sent to light their fire, to try to procure a fresh
+horse.  This was easily managed.  Bowkett was delighted to think the
+travellers were about to resume their journey, and declared the better
+half of hospitality was to speed the parting guest.
+
+The sledge went round to Forgill's hut.  Gasp� wrapped himself in the
+bearskin and departed.  No one saw him go; no one knew that Mr. De
+Brunier was left behind.  He built up the fire and reconnoitred his
+ground.  In one corner of the hut was a good stout cudgel.
+
+"I must anticipate your owner's permission and adopt you," he said, as
+he gave it a flourish to try its weight.  Then he looked to the revolver
+in his breast pocket, and began his walk, so many paces in front of the
+hut, with his eye on the farm-house porch, and so many paces walking
+backwards, with it still in sight--a self-appointed sentry, ready to
+challenge the enemy single-handed, for he did not count much upon Diom�.
+He saw how loath he was to come into collision with Bowkett, and
+reckoned him more as a friend in the camp than as an active ally.  There
+was Maxica, ready like a faithful mastiff to fly at the throat of the
+first man who dared to lay a hand on Wilfred, regardless of
+consequences.  He did not know Maxica, but he knew the working of the
+Indian mind.  Revenge is the justice of the savage.  It was Maxica's
+retaliation that he feared.  Diom� had spoken of Forgill, but Mr. De
+Brunier knew nothing of him, so he left him out of count.  It was clear
+he must chiefly rely on his own coolness and courage.  "The moral force
+will tell in such an encounter as this, and that is all on my side," he
+said to himself.  "It will tell on the outsiders and the farm-servants.
+I shall find some to second me."  He heard the scrape of the fiddle and
+the merry chorus of some hunting-song, followed by the quick beat of the
+dancers' footsteps.
+
+Hour succeeded hour.  The fire in the hut burned low.  De Brunier left
+his post for a moment to throw on fresh logs.  He returned to his watch.
+The house-door opened.  Out came Diom� and crossed to the cattle-sheds.
+Mr. De Brunier saw him come back with Vanner's horse.  He changed his
+position, creeping in behind the orchard trees, until he was within a
+few yards of the house.  The three feet of snow beneath his feet gave
+him an elevation.  He was looking down into the court, where the snow
+had been partially cleared.
+
+Diom� was walking the horse up and down before the door.  It was not a
+night in which any one could stand still.  His impatient stamping to
+warm his feet brought out Vanner and Bowkett, with half-a-dozen others.
+The leave-taking was noisy and prolonged. Batiste's head appeared in the
+doorway.
+
+"I cannot count on his assistance," thought Mr. De Brunier, "but I can
+count on his neutrality; and Diom� must know that a word from me would
+bring about his dismissal from his new master."
+
+Vanner mounted and rode off along the slippery ground as only a hunter
+could ride.
+
+"Now for the first act," thought Mr. De Brunier. "May my Gaspard be
+speeding on his errand.  The hour draws near."
+
+As Bowkett and his friends turned back into the house, Diom� walked
+rapidly across the other end of the orchard and went towards Forgill's
+hut.  With cautious steps De Brunier followed.
+
+Diom� was standing moodily by the fire.  He started.
+
+"Well," demanded Mr. De Brunier, "how goes the night?"
+
+"For God's sake keep out of the way, sir.  They have made this hut the
+rendezvous, believing you had started hours ago," exclaimed Diom�
+brightening.
+
+"Did you think I had deserted the poor boy?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"I was thinking," answered Diom�, waiving the question, "Dick Vanner is
+a dangerous fellow to thwart when the bowie-knife is in his hand."
+
+"Well, you will see it done, and then you may find him not quite so
+dangerous as he seems," was the quiet reply.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XV.*
+
+                           _*TO THE RESCUE.*_
+
+
+Diom� had no more information to give.  "For the love of life, sir," he
+entreated, as the brief conference ended, "move off to the other side of
+the house, or you will be seen by Vanner as he returns. A hunter's eye,
+Mr. De Brunier, notices the least change in the shadows.  You mean to
+hide among the orchard trees, but you can't stand still.  You will be
+frozen to death, and a moving shadow will betray you."
+
+His cautionary counsels were wasted on a preoccupied mind.  De Brunier
+was examining the fastenings of the door.  There was a lock, but the key
+was with the owners of the hut.  There was also a bar which secured it
+on the inside.  Forgill's basket of tools stood by the chimney.
+
+"How much time have we?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"A good half-hour, sir," replied Diom�.
+
+"Time enough for me to transfer this staple to the outside of the
+doorpost?"
+
+Diom� hesitated before he answered this inquiry. "Well then?" he asked
+in turn.
+
+"Well then," repeated Mr. De Brunier, "this Vanner is to meet you here.
+Don't go out of the hut to take his horse; beckon him to come inside.
+Shut the door, as if for caution, and tell him you have seen me watching
+him from the orchard trees.  He will listen to that.  Two minutes will
+be enough for me to bar the door on the outside, and we shall have caged
+the wild hawk before he has had time to pounce upon his prey.  I must
+shut you in together; but play your part well, and leave the rest to
+me."
+
+"Shut me in with Dick Vanner in a rage!" exclaimed Diom�.  "He would
+smell treachery in a moment.  Not for me."
+
+It went hard with Diom� to turn against his old companions.  It was
+clear to Mr. De Brunier the man was afraid of a hand-to-hand encounter.
+With such half-hearted help the attempt was too hazardous. He changed
+his tactics.
+
+"I am not in their secrets," protested Diom�.  "I am only here to hold
+his horse.  They don't trust me."
+
+"And I," added Mr. De Brunier, "am intent upon preventing mischief.
+I'll walk round once more. Should you hear the house-door open, you will
+probably find I have gone in."
+
+Yes, Mr. De Brunier was beginning to regret leaving the house; and yet,
+if he had not done so, he could not have started Gasp� to intercept the
+policeman.  "Now," he thought, "the boy will be carried off before they
+can arrive."  His thoughts were turning to a probable pursuit.  He
+crossed to the back of the house to look for the Cree.  No one better
+than an Indian for work like that.
+
+The light from the windows of the farm-house was reflected from the
+shining ground, making it bright as day before them, and deepening the
+gloom of the shadows beyond.  A low, deep growl from Yula brought Mr. De
+Brunier to the opposite corner of the house, where he discovered Maxica
+lying on the ground, with his ear to the end of one of the largest logs
+with which the house was built.  They recognized each other instantly,
+but not a word was said.  They were at the angle of the building where
+the logs crossed each other.
+
+Suddenly Mr. De Brunier remembered the capacity in the uncut trunk of a
+tree for transmitting sound, and following Maxica's example he too laid
+his ear to the end of another log, and found himself, as it were, in a
+whispering gallery.  The faintest sound at the other end of the log was
+distinctly audible.  They tried each corner of the house.  The music and
+the dancing from dining-room to kitchen did not detain them long.  At
+the back they could hear the regular breathing of a healthy sleeper and
+the laboured, painful respiration of the broken-down old man.
+
+The log which crossed the one at which they were now listening ran at
+the end of the storeroom, and gave back no sound.  It was evident both
+Wilfred and his uncle had fallen asleep, and were therefore off their
+guard.
+
+To drive up the loose ponies and make them gallop round the house to
+waken them was a task Yula took off their hands and accomplished so well
+that Bowkett, listening in the midst of the whirling dancers, believed
+that Vanner had returned.
+
+Maxica was back at the angle of the logs, moving his ear from one to the
+other.  He raised a warning finger, and laid his ear a little closer to
+the storeroom side.  Mr. De Brunier leaned over him and pressed his own
+to the tier above.  Some one had entered the storeroom.
+
+"Anything here?" asked a low voice.
+
+"What's that behind the door?" whispered another in reply.
+
+"A woman's ironing board."
+
+"A woman's what?"
+
+"Never mind what it is if it will slide through the window," interposed
+a third impatiently, and they were gone.
+
+But the watchers without had heard enough to shape their plan.  Maxica
+was ear, Mr. De Brunier was eye, and so they waited for the first faint
+echo of the horse-hoofs in the distance or the tinkle of the
+sledge-bell.
+
+Within the house the merriment ran high.  Bridal healths were drank with
+three times three.  The stamp of the untiring dancers drowned the
+galloping of the ponies.
+
+Aunt Miriam paused a moment, leaning on her bridegroom's arm.  "I am
+dizzy with tiredness," she said.  "I think I have danced with every one.
+I can surely slip away and speak to Caleb now.  What made him fasten his
+door?"
+
+"To keep those travellers out; and now he won't undo it: an old man's
+crotchet, my dear.  I have spoken to him.  He is all right, and his cry
+is, 'Don't disturb me, I must sleep,'" answered Bowkett.  "You'll give
+Batiste his turn? just one more round."
+
+Wilfred was wakened by his Yula's bark beneath the window.  Kusky, who
+was sleeping by the stove, sprang up and answered it, and then crept
+stealthily to Wilfred's feet.
+
+"That dog will wake the master," said some one in the kitchen.
+
+The bedroom door was softly opened, a low whistle and a tempting bone
+lured Kusky away.  Wilfred was afraid to attempt to detain him, not
+venturing to show himself to he knew not whom.  There was a noise at the
+window.  He remembered it was a double one.  It seemed to him somebody
+was trying to force open the outer pane.
+
+A cry of "Thieves! thieves!" was raised in the kitchen.  Wilfred sprang
+upright.  Uncle Caleb wakened with a groan.
+
+"Look to the door.  Guard every window," shouted Bowkett, rushing into
+the room, followed by half-a-dozen of his friends, who had seized their
+guns as they ran.
+
+The outer window was broken.  Through the inner, which was not so
+thickly frozen, Wilfred could see the shadow of a man.  He knew that
+Bowkett was by the side of the bed, but his eyes were fixed on the pane.
+
+At the first smash of the butt end of Vanner's gun, through shutter and
+frame, Mr. De Brunier laid a finger on Maxica's arm.  The Cree, who was
+holding down Yula, suddenly let him go with a growl and a spring.
+Vanner half turned his head, but Yula's teeth were in his collar.  The
+thickness of the hunter's clothing kept the grip from his throat, but he
+was dragged backwards.  Maxica knelt upon him in a moment, with a huge
+stone upraised, ready to dash his brains out if he ventured to utter a
+cry.  Mr. De Brunier stepped out from the shadow and stood before the
+window, waiting in Vanner's stead.  For what? He hardly dared to think.
+The window was raised a finger's breadth, and the muzzle of a hunter's
+gun was pointed at his ear.  He drew a little aside and flattened
+himself against the building.  The gun was fired into the air.
+
+"That is a feint," thought Mr. De Brunier.  "They have not seen us yet.
+When they do, the tug comes. Two against twenty at the very least,
+unless we hear the sledge-bell first.  It is a question of time.  The
+clock is counting life and death for more than one of us.  All hinges on
+my Gasp�.  Thank God, I know he will do his very best.  There is no
+mistrust of Gasp�; and if I fall before he comes, if I meet death in
+endeavouring to rescue this fatherless boy, the God who sees it all, in
+whose hand these lawless hunters are but as grasshoppers, will never
+forget my Gasp�."
+
+The report of Bowkett's gun roused old Caleb's latent fire.
+
+"What is it?" he demanded.  "Are the Indians upon us?  Where is Miriam?"
+
+Wilfred threw the bearskin across his feet over the old man's back.
+
+"I am here!" cried Bowkett, with an ostentatious air of protection.
+"I'll defend the place; but the attack is at this end of the house.
+First of all, I carry you to Miriam and safety at the other."
+
+Bowkett, in the full pride of his strength, lifted up the feeble old man
+as if he were a child and carried him out of the room.
+
+"Wilfred, my boy, keep close to me, keep close," called Uncle Caleb; but
+a strong man's hand seized hold of Wilfred and pulled him back.
+
+"Who are you?" demanded Wilfred, struggling with all his might.  "Let me
+go, I tell you; let me go!"
+
+The door was banged up behind Uncle Caleb and Bowkett.  The room was
+full of men.
+
+Wilfred knew too well the cry of "Thieves" was all humbug--a sham to get
+him away from his uncle.
+
+"Forgill!  Forgill!" he shouted.  "P�te!  P�te! Help me! help me!"
+
+A pillow was tossed in his face.
+
+"Don't cram the little turkey-cock with his own feathers," said a voice
+he was almost glad to recognize, for he could not feel that Mathurin
+would really hurt him.  He kicked against his captor, and getting one
+hand free, he tried to grasp at this possible friend; but the corner of
+the pillow, crushed into his mouth, choked his shouts.  "So it's
+Mathurin's own old babby, is it?" continued the deep, jovial voice.
+"Didn't I tell ye he was uncommon handy with his little fists? But he is
+a regular mammy's darling for all that.  It is Mathurin will put the
+pappoose in its cradle.  Ah! but if it won't lie still, pat it on its
+little head; Batiste can show you how."
+
+In all this nonsense Wilfred comprehended the threat and the caution.
+His frantic struggles were useless.  They only provoked fresh bursts of
+merriment.  Oh, it was hard to know they were useless, and feel the
+impotency of his rage!  He was forced to give in.  They bound him in the
+sheets.
+
+Mathurin was shouting for--
+
+    "A rabbit-skin,
+    To wrap his baby bunting in.
+
+
+They took the rug from the floor and wrapped it round Wilfred.  He was
+laid on the ironing board.
+
+He felt the strong, firm straps that were binding him to it growing
+tighter and tighter.
+
+What were they going to do with him? and where was Mr. De Brunier?
+
+The hunters set him up against the wall, like the pappoose in the wigwam
+of the Blackfoot chief, whilst they opened the window.
+
+Mr. De Brunier stood waiting, his arms uplifted before his face, ready
+to receive the burden they were to let fall.  It was but a little bit of
+face that was ever visible beneath a Canadian fur cap, such as both the
+men were wearing.  Smoked skin was the only clothing which could resist
+the climate, therefore the sleeves of one man's coat were like the
+sleeves of another.  The noisy group in the bedroom, who had been
+drinking healths all night, saw little but the outstretched arms, and
+took no notice.
+
+"Young lambs to sell!" shouted Mathurin, heaving up the board.
+
+"What if he takes to blaring?" said one of the others.
+
+"Let him blare as he likes when once he is outside," retorted a third.
+
+"Lull him off with 'Yankee-doodle,'" laughed another.
+
+"He'll just lie quiet like a little angel, and then nothing will hurt
+him," continued the incorrigible Mathurin, "till we come to--
+
+    "'Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top,
+    When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
+    When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
+    Then down goes cradle, and baby, and all.'"
+
+
+This ridiculous nursery ditty, originated by the sight of the Indian
+pappooses hung so often on the bough of a tree when their mothers are
+busy, read to Wilfred his doom.
+
+Would these men really take him out into the darksome forest, and hang
+him to some giant pine, and leave him there, as Pe-na-Koam was left, to
+die alone of hunger and cold?
+
+It was an awful moment.  The end of the board to which he was bound was
+resting on the window-sill.
+
+"Gently now," said one.
+
+"Steady there," retorted another.
+
+"Now it is going beautifully," cried a third.
+
+"Ready, Vanner, ready," they exclaimed in chorus. Caution and prudence
+had long since gone to the winds with the greater part of them.
+Mathurin alone kept the control.
+
+Mr. De Brunier nodded, and placed himself between the window and the two
+men on the snow in deadly silent wrestle, trusting that his own dark
+shadow might screen them from observation yet a little longer. He saw
+Wilfred's feet appear at the window.  His hand was up to guide the board
+in a moment, acting in concert with the men above.  They slid it easily
+to the ground.
+
+Mr. De Brunier's foot was on a knot in the logs of the wall, and
+stretching upwards he shut the window from the outside.  It was beyond
+his power to fasten it; but a moment or two were gained.  His knife was
+soon hacking at the straps which bound Wilfred to his impromptu cradle.
+They looked in each other's faces; not a word was breathed.  Wilfred's
+hands were freed.  He sat up and drew out his feet from the thick folds
+of the rug.  Mr. De Brunier seized his hand, and they ran, as men run
+for their lives, straight to Forgill's hut.
+
+Diom� saw them coming.  He was still leading Vanner's horse.  He wheeled
+it round and covered their retreat, setting it off prancing and
+curvetting between them and the house.
+
+Through the open door of Forgill's hut the fire was glowing like a
+beacon across the snow.  It was the darkest hour of all that brilliant
+night.  The moon was sinking low, the stars were fading; the dawning was
+at hand.
+
+The hut was gained at last.  The door was shut behind the fugitives, and
+instantly barred.  Every atom of furniture the hut contained was piled
+against it, and then they listened for the return of the sledge. Whether
+daylight would increase their danger or diminish it, Mr. De Brunier
+hardly knew.  But with the dreaded daylight came the faint tinkle of a
+distant bell and the jingling of a chain bridle.
+
+The Canadian police in the Dominion of the far North-West are an
+experienced troop of cavalry. Trooper and charger are alike fitted for
+the difficult task of maintaining law and order among the scattered,
+lawless population sprinkling its vast plains and forest wilds.  No
+bronco can outride the splendid war-horse, and the mere sight of his
+scarlet-coated rider produces an effect which we in England little
+imagine.  For he is the representative of the strong and even hand of
+British justice, which makes itself felt wherever it touches, ruling all
+alike with firmness and mercy, exerting a moral force to which even the
+Blackfoot in his moya yields.
+
+Mr. De Brunier pulled down his barricade almost before it was finished,
+for the sledge came shooting down the clearing with the policeman behind
+it.
+
+Wilfred clasped his hands together at the joyful sight.  "They come!
+they come!" he cried.
+
+Out ran Mr. De Brunier, waving his arms in the air to attract attention,
+and direct the policeman to the back of the farm-house, where he had
+left Dick Vanner writhing under Maxica's grasp on the frozen ground.
+
+When the window was so suddenly closed from the outside, the hunters,
+supposing Vanner had shut it, let it alone for a few minutes, until
+wonder prompted Mathurin to open it just a crack for a peep-hole.
+
+At the sight of Vanner held down by his Indian antagonist he threw it to
+its widest.  Gun after gun was raised and pointed at Maxica's head; but
+none of them dared to fire, for the ball would have struck Vanner also.
+Mathurin was leaping out of the window to his assistance, when Yula
+relaxed his hold of Vanner's collar, and sprang at Mathurin, seizing him
+by the leg, and keeping him half in half out of the window, so that no
+one else could get out over him or release him from the inside.
+
+There was a general rush to the porch; but the house-door had been
+locked and barred by Bowkett's orders, and the key was in his pocket.
+
+He did it to prevent any of the Aclands' old servants going out of the
+house to interfere with Vanner.  It was equally successful in keeping in
+the friends who would have gone to his help.
+
+"The key! the key!" roared Batiste.
+
+Another seized on old P�te and shook him because he would not open the
+door.  In vain P�te protested the key was missing.  They were getting
+furious. "The key! the key!" was reiterated in an ever-increasing
+crescendo.
+
+They seized on P�te and shook him again.  They would have the key.
+
+Mathurin's yell for help grew more desperate.  With one hand holding on
+to the window-frame, he could not beat off the dog.  The blows he aimed
+at him with the other were uncertain and feeble.
+
+"Who let the brute out?" demanded Batiste.
+
+He had seen Yula lying by the kitchen fire when he first arrived, and of
+course knew him again. Ah! and the dog had recognized him also, for he
+had saluted him with a low, deep growl.  It had watched its chance.  It
+was paying back old scores.  Batiste knew that well.
+
+Another howl of pain from Mathurin.
+
+The heel of an English boot might have given such a kick under the lock
+that it would have sent the spring back with a jerk; but they were all
+wearing the soft, glove-like moccasin, and knew no more about the
+mechanism of a lock than a baby.  Their life had been passed in the
+open; when they left the saddle for the hut in the winter camp, their
+ideas of door-fastening never rose beyond the latch and the bar.  A
+dozen gun-stocks battered on the door.  It was tough and strong, and
+never stirred.
+
+P�te was searching everywhere for the key.  He would have let them out
+gladly, only too thankful to rid the house of such a noisy crew, and
+leave them to fight the thieves outside; but no key was to be found.
+
+"We always hang it on this nail," he protested, groping about the floor.
+
+Patience could hold out no longer.  There was a shout for Bowkett.
+
+"Don't leave me," Miriam had entreated, when Bowkett brought her brother
+into the dining-room and set him in the arm-chair by the fire; for she
+thought the old man's life would go every moment, and Forgill shared her
+fears.
+
+"There are enough to defend the place," he said, "without me;" and he
+gave all his care to his master.
+
+"The boy!  Wilfred!" gasped Caleb Acland, making vain attempts to return
+to find him.  His sister and Forgill thought he was wandering, and
+trusted in Bowkett's strong arm to hold him back.
+
+How could Bowkett leave his bride?  He was keeping his hands clean.
+There were plenty to do his dirty work.  He himself was to have nothing
+to do with it, according to Vanner's programme.  He would not go.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XVI.*
+
+                           _*IN CONFUSION.*_
+
+
+There was a thundering rap at the dining-room window, and a voice
+Bowkett instantly recognized as Diom�'s rang out the warning word,--
+
+"The police!  The police are here!"
+
+"Thank God!" exclaimed Miriam; but her bridegroom's cheek grew deadly
+pale, and he rushed into the kitchen, key in hand.  The clamouring group
+around the door divided before him, as Diom� hissed his warning through
+the keyhole.
+
+The door flew open.  Bowkett was almost knocked down by his hurrying
+guests.  Each man for his horse.  Some snatched up their guns, some left
+them behind.  Broncos were caught by the mane, by the ear, by the tail.
+Their masters sprang upon their backs.  Each man leaped upon the first
+horse he could lay hold of, saddle or no saddle, bridle or no bridle.
+What did it matter so that they got away? or else, horrors of horrors!
+such an escapade as they had been caught in might get one or other among
+them shut up for a month or two in Garry Jail. They scattered in every
+direction, as chickens scatter at the flutter of the white owl's wing.
+
+Diom� put the bridle of Vanner's horse into Bowkett's hand.  "To the
+frontier," he whispered. "You know the shortest road.  We are parting
+company; for I go northwards."
+
+Bowkett looked over his shoulder to where P�te stood staring in the
+doorway.  "Tell your mistress we are starting in pursuit," he shouted,
+loud enough for all to hear, as he sprang on Vanner's horse and galloped
+off, following the course of the wild geese to Yankee land.
+
+Within ten minutes after the first jingling sound from the light shake
+of the trooper's bridle the place was cleared.
+
+"Oh, I did it!" said Gasp�, with his arm round Wilfred's neck.  "I was
+back to a minute, wasn't I, grandfather?"
+
+Mr. De Brunier scarcely waited to watch the break-neck flight.  He was
+off with the sledge-driver to the policeman's assistance.  He beckoned
+to the boys to follow him at a cautious distance, judging it safer than
+leaving them unguarded in Forgill's hut.
+
+The policeman, seeing Yula had already arrested Mathurin, turned to the
+two on the ground.  He knocked the stone out of Maxica's hand, and
+handcuffed Vanner.
+
+Mr. De Brunier was giving his evidence on the spot.  "I was warned there
+would be mischief here before morning.  I sent my messenger for you, and
+watched the house all night.  The Indian and the dog were with me.  I
+saw this fellow attempt to break in at that window.  The dog flew on
+him, dragged him to the ground, and the Indian held him there. That
+other man I denounce as an accomplice indoors, evidently acting in
+concert with him."
+
+Wilfred shook off Gasp�'s arm and flew to Yula. "Leave go," he said,
+"leave go."  His hands went round the dog's throat to enforce obedience
+as he whispered, "I am not quite a babby to choke him off like that, am
+I?  Draw your leg up, Mathurin, and run.  You meant to save me--I saw it
+in your face--and I'll save you.  The porch-door stands open, run!"
+
+Mathurin drew up his leg with a groan, but Yula's teeth had gone so
+deeply into the flesh he could scarcely move for pain.  If Mathurin
+could not run, the sledge-driver could.  He was round the house and
+through the porch before Mathurin could reach it. He collared him by the
+kitchen-table, to P�te's amazement.  Forgill burst out of the
+dining-room, ready to identify him as one of their guests, and was
+pushed aside.  The policeman was dragging in his prisoner.
+
+Mr. De Brunier held Wilfred by the arm.  "You should not have done
+that," he was saying.  "Your dog knew what he was about better than you
+did. At any other time to call him off would only have been humane and
+right, but in such circumstances--"
+
+He never finished his sentence.  There was Mathurin cowed and trembling
+at the sight of Yula, who was marching into the porch with his head up
+and his tail wagging in triumph.
+
+Aunt Miriam, aghast and pale, stood in the doorway of the dining-room.
+Mr. De Brunier led her aside for a word of explanation.  "The thieves
+among the guests of her wedding party, incredible!"  She was stunned.
+
+Yula seated himself in front of Mathurin, daring him to move hand or
+foot.
+
+Wilfred was looking round him for the Cree, who was feeling for his bow
+and arrows, thrown somewhere on the ground during his prolonged
+struggle.  When the stone was struck from Maxica's grasp, and he knew
+that Vanner was dragged off helpless, he felt himself in the presence of
+a power that was mightier than his own.  As Wilfred caught up the bow
+and put it in his hand, he said solemnly, "You are safe under the shadow
+of that great white warrior chief, and Maxica is no longer needed; for
+as the horse is as seven to the dog, so is the great white medicine as
+seven to one, therefore the redman shuns his presence, and here we
+part."
+
+"Not yet, not yet," urged Wilfred desperately; but whilst he was
+speaking the Cree was gone.  He had vanished with the morning shadows
+behind the pine trees.
+
+Wilfred stretched out his arms to recall him; but Gasp�, who had
+followed his friend like his shadow, pulled him back.  "It would be but
+poor gratitude for Maxica's gallant rescue to run your head into the
+noose a second time," he said.  "With these hunters lurking about the
+place, we ought to make our way indoors as fast as we can."
+
+The chill of the morning wrapped them round. They were shivering in the
+icy mist, through which the rising sun was struggling.  It was folly to
+linger. Gasp� knew the Indian was afraid to trust himself in the company
+of the policeman.
+
+"Shall I never see him more?" burst out Wilfred mournfully.
+
+"Don't say that," retorted Gasp�.  "He is sure to come again to Hungry
+Hall with the furs from his winter's hunting.  You can meet him then."
+
+"I?  I shall be at school at Garry.  How can I go there?" asked Wilfred.
+
+"At Garry," repeated his consoler, brightening. "Well, from Garry you
+can send him anything you like by the winter packet of letters.  You
+know our postman, the old Indian, who carries them in his dog-sled to
+every one of the Hudson Bay stations.  You can send what you like by him
+to Hungry Hall. Sooner or later it will be sure to reach your dusky
+friend."
+
+"It will be something to let him know I don't forget," sighed Wilfred,
+whose foot was in his uncle's porch, where safety was before him.
+
+There was a sudden stillness about the place.  A kind of paralysis had
+seized upon the household, as it fell under the startling interdict of
+the policeman: "Not a thing on the premises to be touched; not an
+individual to leave them until he gave permission."  This utter
+standstill was more appalling to the farm-servants than the riotous
+confusion which had preceded it.  The dread of what would come next lay
+like a nightmare over master and men.
+
+Wilfred scarcely looked at prisoners or policeman; he made his way to
+his uncle.
+
+"I can finish my prayer this morning, and I will--I will try to do my
+duty.  Tell me what it is?"
+
+"To speak the truth," returned old Caleb solemnly, "without fear or
+prevarication.  No, no! don't tell me beforehand what you are going to
+say, or that fellow in the scarlet coat will assert I have tutored you."
+
+Gasp� began to speak.
+
+"No, no!" continued Uncle Caleb, "you must not talk it over with your
+friend.  Sit down, my boy; think of all that has happened in the night
+quietly and calmly, and God help us to bear the result."
+
+Again he rocked himself backwards and forwards, murmuring under his
+breath, "My poor Miriam!  I have two to think of--my poor, poor Miriam!"
+
+Wilfred's own clear commonsense came to his aid; he looked up brightly.
+The old man's tears were slowly trickling down his furrowed cheeks.
+"Uncle," he urged, "my friends have not only saved me, they have saved
+you all.  They stopped those fellows short, before they had time to do
+their worst.  They will not be punished for what they were going to do,
+but for what they actually did do."
+
+A sudden rush of gratitude came over Wilfred as he recalled his peril.
+His arms went round Gasp� with a clasp that seemed to know no
+unloosening.  A friend is worth all hazards.
+
+His turn soon came.  Aunt Miriam had preceded her nephew.  She had so
+little to tell.  "In the midst of the dancing there was a cry of
+'Thieves!'  The men ran.  Her husband came back to her, bringing her
+invalid brother to the safest part of the house. He stayed to guard
+them, until there arose a second cry, 'The police!'  She supposed the
+thieves made off.  Her husband had started in pursuit."
+
+In pursuit, when there was nothing to pursue; the aggressor was already
+taken.  Aunt Miriam saw the inevitable inference: her husband had fled
+with his guests.  She never looked up.  She could not meet the eyes
+around her, until she was asked if Vanner and Mathurin were among her
+guests.  Her pale cheeks grew paler.
+
+Their own men were stupid and sleepy, and could only stare at each
+other.  All they had had to say confirmed their mistress's statements.
+
+Mr. De Brunier had fetched Wilfred whilst his aunt was speaking.  He
+looked at the men crowding round the table, pushed between the
+sledge-driver and P�te to where his aunt was standing, and squeezed her
+hand.  There was just one look exchanged between them.  Of all the
+startling events in that strange night, it was strangest of all to Aunt
+Miriam to see him there.  The fervency in the pressure she returned set
+Wilfred's heart at ease.  One determination possessed them both--not to
+make a scene.
+
+Aunt Miriam got back into her own room; how, she never knew.  She threw
+herself on her knees beside her bed, and listened; for in that
+wood-built house every word could be heard as plainly as if she had
+remained in the kitchen.  Her grief and shame were hidden, that was all.
+
+Wilfred's clear, straightforward answers made it plain there were no
+thieves in the case.  Her wedding guests had set upon her little
+wanderer in the moment of his return.
+
+Vanner, scowling and sullen, never uttered a single word.
+
+Mathurin protested volubly.  He never meant to let them hurt the boy,
+but some amongst them owed him a grudge, and they were bent on paying it
+off before they parted.
+
+"A base and cowardly trick, by your own showing, to break into an old
+man's room in the dead of the night with a false alarm; not to mention
+your behaviour to the boy.  If this outrage hastens the old gentleman's
+end, you will find yourselves in a very awkward position.  His seizure
+in the night was solely due to the unwarrantable alarm," observed the
+policeman.
+
+Mathurin began to interrupt.  He checked him.
+
+"If you have anything to say for yourself, reserve it for the proper
+time and place; for the present you must step into that sledge and come
+with me at once.--Mr. De Brunier, I shall meet you and your son at Garry
+on the twenty-ninth."
+
+He marched his prisoners through the porch; a sullen silence reigned
+around.  The sledge-bell tinkled, the snow gleamed white as ever in the
+morning sunshine, as Vanner and Mathurin left the farm.
+
+With the air of a mute at a funeral, Forgill bolted the door behind
+them.  Mr. De Brunier walked into the sleeping-room, to examine the
+scene of confusion it presented for himself.
+
+Aunt Miriam came out, leaving the door behind her open, without knowing
+it.  She moved like one in a dream.  "I cannot understand all this," she
+said, "but we must do the thing that is nearest."
+
+She directed Forgill to board up the broken window and to see that the
+house was secure, and took P�te with her to make up a bed for her
+brother in the dining-room.  She laid her hand on Wilfred's shoulder as
+she passed him, but the words died on her lips.
+
+The men obeyed her without reply.  Forgill was afraid to go out of the
+house alone.  As the cowman followed him, he patted Yula's head,
+observing, "After all that's said and done, it was this here dog which
+caught 'em.  I reckon he's worth his weight in gold, wherever he comes
+from, that I do."
+
+Yula shook off the stranger's caress as if it were an impertinent
+freedom.  His eye was fixed on two small moccasined feet peeping out
+from under Aunt Miriam's bed.
+
+There was a spring, but Wilfred's hand was in his collar.
+
+"I know I had better stop him," he whispered, looking up at Gasp�, as he
+thought of Mr. De Brunier's reproof.
+
+"Right enough now," cried Gasp�.  "Wilfred, it is a girl."
+
+He ran to the bed and handed out Bowkett's young sister, Anastasia.  Her
+dress was of the universal smoked skin, but its gay embroidery of beads
+and the white ribbons which adorned it spoke of the recent bridal.  Her
+black hair fell in one long, heavy braid to her waist.
+
+"Oh, you uncomplimentary creatures!" she exclaimed, "not one of you
+remembered my existence; but I'll forgive you two"--extending a hand to
+each--"because you did not know of it.  I crawled in here at the first
+alarm, and here I have lain trembling, and nobody missed me.  But, I
+declare, you men folk have been going on awful.  You will be the death
+of us all some of these days.  I could have knocked your heads together
+until I had knocked some sense into you.  Put your pappoose in its
+cradle, indeed!  I wish you were all pappooses; I would soon let you
+know what I think of upsetting a poor old man like that."
+
+The indignant young beauty shook the dust from her embroidery, and
+twirled her white ribbons into their places as she spoke.
+
+"Spoiling all the fun," she added.
+
+"Now don't perform upon us, Miss Bowkett," put in Gasp�.  "We are not
+the representatives of last night's rowdyism.  My poor friend here is
+chief sufferer from it.  Only he had a four-footed friend, and a
+dark-skinned friend, and two others at the back of them of a very
+ordinary type, but still friends with hands and feet.  So the tables
+were turned, and the two real representatives are gone up for their
+exam."
+
+"I daren't be the first to tell a tale like this in the hunters' camp.
+Besides," she demanded, "who is to take me there?  This is what the day
+after brings," she pouted, passing the boys as she went into the
+kitchen. The guns which the hunters had left behind them had been
+carefully unloaded by the policeman and Mr. De Brunier, and were piled
+together in one corner, waiting for their owners to reclaim them. Every
+one knew the hunters could not live without their trading guns; they
+must come back to fetch them.  Anastasia, too, was aware she had only to
+wait for the first who should put in an appearance to escort her home.
+Little was said, for Aunt Miriam knew Anastasia's departure from
+Acland's Hut would be Hugh Bowkett's recall.
+
+When Mr. De Brunier understood this, his anxiety on Wilfred's account
+was redoubled.
+
+But when Uncle Caleb revived enough for conversation, he spoke of the
+little business to be settled between them, and asked for Mr. De
+Brunier.
+
+"I have thought it all through," he said.  "In the face of the Cree's
+warning, and all that happened under this roof, I can never leave my
+nephew and Hugh Bowkett to live together beneath it.  As soon as he
+hears from his sister how matters stand here, and finds sentence has
+been passed on Vanner and Mathurin, he may come back at any hour.  I
+want to leave my nephew to your care; a better friend he could not
+have."
+
+"As he has had it already, he shall always have it, as if he were next
+to Gasp�, I promise you," was the ready answer.
+
+"I want a little more than that," Uncle Caleb continued.  "I want you to
+take him away at once, and send him back to school.  You spoke of buying
+land; buy half of mine.  That will be Wilfred's portion. Invest the
+money in the Hudson Bay Company, where Bowkett can never touch it, and I
+shall feel my boy is safe.  As for Miriam, she will still have a good
+home and a good farm; and the temptation out of his reach, Bowkett may
+settle down."
+
+"I have no faith in bribery for making a man better.  It wants the
+change here, and that is God's work, not man's," returned Mr. De
+Brunier, tapping his own breast.
+
+Caleb Acland had but one more charge: "Let nobody tell poor Miriam the
+worst."  But she knew enough without the telling.
+
+When Wilfred found he was to return to Garry with his friends the next
+day his arms went round his dogs, and a look of mute appeal wandered
+from Mr. De Brunier to Aunt Miriam.
+
+"Had not I better take back Kusky?" suggested Gasp�.  "And could not we
+have Yula too?"
+
+"Yula!" repeated Aunt Miriam.  "It is I who must take care of Yula.  He
+shall never want a bone whilst I have one.  I shall feed him, Wilfred,
+with my own hands till you come back to claim him."
+
+
+
+
+                                THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+<title>LOST IN THE WILDS</title>
+<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" />
+<meta name="PG.Title" content="Lost in the Wilds" />
+<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" />
+<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" />
+<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Eleanor Stredder" />
+<meta name="DC.Created" content="1893" />
+<meta name="PG.Id" content="43640" />
+<meta name="PG.Released" content="2013-09-03" />
+<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" />
+<meta name="DC.Title" content="Lost in the Wilds A Canadian Story" />
+
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+<meta content="Lost in the Wilds&#10;A Canadian Story" name="DCTERMS.title" />
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+<meta content="2013-09-04T02:36:09.250390+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" />
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+<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43640" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" />
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+</head>
+<body>
+<div class="document" id="lost-in-the-wilds">
+<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">LOST IN THE WILDS</span></h1>
+
+<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet -->
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+</div>
+<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- -->
+<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
+<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span>
+included with this eBook or online at
+</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p>
+<p class="noindent pnext"></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header">
+<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Lost in the Wilds
+<br />       A Canadian Story
+<br />
+<br />Author: Eleanor Stredder
+<br />
+<br />Release Date: September 03, 2013 [EBook #43640]
+<br />
+<br />Language: English
+<br />
+<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p>
+</div>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>LOST IN THE WILDS</span><span> ***</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
+</div>
+<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p>
+</div>
+<div class="align-None container coverpage">
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
+</div>
+<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 76%" id="figure-37">
+<img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover" src="images/img-cover.jpg" />
+<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
+<span class="italics">Cover</span></div>
+</div>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="align-None container frontispiece">
+<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 81%" id="figure-38">
+<span id="it-was-an-awful-moment"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="It was an awful moment." src="images/img-front.jpg" />
+<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
+<span class="italics">It was an awful moment.</span></div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<div class="align-None container titlepage">
+<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">LOST IN THE WILDS</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">A CANADIAN STORY</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY ELEANOR STREDDER</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">LONDON, EDINBURGH,
+<br />DUBLIN, &amp; NEW YORK
+<br />THOMAS NELSON
+<br />AND SONS
+<br />1893</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
+</div>
+<ol class="upperroman simple">
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#in-acland-s-hut">In Acland's Hut</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#hunting-the-buffalo">Hunting the Buffalo</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#the-first-snowstorm">The First Snowstorm</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#maxica-the-cree-indian">Maxica, the Cree Indian</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#in-the-birch-bark-hut">In the Birch-bark Hut</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#searching-for-a-supper">Searching for a Supper</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#following-the-blackfeet">Following the Blackfeet</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#the-shop-in-the-wilderness">The Shop in the Wilderness</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#new-friends">New Friends</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#the-dog-sled">The Dog-sled</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#the-hunters-camp">The Hunters' Camp</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#maxica-s-warning">Maxica's Warning</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#just-in-time">Just in Time</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#wedding-guests">Wedding Guests</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#to-the-rescue">To the Rescue</a></p>
+</li>
+<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="italics reference internal" href="#in-confusion">In Confusion</a></p>
+</li>
+</ol>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="in-acland-s-hut"><span class="bold x-large">LOST IN THE WILDS.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">IN ACLAND'S HUT.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>The October sun was setting over a wild, wide
+waste of waving grass, growing dry and yellow
+in the autumn winds.  The scarlet hips gleamed
+between the whitening blades wherever the pale pink
+roses of summer had shed their fragrant leaves.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But now the brief Indian summer was drawing to
+its close, and winter was coming down upon that vast
+Canadian plain with rapid strides.  The wailing cry
+of the wild geese rang through the gathering stillness.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The driver of a rough Red River cart slapped the
+boy by his side upon the shoulder, and bade him look
+aloft at the swiftly-moving cloud of chattering beaks
+and waving wings.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment or two the twilight sky was darkened,
+and the air was filled with the restless beat of
+countless pinions.  The flight of the wild geese to the
+warmer south told the same story, of approaching
+snow, to the bluff carter.  He muttered something
+about finding the cows which his young companion
+did not understand.  The boy's eyes had travelled
+from the winged files of retreating geese to the vast
+expanse of sky and plain.  The west was all aglow
+with myriad tints of gold and saffron and green,
+reflected back from many a gleaming lakelet and
+curving river, which shone like jewels on the broad
+breast of the grassy ocean.  Where the dim sky-line
+faded into darkness the Touchwood Hills cast a
+blackness of shadow on the numerous thickets which fringed
+their sheltering slopes.  Onward stole the darkness,
+while the prairie fires shot up in wavy lines, like giant
+fireworks.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Between the fire-flash and the dying sun the boy's
+quick eye was aware of the long winding course of
+the great trail to the north.  It was a comfort to
+perceive it in the midst of such utter loneliness; for
+if men had come and gone, they had left no other
+record behind them.  He seemed to feel the stillness
+of an unbroken solitude, and to hear the silence that
+was brooding over lake and thicket, hill and waste
+alike.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He turned to his companion.  "Forgill," he asked,
+in a low venturing tone, "can you find your way in
+the dark?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He was answered by a low, short laugh, too
+expressive of contempt to suffer him to repeat his
+question.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>One broad flash of crimson light yet lingered along
+the western sky, and the evening star gleamed out
+upon the shadowy earth, which the night was hugging
+to itself closer and closer every moment.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Still the cart rumbled on.  It was wending now by
+the banks of a nameless river, where the pale, faint
+star-shine reflected in its watery depths gave back dim
+visions of inverted trees in wavering, uncertain lines.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"How far are we now from Acland's Hut?" asked
+the boy, disguising his impatience to reach their
+journey's end in careless tones.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Acland's Hut," repeated the driver; "why, it is
+close at hand."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The horse confirmed this welcome piece of
+intelligence by a joyous neigh to his companion, who was
+following in the rear.  A Canadian always travels
+with two horses, which he drives by turns.  The
+horses themselves enter into the arrangement so well
+that there is no trouble about it.  The loose horse
+follows his master like a dog, and trots up when the
+cart comes to a standstill, to take the collar warm from
+his companion's shoulders.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But for once the loose pony had galloped past them
+in the darkness, and was already whinnying at the
+well-known gate of Acland's Hut.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The driver put his hand to his mouth and gave a
+shout, which seemed to echo far and wide over the
+silent prairie.  It was answered by a chorus of
+barking from the many dogs about the farm.  A lantern
+gleamed through the darkness, and friendly voices
+shouted in reply.  Another bend in the river brought
+them face to face with the rough, white gate of
+Acland's Hut.  Behind lay the low farm-house, with
+its log-built walls and roof of clay.  Already the door
+stood wide, and the cheerful blaze from the pine-logs
+burning on the ample hearth within told of the
+hospitable welcome awaiting the travellers.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>An unseen hand undid the creaking gate, and a
+gruff voice from the darkness exchanged a hearty "All
+right" with Forgill.  The lantern seemed to dance
+before the horse's head, as he drew up beneath the
+solitary tree which had been left for a hen-roost in
+the centre of the enclosure.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Forgill jumped down.  He gave a helping hand to
+his boy companion, observing, "There is your aunt
+watching for you at the open door.  Go and make
+friends; you won't be strangers long."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you got the child, Forgill?" asked an
+anxious woman's voice.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>An old Frenchman, who fulfilled the double office
+of man and maid at Acland's Hut, walked up to the
+cart and held out his arms to receive the expected
+visitor.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Down leaped the boy, altogether disdaining the
+over-attention of the farming man.  Then he heard
+Forgill whisper, "It isn't the little girl she expected,
+it is this here boy; but I have brought him all the
+same."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>This piece of intelligence was received with a low
+chuckle, and all three of the men became suddenly
+intent upon the buckles of the harness, leaving aunt
+and nephew to rectify the little mistake which had
+clearly arisen—not that they had anything to do
+with it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," said the aunt in kindly tones, scarcely
+knowing whether it was a boy or a girl that she was
+welcoming.  But when the rough deer-skin in which
+Forgill had enveloped his charge as the night drew
+on was thrown aside, the look which spread over
+her face was akin to consternation, as she asked his
+name and heard the prompt reply, "Wilfred Acland;
+and are you my own Aunt Miriam?  How is my
+uncle?"  But question was exchanged for question
+with exceeding rapidity.  Then remembering the boy's
+long journey, Aunt Miriam drew a three-legged stool
+in front of the blazing fire, and bade him be seated.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The owner of Acland's Hut was an aged man, the
+eldest of a large family, while Wilfred's father was
+the youngest.  They had been separated from each
+other in early life; the brotherly tie between them
+was loosely knitted.  Intervals of several years'
+duration occurred in their correspondence, and many
+a kindly-worded epistle failed to reach its destination;
+for the adventurous daring of the elder brother led
+him again and again to sell his holding, and push his
+way still farther west.  He loved the ring of the
+woodman's axe, the felling and the clearing.  He grew
+rich from the abundant yield of the virgin soil, and
+his ever-increasing droves of cattle grew fat and fine
+in the grassy sea which surrounded his homestead.
+All went well until his life of arduous toil brought
+on an attack of rheumatic fever, which had left him
+a bedridden old man.  Everything now depended
+upon the energy of his sole surviving sister, who had
+shared his fortunes.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Miriam retained a more affectionate remembrance
+of Wilfred's father, who had been her playmate.
+When the letter arrived announcing his death she was
+plunged in despondency.  The letter had been sent
+from place to place, and was nine months after date
+before it reached Acland's Hut, on the verge of the
+lonely prairie between the Qu'appelle and South
+Saskatchewan rivers.  The letter was written by a
+Mr. Cromer, who promised to take care of the child
+the late Mr. Acland had left, until he heard from the
+uncle he was addressing.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The brother and sister at Acland's Hut at once
+started the most capable man on their farm to
+purchase their winter stores and fetch the orphan
+child.  Aunt Miriam looked back to the old letters
+to ascertain its age.  In one of them the father
+rejoiced over the birth of a son; in another he spoke
+of a little daughter, named after herself; a third,
+which lamented the death of his wife, told also of the
+loss of a child—which, it did not say.  Aunt Miriam,
+with a natural partiality for her namesake, decided,
+as she re-read the brief letter, that it must be the girl
+who was living; for it was then a baby, and every
+one would have called it "the baby."  By using the
+word "child," the poor father must have referred to
+the eldest, the boy.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah! very likely," answered her brother, who had
+no secret preference to bias his expectations.  So the
+conjecture came to be regarded as a certainty, until
+Wilfred shook off the deer-skin and stood before his
+aunt, a strong hearty boy of thirteen summers,
+awkwardly shy, and alarmingly hungry.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But her welcome was not the less kindly, as she
+heaped his plate again and again.  Wilfred was soon
+nodding over his supper in the very front of the
+blazing fire, basking in its genial warmth.  But the
+delightful sense of comfort and enjoyment was rather
+shaken when he heard his aunt speaking in the inner
+room.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgill has come back, Caleb; and after all it is
+the boy."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The boy, God bless him!  I only wish he were
+more of a man, to take my place," answered the
+dreamy voice of her sick brother, just rousing from his
+slumbers.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but I am so disappointed!" retorted Aunt
+Miriam.  "I had been looking forward to a dear
+little niece to cheer me through the winter.  I felt so
+sure—"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, now!" laughed the old man, "that is just
+where it is.  If once you get an idea in your head,
+there it wedges to the exclusion of everything else.
+You like your own way, Miriam, but you cannot turn
+your wishes into a coach and six to override
+everything.  You cannot turn him into a girl."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred burst out laughing, as he felt himself very
+unpromising material for the desired metamorphosis.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"How shall I keep him out of mischief when we
+are all shut in with the snow?" groaned Aunt
+Miriam.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me look at him," said her brother, growing
+excited.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When Wilfred stood by the bedside, his uncle took
+the boy's warm hands in both his own and looked
+earnestly in his bright open face.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"He will do," murmured the old man, sinking back
+amongst his pillows.  "There, be a good lad; mind
+what your aunt says to you, and make yourself at
+home."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>While he was speaking all the light there was in
+the shadowy room shone full on Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"He is like his father," observed Aunt Miriam.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You need not tell me that," answered Caleb Acland,
+turning away his face.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Could we ever keep him out of mischief?" she
+sighed.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred's merry laugh jarred on their ears.  They
+forgot the lapse of time since his father's death, and
+wondered to find him so cheerful.  Aunt and nephew
+were decidedly out of time, and out of time means
+out of tune, as Wilfred dimly felt, without divining
+the reason.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Morning showed him his new home in its brightest
+aspect.  He was up early and out with Forgill and
+the dogs, busy in the long row of cattle-sheds which
+sheltered one end of the farm-house, whilst a
+well-planted orchard screened the other.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was rejoicing in the clear air, the joyous
+sunshine, and the wonderful sense of freedom which
+seemed to pervade the place.  The wind was whispering
+through the belt of firs at the back of the clearing
+where Forgill had built his hut, as he made his way
+through the long, tawny grass to gather the purple
+vetches and tall star-like asters, still to be found by
+the banks of the reed-fringed pool where Forgill was
+watering the horses.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was intent upon propitiating his aunt,
+when he returned to the house with his autumn
+bouquet, and a large basket of eggs which Forgill had
+intrusted to his care.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred rushed into the kitchen, elate with his
+morning ramble, and quite regardless of the long trail
+of muddy footsteps with which he was soiling the
+freshly-cleaned floor.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Look!" cried Aunt Miriam; but she spoke to deaf
+ears, for Wilfred's attention was suddenly absorbed
+by the appearance of a stranger at the gate.  His
+horse and gun proclaimed him an early visitor.  His
+jaunty air and the glittering beads and many tassels
+which adorned his riding-boots made Wilfred wonder
+who he was.  He set his basket on the ground, and
+was darting off again to open the gate, when Aunt
+Miriam, finding her remonstrances vain, leaned across
+the table on which she was arranging the family
+breakfast and caught him by the arm.  Wilfred was
+going so fast that the sudden stoppage upset his
+equilibrium; down he went, smash into the basket of
+eggs.  Out flew one-half in a frantic dance, while the
+mangled remains of the other streamed across the floor.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! the eggs, the eggs!" exclaimed Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Miriam, who was on the other side of the
+table when he came in, had not noticed the basket he
+was carrying.  She held up her hands in dismay,
+exclaiming, "I am afraid, Wilfred, you are one of the
+most aggravating boys that ever walked this earth."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>For the frost was coming, and eggs were growing scarce.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"And so, auntie, since you can't transform me, you
+have abased me utterly.  I humbly beg your pardon
+from the very dust, and lay my poor bruised offering
+at your indignant feet.  I thought the coach and six
+was coming over me, I did indeed!" exclaimed Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Get up" reiterated Aunt Miriam angrily, her
+vexation heightened by the burst of laughter which
+greeted her ears from the open door, where the stranger
+now stood shaking with merriment at the ridiculous
+scene.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, off with you, you young beggar!" he repeated,
+stepping aside good-naturedly to let Wilfred pass.
+For what could a fellow do but go in such
+disastrous circumstances?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not to be expected that the missis will put
+up with this sort of game," remarked Pêtre Fleurie,
+as he passed him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred began to think it better to forego his
+breakfast than face his indignant aunt.  What did
+she care for the handful of weeds?  The mud he had
+gone through to get them had caused all the mischief.
+Everywhere else the ground was dry and crisp with the
+morning frost.  "What an unlucky dog I am!" thought
+Wilfred dolefully.  "Haven't I made a bad beginning,
+and I never meant to."  He crept under the orchard
+railing to hide himself in his repentance and keep out
+of everybody's way.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But it was not the weather for standing still, and
+he longed for something to do.  He took to running
+in and out amongst the now almost leafless fruit-trees
+to keep himself warm.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Forgill, who was at work in the court putting the
+meat-stage in order, looked down into the orchard
+from the top of the ladder on which he was mounted,
+and called to Wilfred to come and help him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was a very busy time on the farm.  Marley, the
+other labourer, who was Forgill's chum in the little
+hut in the corner, was away in the prairie looking up
+the cows, which had been turned loose in the early
+summer to get their own living, and must now be
+brought in and comfortably housed for the winter.
+Forgill had been away nearly a fortnight.  Hands
+were short on the farm now the poor old master was
+laid aside.  There was land to be sold all round them;
+but at present it was unoccupied, and the nearest
+settler was dozens of miles away.  Their only
+neighbours were the roving hunters, who had no settled
+home, but wandered about like gipsies, living entirely
+by the chase and selling furs.  They were partly
+descended from the old French settlers, and partly
+Indians.  They were a careless, light-hearted, dashing
+set of fellows, who made plenty of money when skins
+were dear, and spent it almost as fast as it came.
+Uncle Caleb thought it prudent to keep on friendly
+terms with these roving neighbours, who were always
+ready to give him occasional help, as they were always
+well paid for it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"There is one of these hunter fellows here now,"
+said Forgill.  "The missis is arranging with him to
+help me to get in the supply of meat for the winter."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The stage at which Forgill was hammering
+resembled the framework of a very high, long, narrow
+table, with four tall fir poles for its legs.  Here the
+meat was to be laid, high up above the reach of the
+many animals, wild and tame.  It would soon be
+frozen through and through as hard as a stone, and
+keep quite good until the spring thaws set in.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was quickly on the top of the stage, enjoying
+the prospect, for the atmosphere in Canada is so
+clear that the eye can distinguish objects a very long
+way off.  He had plenty of amusement watching the
+great buzzards and hawks, which are never long out
+of sight.  He had entered a region where birds
+abounded.  There were cries in the air above and the
+drumming note of the prairie-hen in the grass below.
+There were gray clouds of huge white pelicans flapping
+heavily along, and faster-flying strings of small
+white birds, looking like rows of pearls waving in the
+morning air.  A moving band, also of snowy white,
+crossing the blue water of a distant lakelet, puzzled
+him a while, until it rose with a flutter and scream,
+and proved itself another flock of northern geese on
+wing for the south, just pausing on its way to drink.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Presently Wilfred was aware that Pêtre was at the
+foot of the ladder talking earnestly to Forgill.  An
+unpleasant tingling in his cheek told the subject of
+their conversation.  He turned his back towards
+them, not choosing to hear the remarks they might
+be making upon his escapade of the morning, until
+old Pêtre—or Pête as he was usually called, for
+somehow the "r" slipped out of his name on the English
+lips around him—raised his voice, protesting, "You
+and I know well how the black mud by the reed pool
+sticks like glue.  Now, I say, put him on the little
+brown pony, and take him with you."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Follow the hunt!" cried Wilfred, overjoyed.  "Oh,
+may I, Forgill?"</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="hunting-the-buffalo"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">HUNTING THE BUFFALO.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>The cloudy morning ended in a brilliant noon.
+Wilfred was in ecstasies when he found
+himself mounted on the sagacious Brownie, who had
+followed them like a dog on the preceding evening.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Miriam had consented to Pête's proposal with
+a thankfulness which led the hunter, Hugh Bowkett,
+to remark, as Wilfred trotted beside him, "Come, you
+young scamp! so you are altogether beyond petticoat
+government, are you?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not true," retorted Wilfred, "for I was
+never out of her Majesty's dominion for a single hour
+in my life."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was a chance hit, for Bowkett had been over the
+frontier more than once, wintering among the Yankee
+roughs on the other side of the border, a proceeding
+which is synonymous in the North-West Dominion
+with "getting out of the way."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Bowkett was a handsome fellow, and a first-rate
+shot, who could accomplish the difficult task of
+hunting the long-eared, cunning moose-deer as well as a
+born Red Indian.  Wilfred looked up at him with
+secret admiration.  Not so Forgill, who owned to Pête
+there was no dependence on these half-and-half
+characters.  But without Bowkett's help there would be
+no meat for the winter; and since the master had
+decided the boy was to go with them, there was
+nothing more to be said.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Miriam came to the gate, in her hood and
+cloak, to see them depart.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye! good-bye, auntie!" shouted Wilfred.
+"I am awfully sorry about those eggs."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, you rogue! do you think I am going to
+believe you?"  She laughed, shaking a warning finger
+at him; and so they parted, little dreaming of all that
+would happen before they met again.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was equipped in an old, smoked deer-skin
+coat of his uncle's, and a fur cap with a flap falling
+like a cape on his neck, and ear-pieces which met
+under his chin.  He was a tall boy of his age, and
+his uncle was a little, wiry man.  The coat was not
+very much too long for him.  It wrapped over
+famously in front, and was belted round the waist.  Pête
+had filled the pockets with a good supply of biscuit,
+and one or two potatoes, which he thought Wilfred
+could roast for his supper in the ashes of the
+campfire.  For the hunting-party expected to camp out in
+the open for a night or two, as the buffaloes they
+were in quest of were further to seek and harder to
+find every season.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Forgill had stuck a hunting-knife in Wilfred's belt,
+to console him for the want of a gun.  The boy would
+have liked to carry a gun like the others, but on that
+point there was a resolute "No" all round.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>As they left the belt of pine trees, and struck out
+into the vast, trackless sea of grass, Wilfred looked
+back to the light blue column of smoke from the
+farm-house chimney, and wistfully watched it curling
+upwards in the clear atmosphere, with a dash of regret
+that he had not yet made friends with his uncle, or
+recovered his place in Aunt Miriam's good graces.
+But it scarcely took off the edge of his delight.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Forgill was in the cart, which he hoped to bring
+back loaded with game.  At the corner of the first
+bluff, as the hills in Canada are usually called, they
+encountered Bowkett's man with a string of horses,
+one of which he rode.  There was a joyous blaze of
+sunshine glinting through the broad fringes of white
+pines which marked the course of the river, making
+redder the red stems of the Norwegians which sprang
+up here and there in vivid contrast.  A light canoe of
+tawny birch-bark, with its painted prow, was
+threading a narrow passage by the side of a tiny eyot or
+islet, where the pine boughs seemed to meet high
+overhead.  The hunters exchanged a shout of recognition
+with its skilful rower, ere a stately heron, with grand
+crimson eye and leaden wings, came slowly flapping
+down the stream intent on fishing.  Then the little
+party wound their way by ripple-worn rocks, covered
+with mosses and lichens.  At last, on one of the few
+bare spots on a distant hillside, some dark moving
+specks became visible.  The hunt began in earnest.
+Away went the horsemen over the wide, open plain.
+Wilfred and the cart following more slowly, yet near
+enough to watch the change to the stealthy approach
+and the cautious outlook over the hill-top, where the
+hunter's practised eye had detected the buffalo.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep close by me," said Forgill to his young
+companion, as they wound their way upwards, and reached
+the brow of the hill just in time to watch the wild
+charge upon the herd, which scattered in desperate
+flight, until the hindmost turned to bay upon his
+reckless pursuers, his shaggy head thrown up as he
+stood for a moment at gaze.  With a whoop and a
+cheer, in which Wilfred could not help joining,
+Bowkett again gave chase, followed by his man Diomé.
+A snap shot rattled through the air.  Forgill drew
+the cart aside to the safer shelter of a wooded copse,
+out of the line of the hunters.  He knew the infuriated
+buffalo would shortly turn on his pursuers.  The
+loose horses were racing after their companions, and
+Brownie was quivering with excitement.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold hard!" cried Forgill, who saw the boy was
+longing to give the pony its head and follow suit.
+"Quiet, my lad," he continued.  "None of us are up
+to that sort of work.  It takes your breath to look
+at them."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The buffalo was wheeling round.  Huge and
+unwieldy as the beast appeared, it changed its front
+with the rapidity of lightning.  Then Bowkett backed
+his horse and fled.  On the proud beast thundered,
+with lowered eyes flashing furiously under its shaggy
+brows.  A bullet from Diomé's gun struck him on
+the forehead.  He only shook his haughty head and
+bellowed till the prairie rang; but his pace slackened
+as the answering cries of the retreating herd seemed
+to call him back.  He was within a yard of Bowkett's
+horse, when round he swung as swiftly and suddenly
+as he had advanced.  Wilfred stood up in his stirrups
+to watch him galloping after his companions, through
+a gap in a broken bluff at no great distance.  Away
+went Bowkett and Diomé, urging on their horses
+with shout and spur.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Halt a bit," said Forgill, restraining Wilfred and
+his pony, until they saw the two hunters slowly
+returning over the intervening ridge with panting
+horses.  They greeted the approach of the cart with
+a hurrah of success, proposing, as they drew nearer,
+to halt for dinner in the shelter of the gap through
+which the buffalo had taken its way.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was soon busy with Diomé gathering the
+dry branches last night's wind had broken to make a
+fire, whilst Bowkett and Forgill went forward with
+the cart to look for the fallen quarry.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was the boy's first lesson in camping out, and he
+enjoyed it immensely, taking his turn at the frying-pan
+with such success that Diomé proposed to hand
+it over to his exclusive use for the rest of their
+expedition.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was hard work to keep the impudent blue jays,
+with which the prairie abounded, from darting at the
+savoury fry, and pecking out the very middle of the
+steak, despite the near neighbourhood of smoke and
+flame, which threatened to singe their wings in the
+mad attempt.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But in spite of the thievish birds, dinner was eaten
+and appreciated in the midst of so much laughter and
+chaff that even Forgill unbent.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But a long day's work was yet before them, spurring
+over the sand-ridges and through the rustling grass.
+They had almost reached one of the westward jutting
+spurs of the Touchwood Hills, when the sun went
+down.  As it neared the earth and sank amidst the
+glorious hues of emerald and gold, the dark horizon line
+became visible for a few brief instants across its
+blood-red face; but so distant did it seem, so very far away,
+the whole scene became dreamlike from its immensity.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We've done, my lads!" shouted Bowkett; "we
+have about ended as glorious a day's sport as ever I had."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet," retorted Diomé.  "Just listen."  There
+was a trampling, snorting sound as of many cattle on
+the brink of a lakelet sheltering at the foot of the
+neighbouring hills.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Were they not in the midst of what the early
+Canadian settlers used to call the Land of the Wild
+Cows?  Those sounds proceeded from another herd
+coming down for its evening drink.  On they crept
+with stealthy steps through bush and bulrush to get
+a nearer view in the bewildering shadows, which were
+growing darker and darker every moment.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop! stop!" cried Forgill, hurrying forward, as
+the light yet lingering on the lake showed the familiar
+faces of his master's cows stooping down to reach the
+pale blue water at their feet.  Yes, there they were, the
+truant herd Marley was endeavouring in vain to find.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Many a horned head was lifted at the sound of
+Forgill's well-known call.  Away he went into the
+midst of the group, pointing out the great "A" he
+had branded deep in the thick hair on the left
+shoulder before he had turned them loose.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>What was now to be done?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Drive them home," said the careful Forgill, afraid
+of losing them again.  But Bowkett was not willing
+to return.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Diomé and Wilfred were busy preparing
+for the night at the spot where they had halted,
+when the presence of the herd was first perceived.
+They had brought the horses down to the lake to water
+at a sufficient distance from the cows not to disturb
+them.  But one or two of the wanderers began to "moo,"
+as if they partially recognized their former companions.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"They will follow me and the horses," pursued
+Forgill, who knew he could guide his way across the
+trackless prairie by the aid of the stars.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"If you come upon Marley," he said, "he can take
+my place in the cart, for he has most likely found the
+trail of the cows by this time; or if I cross his path,
+I shall leave him to drive home the herd and return.
+You will see one of us before morning."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"As you like," replied Bowkett, who knew he could
+do without either man provided he kept the cart.
+"You will probably see us back at the gate of Acland's
+Hut by to-morrow night; and if we do not bring you
+game enough, we must plan a second expedition when
+you have more leisure."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>So it was settled between them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Forgill hurried back to the camping place to get
+his supper before he started.  Bowkett lingered
+behind, surveying the goodly herd, whilst vague schemes
+for combining the twofold advantages of hunter and
+farmer floated through his mind.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When he rejoined his companions he found them
+seated round a blazing fire, enjoying the boiling
+kettle of tea, the fried steak, and biscuit which
+composed their supper.  The saddles were hung up on
+the branches of the nearest tree, and the skins and
+blankets which were to make their bed were already
+spread upon the pine brush which strewed the ground.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, young 'un," said Forgill solemnly, "strikes
+me I had better keep you alongside anyhow."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," retorted Diomé.  "The poor little fellow
+has been in the saddle all day, and he is dead asleep
+already; leave him under his blankets.  He'll be right
+enough; must learn to rough it sooner or later."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Forgill, who had to be his own tailor and washer-woman,
+was lamenting over a rent in his sleeve, which
+he was endeavouring to stitch up.  For a housewife,
+with its store of needles and thread, was never absent
+from his pocket.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>His awkward attempts awakened the mirth of his
+companions.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What, poor old boy! haven't you got a wife at
+home to do the stitching for you?" asked Diomé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"When you have passed the last oak which grows
+on this side the Red River, are there a dozen English
+women in a thousand miles?" asked Forgill; and then
+he added, "The few there are are mostly real ladies,
+the wives of district governors and chief factors.  A
+fellow must make up his mind to do for himself and
+rub through as he can."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless he follows my father's example," put in
+Bowkett, "and chooses himself a faithful drudge from
+an Indian wigwam.  He would want no other tailor
+or washerwoman, for there are no such diligent
+workers in the world.  Look at that," he continued,
+pointing to his beautifully embroidered leggings, the
+work of his Indian relations.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Pay a visit to our hunters' winter camp," added
+Diomé, "and we will show you what an old squaw
+can do to make home comfortable."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was this difference between the men: Diomé
+who had been left by his French father to be brought
+up by his Indian mother, resembled her in many
+things; whilst Bowkett, whose father was English,
+despised his Indian mother, and tried to make himself
+more and more of an Englishman.  This led him to
+cultivate the acquaintance with the Aclands.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going to send your mistress a present," he
+said, "of a mantle woven of wild dogs' hair.  It
+belonged to the daughter of an Indian chief from the
+Rocky Mountains.  It has a fringe a foot deep, and
+is covered all over with embroidery.  You will see
+then what a squaw can do."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Forgill did not seem over-pleased at this information.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you talking of my Aunt Miriam?" asked
+Wilfred, opening his sleepy eyes.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"So you are thinking about her," returned Forgill.
+"That's right, my lad; for your aunt and uncle at
+Acland's Hut are the only kith and kin you have left,
+and they are quite ready to make much of you, and
+you can't make too much of them."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You have overshot the mark there," laughed
+Bowkett; "rather think the missis was glad to be rid
+of the young plague on any terms."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Diomé pulled the blankets over Wilfred's head, and
+wished him a </span><em class="italics">bonne nuit</em><span> (good night).</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When the boy roused up at last Forgill had long
+since departed, and Diomé, who had been the first to
+awaken, was vigorously clapping his hands to warm
+them, and was shouting, "</span><em class="italics">Lève! lève! lève!</em><span>" to his
+sleepy companions.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Get up," interpreted Bowkett, who saw that
+Wilfred did not understand his companion's provincial
+French.  Then suiting the action to the word, he
+crawled out from between the shafts of the cart, where
+he had passed the night, tossed off his blankets and
+gave himself a shake, dressing being no part of the
+morning performances during camping out in the
+Canadian wilds, as every one puts on all the clothing
+he has at going to bed, to keep himself warm through
+the night.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The fire was reduced to a smouldering ash-heap,
+and every leaf and twig around was sparkling with
+hoar-frost, for the frost had deepened in the night, and
+joints were stiff and limbs were aching.  A run for a
+mile was Bowkett's remedy, and a look round for the
+horses, which had been turned loose, Canadian fashion,
+to get their supper where they could find it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The first red beams of the rising sun were tinging
+the glassy surface of the lake when Bowkett came
+upon the scattered quadrupeds, and drove them, with
+Wilfred's assistance, down to its blue waters for their
+morning drink.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Diomé's shouts recalled them to their own
+breakfast.  He was a man of many tongues, invariably
+scolding in French—especially the horses and dogs,
+who heeded it, he asserted, better than any other
+language except Esquimau—explaining in English,
+and coming out with the Indian "Caween" when
+discourse required an animated "no."  "Caween," he
+reiterated now, as Bowkett asked, "Are we to dawdle
+about all day for these English cow-keepers?"  For
+neither Forgill nor Marley had yet put in an appearance.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The breakfast was not hurried over.  The fire was
+built up bigger than ever before they left, that its
+blackened remains might mark their camping place
+for days, if the farming men came after them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred, who had buckled the saddle on Brownie,
+received a riding lesson, and then they started, Diomé
+driving the cart.  Wilfred kept beside him at first,
+but growing bolder as his spirits rose, he trotted
+onward to exchange a word with Bowkett.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The sharp, frosty night seemed likely to be followed
+by a day of bright and mellow sunshine.  The
+exhilarating morning breeze banished all thoughts of
+fear and care from the light-hearted trio; and when
+the tall white stems of the pines appeared to tremble
+in the mid-day mirage, Wilfred scampered hither and
+thither, as merry as the little gopher, or ground
+squirrel, that was gambolling across his path.  But no
+large game had yet been sighted.  Then all
+unexpectedly a solitary buffalo stalked majestically across
+what was now the entrance to a valley, but what
+would become the bed of a rushing river when the ice
+was melting in the early spring.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Bowkett paused, looked to his rifle and
+saddle-girths, waved his arm to Wilfred to fall back, and
+with a shout that made the boy's heart leap dashed
+after it.  Wilfred urged his Brownie up the bank,
+where he thought he could safely watch the chase and
+enjoy a repetition of the exciting scenes of yesterday.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Finding itself pursued, the buffalo doubled.  On it
+came, tearing up the ground in its course, and seeming
+to shake the quivering trees with its mighty bellow.
+Brownie plunged and reared, and Wilfred was flung
+backwards, a senseless heap at the foot of the steep bank.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="the-first-snowstorm"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">THE FIRST SNOWSTORM.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>IN the midst of the danger and excitement of the
+chase, Bowkett had not a thought to spare for
+Wilfred.  He and Diomé were far too busy to even
+wonder what had become of him.  It was not until
+their work was done, and the proverbial hunger of the
+hunter urged them to prepare for dinner, that the
+question arose.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Where on earth is that young scoundrel of a boy?
+Has he fallen back so far that it will take him all
+day to recover ground?" asked Bowkett.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"And if it is so," remarked Diomé, "he has only to
+give that cunning little brute its head.  It is safe to
+follow the track of the cart-wheel, and bring him in
+for the glorious teasing that is waiting to sugar his
+tea."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Rare seasoning for the frying-pan," retorted
+Bowkett, as he lit his pipe, and proposed to halt a bit
+longer until the truant turned up.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Maybe," suggested Diomé, "if May bees fly in
+October, that moose-eared pony [the long ears of the
+moose detect the faintest sound at an inconceivable
+distance] has been more than a match for his raw
+equestrianism.  It has heard the jog-trot of that
+solemn and sober cowherd, and galloped him off to
+join his old companions.  What will become of the
+scattered flock?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Without a leader," put in Bowkett.  "I have a
+great mind to bid for the office."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, oh!" laughed Diomé.  "I have something of
+the keen scent of my Indian grandfather; I began to
+sniff the wind when that mantle was talked about
+last night.  Now then, are we going to track back
+to find this boy?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know where you propose to look for
+him, but I can tell you where you will find
+him—munching cakes on his auntie's lap.  We may as well
+save time by looking in the likeliest place first,"
+retorted Bowkett.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The bivouac over, they returned to Acland's Hut
+with their well-laden cart, and Wilfred was left
+behind them, no one knew where.  The hunters' careless
+conclusions were roughly shaken, when they saw a
+riderless pony trotting leisurely after them to the
+well-known door.  Old Pête came out and caught it
+by the bridle.  An ever-rising wave of consternation
+was spreading.  No one as yet had put it into words,
+until Forgill emerged from the cattle-sheds with a
+sack on his shoulder, exclaiming, "Where's the boy?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"With you, is not he?  He did not say much to
+us; either he or his pony started off to follow you.
+He was an unruly one, you know," replied Bowkett.
+Forgill's only answer was a hoarse shout to Marley,
+who had returned from his wanderings earlier in the
+day, to come with torches.  Diomé joined them in
+the search.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Bowkett stepped into the house to allay Aunt
+Miriam's fears with his regret the boy had somehow
+given them the slip, but Forgill and Diomé had gone
+back for him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>An abundant and what seemed to them a luxuriant
+supper had been provided for the hunting party.
+Whilst Bowkett sat down to enjoy it to his heart's
+content, Aunt Miriam wandered restlessly from room
+to room, cautiously breaking the ill news to her
+brother, by telling him only half the hunting party
+had yet turned up.  Pête was watching for the
+stragglers.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He roused himself up to ask her who was missing.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But her guarded reply reassured him, and he
+settled back to sleep.  Such mishaps were of
+every-day occurrence.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A cold night for camping out," he murmured.
+"You will see them with the daylight."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But the chilly hour which precedes the dawn brought
+with it a heavy fall of snow.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Miriam's heart sank like lead, for she knew
+that every track would be obliterated now.  Bowkett
+still laughed away her fears.  Find the boy they
+would, benumbed perhaps at the foot of a tree, or
+huddled up in some sheltering hollow.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Then Aunt Miriam asked Bowkett if he would
+earn her everlasting gratitude, by taking the dogs
+and Pête, with skins and blankets—</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"And bringing the truant home," responded
+Bowkett boastfully.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The farm-house, with its double doors and windows,
+its glowing stoves in every room, was as warm and
+cozy within as the night without was cheerless and
+cold.  Bowkett, who had been enjoying his taste of
+true English comfort, felt its allurements enhanced by
+the force of the contrast.  Aunt Miriam barred the
+door behind him with a great deal of unearned
+gratitude in her heart.  Her confidence in Forgill was
+shaken.  He ought not to have brought home the
+cows and left her nephew behind.  Yet the herd was
+so valuable, and he felt himself responsible to his
+master for their well-being.  She did not blame
+Forgill; she blamed herself for letting Wilfred go
+with him.  She leaned upon the hunter's assurances,
+for she knew that his resource and daring, and his
+knowledge of the country, were far greater than that
+possessed by either of the farming men.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The storm which had burst at daybreak had
+shrouded all around in a dense white sheet of driving
+snowflakes.  Even objects close at hand showed dim
+and indistinct in the gray snow-light.  On the
+search-party went, groping their way through little clumps
+of stunted bushes, which frequently deceived them by
+a fancied resemblance to a boyish figure, now
+throwing up its arms to call attention, now huddled in a
+darkling heap.  Their shouts received no answer:
+that went for little.  The boy must long ago have
+succumbed to such a night without fire or shelter
+They felt among the bushes.  The wet mass of snow
+struck icily cold on hands and faces.  A bitter, biting
+wind swept down the river from the north-east,
+breaking the tall pine branches and uprooting many
+a sapling.  The two search-parties found each other
+that was all.  Such weather in itself makes many a
+man feel savage-tempered and sullen.  If they spoke
+at all, it was to blame one another.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>While thus they wandered to and fro over the
+hunting-ground of yesterday, where was the boy they
+failed to meet?  Where was Wilfred?  Fortunately
+for him the grass grew thick and tall at the bottom
+of the bank down which he had fallen.  Lost to view
+amid the waving yellow tufts which had sprung up
+to giant size in the bed of the dried-up stream, he lay
+for some time in utter unconsciousness; whilst the
+frightened pony, finding itself free, galloped madly
+away over the sandy ridges they had been crossing
+earlier in the morning.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>By slow degrees sight and sound returned to the
+luckless boy.  He was bruised and shaken, and one
+ankle which he had bent under him made him cry
+out with pain when he tried to rise.  At last he drew
+himself into a sitting posture and looked around.
+Recollections came back confusedly at first.  As his ideas
+grew clearer, he began to realize what had happened.
+Overhead the sky was gloomy and dark.  A stormy
+wind swept the whitened grass around him into
+billowy waves.  Wilfred's first thought was to shout
+to his companions; but his voice was weak and faint,
+and a longing for a little water overcame him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Finding himself unable to walk, he dropped down
+again in the grassy nest which he had formed for
+himself, and tried to think.  The weight of his fall
+had crushed the grass beneath him into the soft clayey
+mud at the bottom of the valley.  But the pain in
+his ankle predominated over every other consideration.
+His first attempt to help himself was to take
+the knife out of his belt and cut down some of the
+grass within reach, and make a softer bed on which to
+rest it.  His limbs were stiffening with the cold, and
+whilst he had still feeling enough in his fingers to
+undo his boot, he determined to try to bind up his
+ankle.  Whilst he held it pressed between both his
+hands it seemed easier.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But Wilfred knew he must not sit there waiting
+for Forgill, who, he felt sure, would come and look
+for him if he had rejoined the hunting party:
+if—there were so many </span><em class="italics">ifs</em><span> clinging to every thought
+Wilfred grew desperate.  He grasped a great handful
+of the sticky clay and pressed it round his ankle in a
+stiff, firm band.  There was a change in the
+atmosphere.  In the morning that clay would have been
+hard and crisp with the frost, now it was yielding
+in his hand; surely the snow was coming.  Boy as
+he was, he knew what that would do for him—he
+should be buried beneath it in the hole in which he
+lay.  It roused him to the uttermost.  Deep down in
+Wilfred's nature there was a vein of that cool daring
+which the great Napoleon called "two o'clock in the
+morning courage"—a feeling which rises highest in
+the face of danger, borrowing little from its
+surroundings, and holding only to its own.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"If," repeated Wilfred, as his thoughts ran on—"if
+they could not find me, and that is likely enough, am
+I going to lie here and die?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He looked up straight into the leaden sky.  "There
+is nothing between us and God's heaven," he thought.
+"It is we who see such a little way.  He can send me
+help.  It may be coming for what I know, one way
+or another.  What is the use of sitting here thinking?
+Has Bowkett missed me?  Will he turn back to look
+me up?  Will Forgill come?  If I fall asleep down
+in this grass, how could they see me?  Any way, I
+must get out of this hole."  He tore the lining out of
+his cap and knotted it round his ankle, to keep the
+clay in place; but to put his boot on again was an
+impossibility.  Even he knew his toes would freeze
+before morning if he left them uncovered.  He took
+his knife and cut off the fur edge down the front of
+the old skin coat, and wound his foot up in it as fast
+as he could.  Then, dragging his boot along with him,
+he tried hard to crawl up the bank; but it was too
+steep for him, and he slipped back again, hurting
+himself a little more at every slide.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>This, he told himself, was most unnecessary, as he
+was sore enough and stiff enough before.  Another
+bad beginning.  What was the use of stopping short
+at a bad beginning?  He thought of Bruce and his
+spider.  He had not tried seven times yet.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred's next attempt was to crawl towards the
+entrance of the valley—this was easier work.  Then
+he remembered the biscuit in his pocket.  It was not
+all gone yet.  He drew himself up and began to eat
+it gladly enough, for he had had nothing since his
+breakfast.  The biscuit was very hard, and he crunched
+it, making all the noise he could.  It seemed a relief
+to make any sort of sound in that awful stillness.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He was growing almost cheery as he ate.  "If I can
+only find the cart-track," he thought; "and I must be
+near it.  Diomé was behind us when I was thrown;
+he must have driven past the end of this valley.  If
+I could only climb a tree, I might see where the grass
+was crushed by the cart-wheel."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But this was just what Wilfred could not do.  The
+last piece of biscuit was in his hand, when a dog leaped
+out of the bushes on the bank above him and flew at it.
+Wilfred seized his boot to defend himself; but that was
+hopeless work, crawling on the ground.  It was a better
+thought to fling the biscuit to the dog, for if he
+enraged it—ah! it might tear him to pieces.  It caught
+the welcome boon in its teeth, and devoured it, pawing
+the ground impatiently for more.  Wilfred had but
+one potato left.  He began to cut it in slices and toss
+them to the dog.  A bright thought had struck him:
+this dog might have a master near.  No doubt about
+that; and if he were only a wild Red Indian, he was
+yet a man.  Full of this idea, Wilfred emptied out
+his pockets to see if a corner of biscuit was left at the
+bottom.  There were plenty of crumbs.  He forgot
+his own hunger, and held out his hand to the dog.
+It was evidently starving.  It sat down before him,
+wagging its bushy tail and moving its jaws beseechingly,
+in a mute appeal for food.  Wilfred drew himself
+a little nearer, talking and coaxing.  One sweep of
+the big tongue and the pile of crumbs had vanished.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was a sound—a crashing, falling sound—in
+the distance.  How they both listened!  Off rushed
+the furry stranger.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It is my chance," thought Wilfred, "my only chance."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He picked up the half-eaten potato and scrambled
+after the dog, quite forgetting his pain in his desperation.
+A vociferous barking in the distance urged him on.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was not Bowkett, by the strange dog; but another
+hunting party might be near.  The noise he had heard
+was the fall of some big game.  Hope rose high; but
+he soon found himself obliged to rest, and then he
+shouted with all his might.  He was making his way
+up the valley now.  He saw before him a clump of
+willows, whose drooping boughs must have lapped the
+stream.  His boot was too precious to be left behind;
+he slung it to his belt, and then crawled on.  One
+more effort.  He had caught the nearest bough, and,
+by its help, he drew himself upright.  Oh the pain
+in the poor foot when he let it touch the ground! it
+made him cry out again and again.  Still he persisted
+in his purpose.  He grasped a stronger stem arching
+higher overhead, and swung himself clear from the
+ground.  The pliant willow swayed hither and thither
+in the stormy blast.  Wilfred almost lost his hold.
+The evening shadows were gathering fast.  The dead
+leaves swept down upon him with every gust.  The
+wind wailed and sighed amongst the tall white grass
+and the bulrushes at his feet.  It was impossible to
+resist a feeling of utter desolation.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred shut his eyes upon the dreary scene.  The
+snatch of prayer on his lips brought back the bold
+spirit of an hour ago.  He rested the poor injured
+ankle on his other foot, and drew himself up, hand
+over hand, higher and higher, to the topmost bough,
+and there he clung, until a stronger blast than ever
+flung him backwards towards the bank.  He felt the
+bough giving way beneath his weight, and, with a
+desperate spring, clutched at the stunted bushes which
+had scratched his cheek when for one moment, in the
+toss of the gale, he had touched the hard, firm, stony
+ridge.  Another moment, and Wilfred found himself,
+gasping and breathless, on the higher ground.  An
+uprooted tree came down with a shock of thunder,
+shaking the earth beneath him, loosening the
+water-washed stones, and crashing among the decaying
+branches of its fellow pines.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>At last the whirl of dust and stones subsided, and
+the barking of the dog made itself heard once more
+above the roar of the gale.  Trembling at his
+hair-breadth escape, Wilfred cleared the dust from his eyes
+and looked about him.  A dark form was lying upon
+the shelving ground.  He could just distinguish the
+outstretched limbs and branching antlers of a wild
+moose-deer.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Whoever the hunter might be he would seek his
+quarry.  Wilfred felt himself saved.  The tears swam
+before his eyes.  He was looking upward in the
+intensity of his thankfulness.  He did not see the arrow
+quivering still in the dead deer's flank, or he would
+have known that it could only have flown from some
+Indian bow.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He had nothing to do but to wait, to wait and shout.
+A warm touch on the tip of his ear made him look
+round; the dog had returned to him.  It, too, had
+been struck—a similar arrow was sticking in the back
+of its neck.  It twisted its head round as far as it
+was possible, vainly trying to reach it, and then looked
+at Wilfred with a mute, appealing glance there was
+no mistaking.  The boy sat up, laid one hand on the
+dog's back, and grasped the arrow with the other.
+He tugged at it with all his might; the point was
+deep in the flesh.  But it came out at last, followed
+by a gush of blood.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Stand still, good dog.  There, quiet, quiet!" cried
+Wilfred quickly, as he tore a bit of fur off his cap
+and plugged the hole.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The poor wounded fellow seemed to understand all
+about it.  He only turned his head and licked the
+little bit of Wilfred's face that was just visible under
+his overwhelming cap.  A doggie's gratitude is never
+wanting.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, you stupid," said Wilfred.  "How am I
+to see what I am about if you keep washing me
+between my eyes?  There! just what I expected, it
+is out again.  Now, steady."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Another try, and the plug was in again, firmer
+than before.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"There, there!  lie down, and let me hold it a bit,"
+continued Wilfred, carefully considering his shaggy
+acquaintance.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He was a big, handsome fellow, with clean, strong
+legs and a hairy coat, which hung about his keen,
+bright eyes and almost concealed them.  But the fur
+was worn and chafed around his neck and across his
+back, leaving no doubt in Wilfred's mind as to what
+he was.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You have been driven in a sledge, old boy," he
+said, as he continued to fondle him.  "You've worn
+harness until it has torn your coat and made it
+shabbier than mine.  You are no hunter's dog, as I
+hoped.  I expect you have been overdriven, lashed
+along until you dropped down in the traces; and
+then your hard-hearted driver undid your harness,
+and left you to live or die.  Oh!  I know their cruel
+ways.  How long have you been wandering?  It
+isn't in nature that I shouldn't feel for you, for I
+am afraid, old fellow, I am in for such another 'do.'"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was not talking to deaf ears.  The dog
+lay down beside him, and stretched its long paws
+across his knee, looking up in his face, as if a word
+of kindness were something so new, so unimagined,
+so utterly incomprehensible.  Was it the first he had
+ever heard?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>No sunset glory brightened the dreary scene.  All
+around them was an ever-deepening gloom.  Wilfred
+renewed his shouts at intervals, and the dog barked
+as if in answer.  Then followed a long silent pause,
+when Wilfred listened as if his whole soul were in
+his ears.  Was there the faintest echo of a sound?
+Who could distinguish in the teeth of the gale, still
+tearing away the yellow leaves from the storm-tossed
+branches, and scaring the wild fowl from marsh and
+lakelet?  Who could tell?  And yet there was a
+shadow thrown across the white pine stem.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Another desperate shout.  Wilfred's heart was in
+his mouth as he strove to make himself heard above
+the roar of the wind.  On came the stately figure of
+a wild Cree chief.  His bow was in his hand, but
+he was glancing upwards at the stormy sky.  His
+stealthy movements and his light and noiseless tread
+had been unheard, even by the dog.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Indian was wearing the usual dress of the Cree—a
+coat of skin with a scarlet belt, and, as the night
+was cold, his raven elf-locks were covered with a
+little cap his squaw had manufactured from a
+rat-skin.  His blue cloth leggings and beautiful
+embroidered moccasins were not so conspicuous in the
+fading light.  Wilfred could but notice the fingerless
+deer-skin mittens covering the hand which grasped his
+bow.  His knife and axe were stuck in his belt, from
+which his well-filled quiver hung.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred tumbled himself on to one knee, and holding
+out the arrow he had extracted from the dog, he
+pointed to the dead game on the bank.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was more truly afraid of the wild-looking
+creature before him than he would have been of the
+living moose.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="maxica-the-cree-indian"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">MAXICA, THE CREE INDIAN.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>Wilfred thought his fears were only too
+well-founded when he saw the Indian lay an
+arrow on his bow-string and point it towards him.
+He had heard that Indians shoot high.  Down he
+flung himself flat on his face, exclaiming, "Spare
+me! spare me!  I'm nothing but a boy."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The dog growled savagely beside him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Despite the crash of the storm the Indian's quick
+ear had detected the sound of a human voice, and his
+hand was stayed.  He seemed groping about him, as
+if to find the speaker.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I am here," shouted Wilfred, "and there is the
+moose your arrow has brought down."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Indian pointed to his own swarthy face,
+saying with a grave dignity, "The day has gone from
+me.  I know it no longer.  In the dim, dim twilight
+which comes before the night I perceive the
+movement, but I no longer see the game.  Yet I shoot,
+for the blind man must eat."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred turned upon his side, immensely comforted
+to hear himself answered in such intelligent English.
+He crawled a little nearer to the wild red man, and
+surveyed him earnestly as he tried to explain the
+disaster which had left him helpless in so desolate
+a spot.  He knew he was in the hunting-grounds of
+the Crees, one of the most friendly of the Indian
+tribes.  His being there gave no offence to the blind
+archer, for the Indians hold the earth is free to all.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The chief was wholly intent upon securing the
+moose Wilfred had told him his arrow had brought down.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I have missed the running stream," he went on.
+"I felt the willow leaves, but the bed by which they
+are growing is a grassy slope."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"How could you know it?" asked Wilfred, in astonishment.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Indian picked up a stone and threw it over
+the bank.  "Listen," he said; "no splash, no gurgle,
+no water there."  He stumbled against the fallen
+deer, and stooping down, felt it all over with evident
+rejoicing.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He had been medicine man and interpreter for his
+tribe before the blindness to which the Indians are
+so subject had overwhelmed him.  It arises from the
+long Canadian winter, the dazzling whiteness of the
+frozen snow, over which they roam for three parts
+of the year, which they only exchange for the choking
+smoke that usually fills their chimneyless wig-wams.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Cree was thinking now how best to secure his
+prize.  He carefully gathered together the dry branches
+the storm was breaking and tearing away in every
+direction, and carefully covered it over.  Then he
+took his axe from his belt and cut a gash in the bark
+of the nearest tree to mark the spot.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred sat watching every movement with a nervous
+excitement, which helped to keep his blood from
+freezing and his heart from failing.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The dog was walking cautiously round and round
+whilst this work was going forward.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Cree turned to Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a boy of the Moka-manas?" (big knives,
+an Indian name for the white men).</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When the </span><em class="italics">cache</em><span>, as the Canadians call such a place
+as the Indian was making, was finished, the darkness
+of night had fallen.  Poor Wilfred sat clapping his
+hands, rubbing his knees, and hugging the dog to keep
+himself from freezing altogether.  He could scarcely
+tell what his companion was about, but he heard the
+breaking of sticks and a steady sound of chopping
+and clearing.  Suddenly a bright flame shot up in the
+murky midnight, and Wilfred saw before him a
+well-built pyramid of logs and branches, through which
+the fire was leaping and running until the whole mass
+became one steady blaze.  Around the glowing heap
+the Indian had cleared away the thick carpet of pine
+brush and rubbish, banking it up in a circle as a
+defence from the cutting wind.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He invited Wilfred to join him, as he seated himself
+in front of the glowing fire, wrapped his bearskin
+round him, and lit his pipe.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The whole scene around them was changed as if by
+magic.  The freezing chill, the unutterable loneliness
+had vanished.  The ruddy light of the fire played
+and flickered among the shadowy trees, casting bright
+reflections of distorted forms along the whitening
+ground, and lighting up the cloudy sky with a
+radiance that must have been visible for miles.
+Wilfred was not slow in making his way into the charmed
+circle.  He got over the ground like a worm, wriggling
+himself along until his feet were over the bank, and
+down he dropped in front of the glorious fire.  He coiled
+himself round with a sense of exquisite enjoyment,
+stretching his stiffened limbs and spreading his hands
+to the glowing warmth, and altogether behaving in as
+senseless a fashion as the big doggie himself.  He had
+waited for no invitation, bounding up to Wilfred in
+extravagant delight, and now lay rolling over and over
+before the fire, giving sharp, short barks of delight at
+the unexpected pleasure.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was bliss, it was ecstasy, it was paradise, that
+sudden change from the bleak, dark, shivering night
+to the invigorating warmth and the cheery glow.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Cree sat back in dreamy silence, sending great
+whiffs of smoke from the carved red-stone bowl of his
+long pipe, and watching the dog and the boy at play.
+Their presence in noways detracted from his Indian
+comfort, for the puppy and the pappoose are the
+Cree's delight by his wigwam fire.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Hunger and thirst were almost forgotten, until
+Wilfred remembered his potato, and began to busy
+himself with roasting it in the ashes.  But the dog,
+mistaking his purpose, and considering it a most
+inappropriate gift to the fire, rolled it out again before
+it was half roasted, and munched it up with great gusto.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"There's a shame! you bad old greedy boy,"
+exclaimed Wilfred, when he found out what the dog was
+eating.  "Well," he philosophised, determined to make
+the best of what could not now be helped, "I had a
+breakfast, and you—why, you look as if you had had
+neither breakfast, dinner, nor supper for many a long
+day.  How have you existed?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But this question was answered before the night
+was out.  The potato was hot, and the impatient dog
+burned his lips.  After sundry shakings and rubbings
+of his nose in the earth, the sagacious old fellow
+jumped up the bank and ran off.  When he returned,
+his tongue touched damp and cool, and there were
+great drops of water hanging in his hair.  Up sprang
+the thirsty Wilfred to search for the spring.  The Cree
+was nodding; but the boy had no fear of losing himself,
+with that glorious fire-shine shedding its radiance
+far and wide through the lonely night.  He called the
+dog to follow him, and groped along the edge of the
+dried-up watercourse, sometimes on all fours, sometimes
+trying to take a step.  Painful as it was, he was
+satisfied his foot was none the worse for a little movement.
+His effort was rewarded.  He caught the echo of a
+trickling sound from a corner of rock jutting out of
+the stunted bushes.  The dog, which seemed now to
+guess the object of his search, led him up to a breakage
+in the lichen-covered stone, through which a bubbling
+spring dashed its warm spray into their faces.  Yes,
+it was warm; and when Wilfred stooped to catch the
+longed-for water in his hands, it was warm to his
+lips, with a strong disagreeable taste.  No matter, it
+was water; it was life.  It was more than simple
+water; he had lighted on a sulphur spring.  Wilfred
+drank eagerly as he felt its tonic effects fortifying him
+against the benumbing cold.  For the wind seemed
+cutting the skin from his face, and the snowflakes
+driving before the blast were changing the dog from
+black to white.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Much elated with his discovery, Wilfred returned
+to the fire, where the Cree still sat in statue-like repose.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"He is fast asleep," thought Wilfred, as he got down
+again as noiselessly as he could; but the Indian's sleep
+was like the sleep of the wild animal.  Hearing was
+scarcely closed.  He opened one eye, comprehended that
+it was Wilfred returning, and shut it, undisturbed by
+the whirling snow.  Wilfred set up two great pieces
+of bark like a penthouse over his head, and coaxed
+the dog to nestle by his side.  Sucking the tip of his
+beaver-skin gloves to still the craving for his supper,
+he too fell asleep, to awake shivering in the gray of
+the dawn to a changing world.  Everywhere around
+him there was one vast dazzling whirl of driving sleet
+and dancing snow.  The fire had become a smouldering
+pile, emitting a fitful visionary glow.  On every side
+dim uncertain shapes loomed through the whitened
+atmosphere.  A scene so weird and wild struck a chill
+to his heart.  The dog moved by Wilfred's side, and
+threw off something of the damp, cold weight that was
+oppressing him.  He sat upright.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica, or Crow's Foot—for that was the Cree's
+name—was groping round and round the circle, pulling
+out pieces of dead wood from under the snow to
+replenish the dying fire.  But he only succeeded in
+making it hiss and crackle and send up volumes of
+choking smoke, instead of the cheery flames of last night.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Between the dark, suffocating cloud which hovered
+over the fire and the white whirling maze beyond it,
+Maxica, with his failing sight, was completely bewildered.
+All tracks were long since buried and lost.  It
+was equally impossible to find the footprints of Wilfred's
+hunting party, or to follow his own trail back to
+the birch-bark canoe which had been his home during
+the brief, bright summer.  He folded his arms in
+hopeless, stony despair.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We are in for a two days' snow," he said; "if the
+fire fails us and refuses to burn, we are as good as lost."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The dog leaped out of the sunken circle, half-strangled
+with the smoke, and Wilfred was coughing.  One
+thought possessed them both, to get back to the water.
+Snow or no snow, the dog would find it.  The Cree
+yielded to Wilfred's entreaty not to part company.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll be eyes for both," urged the boy, "if you will
+only hold my hand."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica replied by catching him round the waist and
+carrying him under one arm.  They were soon at the
+spring.  It was gushing and bubbling through the
+snow which surrounded it, hot and stinging as before.
+The dog was lapping at the little rill ere it lost itself
+in the all-shrouding snow.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>In another minute Wilfred and the Cree were
+bending down beside it.  Wilfred was guiding the
+rough, red hand to the right spot; and as Maxica
+drank, he snatched a drop for himself.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>To linger beside it seemed to Wilfred their wisest
+course, but Maxica knew the snow was falling so thick
+and fast they should soon be buried beneath it.  The
+dog, however, did not share in their perplexity.
+Perhaps, like Maxica, he knew they must keep moving,
+for he dashed through the pathless waste, barking
+loudly to Wilfred to follow.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The snow was now a foot deep, at least, on the
+highest ground, and Wilfred could no longer make
+his way through it.  Maxica had to lift him out of it
+again and again.  At last he took him on his back,
+and from this unwonted elevation Wilfred commanded
+a better outlook.  The dog was some way in advance,
+making short bounds across the snow and leaving a
+succession of holes behind him.  He at least appeared
+to know where he was going, for he kept as straight
+a course as if he were following some beaten path.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But Maxica knew well no such path existed.  Every
+now and then they paused at one of the holes their
+pioneer had made, to recover breath.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"How long will this go on?" thought Wilfred.  "If
+Maxica tires and lays me down my fate is sealed."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He began to long for another draught of the warm,
+sulphurous water.  But the faint hope they both
+entertained, that the dog might be leading them to
+some camping spot of hunter or Indian, made them
+afraid to turn back.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was past the middle of the day when Wilfred
+perceived a round dark spot rising out of the snow,
+towards which the dog was hurrying.  The snow
+beat full in their faces, but with the eddying gusts
+which almost swept them off their feet the Cree's
+keen sense of smell detected a whiff of smoke.  This
+urged him on.  Another and a surer sign of help at
+hand—the dog had vanished.  Yet Maxica was sure
+he could hear him barking wildly in the distance.
+But Wilfred could no longer distinguish the round
+dark spot towards which they had been hastening.
+Maxica stood still in calm and proud despair.  It was
+as impossible now to go, back to the </span><em class="italics">cache</em><span> of game
+and the sulphur spring as it was to force his way
+onward.  They had reached a snow-drift.  The soft
+yielding wall of white through which he was striding
+grew higher and higher.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>In vain did Wilfred's eyes wander from one side to
+the other.  As far as he could see the snow lay round
+them, one wide, white, level sheet, in which the Cree
+was standing elbow-deep.  Were they, indeed, beyond
+the reach of human aid?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was silent, hushed; but it was the hush of
+secret prayer.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Maxica exclaimed, "Can the Good Spirit
+the white men talk of, can he hear us?  Will he
+show us the path?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Such a question from such wild lips, at such an
+hour, how strangely it struck on Wilfred's ear.  He
+had scarcely voice enough left to make himself heard,
+for the storm was raging round them more fiercely
+than ever.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I was thinking of him, Maxica.  While we are
+yet speaking, will he hear?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred's words were cut short, for Maxica had
+caught his foot against something buried in the snow,
+and stumbled.  Wilfred was thrown forward.  The
+ground seemed giving way beneath him.  He was
+tumbled through the roof of the little birch-bark hut,
+which they had been wandering round and round
+without knowing it.  Wilfred was only aware of a
+faint glimmer of light through a column of curling,
+blinding smoke.  He thought he must be descending
+a chimney, but his outstretched hands were already
+touching the ground, and he wondered more and more
+where he could have alighted.  Not so Maxica.  He
+had grasped the firm pole supporting the fragile
+birch-bark walls, through which Wilfred had forced
+his way.  One touch was sufficient to convince him
+they had groped their way to an Indian hut.  The
+column of smoke rushing through the hole Wilfred
+had made in his most lucky tumble told the Cree of
+warmth and shelter within.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was a scream from a feeble woman's voice,
+but the exclamation was in the rich, musical dialect
+of the Blackfeet, the hereditary enemies of his tribe.
+In the blind warrior's mind it was a better thing to
+hide himself beneath the snow and freeze to death,
+than submit to the scalping-knife of a hated foe.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Out popped Wilfred's head to assure him there was
+only a poor old woman inside, but she had got a fire.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The latter half of his confidences had been already
+made plain by the dense smoke, which was producing
+such a state of strangulation Wilfred could say no more.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But the hut was clearing; Maxica once more grasped
+the nearest pole, and swung himself down.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A few words with the terrified squaw were enough
+for the Cree, who knew so well the habits of their
+wandering race.  The poor old creature had probably
+journeyed many hundreds of miles, roaming over their
+wide hunting-grounds, until she had sunk by the way,
+too exhausted to proceed any further.  Then her
+people had built her this little hut, lit a fire in the
+hastily-piled circle of stones in the middle of it,
+heaped up the dry wood on one side to feed it, placed
+food and water on the other, and left her lying on
+her blankets to die alone.  It was the custom of the
+wild, wandering tribes.  She had accepted her fate
+with Indian resignation, simply saying that her hour
+had come.  But the rest she so much needed had
+restored her failing powers, and whilst her stock of
+food lasted she was getting better.  They had found
+her gathering together the last handful of sticks to
+make up the fire once more, and then she would lie
+down before it and starve.  Every Indian knows
+what starvation means, and few can bear it as well.
+Living as they do entirely by the chase, the feast
+which follows the successful hunt is too often succeeded
+by a lengthy fast.  Her shaking hands were gathering
+up the lumps of snow which had come down on the
+pieces of the broken roof, to fill her empty kettle.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred picked up the bits of bark to which it had
+been sticking, and threw them on the fire.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"My bow and quiver for a few old shreds of beaver-skin,
+and we are saved," groaned the Cree, who knew
+that all his garments were made from the deer.  He
+felt the hem of the old squaw's tattered robe, but
+beaver there was none.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want it for, Maxica?" asked Wilfred,
+as he pulled off his gloves and offered them to
+him.  "There is nothing about me that I would not
+give you, and be only too delighted to have got it to
+give, when I think how you carried me through the
+snowdrift.  These are new beaver-skin; take them,
+Maxica."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A smile lit up the chief's dark face as he carefully
+felt the proffered gloves, and to make assurance doubly
+sure added taste to touch.  Then he began to tear
+them into shreds, which he directed Wilfred to drop
+into the melting snow in the kettle, explaining to him
+as well as he could that there was an oiliness in the
+beaver-skin which never quite dried out of it, and
+would boil down into a sort of soup.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A kind of coarse isinglass, I should say," put in
+Wilfred.  But the Cree knew nothing of isinglass and
+its nourishing qualities; yet he knew the good of the
+beaver-skin when other food had failed.  It was a
+wonderful discovery to Wilfred, to think his gloves
+could provide them all with a dinner; but they
+required some long hours' boiling, and the fire was dying
+down again for want of fuel.  Maxica ventured out to
+search for driftwood under the snow.  He carefully
+drew out a pole from the structure of the hut, and
+using it as an alpenstock, swung himself out of the
+hollow in which the hut had been built for shelter,
+and where the snow had accumulated to such a depth
+that it was completely buried.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Whilst he was gone Wilfred and the squaw were
+beside the fire, sitting on the ground face to face,
+regarding each other attentively.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="in-the-birch-bark-hut"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>The squaw was a very ugly woman; starvation
+and old age combined had made her perfectly
+hideous.  As Wilfred sat in silence watching the
+simmering kettle, he thought she was the ugliest creature
+he had ever seen.  Her complexion was a dark
+red-brown.  Her glittering black eyes seemed to glare on
+him in the darkness of the hut like a cat's.  Her
+shrivelled lips showed a row of formidably long teeth,
+which made Wilfred think of Little Red Ridinghood's
+grandmother, and he hoped she would not pounce on
+him and devour him before Maxica returned.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He wronged her shamefully, for she had been
+watching his limping movements with genuine pity.
+What did it matter that her gown was scant and
+short, or that her leggings, which had once been of
+bright-coloured cloth, curiously worked with beads,
+were reduced by time to a sort of no-colour and the
+tracery upon them to a dirty line?  They hid a good,
+kind heart.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>She loosened the English handkerchief tied over
+her head, and the long, raven locks, now streaked with
+white, fell over her shoulders.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>She was a wild-looking being, but her awakening
+glance of alertness need not have alarmed Wilfred, for
+she was only intent upon dipping him a cup of water
+from the steaming kettle.  She was careful to taste it
+and cool it with a little of the snow still driving
+through the hole in the roof, until she made it the
+right degree of heat that was safest for Wilfred in his
+starving, freezing condition.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What would Aunt Miriam think if she could see
+me now?" mused the boy, as he fixed his eyes on the
+dying embers and turned away from the steaming cup
+he longed to snatch at.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Yet when the squaw held it towards him, he put it
+back with a smile, resolutely repeating "After you,"
+for was she not a woman?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He made her drink.  A little greasy water, oh! how
+nice!  Then he refilled the cup and took his share.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The tottering creature smoothed the blanket from
+which she had risen on Wilfred's summary entrance,
+and motioned to him to lie down.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It will be all glove with us now," laughed Wilfred
+to himself—"hand and glove with the Red Indians.
+If any one whispered that in uncle's ear, wouldn't he
+think me a queer fish!  But I owe my life to Maxica,
+and I know it."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He threw himself down on the blanket, glad indeed
+of the rest for his swollen ankle.  From this lowly
+bed he fell to contemplating his temporary refuge.
+It looked so very temporary, especially the side from
+which Maxica had abstracted his alpenstock, Wilfred
+began to fear the next disaster would be its downfall.
+He was dozing, when a sudden noise made him start
+up, in the full belief the catastrophe he had dreaded
+had arrived; but it was only Maxica dropping the
+firewood he had with difficulty collected through the
+hole in the roof.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He called out to Wilfred that he had discovered his
+atim digging in the snow at some distance.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>What his atim might prove to be Wilfred could
+not imagine.  He was choosing a stick from the heap
+of firewood.  Balancing himself on one foot, he popped
+his head through the hole to reconnoitre.  He fancied
+he too could see a moving speck in the distance.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The dog!" he cried joyfully, giving a long, shrill
+whistle that brought it bounding over the crisping
+snow towards him with a ptarmigan in its mouth.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>After much coaxing, Wilfred induced the dog to
+lay the bird down, to lap the melting snow which was
+filling the hollows in the floor with little puddles.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The squaw pounced upon the bird as a welcome
+addition to the beaver-skin soup.  Where had the dog
+found it?  He had not killed it, that was clear, for it
+was frozen hard.  Yet it had not been frozen to death.
+The quick Indian perception of the squaw pointed to
+the bite on its breast.  It was not the tooth of a dog,
+but the sharp beak of some bird of prey which had
+killed it.  The atim had found the </span><em class="italics">cache</em><span> of a great
+white owl; a provident bird, which, when once its
+hunger is satisfied, stores the remainder of its prey in
+some handy crevice.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The snow had ceased to fall.  The moon was rising.
+The thick white carpet which covered all around was
+hardening under the touch of the coming frost.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Another cup from the half-made soup, and Maxica
+proposed to start with Wilfred to search for the
+supposed store.  The dog was no longer hungry.  It had
+stretched itself on the ground at Wilfred's feet for a
+comfortable slumber.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>An Indian never stops for pain or illness.  With
+the grasp of death upon him, he will follow the
+war-path or the hunting track, so that Maxica paid no
+regard to Wilfred's swollen foot.  If the boy could
+not walk, his shoulder was ready, but go he must;
+the atim would lead his own master to the spot, but
+it would never show it to a stranger.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred glanced up quickly, and then looked down
+with a nod to himself.  It would not do to make
+much of his hurt in such company.  Well, he had
+added a word to his limited stock of Indian.  "Atim"
+was Cree for dog, that at least was clear; and they
+had added the atim to his slender possessions.  They
+thought the dog was his own, and why should not he
+adopt him?  They were both lost, they might as well
+be chums.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>This conclusion arrived at, Wilfred caught up the
+wing of the ptarmigan, and showing it to the dog
+did his best to incite him to find another.  He caught
+sight of a long strip of moose-skin which had evidently
+tied up the squaw's blanket on her journey.  He
+persuaded her to lend it to him, making more use of signs
+than of words.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Ugh! ugh!" she replied, and her "yes" was as
+intelligible to Wilfred as Diomé's "caween."  He soon
+found that "yes" and "no" alone can go a good way
+in making our wants understood by any one as
+naturally quick and observant as an Indian.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The squaw saw what Wilfred was trying to do,
+and helped him, feeble as she was, to make a sling
+for his foot.  With the stick in his hand, when this
+was accomplished, he managed to hobble after Maxica
+and the dog.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Cree went first, treading down a path, and
+partially clearing the way before him with his pole.
+But a disappointment awaited them.  The dog led
+them intelligently enough to the very spot where it
+had unquestionably found a most abundant dinner, by
+the bones and feathers still sticking in the snow.
+Maxica, guided by his long experience, felt about
+him until he found two rats, still wedged in a hole in
+a decaying tree which had gone down before the gale.
+But he would not take them, for fear the owl might
+abandon her reserve.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The otowuck-oho," said Maxica, mimicking the
+cry of the formidable bird, "will fill it again before
+the dawn.  Wait and watch.  Maxica have the
+otowuck himself.  See!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>With all the skill of the Indian at constructing
+traps, he began his work, intending to catch the
+feathered Nimrod by one leg the next time it visited
+its larder, when all in a moment an alarm was
+sounded—a cry that rent the air, so hoarse, so
+hollow, and so solemn Wilfred clung to his guide
+in the chill of fear.  It was a call that might have
+roused to action a whole garrison of soldiers.  The
+Indian drew back.  Again that dread "Waugh O!" rang
+out, and then the breathless silence which followed
+was broken by half-suppressed screams, as of some
+one suffocating in the throttling grasp of an enemy.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The dog, with his tail between his legs, crouched
+cowering at their feet.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The Blackfeet are upon us," whispered the Cree,
+with his hand on his bow, when a moving shadow
+became visible above the distant pine trees.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Cree breathed freely, and drew aside his
+half-made trap, abandoned at the first word that broke
+from Wilfred's lips: "It is not human; it is coming
+through the air."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the otowuck itself," answered Maxica.  "Be
+off, or it will have our eyes out if it finds us near its
+roost."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He was looking round him for some place of
+concealment.  On came the dreaded creature, sailing in
+rapid silence towards its favourite haunt, gliding
+with outstretched pinions over the glistening snow,
+its great round eyes flashing like stars, or gleams of
+angry lightning, as it swept the whitened earth, shooting
+downwards to strike at some furry prey, then rising
+as suddenly in the clear, calm night, until it floated like
+a fleecy cloud above their heads, as ready to swoop
+upon the sparrow nestling on its tiny twig as upon
+the wild turkey-hen roosting among the stunted bushes.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica trembled for the dog, for he knew the
+special hatred with which it regarded dogs.  If it
+recognized the thief at its hoard, its doom was sealed.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica pushed his alpenstock into an empty badger
+hole big enough for the boy and dog to creep into.
+Then, as the owl drew near, he sent an arrow whizzing
+through the air.  It was aimed at the big white breast,
+but the unerring precision of other days was over.  It
+struck the feathery wing.  The bird soared aloft
+unharmed, and the archer, crouching in the snow,
+barely escaped its vengeance.  Down it pounced,
+striking its talons in his shoulder, as he turned his
+back towards it to protect his face.  Wilfred sprang
+out of the friendly burrow, snatched the pole from
+Maxica's hand, and beat off the owl; and the dog,
+unable to rush past Wilfred, barked furiously.  The
+onslaught and the noise were at least distasteful.
+Hissing fiercely, with the horn-like feathers above
+its glaring eyes erect and bristling, the bird spread
+its gigantic wings, wheeling slowly and gracefully
+above their ambush; for Wilfred had retreated as
+quickly as he had emerged, and Maxica lay on his
+face as still as death.  More attractive game presented
+itself.  A hawk flew past.  What hawk could resist
+the pleasure of a passing pounce?  Away went the
+two, chasing and fighting, across the snowy waste.</span></p>
+<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 80%" id="figure-39">
+<span id="wilfred-sprang-and-beat-off-the-owl"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Wilfred sprang and beat off the owl." src="images/img-068.jpg" />
+<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
+<span class="italics">Wilfred sprang and beat off the owl.</span></div>
+</div>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When the owl was out of sight, the Cree rose
+to his feet to complete the snare.  Wilfred crept out
+of his burrow, to find his fingers as hard and white
+and useless as if they had turned to stone.  He had
+kept his gloveless hands well cuddled up in the long
+sleeves of his coat during the walk, but their
+exposure to the cold when he struck at the owl had
+changed them to a lump of ice.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica heard the exclamation, "Oh, my hands! my
+hands!" and seizing a great lump of snow began
+to rub them vigorously.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The return to the hut was easier than the
+outgoing, for the snow was harder.  The pain in
+Wilfred's fingers was turning him sick and faint as they
+reached the hut a little past midnight.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The gloves were reduced to jelly, but the state of
+Wilfred's hands troubled the old squaw.  She had
+had her supper from the beaver-skin soup, but was
+quite ready, Indian fashion, to begin again.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The three seated themselves on the floor, and the
+cup was passed from one to the other, until the whole
+of the soup was drank.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The walk had been fruitless, as Wilfred said.  They
+had returned with nothing but the key of the big
+owl's larder, which, after such an encounter, it would
+probably desert.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Cree lit his pipe, the squaw lay down to
+sleep, and Wilfred talked to his dog.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you understand our bargain, old fellow?" he
+asked.  "You and I are going to chum together.
+Now it is clear I must give you a name.  Let us see
+which you will like best."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred ran through a somewhat lengthy list, for
+nowhere but in Canada are dogs accommodated with
+such an endless variety.  There are names in constant
+use from every Indian dialect, but of the Atims and
+the Chistlis the big, old fellow took no heed.  He
+sat up before his new master, looking very sagacious,
+as if he quite entered into the important business of
+choosing a name.  But clearly Indian would not do.
+even Mist-atim, which Wilfred could now interpret as
+"big dog,"—a name the Cree usually bestows upon
+his horse,—was heard with a contemptuous
+"Ach!"  Chistli, "seven dogs" in the Sircie dialect, which
+appeared to Wilfred highly complimentary to his furry
+friend, met with no recognition.  Then he went over
+the Spankers and Ponys and Boxers, to which the
+numerous hauling dogs so often responded.  No better
+success.  The pricked ears were more erect than ever.
+The head was turned away in positive indifference.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you a Frenchman?" asked Wilfred, going
+over all the old French names he could remember.
+Diomé thought the dogs had a special partiality for
+French.  It would not do, however.  This particular
+dog might hate it.  There were Yankee names
+in plenty from over the border, and uncouth sounding
+Esquimau from the far north.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred began to question if his dog had ever had
+a name, when Yula caught his ear, and "Yula chummie"
+brought the big shaggy head rubbing on Wilfred's
+knee.  Few dogs are honoured with the choice of their
+own name, but it answered, and "Yula chummie"
+was adhered to by boy and dog.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>This weighty matter settled, Wilfred was startled
+to see Maxica rouse himself up with a shake, and
+look to the man-hole, as the Cree called their place of
+exit.  He was going.  Wilfred sprang up in alarm.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't leave me!" he entreated.  "How shall I ever
+find my way home without you?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It might be four o'clock, for the east was not yet
+gray, and the morning stars shone brightly on the
+glistening snow.  Maxica paused, regarding earth and
+sky attentively, until he had ascertained the way of
+the wind.  It was still blowing from the north-east.
+More snow was surely coming.  His care was for his
+canoe, which he had left in safe mooring by the river
+bank.  No one but an Indian could have hoped, in
+his forlorn condition, to have recovered the lost path
+to the running stream.  His one idea was to grope
+about until he did find it, with the wonderful
+persistency of his race.  The Indian rarely fails in anything
+he sets his mind to accomplish.  But to take the lame
+boy with him was out of the question.  He might
+have many miles to traverse before he reached the
+spot.  He tried to explain to Wilfred that he must
+now pack up his canoe for the winter.  He was going
+to turn it keel upwards, among the branches of some
+strong tree, and cover it with boughs, until the spring
+of the leaf came round again.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Will it be safe?" asked Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Safe! perfectly."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica's own particular mark was on boat and
+paddle.  No Indian, no hunter would touch it.  Who
+else was there in that wide, lone land?  As for
+Wilfred, his own people would come and look for him,
+now the storm was over.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not so sure of that," said the poor boy sadly,
+remembering Bowkett's words.—"My aunt Miriam
+did not take to me.  She may not trouble herself
+about me.  How could I be so stupid as to set her
+against me," he was thinking, "all for nothing?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," urged Maxica, "stay here with the
+Far-off-Dawn"—for that was the old squaw's name.  In his
+Indian tongue he called her Pe-na-Koam.  "Will not
+the Good Spirit take care of you?  Did not he guide
+us out of the snowdrift?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was silenced.  "I never did think much
+of myself," he said at last, "but I believe I grow worse
+and worse.  How is it that I know and don't know—that
+I cannot realize this love that never will forsake;
+always more ready to hear than we to ask?  If I
+could but feel it true, all true for me, I should not be
+afraid."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Under that longing the trust was growing stronger
+and stronger in his heart.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall come again for the moose," said Maxica, as
+he shook the red and aching fingers which just peeped
+out from Wilfred's long sleeve; and so he left him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The boy watched the Indian's lithe figure striding
+across the snow, until he could see him no longer.
+Then a cold, dreary feeling crept over him.  Was
+he abandoned by all the world—forgotten—disliked?
+Did nobody care for him?  He tucked his hands into
+the warm fur which folded over his breast, and tried
+to throw off the fear.  The tears gushed from his
+eyes.  Well, there was nobody to see.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He had forgotten Yula.  Those unwonted raindrops
+had brought him, wondering and troubled, to
+Wilfred's side.  A big head was poking its way under
+his arm, and two strong paws were brushing at his knee.
+Yula was saying, "Don't, don't cry," in every variety
+of doggie language.  Never had he been so loving, so
+comforting, so warm to hug, so quick to understand.
+He was doing his best to melt the heavy heart's lead
+that was weighing poor Wilfred down.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He built up the fire, and knelt before it, with Yula's
+head on his shoulder; for the cold grew sharper in
+the gray of the dawn.  The squaw, now the pangs of
+hunger were so far appeased, was sleeping heavily.
+But there was no sleep for Wilfred.  As the daylight
+grew stronger he went again to his look-out.  His
+thoughts were turning to Forgill.  He had seen so
+much more of Forgill than of any one else at his
+uncle's, and he had been so careful over him on the
+journey.  It was wrong to think they would all forget
+him.  He would trust and hope.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He filled the kettle with fresh snow, and put it on
+to boil.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The sun was streaming through the hole in the roof
+when the squaw awoke, like another creature, but not
+in the least surprised to find Maxica had departed.
+She seemed thankful to see the fire still burning, and
+poured out her gratitude to Wilfred.  Her smiles and
+gestures gave the meaning of the words he did not
+understand.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Then he asked himself, "What would have become
+of her if he too had gone away with Maxica?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>She looked pityingly at Wilfred's unfortunate fingers
+as he offered her a cup of hot water, their sole
+breakfast.  But they could not live on hot water.  Where
+was the daily bread to come from for them both?
+Pe-na-Koam was making signs.  Could Wilfred set a
+trap?  Alas! he knew nothing of the Indian traps
+and snares.  He sent out Yula to forage for himself,
+hoping he might bring them back a bird, as he had
+done the night before.  Wilfred lingered by the hole
+in the roof, watching him dashing through the snow,
+and casting many a wistful glance to the far-away
+south, almost expecting to see Forgill's fur cap and
+broad capote advancing towards him; for help would
+surely come.  But there are the slow, still hours, as
+well as the sudden bursts of storm and sunshine.  All
+have their share in the making of a brave and
+constant spirit.  God's time is not our time, as Wilfred
+had yet to learn.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="searching-for-a-supper"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>Pe-na-Koam insisted upon examining Wilfred's
+hands and feet, and tending to them after her
+native fashion.  She would not suffer him to leave the
+hut, but ventured out herself, for the storm was
+followed by a day of glorious sunshine.  She returned
+with her lap full of a peculiar kind of moss, which
+she had scraped from under the snow.  In her hand
+she carried a bunch of fine brown fibres.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Wattape!" she exclaimed, holding them up before
+him, with such evident pleasure he thought it was
+something to eat; but no, the moss went into the
+kettle to boil for dinner, but the wattape was laid
+carefully aside.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The squaw had been used to toil from morning to
+night, doing all the work of her little world, whilst
+her warrior, when under shelter, slept or smoked by
+the fire.  She expected no help from Wilfred within
+the hut, but she wanted to incite him to go and hunt.
+She took a sharp-pointed stick and drew a bow and
+arrow on the floor.  Then she made sundry figures.
+which he took for traps; but he could only shake his
+head.  He was thinking of a visit to the owl's tree.
+But when they had eaten the moss, Pe-na-Koam drew
+out a piece of skin from under her blanket, and spreading
+it on the floor laid her fingers beseechingly on his
+hunting-knife.  With this she cut him out a pair of
+gloves, fingerless it is true, shaped like a baby's first
+glove, but oh! so warm.  Wilfred now discovered the
+use of the wattape, as she drew out one long thread
+after another, and began to sew the gloves together
+with it, pricking the holes through which she passed
+it with a quill she produced from some part of her dress.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred took up the brown tangle and examined it
+closely.  It had been torn from the fine fibrous root
+of the pine.  He stood still to watch her, wondering
+whether there was anything he could do.  He took
+the stick she had used and drew the rough figure of
+a man fishing on the earthen floor.  He felt sure they
+must be near some stream or lakelet.  The Indians
+would never have left her beyond the reach of water.
+The wrinkled face lit up with hopeful smiles.  Away
+she worked more diligently than ever.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred built up the fire to give her a better blaze.
+They had wood enough to last them through to-morrow.
+Before it was all burnt up he must try to get
+in some more.  The use was returning to his hands.
+He took up some of the soft mud, made by the melting
+of the snow on the earthen floor, and tried to stop
+up the cracks in the bark which formed the walls of
+the hut.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>They both worked on in silence, hour after hour,
+as if there were not a moment to lose.  At last the
+gloves were finished.  The Far-off-Dawn considered
+her blanket, and decided a piece might be spared off
+every corner.  Out of these she cut a pair of socks.
+The Indians themselves often wear three or four pairs
+of such blanket socks at once in the very coldest of
+the weather.  But Wilfred could find nothing in the
+hut out of which to make a fishing line.  The only
+thing he could do was to pay a visit to the white
+owl's larder.  He was afraid to touch Maxica's trap.
+He did not think he could manage it.  Poor boy, his
+spirit was failing him for want of food.  Yet he
+determined to go and see if there was anything to be
+found.  Wilfred got up with an air of resolution, and
+began to arrange the sling for his foot.  But the
+Far-off-Dawn soon made him understand he must not go
+without his socks, which she was hurrying to finish.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe I am changing into a snail," thought
+Wilfred; "I do nothing but crawl about.  Yet twenty slips
+brought the snail to the top of his wall.  Twenty slips
+and twenty climbs—that is something to think of."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The moon was rising.  The owl would leave her
+haunt to seek for prey.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now it strikes me," exclaimed Wilfred, "why
+she always perches on a leafless tree.  Her blinking
+eyes are dazzled by the flicker of the leaves: but they
+are nearly gone now, she will have a good choice.
+She may not go far a-field, if she does forsake her
+last night's roost."  This reflection was wondrously
+consolatory.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The squaw had kept her kettle filled with melting
+snow all day, so that they could both have a cup of
+hot water whenever they liked.  The Far-off-Dawn was
+as anxious to equip him for his foraging expedition
+as he was to take it.  The socks were finished; she
+had worked hard, and Wilfred knew it.  He began
+to think there was something encouraging in her
+very name—the Far-off-Dawn.  Was it not what
+they were waiting for?  It was an earnest that their
+night would end.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>She made him put both the blanket socks on the
+swollen foot, and then persuaded him to exchange his
+boots for her moccasins, which were a much better
+protection against the snow.  The strip of fur, no
+longer needed to protect his toes, was wound round
+and round his wrists.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Then the squaw folded her blanket over his shoulder,
+and started him, pointing out as well as she could
+the streamlet and the pool which had supplied her
+with water when she was strong enough to fetch it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Both knew their lives depended upon his success.
+Yula was by his side.  Wilfred turned back with a
+great piece of bark, to cover up the hole in the roof
+of the hut to keep the squaw warm.  She had wrapped
+the skin over her feet and was lying before the fire,
+trying to sleep in her dumb despair.  She had
+discovered there was no line and hook forthcoming from
+any one of his many pockets.  How then could he
+catch the fish with which she knew the Canadian
+waters everywhere abounded?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Pe-na-Koam had pointed out the place of the pool
+so earnestly that Wilfred thought, "I will go there
+first; perhaps it was there she found the moss."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The northern lights were flashing overhead, shooting
+long lines of roseate glory towards the zenith, as
+if some unseen angel's hand were stringing heaven's
+own harp.  But the full chord which flowed beneath
+its touch was light instead of music.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred stood silent, rapt in admiring wonder, as
+he gazed upon those glowing splendours, forgetting
+everything beside.  Yula recalled him to the work in
+hand.  He hobbled on as fast as he could.  He was
+drawing near the pool, for tall rushes bent and
+shivered above the all-covering snow, and pines and
+willows rocked in the night wind overhead.  Another
+wary step, and the pool lay stretched before him like
+a silver shield.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A colony of beavers had made their home in this
+quiet spot, building their mounds of earth like a
+dam across the water.  But the busy workers were
+all settling within doors to their winter
+sleep—drawbridges drawn up, and gates barred against
+intruders.  "You are wiseheads," thought Wilfred, "and
+I almost wish I could do the same—work all summer
+like bees, and sleep all winter like dormice; but
+then the winter is so long."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Would not it be a grand thing to take home a
+beaver, Yula?" he exclaimed, suddenly remembering
+his gloves in their late reduced condition, and
+longing for another cup of the unpalatable soup; for the
+keen air sharpened the keener appetite, until he felt
+as if he could have eaten the said gloves, boiled or
+unboiled.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But how to get at the clever sleepers under their
+well-built dome was the difficulty, almost the
+impossibility.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yula, it can't be done—that is by you and me, old
+boy," he sighed.  "We have not got their house-door
+key for certain.  We shall have to put up with the
+moss, and think ourselves lucky if we find it."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The edge of the pool was already fringed with ice,
+and many a shallow basin where it had overflowed
+its banks was already frozen over.  Wilfred was
+brushing away the crisp snow in his search for moss,
+when he caught sight of a big white fish, made
+prisoner by the ice in an awkward corner, where the
+rising flood had one day scooped a tiny reservoir.
+Making Yula sit down in peace and quietness, and
+remember manners, he set to work.  He soon broke
+the ice with a blow from the handle of his knife, and
+took out the fish.  As he expected, the hungry dog
+stood ready to devour it; but Wilfred, suspecting his
+intention, tied it up in the blanket, and swung it
+over his shoulder.  Fortune did not favour him with
+such another find, although he searched about the
+edge of the lake until it grew so slippery he was
+afraid of falling in.  He had now to retrace his steps,
+following the marks in the snow back to the hut.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The joy of Pe-na-Koam was unbounded when he
+untied the blanket and slid the fish into her hands.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The prospect of the hot supper it would provide
+for them nerved Wilfred to go a little further and
+try to reach the big owl's roost, for fear another
+snow should bury the path Maxica had made to it.
+Once lost he might never find it again.  The owl
+was still their most trusty friend and most formidable
+foe.  Thanks to the kindly labours of Maxica's
+pole, Wilfred could trudge along much faster now;
+but before he reached the hollow tree, strange noises
+broke the all-pervading stillness.  There was a
+barking of dogs in the distance, to which Yula replied
+with all the energy in his nature.  There was a
+tramping as of many feet, and of horses, coming
+nearer and nearer with a lumbering thud on the
+ground, deadened and muffled by the snow, but far
+too plain not to attract all Wilfred's attention.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was a confusion of sounds, as of a concourse
+of people; too many for a party of hunters, unless
+the winter camp of which Diomé had spoken was
+assembling.  Oh joy! if this could be.  Wilfred was
+working himself into a state of excitement scarcely
+less than Yula's.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He hurried on to the roosting-tree, for it carried
+him nearer still to the trampling and the hum.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>What could it mean?  Yula was before him, paws
+up, climbing the old dead trunk, bent still lower by
+the recent storm.  A snatch, and he had something
+out of that hole in the riven bark.  Wilfred scrambled
+on, for fear his dog should forestall him.  The night
+was clear around him, he saw the aurora flashes come
+and go.  Yula had lain down at the foot of the tree,
+devouring his prize.  Wilfred's hand, fumbling in its
+fingerless gloves, at last found the welcome hole.  It
+was full once more.  Soft feathers and furs: a
+gopher—the small ground squirrel—crammed against
+some little snow-birds.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred gave the squirrel to his dog, for he had
+many fears the squaw would be unwilling to give
+him anything but water in their dearth of food.  The
+snow-birds he transferred to his pocket, looking
+nervously round as he did so; but there was no owl in
+sight.  The white breasts of the snow-birds were
+round and plump; but they were little things, not
+much bigger than sparrows, and remembering Maxica's
+caution, he dare not take them all.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>His hand went lower: a few mice—he could leave
+them behind him without any reluctance.  But stop, he
+had not got to the bottom yet.  Better than ever: he
+had felt the webbed feet of a wild duck.  Mrs. Owl
+was nearly forgiven the awful scare of the preceding
+night.  Growing bolder in his elation, Wilfred
+seated himself on the roots of the tree, from which
+Yula's ascent had cleared the snow.  He began to
+prepare his game, putting back the skin and feathers
+to conceal his depredations from the savage tenant,
+lest she should change her domicile altogether.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope she can't count," said Wilfred, who knew
+not how to leave the spot without ascertaining the
+cause of the sounds, which kept him vibrating between
+hope and fear.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Yula sprang forward with a bound and
+rushed over the snow-covered waste with frantic fury.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The Blackfeet! the Blackfeet!" gasped Wilfred,
+dropping like lightning into the badger hole where
+Maxica had hidden him from the owl's vengeance.
+A singular cavalcade came in sight: forty or fifty
+Indian warriors, armed with their bows and guns
+and scalping-knives, the chiefs with their eagles'
+feathers nodding as they marched.  Behind them
+trotted a still greater number of ponies, on which
+their squaws were riding man fashion, each with her
+pappoose or baby tucked up as warm as it could be
+in its deer-skin, and strapped safely to its wooden
+cradle, which its mother carried on her back.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Every pony was dragging after it what the Indians
+call a travoy—that is, two fir poles, the thin ends of
+which are harnessed to the pony's shoulders, while
+the butt ends drag on the ground; another piece of
+wood is fastened across them, making a sort of truck,
+on which the skins and household goods are piled.
+The bigger children were seated on the top of many
+a well-laden travoy, so that the squaws came on but slowly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was right in his conjecture: they were the
+Blackfeet Maxica feared to encounter, coming up to
+trade with the nearest Hudson Bay Company's fort.
+They were bringing piles of furs and robes of skin,
+and bags of pemmican, to exchange for shot and
+blankets, sugar and tea, beads, and such other things as
+Indians desire to possess.  They always came up in
+large parties, because they were crossing the
+hunting-grounds of their enemies the Crees.  They had a
+numerous following of dogs, and many a family of
+squalling puppies, on the children's laps.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The grave, stern, savage aspect of the men, the
+ugly, anxious, careworn faces of the toiling women,
+filled Wilfred with alarm.  Maxica in his semi-blindness
+might well fear to be the one against so many.
+Wilfred dared not even call back Yula, for fear of
+attracting their attention.  They were passing on to
+encamp by the pool he had just quitted.  Friendly
+or unfriendly, Yula was barking and snarling in the
+midst of the new-comers.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Was his Yula, his Yula chummie, going to leave
+him?" asked Wilfred in his dismay.  "What if he
+had belonged originally to this roving tribe, and they
+should take him away!"  This thought cut deeper into
+Wilfred's heart than anything else at that moment.
+He crept out of his badger hole, and crawled along
+the ditch-like path, afraid to show his head above the
+snow, and still more afraid to remain where he was,
+for fear of the owl's return.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He kept up a hope that Yula might come back of
+his own accord.  He was soon at the birch-bark hut,
+but no Yula had turned up.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He tumbled in, breathless and panting.  Pe-na-Koam
+was sure he had been frightened, but thought only of
+the owl.  She had run a stick through the tail of
+the fish, and was broiling it in the front of the fire.
+The cheery light flickered and danced along the
+misshapen walls, which seemed to lean more and more
+each day from the pressure of the snow outside them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The blessed snow!" exclaimed Wilfred.  "It hides
+us so completely no one can see there is a hut at all,
+unless the smoke betrays us."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>How was he to make the squaw understand the
+dreaded Blackfeet were here?  He snatched up their
+drawing stick, as he called it, and began to sketch in
+a rough and rapid fashion the moving Indian camp
+which he had seen.  A man with a bow in his hand,
+with a succession of strokes behind him to denote his
+following, and a horse's head with the poles of the
+travoy, were quite sufficient to enlighten the aged
+woman.  She grasped Wilfred's hand and shook it.
+Then she raised her other arm, as if to strike, and
+looked inquiringly in his face.  Friend or foe?  That
+was the all-important question neither could answer.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Before he returned his moccasins to their rightful
+owner, Wilfred limped out of the hut and hung up
+the contents of his blanket game-bag in the nearest
+pine.  They were already frozen.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Not knowing what might happen if their refuge
+were discovered, they seated themselves before the
+fire to enjoy the supper Wilfred had secured.  The
+fish was nearly the size of a salmon trout.  The squaw
+removed the sticks from which it depended a little
+further from the scorch of the fire, and fell to—pulling
+off the fish in flakes from one side of the backbone,
+and signing to Wilfred to help himself in similar
+fashion from the other.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Fingers were made before forks," thought the
+boy, his hunger overcoming all reluctance to satisfy
+it in such a heathenish way.  But the old squaw's
+brow was clouded and her thoughts were troubled.
+She was trembling for Wilfred's safety.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>She knew by the number of dashes on the floor
+the party was large—a band of her own people;
+no other tribe journeyed as they did, moving the
+whole camp at once.  Other camps dispersed, not more
+than a dozen families keeping together.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>If they took the boy for a Cree or the friend of a
+Cree, they would count him an enemy.  Before the
+fish had vanished her plan was made.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>She brought Wilfred his boots, and took back her
+moccasins.  As the boy pulled off the soft skin sock,
+which drew to the shape of his foot without any
+pressure that could hurt his sprain, feeling far more
+like a glove than a shoe, he wondered at the skill
+which had made it.  He held it to the fire to examine
+the beautiful silk embroidery on the legging attached
+to it.  His respect for his companion was considerably
+increased.  It was difficult to believe that beads and
+dyed porcupine quills and bright-coloured skeins of
+silk had been the delight of her life.  But just now
+she was intent upon getting possession of his
+hunting-knife.  With this she began to cut up the firewood
+into chips and shavings.  Wilfred thought he should
+be the best at that sort of work, and went to her help,
+not knowing what she intended to do with it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>In her nervous haste she seemed at first glad of his
+assistance.  Then she pulled the wood out of his hand,
+stuck the knife in his belt, and implored him by
+gestures to sit down in a hole in the floor close against
+the wall, talking to him rapidly in her soft Indian
+tongue, as if she were entreating him to be patient.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred thought this was a queer kind of game,
+which he did not half like, and had a good mind to
+turn crusty.  But the tears came into her aged eyes.
+She clasped her hands imploringly, kissed him on both
+cheeks, as if to assure him of her good intentions,
+looked to the door, and laid a finger on his lips
+impressively.  In the midst of this pantomime it struck
+Wilfred suddenly "she wants to hide me."  Soon the
+billet stack was built over him with careful skill, and
+the chips and shavings flung on the top.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="following-the-blackfeet"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">FOLLOWING THE BLACKFEET.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>There was many a little loophole in Wilfred's
+hiding-place through which he could take a
+peep unseen.  The squaw had let the fire die down
+to a smouldering heap, and this she had carefully
+covered over with bark, so that there was neither
+spark nor flame to shine through the broken roof.
+The hut was unusually clear of smoke, and all was
+still.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was soon nodding dangerously behind his
+billet-stack, forgetting in his drowsy musings the
+instability of his surroundings.  The squaw rose up
+from the floor, and replaced the knot of wood he had
+sent rolling.  He dreamed of Yula's bark in the
+distance, and wakened to find the noise a reality, but
+not the bark.  It was not his Yula wanting to be let
+in, as he imagined, but a confused medley of sounds
+suggestive of the putting up of tent poles.  There
+was the ring of the hatchet among the trees, the crash
+of the breaking boughs, the thud of the falling trunk.
+Even Wilfred could not entertain a doubt that the
+Blackfeet were encamping for the night alarmingly near
+their buried hut.  In silence and darkness was their
+only safeguard.  It was all for the best Yula had run
+away, his uneasy growls would have betrayed them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Midnight came and passed; the sounds of work had
+ceased, but the galloping of the ponies, released from
+the travoys, the scraping of their hoofs seeking a
+supper beneath the snow, kept Wilfred on the rack.
+The echo of the ponies' feet seemed at times so near
+he quite expected to see a horse's head looking down
+through the hole, or, worse still, some unwary kick
+might demolish their fragile roof altogether.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>With the gray of the dawn the snow began again
+to fall.  Was ever snow more welcome?  The heavy
+flakes beat back the feeble column of smoke, and
+hissed on the smouldering wood, as they found ready
+entrance through the parting in the bark which did
+duty for a chimney.  No matter, it was filling up the
+path which Maxica had made and obliterating every
+footprint around the hut.  It seemed to Wilfred that
+the great feathery flakes were covering all above them,
+like a sheltering wing.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The tell-tale duck, the little snow-birds he had
+hung on the pine branch would all be hidden now.
+Not a chink was left in the bark through which
+the gray snow-light of the wintry morning could
+penetrate.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>In spite of their anxiety, both the anxious watchers
+had fallen asleep.  The squaw was the first to rouse.
+Wilfred's temporary trap-door refused to move when,
+finding all was still around them, she had tried to
+push it aside; for the hut was stifling, and she wanted
+snow to refill the kettle.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The fire was out, and the snow which had
+extinguished it was already stiffening.  She took a
+half-burnt brand from the hearth, and, mounting the
+stones which surrounded the fireplace, opened the
+smoke-vent; for there the snow had not had time to
+harden, although the frost was setting in with the
+daylight.  To get out of their hut in another hour
+might be impossible.  With last night's supper, a
+spark of her former energy had returned.  A piece of
+the smoke-dried bark gave way and precipitated an
+avalanche of snow into the tiny hut.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred wakened with a start.  The daylight was
+streaming down upon him, and the squaw was gone.
+What could have happened while he slept?  How he
+blamed himself for going to sleep at all.  But then he
+could not live without it.  As he wondered and waited
+and reasoned with himself thus, there was still the
+faint hope the squaw might return.  Anyhow, Wilfred
+thought it was the wisest thing he could do to remain
+concealed where she had left him.  If the Indians
+camping by the pool were her own people, they might
+befriend him too.  Possibly she had gone over to
+their camp to ask for aid.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>How long he waited he could not tell—it seemed an
+age—when he heard the joyful sound of Yula's bark.
+Down leaped the dog into the very midst of the
+fireplace, scattering the ashes, and bringing with him
+another avalanche of snow.  But his exuberant joy
+was turned to desperation when he could not find his
+Wilfred.  He was rushing round and round, scenting
+the ground where Wilfred had sat.  Up went his
+head high in the air, as he gave vent to his feelings
+in a perfect yowl of despair.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yula!  Yula!" called Wilfred softly.  The dog
+turned round and tore at the billet-stack.  Wilfred's
+defence was levelled in a moment; the wood went
+rolling in every direction, and Yula mounted the
+breach in triumph, digging out his master from the
+debris as a dog might dig out a fox.  He would have
+him out, he would not give up.  He tugged at Wilfred's
+arms, he butted his head under his knees; there
+was no resisting his impetuosity, he made him stand
+upright.  When, as Yula evidently believed, he had
+set his master free, he bounded round him in an
+ecstasy of delight.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You've done it, old boy," said Wilfred.  "You've
+got me out of hiding; and neither you nor I can pile
+the wood over me again, so now, whatever comes, we
+must face it together."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He clasped his arms round the thick tangle of hair
+that almost hid the two bright eyes, so full of love,
+that were gazing at him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred could not help kissing the dear old
+blunderer, as he called him.  "And now, Yula," he
+went on, "since you will have it so, we'll look about us."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred's foot was a good deal better.  He could
+put his boot on for the first time.  He mounted the
+stones which the squaw had piled, and listened.  Yes,
+there were voices and laughter mingling with the
+neighing of the ponies and the lumbering sounds of
+the travoys.  The camp was moving on.  The
+"Far-off-Dawn" was further off than ever from him.  He
+had no longer a doubt the squaw had gone with her
+people.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>She had left him her kettle and the piece of skin.
+To an Indian woman her blanket is hood and cloak
+and muff all in one.  She never goes out of doors
+without it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred smoothed the gloves she had made him
+and pulled up the blanket socks.  Oh, she had been
+good to him!  He thought he understood it all now—that
+farewell kiss, and the desire to hide him until
+the fierce warriors of her tribe had passed on.  He
+wrapped the skin over his shoulders, slung the kettle on
+his arm, chose out a good strong staff to lean on, and
+held himself ready for the chapter of accidents,
+whatever they might be.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>No one came near him.  The sounds grew fainter and
+fainter.  The silence, the awful stillness, was creeping
+all around him once again.  It became unbearable—the
+dread, the disappointment, the suspense.  Wilfred climbed
+out of the hut and swung himself into the branches
+of the nearest pine.  The duck and the snow-birds
+were frozen as hard as stones.  But the fire was out
+long ago.  Wilfred had no matches, no means of
+lighting it up again.  He put back the game; even
+Yula could not eat it in that state.  He swung himself
+higher up in the tree, just in time to catch sight
+of the vanishing train, winding its way along the
+vast snow-covered waste.  He watched it fading to a
+moving line.  What was it leaving behind?  A lost
+boy.  If Wilfred passed the night in the tree he
+would be frozen to death.  If he crept back into the
+tumble-down hut he might be buried beneath another
+snow.  If he went down to the pool he might find
+the ashes of the Indians' camp-fires still glowing.  If
+they had left a fire behind them he must see the
+smoke—the snow-soaked branches were sure to smoke.
+The sleet was driving in his face, but he looked in
+vain for the dusky curling wreath that must have
+been visible at so short a distance.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Was all hope gone?  His head grew dizzy.  There
+were no words on his lips, and the bitter cry in his
+heart died mute.  Then he seemed to hear again his
+mother's voice reading to him, as she used to read in
+far-off days by the evening fire: "I will not fail thee,
+nor forsake thee.  Be strong, and of a good courage.
+Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed.  For the
+Lord thy God is with thee, whithersoever thou goest."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Indian train was out of sight, but the trampling
+of those fifty ponies, dragging the heavily-laden
+travoys, had left a beaten track—a path so broad
+he could not lose it—and he knew that it would bring
+him to some white man's home.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred sprang down from the tree, decided,
+resolute.  Better to try and find this shop in the
+wilderness than linger there and die.  The snow
+beneath the tree was crisp and hard.  Yula bounded on
+before him, eager to follow where the Blackfeet dogs
+had passed.  They were soon upon the road, trudging
+steadily onward.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The dog had evidently shared the strangers' breakfast;
+he was neither hungry nor thirsty.  Not so his
+poor little master, who was feeling very faint for want
+of a dinner, when he saw a bit of pemmican on the
+ground, dropped no doubt by one of the Indian children.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred snatched it up and began to eat.  Pemmican
+is the Indians' favourite food.  It is made of
+meat cut in slices and dried.  It is then pounded
+between two smooth stones, and put in a bag of
+buffalo-skin.  Melted fat is poured over it, to make it keep.
+To the best kinds of pemmican berries and sugar are
+added.  It forms the most solid food a man can have.
+There are different ways of cooking it, but travellers,
+or voyageurs, as they are usually called in Canada,
+eat it raw.  It was a piece of raw pemmican Wilfred
+had picked up.  Hunger lent it the flavour it might
+have lacked at any other time.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>With this for a late dinner, and a rest on a fallen
+tree, he felt himself once more, and started off again
+with renewed vigour.  The sleet was increasing with
+the coming dusk.  On he toiled, growing whiter and
+whiter, until his snow-covered figure was scarcely
+distinguishable from the frozen ground.  Yula was
+powdered from head to foot; moreover, poor dog, he was
+obliged to stop every now and then to bite off the
+little icicles which were forming between his toes.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Fortunately for the weary travellers the sky began
+to clear when the moon arose.  Before them stood
+dark ranks of solemn, stately pines, with here and
+there a poplar thicket rising black and bare from
+the sparkling ground.  Their charred and shrivelled
+branches showed the work of the recent prairie fires,
+which had only been extinguished by the snowstorm.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred whistled Yula closer and closer to his side,
+as the forest echoes wakened to the moose-call and
+the wolf-howl.  On, on they walked through the
+dusky shadows cast by the giant pines, until the
+strange meteors of the north lit up the icy night,
+flitting across the starry sky in such swift succession
+the Indians call it the dance of the dead spirits.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>In a scene so weird and wild the boldest heart
+might quail.  Wilfred felt his courage dwindling with
+every step, when Yula sprang forward with a bark
+that roused a sleeping herd, and Wilfred found
+himself in the midst of the Indian ponies, snorting and
+kicking at the disturber of their peace.  The difficulty
+of getting Yula out again, without losing the track or
+rousing the camp, which they must now be approaching,
+engrossed Wilfred, and taxed his powers to their
+uttermost.  He could see the gleam of their many
+watch-fires, and guided his course more warily.
+Imposing silence on Yula by every device he could
+imagine, he left the beaten track which would have
+taken him into the midst of the dreaded Blackfeet,
+and slanted further and further into the forest gloom,
+but not so far as to lose the glow of the Indians' fires.
+In the first faint gray of the wintry dawn he heard
+the rushing of a mighty fall, and found concealment
+in a wide expanse of frozen reeds and stunted willows.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Yula had been brought to order.  A tired dog is
+far more manageable.  He lay down at his master's
+feet, whilst Wilfred watched and listened.  He was
+wide of the Blackfeet camp, yet not at such a distance
+as to be unable to distinguish the sounds of awakening
+life within it from the roar of the waterfall.  To
+his right the ground was rising.  He scarcely felt
+himself safe so near the Blackfeet, and determined to
+push on to the higher ground, where he would have
+a better chance of seeing what they were about.  If
+they moved on, he could go back to their camping-place
+and gather the crumbs they might have let fall,
+and boil himself some water before their fires were
+extinguished, and then follow in their wake as before.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He began to climb the hill with difficulty, when
+he was aware of a thin, blue column of light smoke
+curling upwards in the morning air.  It was not from
+the Indian camp.  Had he nearly reached his goal?
+The light was steadily increasing, and he could clearly
+see on the height before him three or four tall pines,
+which had been stripped of their branches by the
+voyageur's axe, and left to mark a landing-place.
+These lop-sticks, as the Canadians call them, were a
+welcome sight.  He reached them at last, and gained
+the view he had been longing to obtain.  At his feet
+rolled the majestic river, plunging in one broad, white
+sheet over a hidden precipice.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>In the still uncertain light of the early dawn the
+cataract seemed twice its actual size.  The jagged tops
+of the pine trees on the other side of the river rose
+against the pale green of coming day.  Close above
+the falls the bright star of the morning gleamed like
+a diamond on the rim of the descending flood; at its
+foot the silvery spray sprang high into the air,
+covering the gloomy pines which had reared their dark
+branches in many a crack and cleft with glittering
+spangles.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Nestling at the foot of the crag on which Wilfred
+stood was the well-built stockade of the trading-fort.
+The faint blue line of smoke which he had perceived
+was issuing from the chimney of the trader's house,
+but the inmates were not yet astir.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He brushed the tears from his eyes, but they were
+mingled tears of joy and thankfulness and exhaustion.
+As he was watching, a party of Indians stole out from
+their camp, and posted themselves among the frozen
+reeds which he had so recently vacated.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The chief, with a few of the Blackfeet, followed by
+three or four squaws laden with skins, advanced to
+the front of the stockade, where they halted.  The
+chief was waving in his hand a little flag, to show
+that he had come to trade.  After a while the sounds
+of life and movement began within the fort.  The
+little group outside was steadily increasing in numbers.
+Some more of the Blackfeet warriors had loaded their
+horses and their wives, and were coming up behind
+their chief, with their heavy bags of pemmican
+hanging like panniers across the backs of the horses,
+whilst the poor women toiled after them with the
+piles of skins and leather.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>All was bustle and activity inside the trader's walls.
+Wilfred guessed they were making all sorts of prudent
+preparations before they ventured to receive so large
+a party.  He was thinking of the men in ambush
+among the reeds, and he longed to give some warning
+to the Hudson Bay officer, who could have no idea
+of the numbers lurking round his gate.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But how was this to be done in time?  There was
+but one entrance to the fort.  He was afraid to
+descend his hill and knock for admittance, under
+the lynx-like eyes of the Blackfoot chief, who was
+growing impatient, and was making fresh signs to
+attract the trader's attention.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>At last there was a creaking sound from the fort.
+Bolts and bars were withdrawn, and the gate was
+slowly opened.  Out came the Hudson Bay officer,
+carefully shutting it behind him.  He was a tall,
+white-haired man, with an air of command about him, and
+the easy grace of a gentleman in every action.  He
+surveyed his wild visitors for a moment or two, and
+then advanced to meet them with a smile of welcome.
+The chief came a step or two forward, shook hands
+with the white man, and began to make a speech.  A
+few of his companions followed his example.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," thought Wilfred, "while all this talking
+and speechifying is abroad, I may get a chance to
+reach the fort unobserved."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He slid down the steep hill, with Yula after him,
+crept along the back of the stockade, and round the
+end farthest from the reeds.  In another moment he
+was at the gate.  A gentle tap with his hand was all
+he dared to give.  It met with no answer.  He
+repeated it a little louder.  Yula barked.  The gate was
+opened just a crack, and a boy about his own age
+peeped out.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me in," said Wilfred desperately.  "I have
+something to tell you."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The crack was widened.  Wilfred slipped in and
+Yula followed.  The gate was shut and barred behind
+them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?" asked the boyish porter.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"There are dozens of Blackfeet Indians hiding
+among the frozen reeds.  I saw them stealing down
+from their camp before it was light.  I am afraid
+they mean mischief," said Wilfred, lowering his voice.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We need to be careful," returned the other, glancing
+round at their many defences; "but who are you?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I belong to some settlers across the prairie.  I
+have lost my way.  I have been wandering about all
+night, following the trail of the Blackfeet.  That is
+how I came to know and see what they were doing,"
+replied Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"They always come up in numbers," answered the
+stranger thoughtfully, "ready for a brush with the
+Crees.  They seem friendly to us."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>As the boy spoke he slipped aside a little shutter
+in the gate, and peeped through a tiny grill.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>In the middle of the enclosure there was a wooden
+house painted white.  Three or four iron funnels
+stuck out of the roof instead of chimneys, giving it a
+very odd appearance.  There were a few more huts
+and sheds.  But Wilfred's attention was called off from
+these surroundings, for a whole family of dogs had
+rushed out upon Yula, with a chorus of barking that
+deafened every other sound.  For Yula had marched
+straight to the back door of the house, where food
+was to be had, and was shaking it and whining to be
+let in.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The young stranger Gaspé took a bit of paper and
+a pencil out of his pocket and wrote hastily: "There
+are lots more of the Blackfeet hiding amongst the
+reeds.  What does that mean?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Louison!" he cried to a man at work in one of
+the sheds, "go outside and give this to grandfather."</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="the-shop-in-the-wilderness"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">THE SHOP IN THE WILDERNESS.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>As soon as Gaspé had despatched his messenger
+he turned to Wilfred, observing, in tones of
+grateful satisfaction, "I am so glad we know in time."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that your grandfather?" asked Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé nodded.  "Come and look at him."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The two boys were soon watching earnestly through
+the grating, their faces almost touching.  Gaspé's arm
+was over Wilfred's shoulder, as they drew closer and
+closer to each other.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé's grandfather took the slip of paper from his
+man, glanced at it, and crushed it in his hand.  The
+chief was hastily heaping a mass of buffalo robes and
+skins and bags of pemmican upon one of the horses, a
+gift for the white man, horse and all.  This was to
+show his big heart.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you hear what he is saying?" whispered Gaspé,
+who understood the Indians much better than Wilfred
+did.  "Listen!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Are there any Crees here?  Crees have no
+manners.  Crees are like dogs, always ready to bite if
+you turn your head away; but the Blackfeet have
+large hearts, and love hospitality."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"After all, those men in the reeds may only be on
+the watch for fear of a surprise from the Crees,"
+continued Gaspé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Will there be a fight?" asked Wilfred breathlessly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I think not," answered Gaspé.  "The Crees
+have lived amongst us whites so long they have given
+up the war-path.  But," he added confidentially, "I
+have locked our old Indian in the kitchen, for if they
+caught sight of him they might say we were friends
+of the Crees, and set on us."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>One door in the white-painted house was standing
+open.  It led into a large and almost empty room.
+Just inside it a number of articles were piled on the
+floor—a gun, blankets, scarlet cloth, and a
+brightly-painted canister of tea.  Louison came back to fetch
+them, for a return present, with which the chief
+seemed highly delighted.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We see but little of you white men," he said;
+"and our young men do not always know how to
+behave.  But if you would come amongst us more,
+we chiefs would restrain them."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"He would have hard work," laughed Wilfred,
+little thinking how soon his words were to be verified.
+The Blackfeet standing round their chief, with their
+piles of skins, were so obviously getting excited, and
+impatient to begin the real trading, the chief must
+have felt even he could not hold them back much
+longer.  But he was earnest in his exhortation to
+them not to give way to violence or rough behaviour.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé's grandfather was silently noting every face,
+without appearing to do so; and mindful of the
+warning he had received, he led the way to his gate,
+which he invited them to enter, observing, "My places
+are but small, friends.  All shall come in by turns,
+but only a few at a time."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé drew back the bar and threw the gate
+wide.  In walked the stately chief, with one or two
+of his followers who had taken part in the
+speech-making.  The excited crowd at the back of them
+pushed their way in, as if they feared the gate might
+be shut in their faces.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé remonstrated, assuring them there was no
+hurry, all should have their turn.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The chief waved them back, and the last of the
+group contented themselves with standing in the
+gateway itself, to prevent it being shut against them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé gave up the vain attempt to close it, and
+resumed his post.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I am here on the watch," he whispered to Wilfred;
+"but you are cold and hungry.  Go with grandfather
+into the shop."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I would rather stay with you," answered Wilfred.
+"I am getting used to being hungry."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé answered this by pushing into his hand a
+big hunch of bread and butter, which he had brought
+with him from his hurried breakfast.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Gaspé's grandfather had entered the
+house, taking with him the Blackfoot chief.  He
+invited the others to enter and seat themselves on
+the floor of the empty room into which Wilfred had
+already had a peep.  He unlocked an inner door,
+opening into a passage, which divided the great
+waiting-room from the small shop beyond.  This had
+been carefully prepared for the reception of their
+wild customers.  Only a few of his goods were left
+upon the shelves, which were arranged with much
+ingenuity, and seemed to display a great variety of
+wares, all of them attractive in Indian eyes.  The
+bright-coloured cloths, cut in short lengths, were
+folded in fantastic heaps; the blankets were hung
+in graceful festoons.  Beads scattered lightly on trays
+glittered behind the counter, on which the empty
+scales were lightly swaying up and down, like
+miniature swinging-boats.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A high lattice protected the front of the counter.
+Gaspé's grandfather established himself behind it.
+Louison took his place as door-keeper.  The chief
+and two of his particular friends were the first to
+be admitted.  Louison locked the door to keep out
+the others.  It was the only way to preserve order.
+The wild, fierce strangers from the snow-covered
+plain and the darksome forest drew at once to the
+stove—a great iron box in the middle of the shop,
+with its huge black funnel rising through the ceiling.
+Warmth without smoke was a luxury unknown in
+the wigwam.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Indians walked slowly round the shop, examining
+and considering the contents of the shelves,
+until their choice was made.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>One of the three walked up to the counter and
+handed his pile of skins to the trader, Mr. De Brunier,
+through a little door in the lattice, pointing to some
+bright scarlet cloth and a couple of blankets.  The
+chief was examining the guns.  All three wanted
+shot, and the others inquired earnestly for the
+Indians' special delight, "tea and suga'."  But when
+they saw the canister opened, and the tea poured
+into the scale, there was a grunt of dissatisfaction
+all round.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What for?" demanded the chief.  "Why put tea
+one side that swing and little bit of iron the other?
+Who wants little bit of iron?  We don't know what
+that medicine is."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Indians call everything medicine that seems to
+them learned and wise.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier tried to explain the use of his
+scales, and took up his steelyard to see if it would
+find more favour.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Be fair," pursued the chief; "make one side as
+big as the other.  Try bag of pemmican against your
+blankets and tea, then when the thing stops swinging
+you take pemmican, we blankets and tea—that fair!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>His companions echoed their chief's sentiments.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"As you like," smiled the trader.  "We only want
+to make a fair exchange."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>So the heavy bag of pemmican was put in the place
+of the weight, and a nice heap of tea was poured upon
+the blanket to make the balance true.  The Indians
+were delighted.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," continued Mr. De Brunier, "we must
+weigh the shot and the gun against your skins,
+according to your plan."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But when the red men saw their beautiful marten
+and otter and fisher skins piling higher and higher,
+and the heavy bag of shot still refusing to rise, a
+grave doubt as to the correctness of their own view
+of the matter arose in the Indians' minds.  The first
+served took up his scarlet cloth and blanket and went
+out quickly, whilst the others deliberated.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The trader waited with good-humoured patience
+and a quiet gleam of amusement in the corner of his
+eye, when they told him at last to do it his own way,
+for the steel swing was a great medicine warriors
+could not understand.  It was plain it could only be
+worked by some great medicine man like himself.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>This decision had been reached so slowly, the
+impatience of the crowd in the waiting-room was at
+spirit-boil.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The brave who had come back satisfied was exhibiting
+his blankets and his scarlet cloth, which had to be
+felt and looked at by all in turn.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Were there many more inside?" they asked eagerly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A belief that the good things would all be gone
+before the rest of the Indians could get their turn
+spread among the excited crowd like wild-fire.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé still held to his watch by the gate, with
+Wilfred beside him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was plenty of laughing and talking among
+the party of resolute men who kept it open; they
+seemed full of fun, and were joking each other in the
+highest spirits.  Gaspé's eyes turned again and again
+to the frozen reeds, but all was quiet.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was earnestly watching for a chance to
+ask the mirthful Blackfeet if an old squaw, the
+Far-off-Dawn, had joined their camp.  He could not
+make them understand him, but Gaspé repeated the
+question.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>At that moment one of the fiercest-looking of the
+younger warriors rushed out of the waiting-room in a
+state of intense excitement.  He beckoned to his
+companions at the gate, exclaiming, "If we don't help
+ourselves there will be nothing left for you and me."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We know who will see fair play," retorted the
+young chief, who was answering Gaspé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A whoop rang through the frosty air, and the still
+stiff reeds seemed suddenly alive with dusky faces.
+The crush round the inner door in the waiting-room
+became intense.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Help me," whispered Gaspé, seizing Wilfred's arm
+and dragging him after him through the sheds to the
+back of the house.  He took out a key and unlocked
+a side door.  There was a second before him, with the
+keyhole at the reverse hand.  It admitted them into
+a darkened room, for the windows were closely
+shuttered; but Gaspé knew his ground, and was not
+at a moment's loss.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The double doors were locked and bolted in double
+quick time behind them.  Then Gaspé lifted up a
+heavy iron bar and banged it into its socket.  Noise
+did not matter.  The clamour in the waiting-room
+drowned every other sound.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"They will clear the shop," he said, "but we
+must stop them getting into the storeroom.  Come
+along."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was feeling the way.  He stumbled over a
+chair; his hand felt a table.  He guessed he was in
+the family sitting-room.  Gaspé put his mouth to the
+keyhole of an inner door.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Chirag!" he shouted to their Indian servant,
+"barricade."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The noises which succeeded showed that his
+command was being obeyed in that direction.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé was already in the storeroom, endeavouring
+to push a heavy box of nails before the other door
+leading into the shop.  Wilfred was beside him in a
+moment.  He had not much pushing power left in
+him after his night of wandering.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps I can push a pound," he thought, laying
+his hands by Gaspé's.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, steady! both together we shall do it," they
+said, and with one hard strain the box was driven
+along the floor.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That is something," cried Gaspé, heaving up a bag
+of ironmongery to put on the top of it.  And he
+looked round for something else sufficiently ponderous
+to complete his barricade.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What is this?" asked Wilfred, tugging at a chest
+of tools.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile a dozen hatchets' heads were hammering
+at the door from the waiting-room where Louison was
+stationed.  The crack of the wood giving way beneath
+their blows inspired Gaspé with redoubled energy.
+The chest was hoisted upon the box.  He surveyed
+his barricade with satisfaction.  But their work was
+not yet done.  He dragged forward a set of steps,
+and running up to the top, threw open a trap-door in
+the ceiling.  A ray of light streamed down into the
+room, showing Wilfred, very white and exhausted,
+leaning against the pile they had erected.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé sprang to the ground, rushed back into the
+sitting-room, and began to rummage in the cupboard.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Here is grandfather's essence of peppermint and
+the sugar-basin and lots of biscuits!" he exclaimed.
+"You are faint, you have had no breakfast yet.
+I am forgetting.  Here."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred's benumbed fingers felt in the sugar for a
+good-sized lump.  Gaspé poured his peppermint drops
+upon it with a free hand.  The warming, reviving
+dose brought back the colour to Wilfred's pale lips.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Feel better?" asked his energetic companion,
+running up the steps with a roll of cloth on his
+shoulder, which he deposited safely in the loft above,
+inviting Wilfred to follow.  The place was warm, for
+the iron chimneys ran through it, like so many black
+columns.  Wilfred was ready to embrace the nearest.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé caught his arm.  "You are too much of a
+human icicle for that," he cried.  "I'll bring up the
+blankets next.  Roll yourself up in them and get
+warm gradually, or you will be worse than ever.
+You must take care of yourself, for I dare not stop.
+It is always a bit dangerous when the Indians come
+up in such numbers to a little station like this.
+There is nobody but grandfather and me and our two
+men about the place, and what are four against a
+hundred?  But all know what to do.  Chirag watches
+inside the house, I outside, and Louison keeps the
+shop door.  That is the most dangerous post, because
+of the crush to get in."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A crash and a thud in the room below verified his
+words.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"There! down it goes," he exclaimed, as a peal of
+laughter from many voices followed the rush of the
+crowd from one room to the other.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"They will be in here next," he added, springing
+down the steps for another load.  Wilfred tried to
+shake off the strange sensations which oppressed him,
+and took it from him.  Another and another followed
+quickly, until the boys had removed the greater part
+of the most valuable of the stores into the roof.  The
+guns and the heavy bags of shot had all been carried
+up in the early morning, before the gate of the fort
+was opened.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>And now the hammering began at the storeroom
+door, amid peals of uproarious laughter.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé tore up the steps with another heavy roll of
+bright blue cloth.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We can do no more," he said, pausing for breath.
+"Now we will shut ourselves in here."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We will have these up first," returned Wilfred,
+seizing hold of the top of the steps, and trying to drag
+them through the trap-door.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Right!" ejaculated Gaspé.  "If we had left them
+standing in the middle of the storeroom, it would have
+been inviting the Blackfeet to follow us."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>They let down the trap-door as noiselessly as they
+could, and drew the heavy bolt at the very moment
+the door below was broken open and the triumphant
+crowd rushed wildly in, banging down their bags of
+pemmican on the floor, and seizing the first thing
+which came to hand in return.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Louison had been knocked down in the first rush
+from the waiting-room, and was leaning against the
+wall, having narrowly escaped being trampled to death.
+"All right!" he shouted to his master, who had
+jumped up on his counter to see if his agile servitor
+had regained his feet.  It was wild work, but
+Mr. De Brunier took it all in good part, flinging his
+blankets right and left wherever he saw an eager
+hand outstretched to receive them.  He knew that it
+was far better to give before they had time to take,
+and so keep up a semblance of trade.  Many a
+beautiful skin and buffalo-robe was tossed across the
+counter in return.  The heterogeneous pile was growing
+higher and higher beside him, and in the confusion
+it was hard to tell how much was intended for
+purchase, how much for pillage.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The chief, the Great Swan, as his people called him,
+still stood by the scales, determined to see if the great
+medicine worked fairly for all his people.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier called to him by his Indian name:
+"Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu, do you not hear what I am
+saying?  Your young men are too rough.  Restrain
+them.  You say you can.  How am I to weigh and
+measure to each his right portion in such a rout?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Give them all something and they will be content,"
+shouted the chief, trying his best to restore order.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Dozens of gaudy cotton handkerchiefs went flying
+over the black heads, scrambling with each other to
+get possession of them.  Spoonfuls of beads were
+received with chuckles of delight by the nearest ranks;
+hut the Indians outside the crowd were growing hot
+and angry.  Turns had been long since disregarded.
+It was catch as catch can.  They broke down the
+lattice, and helped themselves from the shelves behind
+the counter.  These were soon cleared.  A party of
+strong young fellows, laughing as if it were the best
+fun in the world, leaped clear over the counter, and
+began to chop at the storeroom door with their
+hatchets.  With a dexterous hand Mr. De Brunier
+flung his bright silks in their faces.  The dancing
+skeins were quickly caught up.  But the work of
+demolition went forward.  The panels were reduced
+to matchwood.  Three glittering hatchets swung high
+over the men's heads, came down upon the still
+resisting framework, and smashed it.  The mirthful crowd
+dashed in.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The shop was already cleared.  Mr. De Brunier
+would have gone into his storeroom with them if he
+could, but a dozen guns were pointed in his face.  It
+was mere menace, no one attempted to fire.  But the
+chief thought it was going too far.  He backed to
+the waiting-room.  Mr. De Brunier seized his empty
+tea-canister, and offered it to him as a parting gift,
+saying in most emphatic tones, "This is not our
+way of doing business.  Some of these men have got
+too much, and some too little.  It is not my fault.  I
+must deal now with the tribe.  Let them all lay
+down on the floor the rest of the skins and bags they
+have brought, and take away all I have to give in
+exchange, and you must divide when you get back to
+your camp, to every man his right share."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu rushed off with his canister
+under his arm; not into the storeroom, where the
+dismayed trader hoped his presence might have
+proved a restraint, but straight through the waiting-room
+with a mad dash into the court, and through the
+gate, where he halted to give a thunderous shout of
+"Crees!  Crees!"  The magic words brought out his
+followers pell-mell.  A second shout, a wilder alarm,
+made the tribe rally round their chief, in the full
+belief the Crees had surprised their camp in their
+hateful dog-like fashion, taking their bite at the
+women and children when the warriors' heads were
+turned.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But the unmannerly foe was nowhere in sight.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Over the hill!" shouted their Great Wild Swan,
+the man of twenty fights.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile the gate of the little fort was securely
+barred against all intruders.  The waiting squaws
+meekly turned their horses' heads, and followed their
+deluded lords, picking up the beads and nails which
+had been dropped in their headlong haste.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Woe to Maxica," thought Wilfred, "if he should
+happen to be returning for his moose!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The wild war-whoop died away in the distance,
+only the roar of the cataract broke the stillness of the
+snow-laden air.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>De Brunier walked back into his house, to count
+up the gain and loss, and see how much reckless
+mischief that morning's work had brought him.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="new-friends"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">NEW FRIENDS.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>"We shall always be friends," said Gaspé,
+looking into Wilfred's face, as they stood side
+by side against the chimney in the loft, emptying
+the biscuit-canister between them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred answered with a sunny smile.  The sounds
+below suddenly changed their character.  The general
+stampede to the gate was beginning.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The boys flew to the window.  It was a double
+one, very small and thickly frozen.  They could not
+see the least thing through its glittering panes.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>They could scarcely believe their ears, but the
+sudden silence which succeeded convinced Gaspé their
+rough visitors had beaten a hasty retreat.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Anyhow we will wait a bit, and make sure before
+we go down," they decided.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But De Brunier's first care was for his grandson,
+and he was missing.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Gaspard!" he shouted, and his call was echoed by
+Louison and Chirag.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, grandfather; I am here, I am coming,"
+answered the boy, gently raising the trap-door and
+peeping down at the dismantled storeroom.  A great
+bag of goose-feathers, which had been hoarded by
+some thrifty squaw, had been torn open, and the down
+was flying in every direction.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was a groan from Mr. De Brunier.  All his
+most valuable stores had vanished.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Not quite so bad as that, grandfather," cried
+Gaspé brightly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The trader stepped up on to the remains of the
+barricade the boys had erected, and popped his head
+through the open trap-door.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Well done, Gaspard!" he exclaimed.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"This other boy helped me," was the instantaneous
+reply.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The other boy came out from the midst of the
+blanket heap, feeling more dead than alive, and
+expecting every moment some one would say to him,
+"Now go," and he had nowhere to go.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier looked at him in amazement.  A
+solitary boy in these lone wastes!  Had he dropped
+from the skies?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Come down, my little lad, and tell me who you
+are," he said kindly; but without waiting for a reply
+he walked on through the broken door to survey the
+devastation beyond.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I have grown gray in the service of the Company,
+and never had a more provoking disaster," he lamented,
+as he began to count the tumbled heap of valuable
+furs blocking his pathway.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Louison, looking pale and feeling dizzy from his
+recent knock over, was collecting the bags of pemmican.
+Chirag, released from his imprisonment, was opening
+window shutters and replenishing the burnt-out fires.
+Gaspé dropped down from the roof, without waiting
+to replace the steps, and went to his grandfather's
+assistance, leaving Wilfred to have a good sleep in the
+blanket heap.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The poor boy was so worn out he slept heavily.
+When he roused himself at last, the October day was
+drawing to its close, and Gaspé was laughing beside him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Have not you had sleep enough?" he asked.
+"Would not dinner be an improvement?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred wakened from his dreams of Acland's Hut.
+Aunt Miriam and Pe-na-Koam had got strangely jumbled
+together; but up he jumped to grasp his new friend's
+warm, young hand, and wondered what had happened.
+He felt as if he had been tossing like a ball from one
+strange scene to another.  When he found himself
+sitting on a real chair, and not on the hard ground, the
+transition was so great it seemed like another dream.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The room was low, no carpet on the floor, only a
+few chairs ranged round the stove in the centre; but
+a real dinner, hot and smoking, was spread on the
+unpainted deal table.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier, with one arm thrown over the
+back of his chair, was smoking, to recall his lost
+serenity.  An account-book lay beside his unfinished
+dinner.  Sometimes his eye wandered over its long
+rows of figures, and then for a while he seemed
+absorbed in mental calculation.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at Wilfred's thin hands and pinched cheeks.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Let the boy eat," he said to Gaspé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>As the roast goose vanished from Wilfred's plate
+the smile returned to his lips and the mirth to his
+heart.  He outdid the hungry hunter of proverbial
+fame.  The pause came at last; he could not quite
+keep on eating all night, Indian fashion.  He really
+declined the sixth helping Gaspé was pressing
+upon him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"No, thanks; I have had a Benjamin's portion—five
+times as much as you have had—and I am
+dreadfully obliged to you," said Wilfred, with a bow
+to Mr. De Brunier; "but there is Yula, that is my
+dog.  May he have these bones?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"He has had something more than bones already;
+Chirag fed him when he fed my puppies," put in Gaspé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Puppies," repeated Mr. De Brunier.  "Dogs, I say."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, grandfather," remonstrated the happy
+Gaspé.  "You said they would not be really dogs,
+ready for work, until they were a year old, and it
+wants a full week."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, sir," interrupted Wilfred abruptly, "can
+you tell me how I can get home?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is your home?" asked Mr. De Brunier.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"With my uncle, at Acland's Hut," answered
+Wilfred promptly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Acland's Hut," repeated Mr. De Brunier, looking
+across at Gaspé for elucidation.  They did not know
+such a place existed.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It is miles away from here," added Wilfred
+sorrowfully.  "I went out hunting—"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You—a small boy like you—to go hunting
+alone!" exclaimed Mr. De Brunier.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, sir, I mean I rode on a pony by the cart
+which was to bring back the game," explained poor
+Wilfred, growing very rueful, as all hope of getting
+home again seemed to recede further and further
+from him.  "The pony threw me," he added, "and
+when I came to myself the men were gone."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you no father?" whispered Gaspé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"My father died a year ago, and I was left at
+school at Garry," Wilfred went on.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Fort Garry!" exclaimed Mr. De Brunier, brightening.
+"If this had happened a few weeks earlier, I
+could easily have sent you back to Garry in one of
+the Company's boats.  They are always rowing
+up and down the river during the busy summer
+months, but they have just stopped for the winter
+With this Blackfoot camp so near us, I dare not
+unbar my gate again to-night, so make yourself
+contented.  In the morning we will see what can
+be done."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing!" thought Wilfred, as he gathered the
+goose-bones together for Yula's benefit.  "If you do
+not know where Acland's Hut is, and I cannot tell
+you, night or morning what difference can it make?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He studied the table-cloth, thinking hard.  "Bowkett
+and Diomé had talked of going to a hunters'
+camp.  Where was that?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask Louison," said Mr. De Brunier, in reply to
+his inquiry.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé ran out to put the question.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Louison was a hunter's son.  He had wintered in
+the camp himself when he was a boy.  The hunters
+gathered there in November.  Parties would soon be
+calling at the fort, to sell their skins by the way.
+Wilfred could go on with one of them, no doubt, and
+then Bowkett could take him home.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred's heart grew lighter.  It was a roundabout-road,
+but he felt as if getting back to Bowkett
+was next to getting home.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"How glad your uncle will be to see you!" cried
+Gaspé radiantly, picturing the bright home-coming
+in the warmth of his own sympathy.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't!" said Wilfred; "please, don't.  It
+won't be like that; not a bit.  Nobody wants me.
+Aunt wanted my little sister, not me.  You don't
+understand; I am such a bother to her."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé was silenced, but his hand clasped Wilfred's
+a little closer.  All the chivalrous feelings of the
+knightly De Bruniers were rousing in his breast for
+the strange boy who had brought them the timely
+warning.  For some of the best and noblest blood of
+old France was flowing in his veins.  A De Brunier
+had come out with the early French settlers, the first
+explorers, the first voyageurs along the mighty
+Canadian rivers.  A De Brunier had fought against
+Wolfe on the Heights of Abraham, in the front ranks
+of that gallant band who faithfully upheld their
+nation's honour, loyal to the last to the shameless
+France, which despised, neglected, and abandoned
+them—men whose high sense of duty never swerved
+in the hour of trial, when they were given over into
+the hands of their enemy.  Who cared what happened
+in that far-off corner of the world?  It was not
+worth troubling about.  So the France of that day
+reasoned when she flung them from her.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was of those dark hours Gaspé loved to make
+his grandfather talk, and he was thinking that
+nothing would divert Wilfred from his troubled thoughts
+like one of grandfather's stories.  The night drew on.
+The snow was falling thicker and denser than before.
+Mr. De Brunier turned his chair to the stove, afraid
+to go to bed with the Blackfoot camp within half-a-mile
+of his wooden walls.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"They might," he said, "have a fancy to give us
+a midnight scare, to see what more they could get."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The boys begged hard to remain.  The fire, shut
+in its iron box, was burning at its best, emitting a
+dull red glow, even through its prison walls.  Gaspé
+refilled his grandfather's pipe.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilfred," he remarked gently, "has a home that
+is no home, and he thinks we cannot understand
+the ups and downs of life, or what it is to be pushed
+to the wall."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé had touched the right spring.  The veteran
+trader smiled.  "Not know, my lad, what it is to be
+pushed to the wall, when I have been a servant for
+fifty years in the very house where my grandfather
+was master, before the golden lilies on our snow-white
+banner were torn down to make room for your Union
+Jack!  Why am I telling you this to-night?  Just
+to show you, when all seems lost in the present, there
+is the future beyond, and no one can tell what that
+may hold.  The pearl lies hidden under the stormiest
+waters.  Do you know old Cumberland House?  A
+De Brunier built it, the first trading-fort in the
+Saskatchewan.  It was lost to us when the cold-hearted
+Bourbon flung us like a bone to the English mastiff.
+Our homes were ours no longer.  Our lives were in
+our hands, but our honour no one but ourselves could
+throw away.  What did we do?  What could we do?
+What all can do—our duty to the last.  We braved
+our trouble; and when all seemed lost, help came.
+Who was it felt for us?  The men who had torn
+from us our colours and entered our gates by force.
+Under the British flag our homes were given back,
+our rights assured.  Our Canadian Quebec remains
+unaltered, a transplant from the old France of the
+Bourbons.  In the long years that have followed the
+harvest has been reaped on both sides.  Now, my
+boy, don't break your heart with thinking, If there
+had been anybody to care for me, I should not have
+been left senseless in a snow-covered wilderness; but
+rouse your manhood and face your trouble, for in
+God's providence it may be more than made up to
+you.  Here you can stay until some opportunity
+occurs to send you to this hunters' camp.  You are
+sure it will be your best way to get home again?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered Wilfred decidedly.  "I shall find
+Bowkett there, and I am sure he will take me back
+to Acland's Hut.  But please, sir, I did not mean aunt
+and uncle were unkind; but I had been there such a
+little while, and somehow I was always wrong; and
+then I know I teased."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The cloud was gathering over him again.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"If—" he sighed.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't dwell on the </span><em class="italics">ifs</em><span>, my boy; talk of what has
+been.  That will teach you best what may be," inter
+posed Mr. De Brunier.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé saw the look of pain in Wilfred's eyes,
+although he did not say again, "Please don't talk
+about it," for he was afraid Mr. De Brunier would
+not call that facing his trouble.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé came to the rescue.  "But, grandfather, you
+have not told us what the harvest was that Canada
+reaped," he put in.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Cannot you see it for yourself, Gaspard?" said
+Mr. De Brunier.  "When French and English,
+conquered and conqueror, settled down side by side, it
+was their respect for each other, their careful
+consideration for each other's rights and wrongs, that
+taught their children and their children's children
+the great lesson how to live and let live.  No other
+nation in the world has learned as we have done.  It
+is this that makes our Canada a land of refuge for
+the down-trodden slave.  And we, the French in
+Canada, what have we reaped?" he went on, shaking
+the ashes from his pipe, and looking at the two boys
+before him, French and English; but the old lines
+were fading, and uniting in the broader name of
+Canadian.  "Yes," he repeated, "what did we find at
+the bottom of our bitter cup?  Peace, security, and
+freedom, whilst the streets of Paris ran red with
+Frenchmen's blood.  The last De Brunier in France
+was dragged from his ancestral home to the steps of
+the guillotine by Frenchmen's hands, and the old
+chateau in Brittany is left a moss-grown ruin.  When
+my father saw the hereditary foe of his country walk
+into Cumberland House to turn him out, they met
+with a bonjour [good day]; and when they parted this
+was the final word: 'You are a young man, Monsieur
+De Brunier, but your knowledge of the country and
+your influence with the Indians can render us
+valuable assistance.  If at any time you choose to take
+office in your old locale, you will find that faithful
+service will be handsomely requited.'  We kept our
+honour and laid down our pride.  Content.  Your
+British Queen has no more loyal subjects in all her
+vast dominions than her old French Canadians."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was a mist before Wilfred's eyes, and his
+voice was low and husky.  He only whispered, "I
+shall not forget, I never can forget to-night."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The small hours of the morning were numbered
+before Gaspé opened the door of his little sleeping
+room, which Wilfred was to share.  It was not
+much bigger than a closet.  The bed seemed to
+fill it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was just room for Gaspé's chest of clothes
+and an array of pegs.  But to Wilfred it seemed a
+palace, in its cozy warmth.  It made him think of
+Pe-na-Koam.  He hoped she was as comfortable in
+the Blackfoot camp.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé was growing sleepy.  One arm was round
+Wilfred's neck; he roused himself to answer, "Did
+not you hear what the warrior with the scalps at his
+belt told me?  She came into their camp, and they
+gave her food as long as she could eat it.  She was
+too old to travel, and they left her asleep by their
+camp-fires."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Up sprang Wilfred.  "Whatever shall I do?  I
+have brought away her kettle; I thought she had
+gone to her own people, and left it behind her for me."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Do!" repeated Gaspé, laughing.  "Why, go to
+sleep old fellow; what else can we do at four o'clock
+in the morning?  If we don't make haste about it,
+we shall have no night at all."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé was quick to follow his own advice.  But
+the "no night" was Wilfred's portion.  There was no
+rest for him for thinking of Pe-na-Koam.  How was
+she to get her breakfast?  The Blackfeet might have
+given her food, but how could she boil a drop of water
+without her kettle?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>At the first movement in the house he slipped out
+of bed and dressed himself.  The fire had burned low
+in the great stove in the sitting-room, but when he
+softly opened the door of their closet it struck fairly
+warm.  The noise he had heard was Louison coming
+in with a great basket of wood to build it up.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A fire in prison is a dull affair by daylight,"
+remarked Wilfred.  "I think I shall go for a
+walk—a long walk."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. De Brunier will have something to say about
+that after last night's blizzard," returned Louison.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Then please tell him it is my duty to go, for I am
+afraid an old Indian woman, who was very kind to me,
+was out in last night's snow, and I must go and look
+for her.  Will you just undo that door and let me out?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Not quite so fast; I have two minds about that,"
+answered Louison.  "Better wait for Mr. De Brunier.
+I know I shall be wrong if I let you go off like this."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you be wrong?" retorted Wilfred.  "I
+came to this place to warn you all there was a party
+of Blackfeet hidden in the reeds.  Well, if I had
+waited, what good would it have been to you?  Now
+I find the old squaw who made me these gloves was
+out in last night's snow, and I must go and look for
+her, and go directly."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"But a boy like you will never find her," laughed
+Louison.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll try it," said Wilfred doggedly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Was she a Blackfoot?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Then she is safe enough in camp, depend upon it,"
+returned Louison.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"No, she was left behind," persisted Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Then come with me," said Louison, by no means
+sorry to have found a friendly reason for approaching
+the Blackfeet camp.  "I have a little bit of scout
+business in hand, just to find out whether these wild
+fellows are moving on, or whether they mean waiting
+about to pay us another visit."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Chirag was clearing away the snow in the enclosure
+outside.  Wilfred found the kettle and the skin just
+where he had laid them down, inside the first shed.
+He called up Yula, and started by Louison's side.
+Chirag was waiting to bar the gate behind them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Beautiful morning," said the Canadians, vigorously
+rubbing their noses to keep them from freezing, and
+violently clapping their mittened hands together.
+The snow lay white and level, over hill and marsh,
+one sparkling sheet of silvery sheen.  The edging of
+ice was broadening along the river, and the roar of
+the falls came with a thunderous boom through the
+all-pervading stillness around them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The snow was already hard, as the two ran briskly
+forward, with Yula careering and bounding in
+extravagant delight.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred looked back to the little fort, with its
+stout wooden walls, twice the height of a man, hiding
+the low white house with its roof of bark, hiding
+everything within but the rough lookout and the
+tall flag-staff, for</span></p>
+<blockquote>
+<div>
+<div class="line-block outermost">
+<div class="line"><span>"Ever above the topmost roof the banner of England blew."</span></div>
+<div class="line"> </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</blockquote>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>Wilfred was picturing the feelings with which the
+De Bruniers had worked on beneath it, giving the
+same faithful service to their foreign masters that
+they had to the country which had cast them off.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a dirty old rag," said Louison; "gone all to
+ribbons in last night's gale.  But it is good enough for
+a little place like this—we call it Hungry Hall.  We
+don't keep it open all the year round.  Just now, in
+October, the Indians and the hunters are bringing in
+the produce of their summer's hunting.  We shall
+shut up soon, and open later again for the winter trade."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A dirty old rag!" repeated Wilfred.  "Yes, but
+I am prouder of it than ever, for it means protection
+and safety wherever it floats.  Boy as I am, I can
+see that."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you see something else," asked Louison—"the
+crossing poles of the first wigwam?  We are
+at the camp."</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="the-dog-sled"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">THE DOG-SLED.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>A cloud of smoke from its many wigwam fires
+overhung the Indian camp as Louison and
+Wilfred drew near.  The hunter's son, with his quick
+ear, stole cautiously through the belt of pine trees
+which sheltered it from the north wind, listening for
+any sounds of awakening life.  Yesterday's adventure
+had no doubt been followed by a prolonged feast,
+and men and dogs were still sleeping.  A few squaws,
+upon whom the hard work of the Indian world all
+devolves, were already astir.  Louison thought they
+were gathering firewood outside the camp.  This was
+well.  Louison hung round about the outskirts,
+watching their proceedings, until he saw one woman behind
+a wigwam gathering snow to fill her kettle.  Her
+pappoose in its wooden cradle was strapped to her
+back; but she had seen or heard them, for she paused
+in her occupation and looked up wondering.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Louison stepped forward.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now for your questions, my boy," he said to
+Wilfred, "and I will play interpreter."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there an old squaw in your camp named the
+Far-off-Dawn?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred needed no interpreter to explain the
+"caween" given in reply.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell her, Louison," he hurried on, "she was with
+me the night before last.  I thought she left me to
+follow this trail.  If she has not reached this camp,
+she must be lost in the snow."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Will not some of your people go and look for
+her," added Louison, on his own account, "before you
+move on?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the use?" she asked.  "Death will have
+got her by this time.  She came to the camp; she was
+too old to travel.  If she is alive, she may overtake
+us again.  We shall not move on until another
+sunrising, to rest the horses."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I shall go and look for her," said Wilfred
+resolutely.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Not you," retorted Louison; "wait a bit."  He put
+his hand in his pockets.  They had been well filled
+with tea and tobacco, in readiness for any emergency.
+"Is not there anybody in the camp who will go and
+look for her?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Louison was asking his questions for the sake of
+the information he elicited, but Wilfred caught at
+the idea in earnest.  "Go and see," urged Louison,
+offering her a handful of his tea.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Thé!" she repeated.  The magic word did wonders.
+Louison knew if one of the men were willing to leave the
+camp to look for Pe-na-Koam, no further mischief was
+intended.  But if they were anticipating a repetition of
+"the high old time" they had enjoyed yesterday, not one
+of them could be induced to forego their portion in so
+congenial a lark, for in their eyes it was nothing more.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The squaw took the tea in both her hands, gladly
+leaving her kettle in the snow, as she led the way
+into the camp.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred, who had only seen the poor little canvas
+tents of the Crees, looked round him in astonishment.
+In the centre stood the lodge or moya of the chief—a
+wigwam built in true old Indian style, fourteen
+feet high at the least.  Twelve strong poles were
+stuck in the ground, round a circle fifteen feet across.
+They were tied together at the top, and the outside
+was covered with buffalo-skins, painted black and
+red in all sorts of figures.  Eagles seemed perching
+on the heads of deers, and serpents twisted and coiled
+beneath the feet of buffaloes.  The other wigwams
+built around it were in the same style, on a smaller
+scale, all brown with smoke.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A goodly array of spears, bows, and shields adorned
+the outside of the moya; above them the much-coveted
+rifles were ranged with exceeding pride.  The ground
+between the moya and the tents was littered with
+chips and bones, among which the dogs were busy.
+A few children were pelting each other with the
+snow, or trying to shoot at the busy jays with a baby
+of a bow and arrows to match.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Louison pushed aside the fur which hung over the
+entrance to the moya—the man-hole—and stepped
+inside.  A beautiful fire was burning in the middle
+of the tent.  The floor was strewed with pine brush,
+and skins were hung round the inside wall, like a
+dado.  They fitted very closely to the ground, so as
+to keep out all draught.  The rabbits and swans, the
+buzzards and squirrels painted on this dado were so
+lifelike, Wilfred thought it must be as good as a
+picture-book to the dear little pappoose, strapped to
+its flat board cradle, and set upright against the wall
+whilst mother was busy.  The sleeping-places were
+divided by wicker-screens, and seemed furnished with
+plenty of blankets and skins.  One or two of them
+were still occupied; but Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu lay
+on a bear-skin by the fire, with his numerous pipes
+arranged beside him.  The squaw explained the errand
+of their early visitors: a woman was lost in the snow,
+would the chief send one of his people to find her?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Great Swan looked over his shoulder and said
+something.  A young man rose up from one of the
+sleeping-places.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Both were asking, "What was the good?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"She is one of your own people," urged Louison.
+"We came to tell you."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>This was not what Wilfred had said, and it was
+not all he wanted, but he was forced to trust it to
+Louison, although he was uneasy.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He could see plainly enough an Indian would be
+far more likely to find her than himself, but would
+they?  Would any of them go?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Louison offered a taste of his tobacco to the old
+chief and the young, by way of good-fellowship.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"They will never do it for that," thought Wilfred
+growing desperate again.  He had but one thing
+about him he could offer as an inducement, and that
+was his knife.  He hesitated a moment.  He thought
+of Pe-na-Koam dying in the snow, and held it out to
+the young chieftain.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The dusky fingers gripped the handle.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you take care of her and bring her here, or
+give her food and build up her hut?" asked Wilfred,
+making his meaning as plain as he could, by the help
+of nods and looks and signs.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The young chief was outside the man-hole in
+another moment.  He slung his quiver to his belt and
+took down his bow, flung a stout blanket over his
+shoulder, and shouted to his squaw to catch a bronco,
+the usual name for the Canadian horse.  The kettle
+was in his hand.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Can we trust him?" asked Wilfred, as he left
+the camp by Louison's side.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust him! yes," answered his companion.  "Young
+Sapoo is one of those Indians who never break faith.
+His word once given, he will keep it to the death."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I have only to pray that he may be in time,"
+said Wilfred gravely, as he stood still to watch the wild
+red man galloping back to the beavers' lakelet.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he will be in time," returned Louison
+cheerily.  "All their wigwam poles would be left
+standing, and plenty of pine brush and firewood
+strewing about.  She is sure to have found some
+shelter before the heaviest fall of snow; that did
+not come until it was nearly morning."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé had climbed the lookout to watch for their
+return.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilfred, </span><em class="italics">mon cher</em><span>," he exclaimed, "you must
+have a perfect penchant for running away.  How
+could you give us the slip in such a shabby fashion?
+I could not believe Chirag.  If the bears were not
+all dropping off into their winter sleep, I should have
+thought some hungry bruin had breakfasted upon you."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé's grandfather had turned carpenter, and was
+already at work mending his broken doors.  Not
+being a very experienced workman, his planking and
+his panelling did not square.  Wood was plentiful, and
+more than one piece was thrown aside as a misfit.  Both
+the boys were eager to assist in the work of restoration.
+A broken shelf was mended between them—in first-rate
+workmanly style, as Wilfred really thought.  "We
+have done that well," they agreed; and when Mr. De
+Brunier—who was still chipping at his refractory
+panel—added a note of commendation to their labours, Gaspé's
+spirits ran up to the very top of the mental thermometer.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>To recover his balance—for Wilfred unceremoniously
+declared he was off his head—Gaspé fell into a
+musing fit.  He wakened up, exclaiming,—</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm flying high!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Then mind you don't fall," retorted Mr. De
+Brunier, who himself was cogitating somewhat darkly
+over Louison's intelligence.  "There will be no peace
+for me," he said, "no security, whilst these Blackfeet
+are in the neighbourhood.  'Wait for another
+sun-rising'—that means another forty-eight hours of
+incessant vigilance for me.  It was want of confidence
+did it all.  I should teach them to trust me in time,
+but it cannot be done in a day."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>As he moved on, lamenting over the scene of
+destruction, Gaspé laid a hand on Wilfred's arm.  "How
+are you going to keep pace with the hunters with
+that lame foot?" he demanded.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"As the tortoise did with the hare," laughed Wilfred.
+"Get myself left behind often enough, I don't doubt
+that."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"But I doubt if you will ever get to your home
+</span><em class="italics">à la tortoise</em><span>," rejoined Gaspé.  "No, walking will
+never do for you.  I am thinking of making you
+a sled."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A sledge!" repeated Wilfred in surprise.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, we drop the 'ge' you add to it in your
+English dictionaries," retorted Gaspé.  "We only say
+sled out here.  There will be plenty of board when
+grandfather has done his mending.  We may have
+what we want, I'm sure.  Your dog is a trained
+hauler, and why shouldn't we teach my biggest pup
+to draw with him?  They would drag you after the
+hunters in fine style.  We can do it all, even to their
+jingling bells."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred, who had been accustomed to the light and
+graceful carioles and sledges used in the Canadian
+towns, thought it was flying a bit too high.  But
+Gaspé, up in all the rough-and-ready contrivances of
+the backwoods, knew what he was about.  Louison
+and Chirag had to be consulted.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When all the defences were put in order—bolts,
+bars, and padlocks doubled and trebled, and a rough
+but very ponderous double door added to the
+storeroom—Mr. De Brunier began to speak of rest.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The night cometh in which no man can work," he
+quoted, as if in justification of the necessary stoppage.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The hammer was laid down, and he sank back in
+his hard chair, as if he were almost ashamed to
+indulge in his one solace, the well-filled pipe Gaspé
+was placing so coaxingly in his fingers.  A few
+sedative whiffs were enjoyed in silence; but before
+the boys were sent off to bed, Gaspé had secured the
+reversion of all the wooden remains of the carpentering
+bout, and as many nails as might be reasonably
+required.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," said Gaspé, as he tucked himself up by
+Wilfred's side, and pulled the coverings well over
+head and ears, "I'll show you what I can do."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Three days passed quickly by.  On the morning
+of the fourth Louison walked in with a long face.
+The new horse, the gift of the Blackfoot chief, had
+vanished in the night.  The camp had moved on,
+nothing but the long poles of the wigwams were left
+standing.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The loss of a horse is such an everyday occurrence
+in Canada, where horses are so often left to take care
+of themselves, it was by no means clear that
+Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu had resumed his gift, but it was highly
+probable.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Notwithstanding, the Company had not been losers
+by the riotous marketing, for the furs the Blackfeet
+had brought in were splendid.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, we were all on our guard—thanks to you, my
+little man—or it might have ended in the demolition
+of the fort," remarked Mr. De Brunier.  "Now, if
+there is anything you want for your journey, tell me,
+and you shall have it."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, grandfather," interposed Gaspé.  "He must
+have a blanket to sleep in, and there is the harness
+for the dogs, and a lot of things."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred grew hot.  "Please, sir, thanks; but I don't
+think I want much.  Most of all, perhaps, something
+to eat."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier recommended a good hunch of
+pemmican, to cut and come again.  The hunters would
+let him mess with them if he brought his own pemmican
+and a handful of tea to throw into their boiling
+kettle.  The hunters' camp was about sixty miles
+from Hungry Hall.  They would be two or three
+days on the road.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>More than one party of hunters had called at the
+fort already, wanting powder and ball, matches, and a
+knife; and when the lynx and marten and wolf skins
+which they brought were told up, and the few necessaries
+they required were provided, the gay, careless,
+improvident fellows would invest in a tasselled cap
+bright with glittering beads.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The longer Wilfred stayed at the fort, the more
+Mr. De Brunier hesitated about letting the boy start
+for so long a journey with no better protection.
+Gaspard never failed to paint the danger and
+magnify the difficulties of the undertaking, wishing to
+keep his new friend a little longer.  But Wilfred was
+steady to his purpose.  He saw no other chance of
+getting back to his home.  He did not say much
+when Mr. De Brunier and Gaspé were weighing
+chances and probabilities, hoping some travelling party
+from the north might stop by the way at Hungry
+Hall and take him on with them.  Such things did
+happen occasionally.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But Wilfred had a vivid recollection of his
+cross-country journey with Forgill.  He could not see that
+he should be sure of getting home if he accepted
+Mr. De Brunier's offer and stayed until the river was
+frozen and then went down with him to their
+mid-winter station, trusting to a seat in some of the
+Company's carts or the Company's sledges to their
+next destination.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Then there would be waiting and trusting again to
+be sent on another stage, and another, and another,
+until he would at last find himself at Fort Garry.
+"Then," he asked, "what was he to do?  If his
+uncle and aunt knew that he was there, they might
+send Forgill again to fetch him.  But if letters reached
+Acland's Hut so uncertainly, how was he to let them
+know?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>As Wilfred worked the matter out thus in his own
+mind, he received every proposition of Mr. De Brunier's
+with, "Please, sir, I'd rather go to Bowkett.  He lost
+me.  He will be sure to take me straight home."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The boy knew his own mind so thoroughly," Mr. De
+Brunier told Gaspard at last, "they must let him
+have his own way."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The sled was finished.  It was a simple affair—two
+thin boards about four feet long nailed together
+edgeways, with a tri-cornered piece of wood fitted in
+at the end.  Two old skates were screwed on the
+bottom, and the thing was done.  The boys worked
+together at the harness as they sat round the stove in
+the evening.  The snow was thicker, the frost was
+harder every night.  Ice had settled on the quiet
+pools, and was spreading over the quick-running
+streams, but the dash of the falls still resisted its
+ever-encroaching influence.  By-and-by they too
+must yield, and the whole face of nature would be
+locked in its iron clasp.  November was wearing
+away.  A sunny morning came now and then to
+cheer the little party so soon to separate.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé proposed a run with the dogs, just to try
+how they would go in their new harness, and if, after
+all, the sled would run as a sled should.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Other things were set aside, and boys and men
+gathered in the court.  Even Mr. De Brunier stepped
+out to give his opinion about the puppies.  Gaspé had
+named them from the many tongues of his native
+Canada.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>In his heart Wilfred entertained a secret belief that
+not one of them would ever be equal to his Yula.
+They were Athabascans.  They would never be as big
+for one thing, and no dog ever could be half as
+intelligent; that was not possible.  But he did not give
+utterance to these sentiments.  It would have looked
+so ungrateful, when Gaspé was designing the best and
+biggest for his parting gift.  And they were beauties,
+all four of them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was Le Chevalier, so named because he never
+appeared, as Gaspé declared, without his white
+shirtfront and white gloves.  Then there was his bluff
+old English Boxer, the sturdiest of the four.  He
+looked like a hauler.  Kusky-tay-ka-atim-moos, or
+"the little black dog," according to the Cree dialect,
+had struck up a friendship with Yula, only a little
+less warm than that which existed between their
+respective masters.  Then the little schemer with the
+party-coloured face was Yankee-doodle.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Try them all in harness, and see which runs the
+best," suggested grandfather, quite glad that his
+Gaspard should have one bright holiday to checker the
+leaden dulness of the everyday life at Hungry Hall.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Louison was harnessing the team.  He nailed two
+long strips of leather to the lowest end of the sled for
+traces.  The dogs' collars were made of soft leather,
+and slipped over the head.  Each one was ornamented
+with a little tinkling bell under the chin and a tuft of
+bright ribbon at the back of the ear, and a buckle on
+either side through which the traces were passed.  A
+band of leather round the dogs completed the harness,
+and to this the traces were also securely buckled.
+The dogs stood one before the other, about a foot apart.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Yula was an experienced hand, and took the collar
+as a matter of course.  Yankee was the first of the
+puppies to stand in the traces, and his severe doggie
+tastes were completely outraged by the amount of
+finery Gaspé and Louison seemed to think necessary
+for their proper appearance.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was seated on a folded blanket, with a
+buffalo-robe tucked over his feet.  Louison flourished
+a whip in the air to make the dogs start.  Away
+went Yula with something of the velocity of an arrow
+from a bow, knocking down Gaspé, who thought of
+holding the back of the sled to guide it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He scrambled to his feet and ran after it.  Yula
+was careering over the snow at racehorse speed, ten
+miles an hour, and poor little Yankee, almost frightened
+out of his senses, was bent upon making a dash at the
+ribbon waving so enticingly before his eyes.  He
+darted forward.  He hung back.  He lurched from
+side to side.  He twisted, he turned.  He upset the
+equilibrium of the sledge.  It banged against a tree
+on one side, and all but tilted over on the other.  One
+end went down into a badger hole, leaving Wilfred
+and his blanket in a heap on the snow, when Yankee,
+lightened of half his load, fairly leaped upon Yula's
+back and hopelessly entangled the traces.  The boys
+concealed an uneasy sense of ignominious failure
+under an assertion calculated to put as good a face as
+they could on the matter: "We have not got it quite
+right yet, but we shall."</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="the-hunters-camp"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">THE HUNTERS' CAMP.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>A burst of merry laughter made the two boys
+look round, half afraid that it might be at
+their own expense.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred felt a bit annoyed when he perceived a
+little party of horsemen spurring towards the fort.
+But Gaspé ran after them, waving his arms with a
+bonjour as he recognized his own Louison's cousin,
+Batiste, among the foremost.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Dog training and dog driving are the never-failing
+topics of interest among the hunters and trappers.
+Batiste had reined in his horse to watch the ineffectual
+efforts of the boys to disentangle the two dogs, who
+were fighting and snarling with each other over the
+upturned sled.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Batiste and his comrades soon advanced from
+watching to helping.  The sled was lifted up, the
+traces disentangled, and Wilfred and Gaspé were told
+and made to feel that they knew nothing at all
+about dog driving, and might find themselves in a
+heap all pell-mell at the bottom of the river bank
+some day if they set about it in such a reckless
+fashion.  They were letting the dogs run just where
+they liked.  Dogs wanted something to follow.
+Batiste jumped from his horse at last, quite unable
+to resist the pleasure of breaking in a young dog.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It takes two to manage a dog team," he asserted.
+"It wants a man in snow-shoes to walk on in front
+and mark a track, and another behind to keep them
+steady to their work."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Dogs, horses, men, and boys all turned back together
+to discuss Yankee's undeveloped powers.  But
+no, Batiste himself could do nothing with him.
+Yankee refused to haul.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll make him," said Batiste.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But Gaspé preferred to take his dog out of the
+traces rather than surrender him to the tender mercies
+of a hunter.  "I know they are very cruel," he
+whispered to Wilfred.  So Yula was left to draw
+the empty sled back to the fort, and he did it in
+first-rate style.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"He is just cut out for hauling, as the hound is for
+hunting," explained Batiste.  "It is not any dog can
+do it."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>They entered the gate of the fort.  The men stood
+patting and praising Yula, while Batiste exchanged
+greetings with his cousin.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Before he unlocked the door of his shop, Mr. De
+Brunier called Wilfred to him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now is your chance, my boy," he said kindly.
+"Batiste tells me he passed this Bowkett on his way
+to the camp, so you are sure to find him there.  Shall
+I arrange with Batiste to take you with him?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The opportunity had come so suddenly at last.
+If Wilfred had any misgiving, he did not show it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think I had better do, sir?" he asked.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"There is so much good common sense in your own
+plan," answered his friend, "I think you had better
+follow it.  When we shut up, you cannot remain
+here; and unless we take you with us, this is the best
+thing to do."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred put both his hands in Mr. De Brunier's.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't thank you," he said; "I can't thank you
+half enough."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind the thanks, my boy.  Now I want
+you to promise me, when you get back to your home,
+you will make yourself missed, then you will soon find
+yourself wanted."  Mr. De Brunier turned the key in
+the lock as he spoke, and went in.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred crossed the court to Gaspé.  He looked
+up brightly, exclaiming, "Kusky is the boy for you;
+they all say Kusky will draw."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going," whispered Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Going! how and why?" echoed Gaspé in consternation.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"With these men," answered Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I shall hate Batiste if he takes you from
+me!" exclaimed Gaspé impetuously.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>They stepped back into the shed the puppies had
+occupied, behind some packing-cases, where nobody
+could see them, for the parting words.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall never forget each other, never.  Shall
+we ever meet again?" asked Wilfred despairingly.
+"We may when we are men."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We may before," whispered Gaspé, trying to
+comfort him.  "Grandfather's time is up this Christmas.
+Then he will take his pension and retire.  He talks
+of buying a farm.  Why shouldn't it be near your
+uncle's?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, Gaspard, what are you about?" shouted
+Mr. De Brunier from the shop door.  "Take Wilfred
+in, and see that he has a good dinner."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Words failed over the knife and fork.  Yula and
+Kusky had to be fed.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Will the sled be of any use?" asked Gaspé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Even Wilfred did not feel sure.  They had fallen
+very low—had no heart for anything.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Louison was packing the sled—pemmican and tea
+for three days.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Put plenty," said Gaspé, as he ran out to see all
+was right.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Louison and Batiste were talking.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll teach that young dog to haul," Batiste was
+saying; "and if the boy gets tired of them, we'll take
+them off his hands altogether."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"With pleasure," added Louison, and they both laughed.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The last moment had come.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye, good-bye!" said Wilfred, determined not
+to break down before the men, who were already
+mounting their horses.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"God bless you!" murmured Gaspé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Batiste put Wilfred on his horse, and undertook the
+management of the sled.  The unexpected pleasure of
+a ride helped to soften the pain of parting.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I ought to be thankful," thought Wilfred—"I
+ought to rejoice that the chance I have longed for has
+come.  I ought to be grateful that I have a home,
+and such a good home."  But it was all too new.  No
+one had learned to love him there.  Whose hand
+would clasp his when he reached Acland's Hut as
+Gaspé had done?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>On, on, over the wide, wild waste of sparkling
+snow, with his jovial companions laughing and talking
+around him.  It was so similar to his ride with
+Bowkett and Diomé, save for the increase in the cold.
+He did not mind that.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But there was one thing Wilfred did mind, and
+that was the hard blows Batiste was raining down
+on Kusky and Yula.  He sprang down to remonstrate.
+He wanted to drive them himself.  He was laughed
+at for a self-conceited jackass, and pushed aside.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Dog driving was the hunter's hobby.  The whole
+party were engrossed in watching Yula's progress, and
+quiet, affectionate little Kusky's infantine endeavours
+to keep up with him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Batiste regarded himself as a crack trainer, and
+when poor Kusky brought the whole cavalcade to a
+standstill by sitting down in the midst of his traces,
+he announced his intention of curing him of such a
+trick with his first taste.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Send him to Rome," shouted one of the foremost
+of the hunters.  "He'll not forget that in a hurry."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"He is worth training well," observed another.
+"See what a chest he has.  He will make as good a
+hauler as the old one by-and-by.  Pay him well first
+start."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>What "sending to Rome" might mean Wilfred did
+not stay to see.  Enough to know it was the
+uttermost depth of dog disgrace.  He saw Batiste double
+up his fist and raise his arm.  The sprain in his
+ankle was forgotten.  He flew to the ground, and
+dashed between Batiste and his dogs, exclaiming,
+"They are mine, my own, and they shan't be hurt
+by anybody!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He caught the first blow, that was all.  He staggered
+backwards on the slippery ground.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Another of the hunters had alighted.  He caught
+Wilfred by the arm, and pulled him up, observing
+dryly, "Well done, young 'un.  Got a settler unawares.
+That just comes of interfering.—Here, Mathurin, take
+him up behind ye."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The hunter appealed to wheeled round with a
+good-natured laugh.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But Wilfred could not stand; the horses, dogs,
+and snow seemed dancing round him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yula!  Kusky!" he called, like one speaking in a
+dream.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But Yula, dragging the sled behind him, and rolling
+Kusky over and over in the tangling harness, had
+sprung at Batiste's arm; but he was too hampered to
+seize him.  Wilfred was only aware of a confused
+</span><em class="italics">mêlée</em><span> as he was hoisted into Mathurin's strong arms
+and trotted away from the scene of action.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, you are the sauciest young dog of the
+three," said Mathurin rather admiringly.  "There, lay
+your head on me.  You'll have to sleep this off a
+bit," he continued, gently walking his horse, and
+gradually dropping behind the rest of the party.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Poor Wilfred roused up every now and then with
+a rather wild and incoherent inquiry for his dogs, to
+which Mathurin replied with a drawling, sleepy-sounding
+"All right."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred's eyes were so swollen over that he hardly
+knew it was starshine when Mathurin laid him down
+by a new-lit camping-fire.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"There," said the hunter, in the self-congratulatory
+tone of a man who knows he has got over an awkward
+piece of business; "let him have his dogs, and give
+him a cup of tea, and he'll be himself again by the
+morning."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Ready for the same game?" asked Batiste, who
+was presiding over the tea-kettle.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The cup which Mathurin recommended was poured
+out; the sugar was not spared.  Wilfred drank it
+gladly without speaking.  When words were useless
+silence seemed golden.  Yula was on guard beside
+him, and poor little Kusky, cowed and cringing, was
+shivering at his feet.  They covered him up, and all
+he had seen and heard seemed as unreal as his dreams.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The now familiar cry of "</span><em class="italics">Lève! lève!</em><span>" made Yula
+sit upright.  The hunters were astir before the dawn,
+but Wilfred was left undisturbed for another hour at
+least, until the rubeiboo was ready—that is, pemmican
+boiled in water until it makes a sort of soup.  Pemmican,
+as Mr. De Brunier had said, was the hunters'
+favourite food.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now for the best of the breakfast for the lame
+and tame," laughed Batiste, pulling up Wilfred, and
+looking at his disfiguring bruises with a whistle.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred shrank from the prospect before him.
+Another day of bitter biting cold, and merciless cruelty
+to his poor dogs.  "Oh, if Gaspé knew!—if Kusky
+could but have run back home!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred could not eat much.  He gave his breakfast
+to his dogs, and fondled them in silence.  It was
+enough to make a fellow's blood boil to be called
+Mathurin's babby, </span><em class="italics">l'enfant endormi</em><span> (sleepy child),
+and Pierre the pretty face.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Can we be such stoics, Yula," he whispered, "as
+to stand all this another twenty-four hours, and see
+our poor little Kusky beaten right and left?  Can
+we bear it till to-morrow morning?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Yula washed the nervous fingers stroking his hair
+out of his eyes, and looked the picture of patient
+endurance.  There was no escape, but it could not
+last long.  Wilfred set his teeth, and asserted no one
+but himself should put the harness on his dogs.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Gently, my little turkey-cock," put in Mathurin.
+"The puppy may be your own, but the stray belongs
+to a friend of mine, who will be glad enough to see
+him back again."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was fairly frightened now.  "Oh, if he
+had to give his Yula chummie back to some horrid
+stranger!"  He thought it would be the last straw
+which brings the breakdown to boy as well as camel.
+But he consoled himself at their journey's end.
+Bowkett would interfere on his behalf.  Mathurin's
+assertion was not true, by the twinkle in his eye and the
+laugh to his companions.  Louison must have told his
+cousin that Yula was a stray, or they would never
+have guessed it.  True or false, the danger of losing
+his dog was a real one.  They meant to take it from
+him.  One thing Wilfred had the sense to see, getting
+in a passion was of no good anyway.  "Frederick the
+Great lost his battle when he lost his temper," he
+thought.  "Keep mine for Yula's sake I will."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But the work was harder than he expected, although
+the time was shorter.  The hardy broncos of the hunters
+were as untiring as their masters.  Ten, twenty, thirty
+miles were got over without a sign of weariness from
+any one but Wilfred and Kusky.  If they were dead
+beat, what did it matter?  The dog was lashed along,
+and Wilfred was teased, to keep him from falling
+asleep.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"One more push," said the hunters, "and instead of
+sleeping with our feet to a camp-fire, and our beards
+freezing to the blankets, we shall be footing it to
+Bowkett's fiddle."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The moon had risen clear and bright above the
+sleeping clouds still darkening the horizon.  A silent
+planet burned lamp-like in the western sky.  Forest
+and prairie, ridges and lowland, were sparkling in
+the sheen of the moonlight and the snow.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred roused himself.  The tinkle of the
+dog-bells was growing fainter and fainter, as Mathurin
+galloped into the midst of a score or so of huts
+promiscuously crowded together, while many a high-piled
+meat-stage gave promise of a winter's plenty.  Huge
+bones and horns, the remnants of yesterday's feast,
+were everywhere strewing the ground, and changing
+its snowy carpet to a dingy drab.  There were
+wolf-skins spread over framework.  There were
+buffalo-skins to be smoked, and buffalo-robes—as they are
+called when the hair is left on—stretched out to dry.
+Men and horses, dogs and boys, women drawing water
+or carrying wood, jostled each other.  There was a
+glow of firelight from many a parchment window,
+and here and there the sound of a fiddle, scraped by
+some rough hunter's hand, and the quick thud of the
+jovial hunter's heel upon the earthen floor.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It resembled nothing in the old world so much as
+an Irish fair, with its shouts of laughter and snatches
+of song, and that sense of inextricable confusion,
+heightened by the all too frequent fight in a most
+inconvenient corner.  The rule of contrary found a
+notable example in the name bestowed upon this
+charming locality.  A French missionary had once
+resided on the spot, so it was still called La Mission.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mathurin drew up before one of the biggest of the
+huts, where the sounds of mirth were loudest, and the
+light streamed brightest on the bank of snow beside
+the door.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Here we are!" he exclaimed, swinging Wilfred
+from the saddle to the threshold.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="maxica-s-warning"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">MAXICA'S WARNING.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>Mathurin knocked at the door.  It was on
+the latch.  He pushed Wilfred inside; but
+the boy was stubborn.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, I won't go in; I'll stand outside and wait
+for the others," he said.  "I want my dogs."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"But the little 'un's dead beat.  You would not
+have him hurried.  I am going back to meet them,"
+laughed Mathurin, proud of the neat way in which
+he had slipped out of all explanation of the blow
+Wilfred had received, which Bowkett might make
+awkward.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He was in the saddle and off again in a moment,
+leaving Wilfred standing at the half-open door.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"This is nothing but a dodge to get my dogs away
+from me," thought the boy, unwilling to go inside the
+hut without them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I am landed at last," he sighed, with a grateful sense
+of relief, as he heard Bowkett's voice in the pause of
+the dance.  His words were received with bursts of
+laughter.  But what was he saying?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It all came about through the loss of the boy.
+There was lamentation and mourning and woe when
+I went back without him.  The auntie would have
+given her eyes to find him.  See my gain by the
+endeavour.  As hope grew beautifully less, it dwindled
+down to 'Bring me some certain tidings of his fate,
+and there is nothing I can refuse you.'  As luck would
+have it, I came across a Blackfoot wearing the very
+knife we stuck in the poor boy's belt before we started.
+I was not slow in bartering for an exchange; and
+when I ride next to Acland's Hut, it is but to change
+horses and prepare for a longer drive to the nearest
+church.  So, friends, I invite you all to dance at my
+wedding feast.  Less than three days of it won't
+content a hunter."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A cheer went up from the noisy dancers, already
+calling for the fiddles.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Bowkett paused with the bow upraised.  There
+stood Wilfred, like the skeleton at the feast, in the
+open doorway before him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"If you have not found me, I have found you,
+Mr. Bowkett," he was saying.  "I am the lost boy.
+I am Wilfred Acland."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The dark brow of the handsome young hunter
+contracted with angry dismay.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Begone!" he exclaimed, with a toss of his head.
+"You!  I know nothing of you!  What business have
+you here?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Hugh Bowkett turned his back upon Wilfred, and
+fiddled away more noisily than before.  Two or three
+of his friends who stood nearest to him—men whom
+it would not have been pleasant to meet alone in the
+darkness of the night—closed round him as the dance
+began.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A coyote in your lamb's-skin," laughed one, "on
+the lookout for a supper."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A coyote is a little wolfish creature, a most
+impudent thief, for ever prowling round the winter
+camps, nibbling at the skins and watching the
+meat-stage, fought off by the dogs and trapped like a rat
+by the hunters.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred looked round for Diomé.  He might have
+recognized him; but no Diomé was there.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Was there not one among the merry fellows
+tripping before him, not one that had ever seen him
+before?  He knew he was sadly changed.  His face
+was still swollen from the disfiguring blow.  Could
+he wonder if Bowkett did not know him?  Should
+he run back and call the men who had brought him
+to his assistance?  He hated them, every one.  He
+was writhing still under every lash which had fallen
+on poor Kusky's sides.  Turn to them? no, never!
+His dogs would be taken as payment for any help
+that they might give.  He would reason it out.  He
+would convince Bowkett he was the same boy.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Three or four Indians entered behind him, and
+seated themselves on the floor, waiting for something
+to eat.  He knew their silent way of begging for
+food when they thought that food was plentiful in
+the camp: the high-piled meat-stage had drawn them.
+It was such an ordinary thing Wilfred paid no heed
+to them.  He was bent on making Bowkett listen;
+and yet he was afraid to leave the door, for fear of
+missing his dogs.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A word in your ear," said the most ill-looking of
+the hunters standing by Bowkett's fiddle, trusting to
+the noise of the music to drown his words from every
+one but him for whom they were intended.  "You and
+I have been over the border together, sharpened up a
+bit among the Yankee bowie-knives.  You are counting
+Caleb Acland as a dead man.  You are expecting,
+as his sister's husband, to step into his shoes.  Back
+comes this boy and sweeps the stakes out of your
+very hand.  He'll stand first."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it," retorted Bowkett with a scowl.  "But,"
+he added hurriedly, "it is not he."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it isn't the boy you lost?  Of course not.
+But take my advice, turn this impudent young coyote
+out into the snow.  One midnight's frost will save you
+from any more bother.  There are plenty of badger
+holes where he can rest safe and snug till doomsday."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Bowkett would not venture a reply.  The low aside
+was unnoticed by the dancers; not the faintest breath
+could reach Wilfred, vainly endeavouring to pass
+between the whirling groups to Bowkett's side; but
+every syllable was caught by the quick ear of one of
+the Indians on the floor.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He picked up a tiny splinter of wood from the
+hearth, near which he was sitting; another was
+secreted.  There were three in the hollow of his
+hand.  Noiselessly and unobtrusively he stole behind
+the dancers.  A gentle pull at Wilfred's coat made
+him look up into the half-blind eyes of Maxica the Cree.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Not a word was said.  Maxica turned from him
+and seated himself once more on the ground, in which
+he deliberately stuck his three pegs.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred could not make out what he was going to
+do, but his heart felt lighter at the sight of him; "for,"
+he thought, "he will confirm my story.  He will tell
+Bowkett how he found me by the banks of the
+dried-up river."  He dropped on the floor beside the
+wandering Cree.  But the Indian laid a finger on his lips,
+and one of his pegs was pressed on Wilfred's palm;
+another was pointed towards Bowkett.  The third,
+which was a little charred, and therefore blackened,
+was turned to the door, which Wilfred had left open,
+to the darkness without, from whence, according to
+Indian belief, the evil spirits come.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Then Maxica took the three pegs and moved them
+rapidly about the floor.  The black peg and Bowkett's
+peg were always close together, rubbing against each
+other until both were as black as a piece of charcoal.
+It was clear they were pursuing the other peg—which
+Wilfred took for himself—from corner to corner.  At
+last it was knocked down under them, driven right
+into the earthen floor, and the two blackened pegs
+were left sticking upright over it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred laid his hand softly on Maxica's knee, to
+show his warning was understood.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But what then?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica got up and glided out of the hut as noiselessly
+as he had entered it.  The black-browed hunter
+whispering at Bowkett's elbow made his way through
+the dancers towards Wilfred with a menacing air.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing here?" he demanded.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Waiting to speak to Mr. Bowkett," replied Wilfred
+stoutly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you may wait for him on the snow-bank,"
+retorted the hunter, seizing Wilfred by the collar and
+flinging him out of the door.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that for?" asked several of the dancers.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll vow it is the same young imp who passed us
+with a party of miners coming from a summer's work
+in the Rocky Mountains, who stole my dinner from
+the spit," he went on, working himself into the
+semblance of a passion.  "I marked him with a rare
+black eye before we parted then, and I'll give him
+another if he shows his face again where I am."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It is false!" cried Wilfred, rising up in the heat
+of his indignation.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>His tormentor came a step or two from the door, and
+gathering up a great lump of snow, hurled it at him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred escaped from the avalanche, and the mocking
+laughter which accompanied it, to the sheltering
+darkness.  He paused among the sombre shadows
+thrown by the wall of the opposite hut.  Maxica
+was waiting for him under its pine-bark eaves,
+surveying the cloudless heavens.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"He speaks with a forked tongue," said the Cree,
+pointing to the man in the doorway, and dividing his
+fingers, to show that thoughts went one way and
+words another.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The scorn of the savage beside him was balm to
+Wilfred.  The touch of sympathy which makes the
+whole world kin drew them together.  But between
+him and the hunter swaggering on the snow-bank
+there was a moral gulf nothing could bridge over.
+There was a sense—a strange sense—of deliverance.
+What would it have been to live on with such men,
+touching their pitch, and feeling himself becoming
+blackened?  That was the uttermost depth from which
+this fellow's mistake had saved him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was no mistake, as Maxica was quick to show
+him, but deliberate purpose.  Then Wilfred gave up
+every hope of getting back to his home.  All was lost
+to him—even his dogs were gone.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He tried to persuade Maxica to walk round the
+huts with him, to find out where they were.  But
+the Cree was resolute to get him away as fast as
+he could beyond the reach of Bowkett and his
+companions.  He expected that great lump of snow would
+be followed by a stone; that their steps would be
+dogged until they reached the open, when—he did not
+particularize the precise form that when was likeliest
+to assume.  The experiences of his wild, wandering
+life suggested dangers that could not occur to Wilfred.
+There must be no boyish footprint in the snow to
+tell which way they were going.  Maxica wrapped his
+blanket round Wilfred, and threw him over his
+shoulder as if he had been a heavy pack of skins, and
+took his way through the noisiest part of the camp,
+choosing the route a frightened boy would be the last
+to take.  He crossed in front of an outlying hut.
+Yula was tied by a strip of leather to one of the
+posts supporting its meat-stage, and Kusky to another.
+Maxica recognized Yula's bark before Wilfred did.
+He muffled the boy's head in the blanket, and drew it
+under his arm in such a position that Wilfred could
+scarcely either speak or hear.  Then Maxica turned
+his course, and left the dogs behind him.  But Yula
+could not be deceived.  He bounded forward to the
+uttermost length of his tether.  One sniff at the toe
+of Wilfred's boot, scarcely visible beneath the blanket,
+made him desperate.  He hung at his collar; he tore
+up the earth; he dragged at the post, as if, like
+another Samson, he would use his unusual strength to
+pull down this prison-house.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica, with his long, ungainly Indian stride, was
+quickly out of sight.  Then Yula forbore his wailing
+howl, and set himself to the tough task of biting
+through the leathern thong which secured him.
+Fortunately for him, a dog-chain was unattainable in the
+hunters' camp.  Time and persistency were safe to set
+him free before the daylight.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you were going to stifle me outright,"
+said Wilfred, when Maxica released him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I kept you still," returned the Cree.  "There
+were ears behind every log."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are we going?" asked Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But Maxica had no answer to that question.  He
+was stealing over the snow with no more definite
+purpose before him than to take the boy away
+somewhere beyond the hunters' reach.  A long night walk
+was nothing to him.  He could find his way as well
+in the dark as in the light.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>They were miles from the hunters' camp before he
+set Wilfred on his feet or paused to rest.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You have saved me, Maxica," said Wilfred, in a
+low, deep voice.  "You have saved my life from a
+greater danger than the snowdrift.  I can only pray
+the Good Spirit to reward you."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I was hunger-bitten, and you gave me beaver-skin,"
+returned Maxica.  "Now think; whilst this
+bad hunter keeps the gate of your house there is no
+going back for you, and you have neither trap nor
+bow.  I'll guide you where the hunter will never
+follow—across the river to the pathless forest; and
+then—" he looked inquiringly, turning his dim eyes
+towards the boy.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if I were but back in Hungry Hall!" Wilfred
+broke forth.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica was leading on to where a poplar thicket
+concealed the entrance to a sheltered hollow scooped
+on the margin of a frozen stream.  The snow had
+fallen from its shelving sides, and lay in white masses,
+blocking the entrance from the river.  Giving Wilfred
+his hand, Maxica began to descend the slippery steep.
+It was one of nature's hiding-places, which Maxica
+had frequently visited.  He scooped out his circle in
+the frozen snow at the bottom, fetched down the dead
+wood from the overhanging trees, and built his fire,
+as on the first night of their acquaintance.  But now
+the icy walls around them reflected the dancing flames
+in a thousand varied hues.  Between the black rocks,
+from which the raging winds had swept the recent
+snow, a cascade turned to ice hung like a drapery of
+crystal lace suspended in mid-air.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was the second night they had passed together,
+with no curtain but the star-lit sky.  Now Maxica
+threw the corner of his blanket over Wilfred's
+shoulders, and drew him as closely to his side as if he
+were his son.  The Cree lit his pipe, and abandoned
+himself to an hour or two of pure Indian enjoyment.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred nestled by his side, thinking of Jacob on
+his stony pillow.  The rainbow flashes from the frozen
+fall gleamed before him like stairs of light, by which
+God's messengers could come and go.  It is at such
+moments, when we lie powerless in the grasp of a
+crushing danger, and sudden help appears in
+undreamed-of ways, that we know a mightier power
+than man's is caring for us.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He thought of his father and mother—the love he
+had missed and mourned; and love was springing up
+for him again in stranger hearts, born of the pity for
+his great trouble.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was a patter on the snow.  It was not the
+step of a man.  With a soft and stealthy movement
+Maxica grasped his bow, and was drawing the arrow
+from his quiver, when Yula bounded into Wilfred's
+arms.  There was a piteous whine from the midst of
+the poplars, where Kusky stood shivering, afraid to
+follow.  To scramble up by the light of the fire and
+bring him down was the work of a moment.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Yula's collar was still round his neck, with the
+torn thong dangling from it; but Kusky had slipped
+his head out of his, only leaving a little of his abundant
+hair behind him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Three hours' rest sufficed for Maxica.  He rose and
+shook himself.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That other place," he said, "where's that?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Now his dogs were with him, Wilfred was loath
+to leave their icy retreat and face the cruel world.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The fireshine and the ice, with all their mysterious
+beauty, held him spell-bound.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Maxica," he whispered, not understanding the
+Cree's last question, "they call this the new world;
+but don't you think it really is the very old, old
+world, just as God made it?  No one has touched it
+in all these ages."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, it was a favourite nook of Maxica's, beautiful,
+he thought, as the happy hunting-grounds beyond the
+sunset—the Indian's heaven.  Could he exchange the
+free range of his native wilds, with all their majestic
+beauty, for a settler's hut? the trap and the bow
+for the plough and the spade, and tie himself down
+to one small corner?  The earth was free to all.
+Wilfred had but to take his share, and roam its plains
+and forests, as the red man roamed.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But Wilfred knew better than to think he could
+really live their savage life, with its dark alternations
+of hunger and cold.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Could I get back to Hungry Hall in time to travel
+with Mr. De Brunier?" he asked his swarthy friend.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes; that other place," repeated Maxica, "where
+is that?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred could hardly tell him, he remembered so
+little of the road.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Which way did the wind blow and the snow drift
+past as you stood at the friendly gates?" asked
+Maxica.  "On which cheek did the wind cut keenest
+when you rode into the hunters' camp at nightfall?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred tried to recollect.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A two days' journey," reflected Maxica, "with the
+storm-wind in our faces."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He felt the edge of his hatchet, climbed the steep
+ascent, and struck a gash in the stem of the nearest
+poplar.  His quick sense of touch told him at which
+edge of the cut the bark grew thickest.  That was
+the north.  He found it with the unerring precision
+of the mariner's compass.  Although he had no names
+for the cardinal points, he knew them all.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was an hour or two yet before daylight.
+Wilfred found himself a stick, as they passed between
+the poplars, to help himself along, and caught up
+Kusky under his other arm; for the poor little fellow
+was stiff in every limb, and his feet were pricked and
+bleeding, from the icicles which he had suffered to
+gather between his toes, not yet knowing any better.
+But he was too big a dog for Wilfred to carry long.
+Wilfred carefully broke out the crimsoned spikes as
+soon as there was light enough to show him what was
+the matter, and Yula came and washed Kusky's feet
+more than once; so they helped him on.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Before the gray of the winter's dawn La Mission
+was miles behind them, and breakfast a growing
+necessity.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica had struck out a new route for himself.
+He would not follow the track Batiste and his
+companions had taken.  The black pegs might yet pursue
+the white and trample it down in the snow if they
+were not wary.  Sooner or later an Indian
+accomplishes his purpose.  He attributed the same fierce
+determination to Bowkett.  Wilfred lagged more and
+more.  Food must be had.  Maxica left him to
+contrive a trap in the run of the game through the
+bushes to their right.  So Wilfred took the dogs
+slowly on.  Sitting down in the snow, without first
+clearing a hole or lighting a fire, was dangerous.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Yula, sharing in the general desire for breakfast,
+started off on a little hunting expedition of his own.
+Kusky was limping painfully after him, as he darted
+between the tall, dark pines which began to chequer
+the landscape and warn the travellers they were
+nearing the river.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred went after his dog to recall him.  The sun
+was glinting through the trees, and the all-pervading
+stillness was broken by the sound of a hatchet.  Had
+Maxica crossed over unawares?  Had Wilfred turned
+back without knowing it?  He drew to the spot.
+There was Diomé chopping firewood, which Pe-na-Koam
+was dragging across the snow towards a roughly-built
+log-hut.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>She dropped the boughs on the snow, and drawing
+her blanket round her, came to meet him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Diomé, not perceiving Wilfred's approach, had
+retreated further among the trees, intent upon his
+occupation.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred's first sensation of joy at the sight of
+Pe-na-Koam turned to something like fear as he saw
+her companion, for he had known him only as
+Bowkett's man.  But retreat was impossible.  The
+old squaw had shuffled up to him and grasped his
+arm.  The sight of Yula bounding over the snow had
+made her the first to perceive him.  She was pouring
+forth her delight in her Indian tongue, and explaining
+her appearance in such altered surroundings.  Wilfred
+could not understand a word, but Maxica was not far
+behind.  Kusky and Yula were already in the hut,
+barking for the wa-wa (the goose) that was roasting
+before the fire.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When Maxica came up, walking beside Diomé,
+Wilfred knew escape was out of the question.  He
+must try to make a friend—at least he must meet
+him as a friend, even if he proved himself to be an
+enemy.  But the work was done already.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, it is you!" cried Diomé.  "I was sure it was.
+You had dropped a button in the tumble-down hut,
+and the print of your boot, an English boot, was all
+over the snow when I got there.  You look dazed,
+my little man; don't you understand what I'm talking
+about?  That old squaw is my grandmother.  You
+don't know, of course, who it was sent the Blackfoot
+Sapoo to dig her out of the snow; but I happen to
+know.  The old man is going from Hungry Hall, and
+Louison is to be promoted.  I'm on the look-out to
+take his place with the new-comer; so when I met
+with him, a snow-bird whispered in my ear a thing or
+two.  But where are your guides?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred turned for a word with Maxica before he
+dared reply.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Both felt the only thing before them was to win
+Diomé to Wilfred's side.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you parted company with Bowkett?" asked
+Maxica cautiously.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Bowkett," answered Diomé, "is going to marry
+and turn farmer, and I to try my luck as voyageur
+to the Company.  This is the hunters' idle month, and
+I am waiting here until my services are wanted at
+the fort.—What cheer?" he shouted to his bright-eyed
+little wife, driving the dogs from the door of the hut.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The wa-wa shortly disappeared before Maxica's
+knife, for an Indian likes about ten pounds of meat
+for a single meal.  Wilfred was asleep beside the fire
+long before it was over; when they tried to rouse
+him his senses were roaming.  The excitement and
+exertion, following the blow on his head, had taken
+effect at last.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Pe-na-Koam, with all an Indian woman's skill in
+the use of medicinal herbs, and the experience of a
+long life spent among her warrior tribe, knew well
+how to take care of him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave him to me," she said to Maxica, "and go
+your ways."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Diomé too was anxious for the Cree to depart.
+He was looking forward to taking Wilfred back to
+Acland's Hut himself.  Caleb Acland's gratitude would
+express itself in a tangible form, and he did not intend
+to divide it with Maxica.  His evident desire to get
+rid of the Cree put the red man on his guard.  Long
+did he sit beside the hunter's fire in brooding silence,
+trusting that Wilfred might rise up from his
+lengthened sleep ready to travel, as an Indian might have
+done.  But his hope was abortive.  He drew out of
+Pe-na-Koam all he wanted to know.  Diomé had been
+long in Bowkett's employ.  When the Cree heard this
+he shut his lips.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Watch over the boy," he said to Pe-na-Koam, "for
+danger threatens him."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Then Maxica went out and set his traps in the
+fir-brake and the marsh, keeping stealthy watch round
+the hut for fear Bowkett should appear, and often
+looking in to note Wilfred's progress.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>One day the casual mention of Bowkett's name
+threw the poor boy into such a state of agitation,
+Diomé suspected there had been some passage between
+the two he was ignorant of.  A question now and
+then, before Wilfred was himself again, convinced him
+the boy had been to La Mission, and that Bowkett
+had refused to recognize him.  When he spoke of it
+to Pe-na-Koam, she thought of the danger at which
+Maxica had hinted.  She watched for the Cree.
+Diomé began to fear Wilfred's reappearance might
+involve him in a quarrel with Bowkett.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>As Wilfred got better, and found Hungry Hall was
+shut up, he resolved to go back to Acland's Hut, if
+possible, whilst his Aunt Miriam and Bowkett were
+safe out of the way on their road to the church where
+they were to be married.  Diomé said they would be
+gone two days.  He proposed to take Wilfred with
+him, when he went to the wedding, on the return of
+the bride and bridegroom.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Lend me your snow-shoes," entreated Wilfred,
+"and with Maxica for a guide, I can manage the
+journey alone.  Don't go with me, Diomé, for Bowkett
+will never forgive the man who takes me back.  You
+have been good and kind to me, why should I bring
+you into trouble?"</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="just-in-time"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">JUST IN TIME.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>The walk from Diomé's log hut to Uncle Caleb's
+farm was a long one, but the clear, bright
+sunshine of December had succeeded the pitiless sleet
+and blinding snow.  Lake and river had hardened
+in the icy breath of the north wind.  An iron frost
+held universal sway, as Wilfred and Maxica drew near
+to Acland's Hut.</span></p>
+<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 82%" id="figure-40">
+<span id="the-walk-to-uncle-caleb-s-farm-was-a-long-one"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="The walk to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one." src="images/img-164.jpg" />
+<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
+<span class="italics">The walk to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one.</span></div>
+</div>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The tinkle of a distant sledge-bell arrested Maxica.
+Had some miscount in the day brought them face
+to face with the bridal party?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>They turned away from the well-known gate,
+crept behind the farm buildings, and crossed the
+reedy pool to Forgill's hut.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>With the frozen snow full three feet deep beneath
+their feet there was roadway everywhere.  Railings
+scarcely showed above it, and walls could be easily
+cleared with one long step.  The door of the hut was
+fastened, but Wilfred waited behind it while Maxica
+stole round to reconnoitre.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He returned quickly.  It was not the bridal party,
+for there was not a single squaw among them.  They
+were travellers in a horse-sledge, stopping at the
+farm to rest.  He urged Wilfred to seize the chance
+and enter with them.  The presence of the strangers
+would be a protection.  They took their way through
+the orchard trees, and came out boldly on the
+well-worn tracks before the gate.  It excited no surprise
+in the occupants of the sledge to see two dusky
+figures in their long, pointed snow-shoes gliding
+swiftly after them; travellers like themselves, no
+doubt, hoping to find hospitality at the farm.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Yula and Kusky went bounding over the intervening space.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There were two travellers and a sledge-driver.
+The dogs considered them, and did not bark.  Then
+Kusky, in frantic delight, endeavoured to leap into
+the sledge.  It drew up.  The driver thundered on
+the gate.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What cheer?" shouted a voice from the sledge.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was the usual traveller's inquiry, but it thrilled
+through Wilfred's ears, for it was—it could not
+be—yet it was the voice of Mr. De Brunier.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Kusky was already on Gaspé's knee devouring him
+with his doggie caresses.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it a dream, or is it real?" asked Wilfred, as
+with one long slide he overtook the sledge, and
+grasped a hand of each.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know you, coming after us in your
+seven-league boots," laughed Gaspé, pointing to the long,
+oval frame of Wilfred's snow-shoes, reaching a foot
+or more before and behind his boot.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But Wilfred did not answer, he was whispering
+rapidly to Mr. De Brunier.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilfred, </span><em class="italics">mon ami</em><span>," (my friend), pursued Gaspé,
+bent upon interrupting the low-voiced confidence, "it
+was for your sake grandfather decided to make his
+first inquiries for a farm in this neighbourhood.
+Batiste was so ambiguous and so loath to speak
+of your journey when he came after Louison's post,
+we grew uneasy about you.  All the more glad to
+find you safe at home."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"At home, but not in home," answered Wilfred,
+significantly laying his finger on his lips, to prevent
+any exclamation from his bewildered friend.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," said Mr. De Brunier.  "We will enter
+together."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Pête, who was already opening the gate, bade them
+heartily welcome.  Hospitality in the lone North-West
+becomes a duty.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred dropped behind the sledge, slouched his fur
+cap well over his eyes, and let Maxica fold his blanket
+round him, Indian fashion.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Pête led the way into the kitchen, Wilfred followed
+behind the sledge-driver, and the Cree was the last to
+enter.  A long row of joints were roasting before the
+ample fire, giving undoubted indications of an
+approaching feast.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Just in time," observed Mr. De Brunier with a
+smile, which gained a peculiar significance as it rested
+on Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, and that you are," returned old Pête; "for
+the missis is gone to be married, and I was on the
+look-out for her return when I heard the jingling of
+your sledge-bells.  The house will be full enough by
+nightfall, I reckon."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred undid the strap of his snow-shoes, gave
+them to Maxica, and walked softly to the door of his
+uncle's room.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He opened it with a noiseless hand, and closed it
+behind him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier's retort about the welcome which
+awaited uninvited guests on a bridal night kept
+Pête from noticing his movements.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The logs crackled and the sparks flew on the
+kitchen hearth.  The fat from the savoury roast fell
+hissing in the pan, and the hungry travellers around
+it seemed to have eyes for nothing else.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred crept to his uncle's bed.  He was asleep.
+The boy glanced round.  He threw off his wraps.
+His first care was to find his uncle's comb and brush.
+It was a luxury unknown since his departure from
+Hungry Hall.  He was giving a good tug at his
+tangled locks, hoping to make himself look a little
+more like the schoolboy who had once before roused
+the old man from his sleep, when a cough and an
+exclamation sounding like, "Who is there?" told him
+his uncle was awake.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"O uncle, you surely have not forgotten me—me,
+your nephew, Wilfred!  Got home at last.  The
+pony threw me, and I was utterly lost.  An Indian
+guided me here," he answered, tumbling his words
+one upon another as fast as he could, for his heart
+was beating wildly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Caleb Acland raised himself on one elbow and
+grasped Wilfred by the wrist.  "It is he!  It is
+flesh and blood!" he ejaculated.  "The boy himself
+Pête!  Pête!"  He felt for the stick left leaning
+against his bed, and stamped it on the floor.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A great sob burst unawares from the poor boy's lips.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't!" said the old man in alarm.  "What are
+you crying for, lad?  What's happened?  I don't
+understand.  Give me your hand!  That's cold
+enough—death cold.  Pête!  Pête! what are ye about?
+Have you grown deaf that you can't hear me?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He pulled Wilfred's cold fingers under the blankets
+and tried to chafe them between his swollen hands.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not crying," protested Wilfred, brushing his
+other hand across his eyes.  "It is the ice melting
+out of me.  I'm thawing all over.  It is because I
+have got back uncle, and you are glad to have me.
+I should have been dead but for the Cree who
+brought me home.  I was almost starving at times.
+I have wandered in the snow all night."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"God bless the boy!" ejaculated the old man,
+thundering on the floor once more.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Here, Pête!  Pête!  Something quick to eat."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Pête's head appeared at the door at last.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Whatever do you want now, master?" he demanded
+in an injured tone.  "I thought I had put
+everything ready for you, as handy as could be; and
+you said you wouldn't call me off, with the bride
+expected every minute, and the supper to cook, as
+you know."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Cook away then," returned his master impatiently.
+"It is the hour for the fatted calf.  Oh, you've no
+eyes, none!  Whom have I got here?  Who is this?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Pête backed to the door in wide-eyed wonder.
+"I'm struck of a heap!" he gasped, staring at
+Wilfred as if he thought he would melt away into
+vacancy.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Where were you that you did not see him come
+in?" asked his master sharply.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?" repeated Pête indignantly.  "At your
+own gate, answering a party of travellers—men
+who've come down to buy land; and," he added,
+changing his tone, "there is a gentleman among
+them says he must speak to you, master, your own
+self particular, this very night."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Mr. De Brunier, uncle.  He took me in, and
+sent me to the hunters' camp, where Mr. Bowkett
+was to be found," interposed Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>This name was spoken with an effort.  Like many
+a noble-minded boy, Wilfred hated to tell of another.
+He hesitated, then went on abruptly: "I thought he
+would be sure to bring me home.  Well, I got there.
+He did not seem to know me.  He was all for
+fiddling and dancing.  They were a rough set, uncle,
+a very rough set.  Father would not have liked to
+have seen me with such men.  I got away again as
+quickly as I could.  The Cree who had saved me
+before guided me home at last."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that?  Did you say Bowkett, Hugh
+Bowkett?" repeated the old man.  "Why, your aunt
+was married to him this morning."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When Pête disappeared into his master's room,
+Maxica, who had seated himself on the kitchen floor,
+rose suddenly, and leaning over Mr. De Brunier,
+asked, "Who in this place is friend to the boy
+without a father?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I can answer your question for myself, but no
+further, for I am a stranger here," replied
+Mr. De Brunier.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We are four," said Maxica, counting on his fingers.
+"I hear the voice of the man at the gate—the man
+who spoke against the white boy with a forked
+tongue; the man who drove him out into the frosty
+night, that it might kill him.  We have brought the
+marten to the trap.  If it closes on him, Maxica stays
+to break it."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Come outside, where we can talk freely," answered
+Mr. De Brunier, leading the way.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé and the sledge-driver were left to the enjoyment
+of the roaring fire.  They were considering the
+state of Kusky's feet.  Gaspé was removing the icicles
+from his toes, and the man of the sledge was warmly
+recommending boots, and describing the way to
+make them, when the shouts at the gate told them
+the bridal party had arrived.  The stupid Pête, as
+they began to think, had vanished, for no one
+answered the summons.  Gaspé guessed the reason,
+and sent the man to open the gate.  He silenced the
+dogs, and drew back into the corner, with instinctive
+good breeding, to make himself as little in the way as
+possible.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The great farm-house kitchen was entrance-hall
+as well.  Every door opened into it.  On one hand
+was the dining-room, reserved chiefly for state
+occasions; on the other, the storeroom.  The family
+sleeping rooms were at the back.  Like a provident
+housewife, Aunt Miriam had set the tables for her
+marriage feast, and filled the storeroom with good
+things, before she went to church.  Pête, with a
+Frenchman's genius for the spit, could manage the rest.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The arrival of one or two other guests at the same
+moment detained the bridal party with their noisy
+greetings.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When Aunt Miriam entered the kitchen, leaning on
+her bridegroom's arm, Gaspé was almost asleep in his
+dim corner.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Out ran Pête, effervescing with congratulations,
+and crossing the heartiness of the bridal welcome
+with the startling exclamation, "The boy,
+Mrs. Bowkett!—the boy's come home!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The bridegroom looked sharply round.  "The boy,"
+he repeated, seeing Gaspé by the fire.  "There he is."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Up sprang Gaspé, bowing to the bride with all the
+courtly grace of the chivalrous De Bruniers of
+Breton days.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Miriam turned her head away.  "O Pête!"
+she groaned, "I thought—I thought you meant—"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Bowkett did not let her finish her sentence, he
+hurried her into the dining-room.  Behind him came
+his bright-eyed sister, who had played the part of
+bridesmaid, and was eager for the dancing and the
+fun, so soon to commence.  At her side walked
+Forgill in his Sunday best, all important with the
+responsibility of his position, acting as proxy for his
+old master.  He had given the bride away, and was
+at that moment cogitating over some half-dozen
+sentences destined for the after-dinner speech which
+he knew would be required of him.  They were
+restive, and would not follow each other.  "Happy
+day" and "Best wishes" wanted setting up on stilts,
+with a few long words to back them, for such an
+occasion.  He knew the Indian love of speechifying
+would be too strong in their hunter guests to let him
+off.  He had got as far as, "Uncommonly happy day
+for us all."  But "uncommonly" sounded far too
+common in his critical ears.  He was searching for a
+finer-sounding word, and thought he had got it in
+"preternaturally," when he heard the feeble voice of
+his master calling out, "Miriam!  Here, Miriam."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Are they all deaf?" said Caleb Acland to Wilfred.
+"Open the door, my lad, and show yourself to
+your aunt."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Slowly and reluctantly Wilfred obeyed him.  He
+held it open just a hand-breadth, and met the
+scowling brow of the owner of the forked tongue.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was mutual recognition in the glance
+exchanged.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred shut the door softly, and drew the bolt
+without attracting his uncle's attention.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The place is full of strangers," he said; "I shall
+see auntie soon.  I'd rather wait here with you.  I
+shall be sure to see her before she goes to her new
+home."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"As you like, my boy;—that Pête's a cow.  There
+is no going away to a new home.  It is bringing in
+a new master here before the old one is gone, so that
+your aunt should not be left unprotected a single day."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>As Caleb Acland spoke, Wilfred felt himself growing
+hard and desperate in the cold clutch of a giant
+despair.  The star of hope dropped from his sky.
+He saw himself in the hand of the man who had
+turned him from his door into the killing frost.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was too late to speak out; Bowkett would be
+sure to deny it, and hate him the more.  No, not a
+word to Uncle Caleb until he had taken counsel with
+Mr. De Brunier.  But in his hasty glance into the outer
+world Mr. De Brunier was nowhere to be seen.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was sure he would not go away without
+seeing him again.  There was nothing for it but to
+gain a little time, wait with his uncle until the
+wedding guests were shut in the dining-room, and
+then go out and find Mr. De Brunier, unless Aunt
+Miriam had invited him to sit down with them.  Yes,
+she was sure to do that, and Gaspé would be with
+his grandfather.  But Maxica was there.  He had
+saved him twice.  He knew what Maxica would say:
+"To the free wild forest, and learn the use of the
+trap and the bow with me."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was sorely tempted to run away.  The
+recollection of Mr. De Brunier's old-world stories
+restrained him.  He thought of the Breton emigrants.
+"What did they do in their despair?  What all men
+can do, their duty."  He kept on saying these words
+over and over, asking himself, "What is my duty?
+Have I no duty to the helpless old man who has
+welcomed me so kindly?  How will Bowkett behave
+to him?"  Wilfred felt much stronger to battle
+through with the hunter on his uncle's behalf, than
+when he thought only of himself.  "The brave and
+loyal die at their posts.  Gaspé would, rather than
+run away—rather than do anything that looked like
+running away."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the matter with you, Wilfred?" asked
+his uncle anxiously.  "What makes you stand like
+that, my boy?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I am so tired," answered Wilfred, "I have
+walked all day to-day, and all day yesterday.  If I
+take the cushion out of your chair for a pillow, I
+might lie down before the stove, uncle."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That Pête is an ass not to bring something to eat,
+as if he could not make those fellows in the
+dining-room wait half-a-minute.  But stop, there is some
+broth keeping hot on the stove.  Take that, and come
+and lie down on the bed by me; then I can see you
+and feel you, and know I have got you again,"
+answered Uncle Caleb, as if he had some
+presentiment of what was passing in Wilfred's mind.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Glad enough to obey, Wilfred drank the broth
+eagerly, and came to the bed.  The old man took him
+by both hands and gazed in his face, murmuring,
+"Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The peace that Uncle Caleb rejoiced in was his
+own alone; all around him strife was brewing.  But
+his peace was of that kind which circumstances
+cannot give or take away.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Kneel down beside me just one minute, my boy,"
+he went on.  "We must not be like the nine lepers,
+who forgot the thanks when the good had come.
+They wouldn't even with the tailors, for in the whole
+nine put together there was not one bit of a true
+man, or they could not have done it."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred fell on his knees and repeated softly the
+Christ-taught prayer of the ages, "Our Father who
+art in heaven."  He remembered how he had been
+fed from the wild bird's </span><em class="italics">cache</em><span>, and saved by the wild
+man's pity, and his heart was swelling.  But when
+he came to "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive
+them that trespass against us," he stopped abruptly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on," whispered the old man softly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't," muttered Wilfred.  "It isn't in my heart;
+I daren't go on.  It is speaking with a forked tongue:
+words one way, thoughts another; telling lies to God."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Caleb Acland looked at him as if he were slowly
+grasping the position.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it Bowkett that you can't forgive?" he asked
+gently.  "Did you think he need not have lost you?
+Did you think he would not know you, my poor boy?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I got to live with him always?" returned
+Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not if you don't like him.  I'll send you back
+to school," answered his uncle in a tone of decision.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean it, uncle?  Do you really say that
+I shall go back to school?" exclaimed the boy, his
+heavy heart's lead beginning to melt, as the way of
+escape opened so unexpectedly before him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a promise," repeated the old man soothingly.
+It was obvious now there was something wrong,
+which the boy refused to explain.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Patience a bit," he thought; "I can't distress him.
+It will leak out soon; but it is growing strange that
+nobody comes near us."</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="wedding-guests"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">WEDDING GUESTS.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>More guests were arriving—Diomé, Batiste,
+Mathurin, and a dozen others.  Bowkett
+came out into the porch to receive them, and usher
+one after the other into the dining-room.  As the last
+went in before him, his friend Dick Vanner of the
+forked tongue tapped him on the shoulder.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is in there?" he whispered.  "Did you
+see?" pointing as he spoke to the door of Uncle
+Caleb's room.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé was on the alert in a moment, longing to
+break a lance in his friend's behalf.  The men
+dropped their voices, but the echo of one sentence
+reached him.  It sounded like, "No, she only saw the
+other boy."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"So, Wilfred, </span><em class="italics">mon cher</em><span>, you and I have changed
+places, and I have become that 'other boy,'" laughed
+Gaspé to himself, lying perdu with an open ear.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>As the two separated they muttered, "Outwit us?
+Like to see it done!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep that door shut, and leave the rest to me,"
+added Vanner, sauntering up to the fire.—"Accommodation
+is scanty here to-night.  How many are there
+in your party?" he asked, looking down on Gaspé.
+"Pête said four—three men and a boy.  Was not it
+five—three men and two boys?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, five," answered Gaspé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You boys must want something to eat," remarked
+Vanner, carelessly pushing open the door of the
+storeroom, and returning with a partridge pie.  "Here,
+fall to.  Where's your chum?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé saw the trap into which he was expected to
+walk.  He stepped over it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Have not you been taught to look out for number
+one?" asked Gaspé.  "I'll have a turn at that pie by
+myself, now I have got the chance, before I call on a
+chum to help me.  I can tell you that."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Confound you, you greedy young beggar!" exclaimed
+Vanner.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Try thirty miles in an open sled, with twenty-five
+degrees of frost on the ground, and see if you
+would be willing to divide your pie at the end of it,"
+retorted Gaspé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a cool way of asking for one apiece,"
+remarked Vanner, abstracting a second pie from the
+storeroom shelves.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"If you've another to spare I'd like two for
+myself," persisted Gaspé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Then have it," said Vanner.  "I am bound to
+give you a satisfaction.  We do not reckon on a
+wedding feast every night.  Now, where is the other
+boy?  You can't object to call him.  Here is a
+sausage as long as your arm.  Walk into that."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You will not get me to move with this dish
+before me," returned the undaunted Gaspé, and Vanner
+felt it waste of time to urge him further.  He went
+back to his friends.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé was at Caleb Acland's door in a moment,
+singing through the keyhole,—</span></p>
+<blockquote>
+<div>
+<div class="line-block outermost">
+<div class="line"><span>"St. George he is for England, St. Denis is for France.</span></div>
+<div class="line"><em class="italics">Honi soit qui mal y pense.</em><span>"</span></div>
+<div class="line"> </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</blockquote>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>Wilfred rose to open the door as he recognized his
+friend's voice.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep where you are.  Don't come out for anybody,"
+urged Gaspé, retreating as he heard a noise:
+but it was only his grandfather re-entering the porch.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He flew to his side.  "What's up?" he asked
+breathlessly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A goodly crop of suspicions, if all the Cree tells
+me is true.  Your poor friend is fitted with an uncle
+in this Bowkett after their old ballad type of the
+Babes in the Wood."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now listen to me, grandfather, and I can tell
+you a little bit more," answered Gaspé, giving his
+narrative with infinite delight at the success of his
+manoeuvring.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The moon shone clear and bright.  The tree in the
+centre of the court, laden with hoar-frost, glittered
+in its crystal white like some bridal bouquet of
+gigantic size.  The house was ablaze with light from
+every window.  The hunters had turned their horses
+adrift.  They were galloping at will among the
+orchard trees to keep themselves warm.  Maxica was
+wandering in their midst, counting their numbers to
+ascertain the size of the party.  Mr. De Brunier
+crossed over to him, to discuss Gaspé's intelligence,
+and sent his grandson back indoors, where the
+sledge-driver was ready to assist him in the demolition of
+the pies which had so signally failed to lure Wilfred
+from his retreat.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier followed his grandson quickly, and
+walking straight to Uncle Caleb's door, knocked for
+admittance.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The cowkeeper, the only individual at Acland's Hut
+who did not know Wilfred personally, was sent by
+Bowkett to keep up the kitchen fire.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The man stared.  "The master has got his door
+fastened," he said; "I can't make it out."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Mr. Acland ready to see me?" asked Mr. De
+Brunier, repeating his summons.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered Uncle Caleb; "come in."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred opened the door.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Uncle Caleb raised himself on his elbow, and catching
+sight of the dishes on the kitchen-table, said, "It
+seems to me the old man's orders are to go for little.
+But whilst the life is in me I am master in this place.
+Be so good, sir, as to tell that fellow of mine to bring
+that pie in here, and give this child something to eat."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"With pleasure," returned his visitor.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred's supper provided for, the two looked well
+at each other.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What sort are you?" was the question in both
+minds.  They trusted, as we all do more or less, to
+the expression.  A good honest character writes itself
+on the face.  They shook hands.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I have to thank you for bringing back my boy,"
+said Uncle Caleb.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Not me," returned Mr. De Brunier, briefly
+recapitulating the circumstances which led to Wilfred's
+sojourn at Hungry Hall, and why he sent him to the
+hunters' camp.  "Since then," he added, "your
+nephew has been wandering among the Indians.  It
+was a Cree who guided him home—the same Cree
+who warned him not to trust himself with Bowkett."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here, Wilfred, and tell me exactly what this
+Indian said," interposed Caleb Acland, a grave look
+gathering on his wrinkled brow.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Not one word, uncle.  Maxica did not speak,"
+answered Wilfred.  "He brought me three queer bits
+of wood from the hearth and stuck them in the floor
+before me, so, and so," continued the boy, trying to
+explain the way in which the warning had been given
+to him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Uncle Caleb was getting so much exhausted with
+the excitement of Wilfred's return, and the effort of
+talking to a stranger, he did not quite understand all
+Wilfred was saying.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We can't condemn a fellow on evidence like that,"
+moaned the old man, "and one so near to me as
+Bowkett.  What does it mean for Miriam?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you see this Cree and hear for yourself?"
+asked Mr. De Brunier.  "We are neither judge nor
+jury.  We are not here to acquit or condemn, but a
+warning like this is not to be despised.  I came to
+put you on your guard."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The feeble hand grasped his, "I am about spent,"
+groaned Caleb.  "It is my breath.  Let me rest a bit.
+I'll think this over.  Come again."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The gasping words came with such painful effort,
+Mr. De Brunier could only lay him back amongst his
+pillows and promise to return in the morning, or
+earlier if it were wished.  He was at the door,
+when Caleb Acland signed to him to return.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a word to my sister yet.  The boy is safe
+here.  Tell him he is not to go out of this room."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier shook the feeble hand once more,
+and gave the required promise.  There was one more
+word.  "What was that about buying land?  I might
+help you there; a little business between us, you
+understand."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," answered Mr. De Brunier, feeling as if
+such another effort might shake the labouring breath
+out of the enfeebled frame in a moment.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep in here.  Keep quiet; and remember,
+whatever happens, I shall be near," was Mr. De Brunier's
+parting charge to Wilfred as he went back into the
+kitchen, intending to watch there through the night,
+if no one objected to his presence.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The old man started as the door closed after him.
+"Don't fasten it, lad!" he exclaimed.  "It looks too
+much like being afraid of them."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier joined Gaspé and the sledge-driver
+at their supper.  Gaspé watched him attentively as
+they ate on in silence.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Bowkett came out and spoke to them.  "I am
+sorry," he said, "to seem inhospitable, but the house
+is so full to-night I really cannot offer you any further
+accommodation.  But the men have a sleeping hut
+round the corner, under the pines, where you can pass
+the night.  I'll send one of them with you to show
+you the way and light a fire."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>No exception could be taken to this.  The three
+finished their supper and were soon ready to depart.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I must see Mr. Acland again about the land
+business," remarked Mr. De Brunier, recalling Uncle
+Caleb's hint.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Bowkett summoned his man, and Diomé came out
+with him.  He strolled through the porch and looked
+about him, as if he were considering the weather.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica was still prowling behind the orchard trees,
+like a hungry coyote watching for the remnants of
+the feast, as it seemed.  The two met.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"There will be mischief before these fellows part,"
+said Diomé.  "Keep a sharp look-out for the boy."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Diomé went on to catch Dick Vanner's pony.
+Maxica stole up to the house.  The travellers were
+just coming out.  He gave Yula a call.  Gaspé was
+the only one who perceived him, as Yula bounded
+between them.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was hard for Gaspé to go away and leave his
+friend without another word.  He had half a mind
+to take Kusky with him.  He lingered irresolute a
+moment or two behind his grandfather.  Bowkett
+had opened the door of Caleb Acland's room, and he
+saw Kusky creeping in between Bowkett's legs.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"How is this?" the latter was saying in a noisy
+voice.  "Wilfred got home, and won't show his
+face!—won't come out amongst us to have his dinner and
+speak to his aunt!  What is the meaning of it?
+What makes him afraid of being seen?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was not a word from Wilfred.  It was the
+feeble voice of his Uncle Caleb that was speaking:—</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is Wilfred come back.  I've got him here
+beside me all safe.  He has been wandering about
+among the redskins, half dead and nearly starved.
+Don't disturb us.  I am getting him to sleep.  Tell
+Miriam she must come here and look at him.  You can
+all come and look at him; Forgill and your Diomé too.
+They all know my boy.  How has Miriam managed to
+keep away?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"As if we could spare the bride from the marriage
+feast," laughed Bowkett, raising his voice that every
+one might hear what they were saying.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither can I spare my boy out of my sight a
+single moment," said the old man quietly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That's capital," laughed Gaspé to himself, as he
+ran after his grandfather.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>They did not encounter Maxica, but they passed
+Diomé trying to catch the horse, and gave him a little
+help by the way.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not going?" he asked anxiously.  "I
+thought you would be sure to stay the night.  You are
+a friend of Wilfred Acland's, are you not, Mr. De
+Brunier?  He was so disappointed when he found
+Hungry Hall was shut up.  I thought you would
+know him; so do I.  Mrs. Bowkett says the boy is
+not her nephew."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I rather think that has been said for her," remarked
+Mr. De Brunier quietly.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I see through it," exclaimed Gaspé; "I see what
+they are driving at.  Her husband told her I was the
+boy.  She came and looked at me.  Bowkett knows
+well enough the real Wilfred is in his uncle's room,
+If they could get him out into the kitchen, they would
+make a great clamour and declare he is an impostor
+trying to take the old man in."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"You've hit it," muttered Diomé.  "But they shan't
+give him lynch law.  I'll not stand by and see that."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back, grandfather," cried Gaspé.  "Give me
+one of your English sovereigns with a little silver
+threepenny on either side to kiss it.  I'll string them
+on my watch-chain for a lady's locket, walk in with
+it for a wedding present, and undeceive the bride
+before them all."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so fast, Gaspard.  We should only bring the
+crisis before we have raised our safeguards," rejoined
+Mr. De Brunier thoughtfully.  "I saw many a gun
+set down against the wall, as the hunters came in."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That is nothing," put in Diomé; "we are never
+without them."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That is everything," persisted Mr. De Brunier.
+"Men with arms habitually in their hands use them
+with small provocation, and things are done which
+would never be done by deliberate purpose."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not Dick Vanner's groom," said Diomé, "but
+he wants me to hold his horse in the shadow of those
+pines or under the orchard wall; and I'll hold it as
+long as he likes, and walk it about half the night in
+readiness for him, and then I shall know where he is
+bound for."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The American frontier, with Wilfred behind him,
+unless I am making a great mistake.  If Bowkett laid
+a finger on him here, half his guests would turn upon
+him," observed Mr. De Brunier.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That's about it," returned Diomé.  "Now I am
+going to shut up this horse in one of the sheds, ready
+for Vanner at a moment's notice, and then I'll try for
+a word with Forgill.  He is working so hard with the
+carving-knife there is no getting at him."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"There is one of the Aclands' men lighting a fire in
+his hut, ready for us," put in Gaspé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Diomé shook his head.  "He!" he repeated in accents
+of contempt; "he would let it all out at the
+wrong time."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the Cree gone?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Maxica is on the scent already,' replied Diomé,
+whistling carelessly as they parted.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Gaspard," said Mr. De Brunier, as they entered the
+hut, "do you remember passing a policeman on the
+road.  He was watching for a Yankee spirit cart,
+contraband of course.  He will have caught it by this
+time, and emptied the barrels, according to our new
+Canadian law.  Go back in the sledge—you will meet
+him returning—and bring him here.  If he rides into
+the farm-court before daybreak, your little friend is
+safe.  As for me, I must keep watch here.  No one
+can leave the house without me seeing him, the night
+is so clear.  A dark figure against the white ground
+is visible at twice this distance; and Maxica is
+somewhere by the back of the homestead.  Neither sight
+nor sound will escape an Indian."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier despatched the sledge-driver back
+to the farm with the man Bowkett had sent to light
+their fire, to try to procure a fresh horse.  This was
+easily managed.  Bowkett was delighted to think the
+travellers were about to resume their journey, and
+declared the better half of hospitality was to speed the
+parting guest.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The sledge went round to Forgill's hut.  Gaspé
+wrapped himself in the bearskin and departed.  No
+one saw him go; no one knew that Mr. De Brunier
+was left behind.  He built up the fire and reconnoitred
+his ground.  In one corner of the hut was a good stout
+cudgel.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I must anticipate your owner's permission and
+adopt you," he said, as he gave it a flourish to try its
+weight.  Then he looked to the revolver in his breast
+pocket, and began his walk, so many paces in front
+of the hut, with his eye on the farm-house porch, and
+so many paces walking backwards, with it still in
+sight—a self-appointed sentry, ready to challenge the
+enemy single-handed, for he did not count much upon
+Diomé.  He saw how loath he was to come into
+collision with Bowkett, and reckoned him more as a
+friend in the camp than as an active ally.  There
+was Maxica, ready like a faithful mastiff to fly at the
+throat of the first man who dared to lay a hand on
+Wilfred, regardless of consequences.  He did not know
+Maxica, but he knew the working of the Indian
+mind.  Revenge is the justice of the savage.  It was
+Maxica's retaliation that he feared.  Diomé had spoken
+of Forgill, but Mr. De Brunier knew nothing of him, so
+he left him out of count.  It was clear he must chiefly
+rely on his own coolness and courage.  "The moral force
+will tell in such an encounter as this, and that is all
+on my side," he said to himself.  "It will tell on the
+outsiders and the farm-servants.  I shall find some to
+second me."  He heard the scrape of the fiddle and
+the merry chorus of some hunting-song, followed by
+the quick beat of the dancers' footsteps.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Hour succeeded hour.  The fire in the hut burned
+low.  De Brunier left his post for a moment to throw
+on fresh logs.  He returned to his watch.  The
+house-door opened.  Out came Diomé and crossed to the
+cattle-sheds.  Mr. De Brunier saw him come back
+with Vanner's horse.  He changed his position,
+creeping in behind the orchard trees, until he was within
+a few yards of the house.  The three feet of snow
+beneath his feet gave him an elevation.  He was
+looking down into the court, where the snow had been
+partially cleared.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Diomé was walking the horse up and down before
+the door.  It was not a night in which any one could
+stand still.  His impatient stamping to warm his feet
+brought out Vanner and Bowkett, with half-a-dozen
+others.  The leave-taking was noisy and prolonged.
+Batiste's head appeared in the doorway.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot count on his assistance," thought Mr. De
+Brunier, "but I can count on his neutrality; and
+Diomé must know that a word from me would bring
+about his dismissal from his new master."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Vanner mounted and rode off along the slippery
+ground as only a hunter could ride.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now for the first act," thought Mr. De Brunier.
+"May my Gaspard be speeding on his errand.  The
+hour draws near."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>As Bowkett and his friends turned back into the
+house, Diomé walked rapidly across the other end of
+the orchard and went towards Forgill's hut.  With
+cautious steps De Brunier followed.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Diomé was standing moodily by the fire.  He started.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," demanded Mr. De Brunier, "how goes the night?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"For God's sake keep out of the way, sir.  They
+have made this hut the rendezvous, believing you had
+started hours ago," exclaimed Diomé brightening.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you think I had deserted the poor boy?"
+asked Mr. De Brunier.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I was thinking," answered Diomé, waiving the
+question, "Dick Vanner is a dangerous fellow to thwart
+when the bowie-knife is in his hand."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you will see it done, and then you may find
+him not quite so dangerous as he seems," was the quiet
+reply.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="to-the-rescue"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">TO THE RESCUE.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>Diomé had no more information to give.  "For
+the love of life, sir," he entreated, as the brief
+conference ended, "move off to the other side of the
+house, or you will be seen by Vanner as he returns.
+A hunter's eye, Mr. De Brunier, notices the least
+change in the shadows.  You mean to hide among
+the orchard trees, but you can't stand still.  You will
+be frozen to death, and a moving shadow will betray you."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>His cautionary counsels were wasted on a
+preoccupied mind.  De Brunier was examining the
+fastenings of the door.  There was a lock, but the
+key was with the owners of the hut.  There was
+also a bar which secured it on the inside.  Forgill's
+basket of tools stood by the chimney.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"How much time have we?" asked Mr. De Brunier.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A good half-hour, sir," replied Diomé.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Time enough for me to transfer this staple to the
+outside of the doorpost?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Diomé hesitated before he answered this inquiry.
+"Well then?" he asked in turn.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Well then," repeated Mr. De Brunier, "this Vanner
+is to meet you here.  Don't go out of the hut to take
+his horse; beckon him to come inside.  Shut the
+door, as if for caution, and tell him you have seen me
+watching him from the orchard trees.  He will listen
+to that.  Two minutes will be enough for me to bar
+the door on the outside, and we shall have caged the
+wild hawk before he has had time to pounce upon his
+prey.  I must shut you in together; but play your
+part well, and leave the rest to me."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Shut me in with Dick Vanner in a rage!"
+exclaimed Diomé.  "He would smell treachery in a
+moment.  Not for me."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It went hard with Diomé to turn against his old
+companions.  It was clear to Mr. De Brunier the
+man was afraid of a hand-to-hand encounter.  With
+such half-hearted help the attempt was too hazardous.
+He changed his tactics.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not in their secrets," protested Diomé.  "I
+am only here to hold his horse.  They don't trust me."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"And I," added Mr. De Brunier, "am intent upon
+preventing mischief.  I'll walk round once more.
+Should you hear the house-door open, you will
+probably find I have gone in."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, Mr. De Brunier was beginning to regret
+leaving the house; and yet, if he had not done so, he
+could not have started Gaspé to intercept the
+policeman.  "Now," he thought, "the boy will be carried
+off before they can arrive."  His thoughts were turning
+to a probable pursuit.  He crossed to the back of
+the house to look for the Cree.  No one better than
+an Indian for work like that.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The light from the windows of the farm-house was
+reflected from the shining ground, making it bright as
+day before them, and deepening the gloom of the
+shadows beyond.  A low, deep growl from Yula
+brought Mr. De Brunier to the opposite corner of
+the house, where he discovered Maxica lying on the
+ground, with his ear to the end of one of the largest
+logs with which the house was built.  They recognized
+each other instantly, but not a word was said.  They
+were at the angle of the building where the logs
+crossed each other.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly Mr. De Brunier remembered the capacity
+in the uncut trunk of a tree for transmitting sound,
+and following Maxica's example he too laid his ear to
+the end of another log, and found himself, as it were,
+in a whispering gallery.  The faintest sound at the
+other end of the log was distinctly audible.  They
+tried each corner of the house.  The music and the
+dancing from dining-room to kitchen did not detain
+them long.  At the back they could hear the regular
+breathing of a healthy sleeper and the laboured,
+painful respiration of the broken-down old man.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The log which crossed the one at which they were
+now listening ran at the end of the storeroom, and
+gave back no sound.  It was evident both Wilfred
+and his uncle had fallen asleep, and were therefore off
+their guard.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>To drive up the loose ponies and make them gallop
+round the house to waken them was a task Yula took
+off their hands and accomplished so well that Bowkett,
+listening in the midst of the whirling dancers, believed
+that Vanner had returned.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Maxica was back at the angle of the logs, moving
+his ear from one to the other.  He raised a warning
+finger, and laid his ear a little closer to the storeroom
+side.  Mr. De Brunier leaned over him and pressed
+his own to the tier above.  Some one had entered the
+storeroom.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything here?" asked a low voice.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that behind the door?" whispered another
+in reply.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A woman's ironing board."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A woman's what?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind what it is if it will slide through the
+window," interposed a third impatiently, and they
+were gone.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But the watchers without had heard enough to
+shape their plan.  Maxica was ear, Mr. De Brunier
+was eye, and so they waited for the first faint echo of
+the horse-hoofs in the distance or the tinkle of the
+sledge-bell.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Within the house the merriment ran high.  Bridal
+healths were drank with three times three.  The
+stamp of the untiring dancers drowned the galloping
+of the ponies.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Miriam paused a moment, leaning on her
+bridegroom's arm.  "I am dizzy with tiredness," she
+said.  "I think I have danced with every one.  I
+can surely slip away and speak to Caleb now.  What
+made him fasten his door?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"To keep those travellers out; and now he won't
+undo it: an old man's crotchet, my dear.  I have
+spoken to him.  He is all right, and his cry is, 'Don't
+disturb me, I must sleep,'" answered Bowkett.  "You'll
+give Batiste his turn? just one more round."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was wakened by his Yula's bark beneath
+the window.  Kusky, who was sleeping by the stove,
+sprang up and answered it, and then crept stealthily
+to Wilfred's feet.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That dog will wake the master," said some one in
+the kitchen.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The bedroom door was softly opened, a low whistle
+and a tempting bone lured Kusky away.  Wilfred
+was afraid to attempt to detain him, not venturing
+to show himself to he knew not whom.  There was
+a noise at the window.  He remembered it was a
+double one.  It seemed to him somebody was trying
+to force open the outer pane.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A cry of "Thieves! thieves!" was raised in the
+kitchen.  Wilfred sprang upright.  Uncle Caleb
+wakened with a groan.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Look to the door.  Guard every window," shouted
+Bowkett, rushing into the room, followed by
+half-a-dozen of his friends, who had seized their guns as
+they ran.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The outer window was broken.  Through the inner,
+which was not so thickly frozen, Wilfred could see the
+shadow of a man.  He knew that Bowkett was by the
+side of the bed, but his eyes were fixed on the pane.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>At the first smash of the butt end of Vanner's gun,
+through shutter and frame, Mr. De Brunier laid a
+finger on Maxica's arm.  The Cree, who was holding
+down Yula, suddenly let him go with a growl and a
+spring.  Vanner half turned his head, but Yula's
+teeth were in his collar.  The thickness of the hunter's
+clothing kept the grip from his throat, but he was
+dragged backwards.  Maxica knelt upon him in a
+moment, with a huge stone upraised, ready to dash his
+brains out if he ventured to utter a cry.  Mr. De
+Brunier stepped out from the shadow and stood before
+the window, waiting in Vanner's stead.  For what?
+He hardly dared to think.  The window was raised a
+finger's breadth, and the muzzle of a hunter's gun
+was pointed at his ear.  He drew a little aside and
+flattened himself against the building.  The gun was
+fired into the air.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a feint," thought Mr. De Brunier.  "They
+have not seen us yet.  When they do, the tug comes.
+Two against twenty at the very least, unless we hear
+the sledge-bell first.  It is a question of time.  The
+clock is counting life and death for more than one of
+us.  All hinges on my Gaspé.  Thank God, I know
+he will do his very best.  There is no mistrust of
+Gaspé; and if I fall before he comes, if I meet death
+in endeavouring to rescue this fatherless boy, the God
+who sees it all, in whose hand these lawless hunters
+are but as grasshoppers, will never forget my Gaspé."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The report of Bowkett's gun roused old Caleb's
+latent fire.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" he demanded.  "Are the Indians
+upon us?  Where is Miriam?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred threw the bearskin across his feet over
+the old man's back.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I am here!" cried Bowkett, with an ostentatious
+air of protection.  "I'll defend the place; but the
+attack is at this end of the house.  First of all, I
+carry you to Miriam and safety at the other."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Bowkett, in the full pride of his strength, lifted up
+the feeble old man as if he were a child and carried
+him out of the room.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilfred, my boy, keep close to me, keep close,"
+called Uncle Caleb; but a strong man's hand seized
+hold of Wilfred and pulled him back.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Who are you?" demanded Wilfred, struggling
+with all his might.  "Let me go, I tell you; let
+me go!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The door was banged up behind Uncle Caleb and
+Bowkett.  The room was full of men.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred knew too well the cry of "Thieves" was all
+humbug—a sham to get him away from his uncle.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgill!  Forgill!" he shouted.  "Pête!  Pête!
+Help me! help me!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A pillow was tossed in his face.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't cram the little turkey-cock with his own
+feathers," said a voice he was almost glad to recognize,
+for he could not feel that Mathurin would really hurt
+him.  He kicked against his captor, and getting one
+hand free, he tried to grasp at this possible friend;
+but the corner of the pillow, crushed into his mouth,
+choked his shouts.  "So it's Mathurin's own old
+babby, is it?" continued the deep, jovial voice.  "Didn't
+I tell ye he was uncommon handy with his little fists?
+But he is a regular mammy's darling for all that.  It
+is Mathurin will put the pappoose in its cradle.  Ah! but
+if it won't lie still, pat it on its little head; Batiste
+can show you how."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>In all this nonsense Wilfred comprehended the
+threat and the caution.  His frantic struggles were
+useless.  They only provoked fresh bursts of
+merriment.  Oh, it was hard to know they were useless,
+and feel the impotency of his rage!  He was forced
+to give in.  They bound him in the sheets.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mathurin was shouting for—</span></p>
+<blockquote>
+<div>
+<div class="line-block outermost">
+<div class="line"><span>"A rabbit-skin,</span></div>
+<div class="line"><span>To wrap his baby bunting in.</span></div>
+<div class="line"> </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</blockquote>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>They took the rug from the floor and wrapped
+it round Wilfred.  He was laid on the ironing board.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He felt the strong, firm straps that were binding
+him to it growing tighter and tighter.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>What were they going to do with him? and where
+was Mr. De Brunier?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The hunters set him up against the wall, like the
+pappoose in the wigwam of the Blackfoot chief, whilst
+they opened the window.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier stood waiting, his arms uplifted
+before his face, ready to receive the burden they
+were to let fall.  It was but a little bit of face
+that was ever visible beneath a Canadian fur cap,
+such as both the men were wearing.  Smoked
+skin was the only clothing which could resist the
+climate, therefore the sleeves of one man's coat were
+like the sleeves of another.  The noisy group in
+the bedroom, who had been drinking healths all
+night, saw little but the outstretched arms, and took
+no notice.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Young lambs to sell!" shouted Mathurin, heaving
+up the board.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"What if he takes to blaring?" said one of the
+others.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Let him blare as he likes when once he is
+outside," retorted a third.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Lull him off with 'Yankee-doodle,'" laughed
+another.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll just lie quiet like a little angel, and then
+nothing will hurt him," continued the incorrigible
+Mathurin, "till we come to—</span></p>
+<blockquote>
+<div>
+<div class="line-block outermost">
+<div class="line"><span>"'Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top,</span></div>
+<div class="line"><span>When the wind blows the cradle will rock;</span></div>
+<div class="line"><span>When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,</span></div>
+<div class="line"><span>Then down goes cradle, and baby, and all.'"</span></div>
+<div class="line"> </div>
+</div>
+</div>
+</blockquote>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>This ridiculous nursery ditty, originated by the
+sight of the Indian pappooses hung so often on the
+bough of a tree when their mothers are busy, read to
+Wilfred his doom.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Would these men really take him out into the
+darksome forest, and hang him to some giant pine,
+and leave him there, as Pe-na-Koam was left, to die
+alone of hunger and cold?</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>It was an awful moment.  The end of the board
+to which he was bound was resting on the window-sill.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Gently now," said one.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Steady there," retorted another.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now it is going beautifully," cried a third.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Ready, Vanner, ready," they exclaimed in chorus.
+Caution and prudence had long since gone to the
+winds with the greater part of them.  Mathurin
+alone kept the control.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier nodded, and placed himself between
+the window and the two men on the snow in deadly
+silent wrestle, trusting that his own dark shadow
+might screen them from observation yet a little longer.
+He saw Wilfred's feet appear at the window.  His
+hand was up to guide the board in a moment, acting
+in concert with the men above.  They slid it easily
+to the ground.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier's foot was on a knot in the logs of
+the wall, and stretching upwards he shut the window
+from the outside.  It was beyond his power to fasten
+it; but a moment or two were gained.  His knife
+was soon hacking at the straps which bound Wilfred
+to his impromptu cradle.  They looked in each other's
+faces; not a word was breathed.  Wilfred's hands
+were freed.  He sat up and drew out his feet from
+the thick folds of the rug.  Mr. De Brunier seized
+his hand, and they ran, as men run for their lives,
+straight to Forgill's hut.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Diomé saw them coming.  He was still leading
+Vanner's horse.  He wheeled it round and covered
+their retreat, setting it off prancing and curvetting
+between them and the house.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Through the open door of Forgill's hut the fire was
+glowing like a beacon across the snow.  It was the
+darkest hour of all that brilliant night.  The moon
+was sinking low, the stars were fading; the dawning
+was at hand.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The hut was gained at last.  The door was shut
+behind the fugitives, and instantly barred.  Every
+atom of furniture the hut contained was piled against
+it, and then they listened for the return of the sledge.
+Whether daylight would increase their danger or
+diminish it, Mr. De Brunier hardly knew.  But with
+the dreaded daylight came the faint tinkle of a distant
+bell and the jingling of a chain bridle.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The Canadian police in the Dominion of the far
+North-West are an experienced troop of cavalry.
+Trooper and charger are alike fitted for the difficult
+task of maintaining law and order among the scattered,
+lawless population sprinkling its vast plains and forest
+wilds.  No bronco can outride the splendid war-horse,
+and the mere sight of his scarlet-coated rider produces
+an effect which we in England little imagine.  For he
+is the representative of the strong and even hand of
+British justice, which makes itself felt wherever it
+touches, ruling all alike with firmness and mercy,
+exerting a moral force to which even the Blackfoot
+in his moya yields.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier pulled down his barricade almost
+before it was finished, for the sledge came shooting
+down the clearing with the policeman behind it.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred clasped his hands together at the joyful
+sight.  "They come! they come!" he cried.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Out ran Mr. De Brunier, waving his arms in the
+air to attract attention, and direct the policeman to the
+back of the farm-house, where he had left Dick Vanner
+writhing under Maxica's grasp on the frozen ground.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When the window was so suddenly closed from the
+outside, the hunters, supposing Vanner had shut it,
+let it alone for a few minutes, until wonder prompted
+Mathurin to open it just a crack for a peep-hole.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>At the sight of Vanner held down by his Indian
+antagonist he threw it to its widest.  Gun after gun
+was raised and pointed at Maxica's head; but none
+of them dared to fire, for the ball would have struck
+Vanner also.  Mathurin was leaping out of the window
+to his assistance, when Yula relaxed his hold of
+Vanner's collar, and sprang at Mathurin, seizing him
+by the leg, and keeping him half in half out of the
+window, so that no one else could get out over him
+or release him from the inside.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was a general rush to the porch; but the
+house-door had been locked and barred by Bowkett's
+orders, and the key was in his pocket.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He did it to prevent any of the Aclands' old servants
+going out of the house to interfere with Vanner.  It
+was equally successful in keeping in the friends who
+would have gone to his help.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The key! the key!" roared Batiste.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Another seized on old Pête and shook him because
+he would not open the door.  In vain Pête protested
+the key was missing.  They were getting furious.
+"The key! the key!" was reiterated in an
+ever-increasing crescendo.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>They seized on Pête and shook him again.  They
+would have the key.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mathurin's yell for help grew more desperate.  With
+one hand holding on to the window-frame, he could not
+beat off the dog.  The blows he aimed at him with
+the other were uncertain and feeble.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Who let the brute out?" demanded Batiste.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He had seen Yula lying by the kitchen fire when
+he first arrived, and of course knew him again.
+Ah! and the dog had recognized him also, for he had
+saluted him with a low, deep growl.  It had watched
+its chance.  It was paying back old scores.  Batiste
+knew that well.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Another howl of pain from Mathurin.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The heel of an English boot might have given such
+a kick under the lock that it would have sent the
+spring back with a jerk; but they were all wearing
+the soft, glove-like moccasin, and knew no more
+about the mechanism of a lock than a baby.  Their
+life had been passed in the open; when they left the
+saddle for the hut in the winter camp, their ideas of
+door-fastening never rose beyond the latch and the
+bar.  A dozen gun-stocks battered on the door.  It
+was tough and strong, and never stirred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Pête was searching everywhere for the key.  He
+would have let them out gladly, only too thankful to
+rid the house of such a noisy crew, and leave them to
+fight the thieves outside; but no key was to be found.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"We always hang it on this nail," he protested,
+groping about the floor.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Patience could hold out no longer.  There was a
+shout for Bowkett.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't leave me," Miriam had entreated, when
+Bowkett brought her brother into the dining-room
+and set him in the arm-chair by the fire; for she
+thought the old man's life would go every moment,
+and Forgill shared her fears.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"There are enough to defend the place," he said,
+"without me;" and he gave all his care to his master.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The boy!  Wilfred!" gasped Caleb Acland, making
+vain attempts to return to find him.  His sister and
+Forgill thought he was wandering, and trusted in
+Bowkett's strong arm to hold him back.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>How could Bowkett leave his bride?  He was
+keeping his hands clean.  There were plenty to do
+his dirty work.  He himself was to have nothing to
+do with it, according to Vanner's programme.  He
+would not go.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst" id="in-confusion"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI.</span></p>
+<p class="center pnext"><em class="bold italics large">IN CONFUSION.</em></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em">
+</div>
+<p class="pfirst"><span>There was a thundering rap at the dining-room
+window, and a voice Bowkett instantly
+recognized as Diomé's rang out the warning word,—</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"The police!  The police are here!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank God!" exclaimed Miriam; but her bridegroom's
+cheek grew deadly pale, and he rushed into
+the kitchen, key in hand.  The clamouring group
+around the door divided before him, as Diomé hissed
+his warning through the keyhole.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The door flew open.  Bowkett was almost knocked
+down by his hurrying guests.  Each man for his
+horse.  Some snatched up their guns, some left them
+behind.  Broncos were caught by the mane, by the
+ear, by the tail.  Their masters sprang upon their
+backs.  Each man leaped upon the first horse he
+could lay hold of, saddle or no saddle, bridle or no
+bridle.  What did it matter so that they got away? or
+else, horrors of horrors! such an escapade as they
+had been caught in might get one or other among
+them shut up for a month or two in Garry Jail.
+They scattered in every direction, as chickens scatter
+at the flutter of the white owl's wing.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Diomé put the bridle of Vanner's horse into
+Bowkett's hand.  "To the frontier," he whispered.
+"You know the shortest road.  We are parting
+company; for I go northwards."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Bowkett looked over his shoulder to where Pête
+stood staring in the doorway.  "Tell your mistress
+we are starting in pursuit," he shouted, loud enough
+for all to hear, as he sprang on Vanner's horse and
+galloped off, following the course of the wild geese to
+Yankee land.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Within ten minutes after the first jingling sound
+from the light shake of the trooper's bridle the place
+was cleared.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I did it!" said Gaspé, with his arm round
+Wilfred's neck.  "I was back to a minute, wasn't I,
+grandfather?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier scarcely waited to watch the
+break-neck flight.  He was off with the sledge-driver to
+the policeman's assistance.  He beckoned to the boys
+to follow him at a cautious distance, judging it safer
+than leaving them unguarded in Forgill's hut.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The policeman, seeing Yula had already arrested
+Mathurin, turned to the two on the ground.  He
+knocked the stone out of Maxica's hand, and
+handcuffed Vanner.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier was giving his evidence on the
+spot.  "I was warned there would be mischief here
+before morning.  I sent my messenger for you, and
+watched the house all night.  The Indian and the dog
+were with me.  I saw this fellow attempt to break
+in at that window.  The dog flew on him, dragged
+him to the ground, and the Indian held him there.
+That other man I denounce as an accomplice indoors,
+evidently acting in concert with him."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred shook off Gaspé's arm and flew to Yula.
+"Leave go," he said, "leave go."  His hands went
+round the dog's throat to enforce obedience as he
+whispered, "I am not quite a babby to choke him off
+like that, am I?  Draw your leg up, Mathurin, and
+run.  You meant to save me—I saw it in your face—and
+I'll save you.  The porch-door stands open, run!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mathurin drew up his leg with a groan, but Yula's
+teeth had gone so deeply into the flesh he could
+scarcely move for pain.  If Mathurin could not run,
+the sledge-driver could.  He was round the house and
+through the porch before Mathurin could reach it.
+He collared him by the kitchen-table, to Pête's
+amazement.  Forgill burst out of the dining-room,
+ready to identify him as one of their guests, and
+was pushed aside.  The policeman was dragging in
+his prisoner.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier held Wilfred by the arm.  "You
+should not have done that," he was saying.  "Your
+dog knew what he was about better than you did.
+At any other time to call him off would only have
+been humane and right, but in such circumstances—"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He never finished his sentence.  There was Mathurin
+cowed and trembling at the sight of Yula, who was
+marching into the porch with his head up and his
+tail wagging in triumph.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Miriam, aghast and pale, stood in the doorway
+of the dining-room.  Mr. De Brunier led her aside for
+a word of explanation.  "The thieves among the guests
+of her wedding party, incredible!"  She was stunned.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Yula seated himself in front of Mathurin, daring
+him to move hand or foot.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred was looking round him for the Cree, who
+was feeling for his bow and arrows, thrown somewhere
+on the ground during his prolonged struggle.  When
+the stone was struck from Maxica's grasp, and he
+knew that Vanner was dragged off helpless, he felt
+himself in the presence of a power that was mightier
+than his own.  As Wilfred caught up the bow and
+put it in his hand, he said solemnly, "You are safe
+under the shadow of that great white warrior chief,
+and Maxica is no longer needed; for as the horse is
+as seven to the dog, so is the great white medicine as
+seven to one, therefore the redman shuns his presence,
+and here we part."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, not yet," urged Wilfred desperately; but
+whilst he was speaking the Cree was gone.  He had
+vanished with the morning shadows behind the pine
+trees.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred stretched out his arms to recall him; but
+Gaspé, who had followed his friend like his shadow,
+pulled him back.  "It would be but poor gratitude
+for Maxica's gallant rescue to run your head into the
+noose a second time," he said.  "With these hunters
+lurking about the place, we ought to make our way
+indoors as fast as we can."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The chill of the morning wrapped them round.
+They were shivering in the icy mist, through which
+the rising sun was struggling.  It was folly to linger.
+Gaspé knew the Indian was afraid to trust himself in
+the company of the policeman.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I never see him more?" burst out Wilfred
+mournfully.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't say that," retorted Gaspé.  "He is sure to
+come again to Hungry Hall with the furs from his
+winter's hunting.  You can meet him then."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I?  I shall be at school at Garry.  How can I go
+there?" asked Wilfred.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"At Garry," repeated his consoler, brightening.
+"Well, from Garry you can send him anything you
+like by the winter packet of letters.  You know our
+postman, the old Indian, who carries them in his
+dog-sled to every one of the Hudson Bay stations.  You
+can send what you like by him to Hungry Hall.
+Sooner or later it will be sure to reach your dusky
+friend."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"It will be something to let him know I don't
+forget," sighed Wilfred, whose foot was in his uncle's
+porch, where safety was before him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was a sudden stillness about the place.  A
+kind of paralysis had seized upon the household, as
+it fell under the startling interdict of the
+policeman: "Not a thing on the premises to be touched;
+not an individual to leave them until he gave
+permission."  This utter standstill was more appalling to
+the farm-servants than the riotous confusion which
+had preceded it.  The dread of what would come
+next lay like a nightmare over master and men.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred scarcely looked at prisoners or policeman;
+he made his way to his uncle.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I can finish my prayer this morning, and I will—I
+will try to do my duty.  Tell me what it is?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"To speak the truth," returned old Caleb solemnly,
+"without fear or prevarication.  No, no! don't tell
+me beforehand what you are going to say, or that
+fellow in the scarlet coat will assert I have tutored you."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Gaspé began to speak.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no!" continued Uncle Caleb, "you must not
+talk it over with your friend.  Sit down, my boy;
+think of all that has happened in the night quietly
+and calmly, and God help us to bear the result."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Again he rocked himself backwards and forwards,
+murmuring under his breath, "My poor Miriam!  I
+have two to think of—my poor, poor Miriam!"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred's own clear commonsense came to his aid;
+he looked up brightly.  The old man's tears were
+slowly trickling down his furrowed cheeks.  "Uncle,"
+he urged, "my friends have not only saved me, they
+have saved you all.  They stopped those fellows
+short, before they had time to do their worst.  They
+will not be punished for what they were going to do,
+but for what they actually did do."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>A sudden rush of gratitude came over Wilfred as
+he recalled his peril.  His arms went round Gaspé
+with a clasp that seemed to know no unloosening.  A
+friend is worth all hazards.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>His turn soon came.  Aunt Miriam had preceded
+her nephew.  She had so little to tell.  "In the midst
+of the dancing there was a cry of 'Thieves!'  The
+men ran.  Her husband came back to her, bringing
+her invalid brother to the safest part of the house.
+He stayed to guard them, until there arose a second
+cry, 'The police!'  She supposed the thieves made
+off.  Her husband had started in pursuit."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>In pursuit, when there was nothing to pursue; the
+aggressor was already taken.  Aunt Miriam saw the
+inevitable inference: her husband had fled with his
+guests.  She never looked up.  She could not meet
+the eyes around her, until she was asked if Vanner
+and Mathurin were among her guests.  Her pale
+cheeks grew paler.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Their own men were stupid and sleepy, and could
+only stare at each other.  All they had had to say
+confirmed their mistress's statements.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. De Brunier had fetched Wilfred whilst his
+aunt was speaking.  He looked at the men crowding
+round the table, pushed between the sledge-driver and
+Pête to where his aunt was standing, and squeezed
+her hand.  There was just one look exchanged
+between them.  Of all the startling events in that
+strange night, it was strangest of all to Aunt Miriam
+to see him there.  The fervency in the pressure she
+returned set Wilfred's heart at ease.  One determination
+possessed them both—not to make a scene.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Miriam got back into her own room; how,
+she never knew.  She threw herself on her knees
+beside her bed, and listened; for in that wood-built
+house every word could be heard as plainly as if she
+had remained in the kitchen.  Her grief and shame
+were hidden, that was all.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Wilfred's clear, straightforward answers made it
+plain there were no thieves in the case.  Her
+wedding guests had set upon her little wanderer in the
+moment of his return.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Vanner, scowling and sullen, never uttered a single
+word.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mathurin protested volubly.  He never meant to
+let them hurt the boy, but some amongst them owed
+him a grudge, and they were bent on paying it off
+before they parted.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"A base and cowardly trick, by your own showing,
+to break into an old man's room in the dead of the
+night with a false alarm; not to mention your
+behaviour to the boy.  If this outrage hastens the old
+gentleman's end, you will find yourselves in a very
+awkward position.  His seizure in the night was
+solely due to the unwarrantable alarm," observed the
+policeman.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Mathurin began to interrupt.  He checked him.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"If you have anything to say for yourself, reserve
+it for the proper time and place; for the present you
+must step into that sledge and come with me at
+once.—Mr. De Brunier, I shall meet you and your son at
+Garry on the twenty-ninth."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He marched his prisoners through the porch; a
+sullen silence reigned around.  The sledge-bell
+tinkled, the snow gleamed white as ever in the
+morning sunshine, as Vanner and Mathurin left the
+farm.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>With the air of a mute at a funeral, Forgill bolted
+the door behind them.  Mr. De Brunier walked into
+the sleeping-room, to examine the scene of confusion
+it presented for himself.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Aunt Miriam came out, leaving the door behind
+her open, without knowing it.  She moved like one
+in a dream.  "I cannot understand all this," she said,
+"but we must do the thing that is nearest."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>She directed Forgill to board up the broken window
+and to see that the house was secure, and took Pête
+with her to make up a bed for her brother in the
+dining-room.  She laid her hand on Wilfred's shoulder
+as she passed him, but the words died on her lips.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The men obeyed her without reply.  Forgill was
+afraid to go out of the house alone.  As the cowman
+followed him, he patted Yula's head, observing, "After
+all that's said and done, it was this here dog which
+caught 'em.  I reckon he's worth his weight in gold,
+wherever he comes from, that I do."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Yula shook off the stranger's caress as if it were
+an impertinent freedom.  His eye was fixed on two
+small moccasined feet peeping out from under Aunt
+Miriam's bed.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>There was a spring, but Wilfred's hand was in
+his collar.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I know I had better stop him," he whispered,
+looking up at Gaspé, as he thought of Mr. De
+Brunier's reproof.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Right enough now," cried Gaspé.  "Wilfred, it is
+a girl."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>He ran to the bed and handed out Bowkett's young
+sister, Anastasia.  Her dress was of the universal
+smoked skin, but its gay embroidery of beads and
+the white ribbons which adorned it spoke of the
+recent bridal.  Her black hair fell in one long, heavy
+braid to her waist.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you uncomplimentary creatures!" she exclaimed,
+"not one of you remembered my existence;
+but I'll forgive you two"—extending a hand to
+each—"because you did not know of it.  I crawled in
+here at the first alarm, and here I have lain trembling,
+and nobody missed me.  But, I declare, you men
+folk have been going on awful.  You will be the
+death of us all some of these days.  I could have
+knocked your heads together until I had knocked
+some sense into you.  Put your pappoose in its cradle,
+indeed!  I wish you were all pappooses; I would soon
+let you know what I think of upsetting a poor old
+man like that."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>The indignant young beauty shook the dust from
+her embroidery, and twirled her white ribbons into
+their places as she spoke.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Spoiling all the fun," she added.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Now don't perform upon us, Miss Bowkett," put
+in Gaspé.  "We are not the representatives of last
+night's rowdyism.  My poor friend here is chief
+sufferer from it.  Only he had a four-footed friend,
+and a dark-skinned friend, and two others at the
+back of them of a very ordinary type, but still friends
+with hands and feet.  So the tables were turned,
+and the two real representatives are gone up for
+their exam."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I daren't be the first to tell a tale like this in the
+hunters' camp.  Besides," she demanded, "who is to
+take me there?  This is what the day after brings," she
+pouted, passing the boys as she went into the kitchen.
+The guns which the hunters had left behind them
+had been carefully unloaded by the policeman and
+Mr. De Brunier, and were piled together in one
+corner, waiting for their owners to reclaim them.
+Every one knew the hunters could not live without
+their trading guns; they must come back to fetch
+them.  Anastasia, too, was aware she had only to
+wait for the first who should put in an appearance to
+escort her home.  Little was said, for Aunt Miriam
+knew Anastasia's departure from Acland's Hut would
+be Hugh Bowkett's recall.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When Mr. De Brunier understood this, his anxiety
+on Wilfred's account was redoubled.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>But when Uncle Caleb revived enough for conversation,
+he spoke of the little business to be settled
+between them, and asked for Mr. De Brunier.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I have thought it all through," he said.  "In the
+face of the Cree's warning, and all that happened
+under this roof, I can never leave my nephew and
+Hugh Bowkett to live together beneath it.  As
+soon as he hears from his sister how matters stand
+here, and finds sentence has been passed on Vanner and
+Mathurin, he may come back at any hour.  I want
+to leave my nephew to your care; a better friend he
+could not have."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"As he has had it already, he shall always have it,
+as if he were next to Gaspé, I promise you," was the
+ready answer.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I want a little more than that," Uncle Caleb
+continued.  "I want you to take him away at once, and
+send him back to school.  You spoke of buying land;
+buy half of mine.  That will be Wilfred's portion.
+Invest the money in the Hudson Bay Company,
+where Bowkett can never touch it, and I shall feel
+my boy is safe.  As for Miriam, she will still have a
+good home and a good farm; and the temptation out
+of his reach, Bowkett may settle down."</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no faith in bribery for making a man
+better.  It wants the change here, and that is God's
+work, not man's," returned Mr. De Brunier, tapping
+his own breast.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>Caleb Acland had but one more charge: "Let
+nobody tell poor Miriam the worst."  But she knew
+enough without the telling.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>When Wilfred found he was to return to Garry
+with his friends the next day his arms went round
+his dogs, and a look of mute appeal wandered from
+Mr. De Brunier to Aunt Miriam.</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Had not I better take back Kusky?" suggested
+Gaspé.  "And could not we have Yula too?"</span></p>
+<p class="pnext"><span>"Yula!" repeated Aunt Miriam.  "It is I who
+must take care of Yula.  He shall never want a bone
+whilst I have one.  I shall feed him, Wilfred, with
+my own hands till you come back to claim him."</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END.</span></p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em">
+</div>
+<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- -->
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+</div>
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+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,7585 @@
+.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

+

+.. meta::

+   :PG.Id: 43640

+   :PG.Title: Lost in the Wilds

+   :PG.Released: 2013-09-03

+   :PG.Rights: Public Domain

+   :PG.Producer: Al Haines

+   :DC.Creator: Eleanor Stredder

+   :DC.Title: Lost in the Wilds

+              A Canadian Story

+   :DC.Language: en

+   :DC.Created: 1893

+   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

+

+=================

+LOST IN THE WILDS

+=================

+

+.. clearpage::

+

+.. pgheader::

+

+.. container:: coverpage

+

+   .. vspace:: 3

+

+   .. figure:: images/img-cover.jpg

+      :align: center

+      :alt: Cover

+

+      Cover

+

+   .. vspace:: 4

+

+.. container:: frontispiece

+

+   .. _`It was an awful moment.`:

+

+   .. figure:: images/img-front.jpg

+      :align: center

+      :alt: It was an awful moment.

+

+      It was an awful moment.

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. container:: titlepage center white-space-pre-line

+

+   .. class:: x-large

+

+      LOST IN THE WILDS

+

+   .. class:: large

+

+      A CANADIAN STORY

+

+   .. vspace:: 2

+

+   .. class:: medium

+

+      BY ELEANOR STREDDER

+

+   .. vspace:: 3

+

+   .. class:: medium

+

+      LONDON, EDINBURGH,

+      DUBLIN, & NEW YORK

+      THOMAS NELSON

+      AND SONS

+      1893

+

+   .. vspace:: 4

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CONTENTS.

+

+.. vspace:: 1

+

+.. class:: noindent italics white-space-pre-line

+

+I.  `In Acland's Hut`_

+II.  `Hunting the Buffalo`_

+III.  `The First Snowstorm`_

+IV.  `Maxica, the Cree Indian`_

+V.  `In the Birch-bark Hut`_

+VI.  `Searching for a Supper`_

+VII.  `Following the Blackfeet`_

+VIII.  `The Shop in the Wilderness`_

+IX.  `New Friends`_

+X.  `The Dog-sled`_

+XI.  `The Hunters' Camp`_

+XII.  `Maxica's Warning`_

+XIII.  `Just in Time`_

+XIV.  `Wedding Guests`_

+XV.  `To the Rescue`_

+XVI.  `In Confusion`_

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`IN ACLAND'S HUT`:

+

+.. class:: center x-large bold

+

+   LOST IN THE WILDS.

+

+.. vspace:: 3

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER I.

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *IN ACLAND'S HUT.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+The October sun was setting over a wild, wide

+waste of waving grass, growing dry and yellow

+in the autumn winds.  The scarlet hips gleamed

+between the whitening blades wherever the pale pink

+roses of summer had shed their fragrant leaves.

+

+But now the brief Indian summer was drawing to

+its close, and winter was coming down upon that vast

+Canadian plain with rapid strides.  The wailing cry

+of the wild geese rang through the gathering stillness.

+

+The driver of a rough Red River cart slapped the

+boy by his side upon the shoulder, and bade him look

+aloft at the swiftly-moving cloud of chattering beaks

+and waving wings.

+

+For a moment or two the twilight sky was darkened,

+and the air was filled with the restless beat of

+countless pinions.  The flight of the wild geese to the

+warmer south told the same story, of approaching

+snow, to the bluff carter.  He muttered something

+about finding the cows which his young companion

+did not understand.  The boy's eyes had travelled

+from the winged files of retreating geese to the vast

+expanse of sky and plain.  The west was all aglow

+with myriad tints of gold and saffron and green,

+reflected back from many a gleaming lakelet and

+curving river, which shone like jewels on the broad

+breast of the grassy ocean.  Where the dim sky-line

+faded into darkness the Touchwood Hills cast a

+blackness of shadow on the numerous thickets which fringed

+their sheltering slopes.  Onward stole the darkness,

+while the prairie fires shot up in wavy lines, like giant

+fireworks.

+

+Between the fire-flash and the dying sun the boy's

+quick eye was aware of the long winding course of

+the great trail to the north.  It was a comfort to

+perceive it in the midst of such utter loneliness; for

+if men had come and gone, they had left no other

+record behind them.  He seemed to feel the stillness

+of an unbroken solitude, and to hear the silence that

+was brooding over lake and thicket, hill and waste

+alike.

+

+He turned to his companion.  "Forgill," he asked,

+in a low venturing tone, "can you find your way in

+the dark?"

+

+He was answered by a low, short laugh, too

+expressive of contempt to suffer him to repeat his

+question.

+

+One broad flash of crimson light yet lingered along

+the western sky, and the evening star gleamed out

+upon the shadowy earth, which the night was hugging

+to itself closer and closer every moment.

+

+Still the cart rumbled on.  It was wending now by

+the banks of a nameless river, where the pale, faint

+star-shine reflected in its watery depths gave back dim

+visions of inverted trees in wavering, uncertain lines.

+

+"How far are we now from Acland's Hut?" asked

+the boy, disguising his impatience to reach their

+journey's end in careless tones.

+

+"Acland's Hut," repeated the driver; "why, it is

+close at hand."

+

+The horse confirmed this welcome piece of

+intelligence by a joyous neigh to his companion, who was

+following in the rear.  A Canadian always travels

+with two horses, which he drives by turns.  The

+horses themselves enter into the arrangement so well

+that there is no trouble about it.  The loose horse

+follows his master like a dog, and trots up when the

+cart comes to a standstill, to take the collar warm from

+his companion's shoulders.

+

+But for once the loose pony had galloped past them

+in the darkness, and was already whinnying at the

+well-known gate of Acland's Hut.

+

+The driver put his hand to his mouth and gave a

+shout, which seemed to echo far and wide over the

+silent prairie.  It was answered by a chorus of

+barking from the many dogs about the farm.  A lantern

+gleamed through the darkness, and friendly voices

+shouted in reply.  Another bend in the river brought

+them face to face with the rough, white gate of

+Acland's Hut.  Behind lay the low farm-house, with

+its log-built walls and roof of clay.  Already the door

+stood wide, and the cheerful blaze from the pine-logs

+burning on the ample hearth within told of the

+hospitable welcome awaiting the travellers.

+

+An unseen hand undid the creaking gate, and a

+gruff voice from the darkness exchanged a hearty "All

+right" with Forgill.  The lantern seemed to dance

+before the horse's head, as he drew up beneath the

+solitary tree which had been left for a hen-roost in

+the centre of the enclosure.

+

+Forgill jumped down.  He gave a helping hand to

+his boy companion, observing, "There is your aunt

+watching for you at the open door.  Go and make

+friends; you won't be strangers long."

+

+"Have you got the child, Forgill?" asked an

+anxious woman's voice.

+

+An old Frenchman, who fulfilled the double office

+of man and maid at Acland's Hut, walked up to the

+cart and held out his arms to receive the expected

+visitor.

+

+Down leaped the boy, altogether disdaining the

+over-attention of the farming man.  Then he heard

+Forgill whisper, "It isn't the little girl she expected,

+it is this here boy; but I have brought him all the

+same."

+

+This piece of intelligence was received with a low

+chuckle, and all three of the men became suddenly

+intent upon the buckles of the harness, leaving aunt

+and nephew to rectify the little mistake which had

+clearly arisen—not that they had anything to do

+with it.

+

+"Come in," said the aunt in kindly tones, scarcely

+knowing whether it was a boy or a girl that she was

+welcoming.  But when the rough deer-skin in which

+Forgill had enveloped his charge as the night drew

+on was thrown aside, the look which spread over

+her face was akin to consternation, as she asked his

+name and heard the prompt reply, "Wilfred Acland;

+and are you my own Aunt Miriam?  How is my

+uncle?"  But question was exchanged for question

+with exceeding rapidity.  Then remembering the boy's

+long journey, Aunt Miriam drew a three-legged stool

+in front of the blazing fire, and bade him be seated.

+

+The owner of Acland's Hut was an aged man, the

+eldest of a large family, while Wilfred's father was

+the youngest.  They had been separated from each

+other in early life; the brotherly tie between them

+was loosely knitted.  Intervals of several years'

+duration occurred in their correspondence, and many

+a kindly-worded epistle failed to reach its destination;

+for the adventurous daring of the elder brother led

+him again and again to sell his holding, and push his

+way still farther west.  He loved the ring of the

+woodman's axe, the felling and the clearing.  He grew

+rich from the abundant yield of the virgin soil, and

+his ever-increasing droves of cattle grew fat and fine

+in the grassy sea which surrounded his homestead.

+All went well until his life of arduous toil brought

+on an attack of rheumatic fever, which had left him

+a bedridden old man.  Everything now depended

+upon the energy of his sole surviving sister, who had

+shared his fortunes.

+

+Aunt Miriam retained a more affectionate remembrance

+of Wilfred's father, who had been her playmate.

+When the letter arrived announcing his death she was

+plunged in despondency.  The letter had been sent

+from place to place, and was nine months after date

+before it reached Acland's Hut, on the verge of the

+lonely prairie between the Qu'appelle and South

+Saskatchewan rivers.  The letter was written by a

+Mr. Cromer, who promised to take care of the child

+the late Mr. Acland had left, until he heard from the

+uncle he was addressing.

+

+The brother and sister at Acland's Hut at once

+started the most capable man on their farm to

+purchase their winter stores and fetch the orphan

+child.  Aunt Miriam looked back to the old letters

+to ascertain its age.  In one of them the father

+rejoiced over the birth of a son; in another he spoke

+of a little daughter, named after herself; a third,

+which lamented the death of his wife, told also of the

+loss of a child—which, it did not say.  Aunt Miriam,

+with a natural partiality for her namesake, decided,

+as she re-read the brief letter, that it must be the girl

+who was living; for it was then a baby, and every

+one would have called it "the baby."  By using the

+word "child," the poor father must have referred to

+the eldest, the boy.

+

+"Ah! very likely," answered her brother, who had

+no secret preference to bias his expectations.  So the

+conjecture came to be regarded as a certainty, until

+Wilfred shook off the deer-skin and stood before his

+aunt, a strong hearty boy of thirteen summers,

+awkwardly shy, and alarmingly hungry.

+

+But her welcome was not the less kindly, as she

+heaped his plate again and again.  Wilfred was soon

+nodding over his supper in the very front of the

+blazing fire, basking in its genial warmth.  But the

+delightful sense of comfort and enjoyment was rather

+shaken when he heard his aunt speaking in the inner

+room.

+

+"Forgill has come back, Caleb; and after all it is

+the boy."

+

+"The boy, God bless him!  I only wish he were

+more of a man, to take my place," answered the

+dreamy voice of her sick brother, just rousing from his

+slumbers.

+

+"Oh, but I am so disappointed!" retorted Aunt

+Miriam.  "I had been looking forward to a dear

+little niece to cheer me through the winter.  I felt so

+sure—"

+

+"Now, now!" laughed the old man, "that is just

+where it is.  If once you get an idea in your head,

+there it wedges to the exclusion of everything else.

+You like your own way, Miriam, but you cannot turn

+your wishes into a coach and six to override

+everything.  You cannot turn him into a girl."

+

+Wilfred burst out laughing, as he felt himself very

+unpromising material for the desired metamorphosis.

+

+"How shall I keep him out of mischief when we

+are all shut in with the snow?" groaned Aunt

+Miriam.

+

+"Let me look at him," said her brother, growing

+excited.

+

+When Wilfred stood by the bedside, his uncle took

+the boy's warm hands in both his own and looked

+earnestly in his bright open face.

+

+"He will do," murmured the old man, sinking back

+amongst his pillows.  "There, be a good lad; mind

+what your aunt says to you, and make yourself at

+home."

+

+While he was speaking all the light there was in

+the shadowy room shone full on Wilfred.

+

+"He is like his father," observed Aunt Miriam.

+

+"You need not tell me that," answered Caleb Acland,

+turning away his face.

+

+"Could we ever keep him out of mischief?" she

+sighed.

+

+Wilfred's merry laugh jarred on their ears.  They

+forgot the lapse of time since his father's death, and

+wondered to find him so cheerful.  Aunt and nephew

+were decidedly out of time, and out of time means

+out of tune, as Wilfred dimly felt, without divining

+the reason.

+

+Morning showed him his new home in its brightest

+aspect.  He was up early and out with Forgill and

+the dogs, busy in the long row of cattle-sheds which

+sheltered one end of the farm-house, whilst a

+well-planted orchard screened the other.

+

+Wilfred was rejoicing in the clear air, the joyous

+sunshine, and the wonderful sense of freedom which

+seemed to pervade the place.  The wind was whispering

+through the belt of firs at the back of the clearing

+where Forgill had built his hut, as he made his way

+through the long, tawny grass to gather the purple

+vetches and tall star-like asters, still to be found by

+the banks of the reed-fringed pool where Forgill was

+watering the horses.

+

+Wilfred was intent upon propitiating his aunt,

+when he returned to the house with his autumn

+bouquet, and a large basket of eggs which Forgill had

+intrusted to his care.

+

+Wilfred rushed into the kitchen, elate with his

+morning ramble, and quite regardless of the long trail

+of muddy footsteps with which he was soiling the

+freshly-cleaned floor.

+

+"Look!" cried Aunt Miriam; but she spoke to deaf

+ears, for Wilfred's attention was suddenly absorbed

+by the appearance of a stranger at the gate.  His

+horse and gun proclaimed him an early visitor.  His

+jaunty air and the glittering beads and many tassels

+which adorned his riding-boots made Wilfred wonder

+who he was.  He set his basket on the ground, and

+was darting off again to open the gate, when Aunt

+Miriam, finding her remonstrances vain, leaned across

+the table on which she was arranging the family

+breakfast and caught him by the arm.  Wilfred was

+going so fast that the sudden stoppage upset his

+equilibrium; down he went, smash into the basket of

+eggs.  Out flew one-half in a frantic dance, while the

+mangled remains of the other streamed across the floor.

+

+"Oh! the eggs, the eggs!" exclaimed Wilfred.

+

+Aunt Miriam, who was on the other side of the

+table when he came in, had not noticed the basket he

+was carrying.  She held up her hands in dismay,

+exclaiming, "I am afraid, Wilfred, you are one of the

+most aggravating boys that ever walked this earth."

+

+For the frost was coming, and eggs were growing scarce.

+

+"And so, auntie, since you can't transform me, you

+have abased me utterly.  I humbly beg your pardon

+from the very dust, and lay my poor bruised offering

+at your indignant feet.  I thought the coach and six

+was coming over me, I did indeed!" exclaimed Wilfred.

+

+"Get up" reiterated Aunt Miriam angrily, her

+vexation heightened by the burst of laughter which

+greeted her ears from the open door, where the stranger

+now stood shaking with merriment at the ridiculous

+scene.

+

+"Yes, off with you, you young beggar!" he repeated,

+stepping aside good-naturedly to let Wilfred pass.

+For what could a fellow do but go in such

+disastrous circumstances?

+

+"It is not to be expected that the missis will put

+up with this sort of game," remarked Pêtre Fleurie,

+as he passed him.

+

+Wilfred began to think it better to forego his

+breakfast than face his indignant aunt.  What did

+she care for the handful of weeds?  The mud he had

+gone through to get them had caused all the mischief.

+Everywhere else the ground was dry and crisp with the

+morning frost.  "What an unlucky dog I am!" thought

+Wilfred dolefully.  "Haven't I made a bad beginning,

+and I never meant to."  He crept under the orchard

+railing to hide himself in his repentance and keep out

+of everybody's way.

+

+But it was not the weather for standing still, and

+he longed for something to do.  He took to running

+in and out amongst the now almost leafless fruit-trees

+to keep himself warm.

+

+Forgill, who was at work in the court putting the

+meat-stage in order, looked down into the orchard

+from the top of the ladder on which he was mounted,

+and called to Wilfred to come and help him.

+

+It was a very busy time on the farm.  Marley, the

+other labourer, who was Forgill's chum in the little

+hut in the corner, was away in the prairie looking up

+the cows, which had been turned loose in the early

+summer to get their own living, and must now be

+brought in and comfortably housed for the winter.

+Forgill had been away nearly a fortnight.  Hands

+were short on the farm now the poor old master was

+laid aside.  There was land to be sold all round them;

+but at present it was unoccupied, and the nearest

+settler was dozens of miles away.  Their only

+neighbours were the roving hunters, who had no settled

+home, but wandered about like gipsies, living entirely

+by the chase and selling furs.  They were partly

+descended from the old French settlers, and partly

+Indians.  They were a careless, light-hearted, dashing

+set of fellows, who made plenty of money when skins

+were dear, and spent it almost as fast as it came.

+Uncle Caleb thought it prudent to keep on friendly

+terms with these roving neighbours, who were always

+ready to give him occasional help, as they were always

+well paid for it.

+

+"There is one of these hunter fellows here now,"

+said Forgill.  "The missis is arranging with him to

+help me to get in the supply of meat for the winter."

+

+The stage at which Forgill was hammering

+resembled the framework of a very high, long, narrow

+table, with four tall fir poles for its legs.  Here the

+meat was to be laid, high up above the reach of the

+many animals, wild and tame.  It would soon be

+frozen through and through as hard as a stone, and

+keep quite good until the spring thaws set in.

+

+Wilfred was quickly on the top of the stage, enjoying

+the prospect, for the atmosphere in Canada is so

+clear that the eye can distinguish objects a very long

+way off.  He had plenty of amusement watching the

+great buzzards and hawks, which are never long out

+of sight.  He had entered a region where birds

+abounded.  There were cries in the air above and the

+drumming note of the prairie-hen in the grass below.

+There were gray clouds of huge white pelicans flapping

+heavily along, and faster-flying strings of small

+white birds, looking like rows of pearls waving in the

+morning air.  A moving band, also of snowy white,

+crossing the blue water of a distant lakelet, puzzled

+him a while, until it rose with a flutter and scream,

+and proved itself another flock of northern geese on

+wing for the south, just pausing on its way to drink.

+

+Presently Wilfred was aware that Pêtre was at the

+foot of the ladder talking earnestly to Forgill.  An

+unpleasant tingling in his cheek told the subject of

+their conversation.  He turned his back towards

+them, not choosing to hear the remarks they might

+be making upon his escapade of the morning, until

+old Pêtre—or Pête as he was usually called, for

+somehow the "r" slipped out of his name on the English

+lips around him—raised his voice, protesting, "You

+and I know well how the black mud by the reed pool

+sticks like glue.  Now, I say, put him on the little

+brown pony, and take him with you."

+

+"Follow the hunt!" cried Wilfred, overjoyed.  "Oh,

+may I, Forgill?"

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`HUNTING THE BUFFALO`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER II.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *HUNTING THE BUFFALO.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+The cloudy morning ended in a brilliant noon.

+Wilfred was in ecstasies when he found

+himself mounted on the sagacious Brownie, who had

+followed them like a dog on the preceding evening.

+

+Aunt Miriam had consented to Pête's proposal with

+a thankfulness which led the hunter, Hugh Bowkett,

+to remark, as Wilfred trotted beside him, "Come, you

+young scamp! so you are altogether beyond petticoat

+government, are you?"

+

+"That is not true," retorted Wilfred, "for I was

+never out of her Majesty's dominion for a single hour

+in my life."

+

+It was a chance hit, for Bowkett had been over the

+frontier more than once, wintering among the Yankee

+roughs on the other side of the border, a proceeding

+which is synonymous in the North-West Dominion

+with "getting out of the way."

+

+Bowkett was a handsome fellow, and a first-rate

+shot, who could accomplish the difficult task of

+hunting the long-eared, cunning moose-deer as well as a

+born Red Indian.  Wilfred looked up at him with

+secret admiration.  Not so Forgill, who owned to Pête

+there was no dependence on these half-and-half

+characters.  But without Bowkett's help there would be

+no meat for the winter; and since the master had

+decided the boy was to go with them, there was

+nothing more to be said.

+

+Aunt Miriam came to the gate, in her hood and

+cloak, to see them depart.

+

+"Good-bye! good-bye, auntie!" shouted Wilfred.

+"I am awfully sorry about those eggs."

+

+"Ah, you rogue! do you think I am going to

+believe you?"  She laughed, shaking a warning finger

+at him; and so they parted, little dreaming of all that

+would happen before they met again.

+

+Wilfred was equipped in an old, smoked deer-skin

+coat of his uncle's, and a fur cap with a flap falling

+like a cape on his neck, and ear-pieces which met

+under his chin.  He was a tall boy of his age, and

+his uncle was a little, wiry man.  The coat was not

+very much too long for him.  It wrapped over

+famously in front, and was belted round the waist.  Pête

+had filled the pockets with a good supply of biscuit,

+and one or two potatoes, which he thought Wilfred

+could roast for his supper in the ashes of the

+campfire.  For the hunting-party expected to camp out in

+the open for a night or two, as the buffaloes they

+were in quest of were further to seek and harder to

+find every season.

+

+Forgill had stuck a hunting-knife in Wilfred's belt,

+to console him for the want of a gun.  The boy would

+have liked to carry a gun like the others, but on that

+point there was a resolute "No" all round.

+

+As they left the belt of pine trees, and struck out

+into the vast, trackless sea of grass, Wilfred looked

+back to the light blue column of smoke from the

+farm-house chimney, and wistfully watched it curling

+upwards in the clear atmosphere, with a dash of regret

+that he had not yet made friends with his uncle, or

+recovered his place in Aunt Miriam's good graces.

+But it scarcely took off the edge of his delight.

+

+Forgill was in the cart, which he hoped to bring

+back loaded with game.  At the corner of the first

+bluff, as the hills in Canada are usually called, they

+encountered Bowkett's man with a string of horses,

+one of which he rode.  There was a joyous blaze of

+sunshine glinting through the broad fringes of white

+pines which marked the course of the river, making

+redder the red stems of the Norwegians which sprang

+up here and there in vivid contrast.  A light canoe of

+tawny birch-bark, with its painted prow, was

+threading a narrow passage by the side of a tiny eyot or

+islet, where the pine boughs seemed to meet high

+overhead.  The hunters exchanged a shout of recognition

+with its skilful rower, ere a stately heron, with grand

+crimson eye and leaden wings, came slowly flapping

+down the stream intent on fishing.  Then the little

+party wound their way by ripple-worn rocks, covered

+with mosses and lichens.  At last, on one of the few

+bare spots on a distant hillside, some dark moving

+specks became visible.  The hunt began in earnest.

+Away went the horsemen over the wide, open plain.

+Wilfred and the cart following more slowly, yet near

+enough to watch the change to the stealthy approach

+and the cautious outlook over the hill-top, where the

+hunter's practised eye had detected the buffalo.

+

+"Keep close by me," said Forgill to his young

+companion, as they wound their way upwards, and reached

+the brow of the hill just in time to watch the wild

+charge upon the herd, which scattered in desperate

+flight, until the hindmost turned to bay upon his

+reckless pursuers, his shaggy head thrown up as he

+stood for a moment at gaze.  With a whoop and a

+cheer, in which Wilfred could not help joining,

+Bowkett again gave chase, followed by his man Diomé.

+A snap shot rattled through the air.  Forgill drew

+the cart aside to the safer shelter of a wooded copse,

+out of the line of the hunters.  He knew the infuriated

+buffalo would shortly turn on his pursuers.  The

+loose horses were racing after their companions, and

+Brownie was quivering with excitement.

+

+"Hold hard!" cried Forgill, who saw the boy was

+longing to give the pony its head and follow suit.

+"Quiet, my lad," he continued.  "None of us are up

+to that sort of work.  It takes your breath to look

+at them."

+

+The buffalo was wheeling round.  Huge and

+unwieldy as the beast appeared, it changed its front

+with the rapidity of lightning.  Then Bowkett backed

+his horse and fled.  On the proud beast thundered,

+with lowered eyes flashing furiously under its shaggy

+brows.  A bullet from Diomé's gun struck him on

+the forehead.  He only shook his haughty head and

+bellowed till the prairie rang; but his pace slackened

+as the answering cries of the retreating herd seemed

+to call him back.  He was within a yard of Bowkett's

+horse, when round he swung as swiftly and suddenly

+as he had advanced.  Wilfred stood up in his stirrups

+to watch him galloping after his companions, through

+a gap in a broken bluff at no great distance.  Away

+went Bowkett and Diomé, urging on their horses

+with shout and spur.

+

+"Halt a bit," said Forgill, restraining Wilfred and

+his pony, until they saw the two hunters slowly

+returning over the intervening ridge with panting

+horses.  They greeted the approach of the cart with

+a hurrah of success, proposing, as they drew nearer,

+to halt for dinner in the shelter of the gap through

+which the buffalo had taken its way.

+

+Wilfred was soon busy with Diomé gathering the

+dry branches last night's wind had broken to make a

+fire, whilst Bowkett and Forgill went forward with

+the cart to look for the fallen quarry.

+

+It was the boy's first lesson in camping out, and he

+enjoyed it immensely, taking his turn at the frying-pan

+with such success that Diomé proposed to hand

+it over to his exclusive use for the rest of their

+expedition.

+

+It was hard work to keep the impudent blue jays,

+with which the prairie abounded, from darting at the

+savoury fry, and pecking out the very middle of the

+steak, despite the near neighbourhood of smoke and

+flame, which threatened to singe their wings in the

+mad attempt.

+

+But in spite of the thievish birds, dinner was eaten

+and appreciated in the midst of so much laughter and

+chaff that even Forgill unbent.

+

+But a long day's work was yet before them, spurring

+over the sand-ridges and through the rustling grass.

+They had almost reached one of the westward jutting

+spurs of the Touchwood Hills, when the sun went

+down.  As it neared the earth and sank amidst the

+glorious hues of emerald and gold, the dark horizon line

+became visible for a few brief instants across its

+blood-red face; but so distant did it seem, so very far away,

+the whole scene became dreamlike from its immensity.

+

+"We've done, my lads!" shouted Bowkett; "we

+have about ended as glorious a day's sport as ever I had."

+

+"Not yet," retorted Diomé.  "Just listen."  There

+was a trampling, snorting sound as of many cattle on

+the brink of a lakelet sheltering at the foot of the

+neighbouring hills.

+

+Were they not in the midst of what the early

+Canadian settlers used to call the Land of the Wild

+Cows?  Those sounds proceeded from another herd

+coming down for its evening drink.  On they crept

+with stealthy steps through bush and bulrush to get

+a nearer view in the bewildering shadows, which were

+growing darker and darker every moment.

+

+"Stop! stop!" cried Forgill, hurrying forward, as

+the light yet lingering on the lake showed the familiar

+faces of his master's cows stooping down to reach the

+pale blue water at their feet.  Yes, there they were, the

+truant herd Marley was endeavouring in vain to find.

+

+Many a horned head was lifted at the sound of

+Forgill's well-known call.  Away he went into the

+midst of the group, pointing out the great "A" he

+had branded deep in the thick hair on the left

+shoulder before he had turned them loose.

+

+What was now to be done?

+

+"Drive them home," said the careful Forgill, afraid

+of losing them again.  But Bowkett was not willing

+to return.

+

+Meanwhile Diomé and Wilfred were busy preparing

+for the night at the spot where they had halted,

+when the presence of the herd was first perceived.

+They had brought the horses down to the lake to water

+at a sufficient distance from the cows not to disturb

+them.  But one or two of the wanderers began to "moo,"

+as if they partially recognized their former companions.

+

+"They will follow me and the horses," pursued

+Forgill, who knew he could guide his way across the

+trackless prairie by the aid of the stars.

+

+"If you come upon Marley," he said, "he can take

+my place in the cart, for he has most likely found the

+trail of the cows by this time; or if I cross his path,

+I shall leave him to drive home the herd and return.

+You will see one of us before morning."

+

+"As you like," replied Bowkett, who knew he could

+do without either man provided he kept the cart.

+"You will probably see us back at the gate of Acland's

+Hut by to-morrow night; and if we do not bring you

+game enough, we must plan a second expedition when

+you have more leisure."

+

+So it was settled between them.

+

+Forgill hurried back to the camping place to get

+his supper before he started.  Bowkett lingered

+behind, surveying the goodly herd, whilst vague schemes

+for combining the twofold advantages of hunter and

+farmer floated through his mind.

+

+When he rejoined his companions he found them

+seated round a blazing fire, enjoying the boiling

+kettle of tea, the fried steak, and biscuit which

+composed their supper.  The saddles were hung up on

+the branches of the nearest tree, and the skins and

+blankets which were to make their bed were already

+spread upon the pine brush which strewed the ground.

+

+"Now, young 'un," said Forgill solemnly, "strikes

+me I had better keep you alongside anyhow."

+

+"No, no," retorted Diomé.  "The poor little fellow

+has been in the saddle all day, and he is dead asleep

+already; leave him under his blankets.  He'll be right

+enough; must learn to rough it sooner or later."

+

+Forgill, who had to be his own tailor and washer-woman,

+was lamenting over a rent in his sleeve, which

+he was endeavouring to stitch up.  For a housewife,

+with its store of needles and thread, was never absent

+from his pocket.

+

+His awkward attempts awakened the mirth of his

+companions.

+

+"What, poor old boy! haven't you got a wife at

+home to do the stitching for you?" asked Diomé.

+

+"When you have passed the last oak which grows

+on this side the Red River, are there a dozen English

+women in a thousand miles?" asked Forgill; and then

+he added, "The few there are are mostly real ladies,

+the wives of district governors and chief factors.  A

+fellow must make up his mind to do for himself and

+rub through as he can."

+

+"Unless he follows my father's example," put in

+Bowkett, "and chooses himself a faithful drudge from

+an Indian wigwam.  He would want no other tailor

+or washerwoman, for there are no such diligent

+workers in the world.  Look at that," he continued,

+pointing to his beautifully embroidered leggings, the

+work of his Indian relations.

+

+"Pay a visit to our hunters' winter camp," added

+Diomé, "and we will show you what an old squaw

+can do to make home comfortable."

+

+There was this difference between the men: Diomé

+who had been left by his French father to be brought

+up by his Indian mother, resembled her in many

+things; whilst Bowkett, whose father was English,

+despised his Indian mother, and tried to make himself

+more and more of an Englishman.  This led him to

+cultivate the acquaintance with the Aclands.

+

+"I am going to send your mistress a present," he

+said, "of a mantle woven of wild dogs' hair.  It

+belonged to the daughter of an Indian chief from the

+Rocky Mountains.  It has a fringe a foot deep, and

+is covered all over with embroidery.  You will see

+then what a squaw can do."

+

+Forgill did not seem over-pleased at this information.

+

+"Are you talking of my Aunt Miriam?" asked

+Wilfred, opening his sleepy eyes.

+

+"So you are thinking about her," returned Forgill.

+"That's right, my lad; for your aunt and uncle at

+Acland's Hut are the only kith and kin you have left,

+and they are quite ready to make much of you, and

+you can't make too much of them."

+

+"You have overshot the mark there," laughed

+Bowkett; "rather think the missis was glad to be rid

+of the young plague on any terms."

+

+Diomé pulled the blankets over Wilfred's head, and

+wished him a *bonne nuit* (good night).

+

+When the boy roused up at last Forgill had long

+since departed, and Diomé, who had been the first to

+awaken, was vigorously clapping his hands to warm

+them, and was shouting, "*Lève! lève! lève!*" to his

+sleepy companions.

+

+"Get up," interpreted Bowkett, who saw that

+Wilfred did not understand his companion's provincial

+French.  Then suiting the action to the word, he

+crawled out from between the shafts of the cart, where

+he had passed the night, tossed off his blankets and

+gave himself a shake, dressing being no part of the

+morning performances during camping out in the

+Canadian wilds, as every one puts on all the clothing

+he has at going to bed, to keep himself warm through

+the night.

+

+The fire was reduced to a smouldering ash-heap,

+and every leaf and twig around was sparkling with

+hoar-frost, for the frost had deepened in the night, and

+joints were stiff and limbs were aching.  A run for a

+mile was Bowkett's remedy, and a look round for the

+horses, which had been turned loose, Canadian fashion,

+to get their supper where they could find it.

+

+The first red beams of the rising sun were tinging

+the glassy surface of the lake when Bowkett came

+upon the scattered quadrupeds, and drove them, with

+Wilfred's assistance, down to its blue waters for their

+morning drink.

+

+Diomé's shouts recalled them to their own

+breakfast.  He was a man of many tongues, invariably

+scolding in French—especially the horses and dogs,

+who heeded it, he asserted, better than any other

+language except Esquimau—explaining in English,

+and coming out with the Indian "Caween" when

+discourse required an animated "no."  "Caween," he

+reiterated now, as Bowkett asked, "Are we to dawdle

+about all day for these English cow-keepers?"  For

+neither Forgill nor Marley had yet put in an appearance.

+

+The breakfast was not hurried over.  The fire was

+built up bigger than ever before they left, that its

+blackened remains might mark their camping place

+for days, if the farming men came after them.

+

+Wilfred, who had buckled the saddle on Brownie,

+received a riding lesson, and then they started, Diomé

+driving the cart.  Wilfred kept beside him at first,

+but growing bolder as his spirits rose, he trotted

+onward to exchange a word with Bowkett.

+

+The sharp, frosty night seemed likely to be followed

+by a day of bright and mellow sunshine.  The

+exhilarating morning breeze banished all thoughts of

+fear and care from the light-hearted trio; and when

+the tall white stems of the pines appeared to tremble

+in the mid-day mirage, Wilfred scampered hither and

+thither, as merry as the little gopher, or ground

+squirrel, that was gambolling across his path.  But no

+large game had yet been sighted.  Then all

+unexpectedly a solitary buffalo stalked majestically across

+what was now the entrance to a valley, but what

+would become the bed of a rushing river when the ice

+was melting in the early spring.

+

+Bowkett paused, looked to his rifle and

+saddle-girths, waved his arm to Wilfred to fall back, and

+with a shout that made the boy's heart leap dashed

+after it.  Wilfred urged his Brownie up the bank,

+where he thought he could safely watch the chase and

+enjoy a repetition of the exciting scenes of yesterday.

+

+Finding itself pursued, the buffalo doubled.  On it

+came, tearing up the ground in its course, and seeming

+to shake the quivering trees with its mighty bellow.

+Brownie plunged and reared, and Wilfred was flung

+backwards, a senseless heap at the foot of the steep bank.

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`THE FIRST SNOWSTORM`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER III.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *THE FIRST SNOWSTORM.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+IN the midst of the danger and excitement of the

+chase, Bowkett had not a thought to spare for

+Wilfred.  He and Diomé were far too busy to even

+wonder what had become of him.  It was not until

+their work was done, and the proverbial hunger of the

+hunter urged them to prepare for dinner, that the

+question arose.

+

+"Where on earth is that young scoundrel of a boy?

+Has he fallen back so far that it will take him all

+day to recover ground?" asked Bowkett.

+

+"And if it is so," remarked Diomé, "he has only to

+give that cunning little brute its head.  It is safe to

+follow the track of the cart-wheel, and bring him in

+for the glorious teasing that is waiting to sugar his

+tea."

+

+"Rare seasoning for the frying-pan," retorted

+Bowkett, as he lit his pipe, and proposed to halt a bit

+longer until the truant turned up.

+

+"Maybe," suggested Diomé, "if May bees fly in

+October, that moose-eared pony [the long ears of the

+moose detect the faintest sound at an inconceivable

+distance] has been more than a match for his raw

+equestrianism.  It has heard the jog-trot of that

+solemn and sober cowherd, and galloped him off to

+join his old companions.  What will become of the

+scattered flock?"

+

+"Without a leader," put in Bowkett.  "I have a

+great mind to bid for the office."

+

+"Oh, oh!" laughed Diomé.  "I have something of

+the keen scent of my Indian grandfather; I began to

+sniff the wind when that mantle was talked about

+last night.  Now then, are we going to track back

+to find this boy?"

+

+"I do not know where you propose to look for

+him, but I can tell you where you will find

+him—munching cakes on his auntie's lap.  We may as well

+save time by looking in the likeliest place first,"

+retorted Bowkett.

+

+The bivouac over, they returned to Acland's Hut

+with their well-laden cart, and Wilfred was left

+behind them, no one knew where.  The hunters' careless

+conclusions were roughly shaken, when they saw a

+riderless pony trotting leisurely after them to the

+well-known door.  Old Pête came out and caught it

+by the bridle.  An ever-rising wave of consternation

+was spreading.  No one as yet had put it into words,

+until Forgill emerged from the cattle-sheds with a

+sack on his shoulder, exclaiming, "Where's the boy?"

+

+"With you, is not he?  He did not say much to

+us; either he or his pony started off to follow you.

+He was an unruly one, you know," replied Bowkett.

+Forgill's only answer was a hoarse shout to Marley,

+who had returned from his wanderings earlier in the

+day, to come with torches.  Diomé joined them in

+the search.

+

+Bowkett stepped into the house to allay Aunt

+Miriam's fears with his regret the boy had somehow

+given them the slip, but Forgill and Diomé had gone

+back for him.

+

+An abundant and what seemed to them a luxuriant

+supper had been provided for the hunting party.

+Whilst Bowkett sat down to enjoy it to his heart's

+content, Aunt Miriam wandered restlessly from room

+to room, cautiously breaking the ill news to her

+brother, by telling him only half the hunting party

+had yet turned up.  Pête was watching for the

+stragglers.

+

+He roused himself up to ask her who was missing.

+

+But her guarded reply reassured him, and he

+settled back to sleep.  Such mishaps were of

+every-day occurrence.

+

+"A cold night for camping out," he murmured.

+"You will see them with the daylight."

+

+But the chilly hour which precedes the dawn brought

+with it a heavy fall of snow.

+

+Aunt Miriam's heart sank like lead, for she knew

+that every track would be obliterated now.  Bowkett

+still laughed away her fears.  Find the boy they

+would, benumbed perhaps at the foot of a tree, or

+huddled up in some sheltering hollow.

+

+Then Aunt Miriam asked Bowkett if he would

+earn her everlasting gratitude, by taking the dogs

+and Pête, with skins and blankets—

+

+"And bringing the truant home," responded

+Bowkett boastfully.

+

+The farm-house, with its double doors and windows,

+its glowing stoves in every room, was as warm and

+cozy within as the night without was cheerless and

+cold.  Bowkett, who had been enjoying his taste of

+true English comfort, felt its allurements enhanced by

+the force of the contrast.  Aunt Miriam barred the

+door behind him with a great deal of unearned

+gratitude in her heart.  Her confidence in Forgill was

+shaken.  He ought not to have brought home the

+cows and left her nephew behind.  Yet the herd was

+so valuable, and he felt himself responsible to his

+master for their well-being.  She did not blame

+Forgill; she blamed herself for letting Wilfred go

+with him.  She leaned upon the hunter's assurances,

+for she knew that his resource and daring, and his

+knowledge of the country, were far greater than that

+possessed by either of the farming men.

+

+The storm which had burst at daybreak had

+shrouded all around in a dense white sheet of driving

+snowflakes.  Even objects close at hand showed dim

+and indistinct in the gray snow-light.  On the

+search-party went, groping their way through little clumps

+of stunted bushes, which frequently deceived them by

+a fancied resemblance to a boyish figure, now

+throwing up its arms to call attention, now huddled in a

+darkling heap.  Their shouts received no answer:

+that went for little.  The boy must long ago have

+succumbed to such a night without fire or shelter

+They felt among the bushes.  The wet mass of snow

+struck icily cold on hands and faces.  A bitter, biting

+wind swept down the river from the north-east,

+breaking the tall pine branches and uprooting many

+a sapling.  The two search-parties found each other

+that was all.  Such weather in itself makes many a

+man feel savage-tempered and sullen.  If they spoke

+at all, it was to blame one another.

+

+While thus they wandered to and fro over the

+hunting-ground of yesterday, where was the boy they

+failed to meet?  Where was Wilfred?  Fortunately

+for him the grass grew thick and tall at the bottom

+of the bank down which he had fallen.  Lost to view

+amid the waving yellow tufts which had sprung up

+to giant size in the bed of the dried-up stream, he lay

+for some time in utter unconsciousness; whilst the

+frightened pony, finding itself free, galloped madly

+away over the sandy ridges they had been crossing

+earlier in the morning.

+

+By slow degrees sight and sound returned to the

+luckless boy.  He was bruised and shaken, and one

+ankle which he had bent under him made him cry

+out with pain when he tried to rise.  At last he drew

+himself into a sitting posture and looked around.

+Recollections came back confusedly at first.  As his ideas

+grew clearer, he began to realize what had happened.

+Overhead the sky was gloomy and dark.  A stormy

+wind swept the whitened grass around him into

+billowy waves.  Wilfred's first thought was to shout

+to his companions; but his voice was weak and faint,

+and a longing for a little water overcame him.

+

+Finding himself unable to walk, he dropped down

+again in the grassy nest which he had formed for

+himself, and tried to think.  The weight of his fall

+had crushed the grass beneath him into the soft clayey

+mud at the bottom of the valley.  But the pain in

+his ankle predominated over every other consideration.

+His first attempt to help himself was to take

+the knife out of his belt and cut down some of the

+grass within reach, and make a softer bed on which to

+rest it.  His limbs were stiffening with the cold, and

+whilst he had still feeling enough in his fingers to

+undo his boot, he determined to try to bind up his

+ankle.  Whilst he held it pressed between both his

+hands it seemed easier.

+

+But Wilfred knew he must not sit there waiting

+for Forgill, who, he felt sure, would come and look

+for him if he had rejoined the hunting party:

+if—there were so many *ifs* clinging to every thought

+Wilfred grew desperate.  He grasped a great handful

+of the sticky clay and pressed it round his ankle in a

+stiff, firm band.  There was a change in the

+atmosphere.  In the morning that clay would have been

+hard and crisp with the frost, now it was yielding

+in his hand; surely the snow was coming.  Boy as

+he was, he knew what that would do for him—he

+should be buried beneath it in the hole in which he

+lay.  It roused him to the uttermost.  Deep down in

+Wilfred's nature there was a vein of that cool daring

+which the great Napoleon called "two o'clock in the

+morning courage"—a feeling which rises highest in

+the face of danger, borrowing little from its

+surroundings, and holding only to its own.

+

+"If," repeated Wilfred, as his thoughts ran on—"if

+they could not find me, and that is likely enough, am

+I going to lie here and die?"

+

+He looked up straight into the leaden sky.  "There

+is nothing between us and God's heaven," he thought.

+"It is we who see such a little way.  He can send me

+help.  It may be coming for what I know, one way

+or another.  What is the use of sitting here thinking?

+Has Bowkett missed me?  Will he turn back to look

+me up?  Will Forgill come?  If I fall asleep down

+in this grass, how could they see me?  Any way, I

+must get out of this hole."  He tore the lining out of

+his cap and knotted it round his ankle, to keep the

+clay in place; but to put his boot on again was an

+impossibility.  Even he knew his toes would freeze

+before morning if he left them uncovered.  He took

+his knife and cut off the fur edge down the front of

+the old skin coat, and wound his foot up in it as fast

+as he could.  Then, dragging his boot along with him,

+he tried hard to crawl up the bank; but it was too

+steep for him, and he slipped back again, hurting

+himself a little more at every slide.

+

+This, he told himself, was most unnecessary, as he

+was sore enough and stiff enough before.  Another

+bad beginning.  What was the use of stopping short

+at a bad beginning?  He thought of Bruce and his

+spider.  He had not tried seven times yet.

+

+Wilfred's next attempt was to crawl towards the

+entrance of the valley—this was easier work.  Then

+he remembered the biscuit in his pocket.  It was not

+all gone yet.  He drew himself up and began to eat

+it gladly enough, for he had had nothing since his

+breakfast.  The biscuit was very hard, and he crunched

+it, making all the noise he could.  It seemed a relief

+to make any sort of sound in that awful stillness.

+

+He was growing almost cheery as he ate.  "If I can

+only find the cart-track," he thought; "and I must be

+near it.  Diomé was behind us when I was thrown;

+he must have driven past the end of this valley.  If

+I could only climb a tree, I might see where the grass

+was crushed by the cart-wheel."

+

+But this was just what Wilfred could not do.  The

+last piece of biscuit was in his hand, when a dog leaped

+out of the bushes on the bank above him and flew at it.

+Wilfred seized his boot to defend himself; but that was

+hopeless work, crawling on the ground.  It was a better

+thought to fling the biscuit to the dog, for if he

+enraged it—ah! it might tear him to pieces.  It caught

+the welcome boon in its teeth, and devoured it, pawing

+the ground impatiently for more.  Wilfred had but

+one potato left.  He began to cut it in slices and toss

+them to the dog.  A bright thought had struck him:

+this dog might have a master near.  No doubt about

+that; and if he were only a wild Red Indian, he was

+yet a man.  Full of this idea, Wilfred emptied out

+his pockets to see if a corner of biscuit was left at the

+bottom.  There were plenty of crumbs.  He forgot

+his own hunger, and held out his hand to the dog.

+It was evidently starving.  It sat down before him,

+wagging its bushy tail and moving its jaws beseechingly,

+in a mute appeal for food.  Wilfred drew himself

+a little nearer, talking and coaxing.  One sweep of

+the big tongue and the pile of crumbs had vanished.

+

+There was a sound—a crashing, falling sound—in

+the distance.  How they both listened!  Off rushed

+the furry stranger.

+

+"It is my chance," thought Wilfred, "my only chance."

+

+He picked up the half-eaten potato and scrambled

+after the dog, quite forgetting his pain in his desperation.

+A vociferous barking in the distance urged him on.

+

+It was not Bowkett, by the strange dog; but another

+hunting party might be near.  The noise he had heard

+was the fall of some big game.  Hope rose high; but

+he soon found himself obliged to rest, and then he

+shouted with all his might.  He was making his way

+up the valley now.  He saw before him a clump of

+willows, whose drooping boughs must have lapped the

+stream.  His boot was too precious to be left behind;

+he slung it to his belt, and then crawled on.  One

+more effort.  He had caught the nearest bough, and,

+by its help, he drew himself upright.  Oh the pain

+in the poor foot when he let it touch the ground! it

+made him cry out again and again.  Still he persisted

+in his purpose.  He grasped a stronger stem arching

+higher overhead, and swung himself clear from the

+ground.  The pliant willow swayed hither and thither

+in the stormy blast.  Wilfred almost lost his hold.

+The evening shadows were gathering fast.  The dead

+leaves swept down upon him with every gust.  The

+wind wailed and sighed amongst the tall white grass

+and the bulrushes at his feet.  It was impossible to

+resist a feeling of utter desolation.

+

+Wilfred shut his eyes upon the dreary scene.  The

+snatch of prayer on his lips brought back the bold

+spirit of an hour ago.  He rested the poor injured

+ankle on his other foot, and drew himself up, hand

+over hand, higher and higher, to the topmost bough,

+and there he clung, until a stronger blast than ever

+flung him backwards towards the bank.  He felt the

+bough giving way beneath his weight, and, with a

+desperate spring, clutched at the stunted bushes which

+had scratched his cheek when for one moment, in the

+toss of the gale, he had touched the hard, firm, stony

+ridge.  Another moment, and Wilfred found himself,

+gasping and breathless, on the higher ground.  An

+uprooted tree came down with a shock of thunder,

+shaking the earth beneath him, loosening the

+water-washed stones, and crashing among the decaying

+branches of its fellow pines.

+

+At last the whirl of dust and stones subsided, and

+the barking of the dog made itself heard once more

+above the roar of the gale.  Trembling at his

+hair-breadth escape, Wilfred cleared the dust from his eyes

+and looked about him.  A dark form was lying upon

+the shelving ground.  He could just distinguish the

+outstretched limbs and branching antlers of a wild

+moose-deer.

+

+Whoever the hunter might be he would seek his

+quarry.  Wilfred felt himself saved.  The tears swam

+before his eyes.  He was looking upward in the

+intensity of his thankfulness.  He did not see the arrow

+quivering still in the dead deer's flank, or he would

+have known that it could only have flown from some

+Indian bow.

+

+He had nothing to do but to wait, to wait and shout.

+A warm touch on the tip of his ear made him look

+round; the dog had returned to him.  It, too, had

+been struck—a similar arrow was sticking in the back

+of its neck.  It twisted its head round as far as it

+was possible, vainly trying to reach it, and then looked

+at Wilfred with a mute, appealing glance there was

+no mistaking.  The boy sat up, laid one hand on the

+dog's back, and grasped the arrow with the other.

+He tugged at it with all his might; the point was

+deep in the flesh.  But it came out at last, followed

+by a gush of blood.

+

+"Stand still, good dog.  There, quiet, quiet!" cried

+Wilfred quickly, as he tore a bit of fur off his cap

+and plugged the hole.

+

+The poor wounded fellow seemed to understand all

+about it.  He only turned his head and licked the

+little bit of Wilfred's face that was just visible under

+his overwhelming cap.  A doggie's gratitude is never

+wanting.

+

+"Don't, you stupid," said Wilfred.  "How am I

+to see what I am about if you keep washing me

+between my eyes?  There! just what I expected, it

+is out again.  Now, steady."

+

+Another try, and the plug was in again, firmer

+than before.

+

+"There, there!  lie down, and let me hold it a bit,"

+continued Wilfred, carefully considering his shaggy

+acquaintance.

+

+He was a big, handsome fellow, with clean, strong

+legs and a hairy coat, which hung about his keen,

+bright eyes and almost concealed them.  But the fur

+was worn and chafed around his neck and across his

+back, leaving no doubt in Wilfred's mind as to what

+he was.

+

+"You have been driven in a sledge, old boy," he

+said, as he continued to fondle him.  "You've worn

+harness until it has torn your coat and made it

+shabbier than mine.  You are no hunter's dog, as I

+hoped.  I expect you have been overdriven, lashed

+along until you dropped down in the traces; and

+then your hard-hearted driver undid your harness,

+and left you to live or die.  Oh!  I know their cruel

+ways.  How long have you been wandering?  It

+isn't in nature that I shouldn't feel for you, for I

+am afraid, old fellow, I am in for such another 'do.'"

+

+Wilfred was not talking to deaf ears.  The dog

+lay down beside him, and stretched its long paws

+across his knee, looking up in his face, as if a word

+of kindness were something so new, so unimagined,

+so utterly incomprehensible.  Was it the first he had

+ever heard?

+

+No sunset glory brightened the dreary scene.  All

+around them was an ever-deepening gloom.  Wilfred

+renewed his shouts at intervals, and the dog barked

+as if in answer.  Then followed a long silent pause,

+when Wilfred listened as if his whole soul were in

+his ears.  Was there the faintest echo of a sound?

+Who could distinguish in the teeth of the gale, still

+tearing away the yellow leaves from the storm-tossed

+branches, and scaring the wild fowl from marsh and

+lakelet?  Who could tell?  And yet there was a

+shadow thrown across the white pine stem.

+

+Another desperate shout.  Wilfred's heart was in

+his mouth as he strove to make himself heard above

+the roar of the wind.  On came the stately figure of

+a wild Cree chief.  His bow was in his hand, but

+he was glancing upwards at the stormy sky.  His

+stealthy movements and his light and noiseless tread

+had been unheard, even by the dog.

+

+The Indian was wearing the usual dress of the Cree—a

+coat of skin with a scarlet belt, and, as the night

+was cold, his raven elf-locks were covered with a

+little cap his squaw had manufactured from a

+rat-skin.  His blue cloth leggings and beautiful

+embroidered moccasins were not so conspicuous in the

+fading light.  Wilfred could but notice the fingerless

+deer-skin mittens covering the hand which grasped his

+bow.  His knife and axe were stuck in his belt, from

+which his well-filled quiver hung.

+

+Wilfred tumbled himself on to one knee, and holding

+out the arrow he had extracted from the dog, he

+pointed to the dead game on the bank.

+

+Wilfred was more truly afraid of the wild-looking

+creature before him than he would have been of the

+living moose.

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`MAXICA, THE CREE INDIAN`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER IV.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *MAXICA, THE CREE INDIAN.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+Wilfred thought his fears were only too

+well-founded when he saw the Indian lay an

+arrow on his bow-string and point it towards him.

+He had heard that Indians shoot high.  Down he

+flung himself flat on his face, exclaiming, "Spare

+me! spare me!  I'm nothing but a boy."

+

+The dog growled savagely beside him.

+

+Despite the crash of the storm the Indian's quick

+ear had detected the sound of a human voice, and his

+hand was stayed.  He seemed groping about him, as

+if to find the speaker.

+

+"I am here," shouted Wilfred, "and there is the

+moose your arrow has brought down."

+

+The Indian pointed to his own swarthy face,

+saying with a grave dignity, "The day has gone from

+me.  I know it no longer.  In the dim, dim twilight

+which comes before the night I perceive the

+movement, but I no longer see the game.  Yet I shoot,

+for the blind man must eat."

+

+Wilfred turned upon his side, immensely comforted

+to hear himself answered in such intelligent English.

+He crawled a little nearer to the wild red man, and

+surveyed him earnestly as he tried to explain the

+disaster which had left him helpless in so desolate

+a spot.  He knew he was in the hunting-grounds of

+the Crees, one of the most friendly of the Indian

+tribes.  His being there gave no offence to the blind

+archer, for the Indians hold the earth is free to all.

+

+The chief was wholly intent upon securing the

+moose Wilfred had told him his arrow had brought down.

+

+"I have missed the running stream," he went on.

+"I felt the willow leaves, but the bed by which they

+are growing is a grassy slope."

+

+"How could you know it?" asked Wilfred, in astonishment.

+

+The Indian picked up a stone and threw it over

+the bank.  "Listen," he said; "no splash, no gurgle,

+no water there."  He stumbled against the fallen

+deer, and stooping down, felt it all over with evident

+rejoicing.

+

+He had been medicine man and interpreter for his

+tribe before the blindness to which the Indians are

+so subject had overwhelmed him.  It arises from the

+long Canadian winter, the dazzling whiteness of the

+frozen snow, over which they roam for three parts

+of the year, which they only exchange for the choking

+smoke that usually fills their chimneyless wig-wams.

+

+The Cree was thinking now how best to secure his

+prize.  He carefully gathered together the dry branches

+the storm was breaking and tearing away in every

+direction, and carefully covered it over.  Then he

+took his axe from his belt and cut a gash in the bark

+of the nearest tree to mark the spot.

+

+Wilfred sat watching every movement with a nervous

+excitement, which helped to keep his blood from

+freezing and his heart from failing.

+

+The dog was walking cautiously round and round

+whilst this work was going forward.

+

+The Cree turned to Wilfred.

+

+"You are a boy of the Moka-manas?" (big knives,

+an Indian name for the white men).

+

+"Yes," answered Wilfred.

+

+When the *cache*, as the Canadians call such a place

+as the Indian was making, was finished, the darkness

+of night had fallen.  Poor Wilfred sat clapping his

+hands, rubbing his knees, and hugging the dog to keep

+himself from freezing altogether.  He could scarcely

+tell what his companion was about, but he heard the

+breaking of sticks and a steady sound of chopping

+and clearing.  Suddenly a bright flame shot up in the

+murky midnight, and Wilfred saw before him a

+well-built pyramid of logs and branches, through which

+the fire was leaping and running until the whole mass

+became one steady blaze.  Around the glowing heap

+the Indian had cleared away the thick carpet of pine

+brush and rubbish, banking it up in a circle as a

+defence from the cutting wind.

+

+He invited Wilfred to join him, as he seated himself

+in front of the glowing fire, wrapped his bearskin

+round him, and lit his pipe.

+

+The whole scene around them was changed as if by

+magic.  The freezing chill, the unutterable loneliness

+had vanished.  The ruddy light of the fire played

+and flickered among the shadowy trees, casting bright

+reflections of distorted forms along the whitening

+ground, and lighting up the cloudy sky with a

+radiance that must have been visible for miles.

+Wilfred was not slow in making his way into the charmed

+circle.  He got over the ground like a worm, wriggling

+himself along until his feet were over the bank, and

+down he dropped in front of the glorious fire.  He coiled

+himself round with a sense of exquisite enjoyment,

+stretching his stiffened limbs and spreading his hands

+to the glowing warmth, and altogether behaving in as

+senseless a fashion as the big doggie himself.  He had

+waited for no invitation, bounding up to Wilfred in

+extravagant delight, and now lay rolling over and over

+before the fire, giving sharp, short barks of delight at

+the unexpected pleasure.

+

+It was bliss, it was ecstasy, it was paradise, that

+sudden change from the bleak, dark, shivering night

+to the invigorating warmth and the cheery glow.

+

+The Cree sat back in dreamy silence, sending great

+whiffs of smoke from the carved red-stone bowl of his

+long pipe, and watching the dog and the boy at play.

+Their presence in noways detracted from his Indian

+comfort, for the puppy and the pappoose are the

+Cree's delight by his wigwam fire.

+

+Hunger and thirst were almost forgotten, until

+Wilfred remembered his potato, and began to busy

+himself with roasting it in the ashes.  But the dog,

+mistaking his purpose, and considering it a most

+inappropriate gift to the fire, rolled it out again before

+it was half roasted, and munched it up with great gusto.

+

+"There's a shame! you bad old greedy boy,"

+exclaimed Wilfred, when he found out what the dog was

+eating.  "Well," he philosophised, determined to make

+the best of what could not now be helped, "I had a

+breakfast, and you—why, you look as if you had had

+neither breakfast, dinner, nor supper for many a long

+day.  How have you existed?"

+

+But this question was answered before the night

+was out.  The potato was hot, and the impatient dog

+burned his lips.  After sundry shakings and rubbings

+of his nose in the earth, the sagacious old fellow

+jumped up the bank and ran off.  When he returned,

+his tongue touched damp and cool, and there were

+great drops of water hanging in his hair.  Up sprang

+the thirsty Wilfred to search for the spring.  The Cree

+was nodding; but the boy had no fear of losing himself,

+with that glorious fire-shine shedding its radiance

+far and wide through the lonely night.  He called the

+dog to follow him, and groped along the edge of the

+dried-up watercourse, sometimes on all fours, sometimes

+trying to take a step.  Painful as it was, he was

+satisfied his foot was none the worse for a little movement.

+His effort was rewarded.  He caught the echo of a

+trickling sound from a corner of rock jutting out of

+the stunted bushes.  The dog, which seemed now to

+guess the object of his search, led him up to a breakage

+in the lichen-covered stone, through which a bubbling

+spring dashed its warm spray into their faces.  Yes,

+it was warm; and when Wilfred stooped to catch the

+longed-for water in his hands, it was warm to his

+lips, with a strong disagreeable taste.  No matter, it

+was water; it was life.  It was more than simple

+water; he had lighted on a sulphur spring.  Wilfred

+drank eagerly as he felt its tonic effects fortifying him

+against the benumbing cold.  For the wind seemed

+cutting the skin from his face, and the snowflakes

+driving before the blast were changing the dog from

+black to white.

+

+Much elated with his discovery, Wilfred returned

+to the fire, where the Cree still sat in statue-like repose.

+

+"He is fast asleep," thought Wilfred, as he got down

+again as noiselessly as he could; but the Indian's sleep

+was like the sleep of the wild animal.  Hearing was

+scarcely closed.  He opened one eye, comprehended that

+it was Wilfred returning, and shut it, undisturbed by

+the whirling snow.  Wilfred set up two great pieces

+of bark like a penthouse over his head, and coaxed

+the dog to nestle by his side.  Sucking the tip of his

+beaver-skin gloves to still the craving for his supper,

+he too fell asleep, to awake shivering in the gray of

+the dawn to a changing world.  Everywhere around

+him there was one vast dazzling whirl of driving sleet

+and dancing snow.  The fire had become a smouldering

+pile, emitting a fitful visionary glow.  On every side

+dim uncertain shapes loomed through the whitened

+atmosphere.  A scene so weird and wild struck a chill

+to his heart.  The dog moved by Wilfred's side, and

+threw off something of the damp, cold weight that was

+oppressing him.  He sat upright.

+

+Maxica, or Crow's Foot—for that was the Cree's

+name—was groping round and round the circle, pulling

+out pieces of dead wood from under the snow to

+replenish the dying fire.  But he only succeeded in

+making it hiss and crackle and send up volumes of

+choking smoke, instead of the cheery flames of last night.

+

+Between the dark, suffocating cloud which hovered

+over the fire and the white whirling maze beyond it,

+Maxica, with his failing sight, was completely bewildered.

+All tracks were long since buried and lost.  It

+was equally impossible to find the footprints of Wilfred's

+hunting party, or to follow his own trail back to

+the birch-bark canoe which had been his home during

+the brief, bright summer.  He folded his arms in

+hopeless, stony despair.

+

+"We are in for a two days' snow," he said; "if the

+fire fails us and refuses to burn, we are as good as lost."

+

+The dog leaped out of the sunken circle, half-strangled

+with the smoke, and Wilfred was coughing.  One

+thought possessed them both, to get back to the water.

+Snow or no snow, the dog would find it.  The Cree

+yielded to Wilfred's entreaty not to part company.

+

+"I'll be eyes for both," urged the boy, "if you will

+only hold my hand."

+

+Maxica replied by catching him round the waist and

+carrying him under one arm.  They were soon at the

+spring.  It was gushing and bubbling through the

+snow which surrounded it, hot and stinging as before.

+The dog was lapping at the little rill ere it lost itself

+in the all-shrouding snow.

+

+In another minute Wilfred and the Cree were

+bending down beside it.  Wilfred was guiding the

+rough, red hand to the right spot; and as Maxica

+drank, he snatched a drop for himself.

+

+To linger beside it seemed to Wilfred their wisest

+course, but Maxica knew the snow was falling so thick

+and fast they should soon be buried beneath it.  The

+dog, however, did not share in their perplexity.

+Perhaps, like Maxica, he knew they must keep moving,

+for he dashed through the pathless waste, barking

+loudly to Wilfred to follow.

+

+The snow was now a foot deep, at least, on the

+highest ground, and Wilfred could no longer make

+his way through it.  Maxica had to lift him out of it

+again and again.  At last he took him on his back,

+and from this unwonted elevation Wilfred commanded

+a better outlook.  The dog was some way in advance,

+making short bounds across the snow and leaving a

+succession of holes behind him.  He at least appeared

+to know where he was going, for he kept as straight

+a course as if he were following some beaten path.

+

+But Maxica knew well no such path existed.  Every

+now and then they paused at one of the holes their

+pioneer had made, to recover breath.

+

+"How long will this go on?" thought Wilfred.  "If

+Maxica tires and lays me down my fate is sealed."

+

+He began to long for another draught of the warm,

+sulphurous water.  But the faint hope they both

+entertained, that the dog might be leading them to

+some camping spot of hunter or Indian, made them

+afraid to turn back.

+

+It was past the middle of the day when Wilfred

+perceived a round dark spot rising out of the snow,

+towards which the dog was hurrying.  The snow

+beat full in their faces, but with the eddying gusts

+which almost swept them off their feet the Cree's

+keen sense of smell detected a whiff of smoke.  This

+urged him on.  Another and a surer sign of help at

+hand—the dog had vanished.  Yet Maxica was sure

+he could hear him barking wildly in the distance.

+But Wilfred could no longer distinguish the round

+dark spot towards which they had been hastening.

+Maxica stood still in calm and proud despair.  It was

+as impossible now to go, back to the *cache* of game

+and the sulphur spring as it was to force his way

+onward.  They had reached a snow-drift.  The soft

+yielding wall of white through which he was striding

+grew higher and higher.

+

+In vain did Wilfred's eyes wander from one side to

+the other.  As far as he could see the snow lay round

+them, one wide, white, level sheet, in which the Cree

+was standing elbow-deep.  Were they, indeed, beyond

+the reach of human aid?

+

+Wilfred was silent, hushed; but it was the hush of

+secret prayer.

+

+Suddenly Maxica exclaimed, "Can the Good Spirit

+the white men talk of, can he hear us?  Will he

+show us the path?"

+

+Such a question from such wild lips, at such an

+hour, how strangely it struck on Wilfred's ear.  He

+had scarcely voice enough left to make himself heard,

+for the storm was raging round them more fiercely

+than ever.

+

+"I was thinking of him, Maxica.  While we are

+yet speaking, will he hear?"

+

+Wilfred's words were cut short, for Maxica had

+caught his foot against something buried in the snow,

+and stumbled.  Wilfred was thrown forward.  The

+ground seemed giving way beneath him.  He was

+tumbled through the roof of the little birch-bark hut,

+which they had been wandering round and round

+without knowing it.  Wilfred was only aware of a

+faint glimmer of light through a column of curling,

+blinding smoke.  He thought he must be descending

+a chimney, but his outstretched hands were already

+touching the ground, and he wondered more and more

+where he could have alighted.  Not so Maxica.  He

+had grasped the firm pole supporting the fragile

+birch-bark walls, through which Wilfred had forced

+his way.  One touch was sufficient to convince him

+they had groped their way to an Indian hut.  The

+column of smoke rushing through the hole Wilfred

+had made in his most lucky tumble told the Cree of

+warmth and shelter within.

+

+There was a scream from a feeble woman's voice,

+but the exclamation was in the rich, musical dialect

+of the Blackfeet, the hereditary enemies of his tribe.

+In the blind warrior's mind it was a better thing to

+hide himself beneath the snow and freeze to death,

+than submit to the scalping-knife of a hated foe.

+

+Out popped Wilfred's head to assure him there was

+only a poor old woman inside, but she had got a fire.

+

+The latter half of his confidences had been already

+made plain by the dense smoke, which was producing

+such a state of strangulation Wilfred could say no more.

+

+But the hut was clearing; Maxica once more grasped

+the nearest pole, and swung himself down.

+

+A few words with the terrified squaw were enough

+for the Cree, who knew so well the habits of their

+wandering race.  The poor old creature had probably

+journeyed many hundreds of miles, roaming over their

+wide hunting-grounds, until she had sunk by the way,

+too exhausted to proceed any further.  Then her

+people had built her this little hut, lit a fire in the

+hastily-piled circle of stones in the middle of it,

+heaped up the dry wood on one side to feed it, placed

+food and water on the other, and left her lying on

+her blankets to die alone.  It was the custom of the

+wild, wandering tribes.  She had accepted her fate

+with Indian resignation, simply saying that her hour

+had come.  But the rest she so much needed had

+restored her failing powers, and whilst her stock of

+food lasted she was getting better.  They had found

+her gathering together the last handful of sticks to

+make up the fire once more, and then she would lie

+down before it and starve.  Every Indian knows

+what starvation means, and few can bear it as well.

+Living as they do entirely by the chase, the feast

+which follows the successful hunt is too often succeeded

+by a lengthy fast.  Her shaking hands were gathering

+up the lumps of snow which had come down on the

+pieces of the broken roof, to fill her empty kettle.

+

+Wilfred picked up the bits of bark to which it had

+been sticking, and threw them on the fire.

+

+"My bow and quiver for a few old shreds of beaver-skin,

+and we are saved," groaned the Cree, who knew

+that all his garments were made from the deer.  He

+felt the hem of the old squaw's tattered robe, but

+beaver there was none.

+

+"What do you want it for, Maxica?" asked Wilfred,

+as he pulled off his gloves and offered them to

+him.  "There is nothing about me that I would not

+give you, and be only too delighted to have got it to

+give, when I think how you carried me through the

+snowdrift.  These are new beaver-skin; take them,

+Maxica."

+

+A smile lit up the chief's dark face as he carefully

+felt the proffered gloves, and to make assurance doubly

+sure added taste to touch.  Then he began to tear

+them into shreds, which he directed Wilfred to drop

+into the melting snow in the kettle, explaining to him

+as well as he could that there was an oiliness in the

+beaver-skin which never quite dried out of it, and

+would boil down into a sort of soup.

+

+"A kind of coarse isinglass, I should say," put in

+Wilfred.  But the Cree knew nothing of isinglass and

+its nourishing qualities; yet he knew the good of the

+beaver-skin when other food had failed.  It was a

+wonderful discovery to Wilfred, to think his gloves

+could provide them all with a dinner; but they

+required some long hours' boiling, and the fire was dying

+down again for want of fuel.  Maxica ventured out to

+search for driftwood under the snow.  He carefully

+drew out a pole from the structure of the hut, and

+using it as an alpenstock, swung himself out of the

+hollow in which the hut had been built for shelter,

+and where the snow had accumulated to such a depth

+that it was completely buried.

+

+Whilst he was gone Wilfred and the squaw were

+beside the fire, sitting on the ground face to face,

+regarding each other attentively.

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER V.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+The squaw was a very ugly woman; starvation

+and old age combined had made her perfectly

+hideous.  As Wilfred sat in silence watching the

+simmering kettle, he thought she was the ugliest creature

+he had ever seen.  Her complexion was a dark

+red-brown.  Her glittering black eyes seemed to glare on

+him in the darkness of the hut like a cat's.  Her

+shrivelled lips showed a row of formidably long teeth,

+which made Wilfred think of Little Red Ridinghood's

+grandmother, and he hoped she would not pounce on

+him and devour him before Maxica returned.

+

+He wronged her shamefully, for she had been

+watching his limping movements with genuine pity.

+What did it matter that her gown was scant and

+short, or that her leggings, which had once been of

+bright-coloured cloth, curiously worked with beads,

+were reduced by time to a sort of no-colour and the

+tracery upon them to a dirty line?  They hid a good,

+kind heart.

+

+She loosened the English handkerchief tied over

+her head, and the long, raven locks, now streaked with

+white, fell over her shoulders.

+

+She was a wild-looking being, but her awakening

+glance of alertness need not have alarmed Wilfred, for

+she was only intent upon dipping him a cup of water

+from the steaming kettle.  She was careful to taste it

+and cool it with a little of the snow still driving

+through the hole in the roof, until she made it the

+right degree of heat that was safest for Wilfred in his

+starving, freezing condition.

+

+"What would Aunt Miriam think if she could see

+me now?" mused the boy, as he fixed his eyes on the

+dying embers and turned away from the steaming cup

+he longed to snatch at.

+

+Yet when the squaw held it towards him, he put it

+back with a smile, resolutely repeating "After you,"

+for was she not a woman?

+

+He made her drink.  A little greasy water, oh! how

+nice!  Then he refilled the cup and took his share.

+

+The tottering creature smoothed the blanket from

+which she had risen on Wilfred's summary entrance,

+and motioned to him to lie down.

+

+"It will be all glove with us now," laughed Wilfred

+to himself—"hand and glove with the Red Indians.

+If any one whispered that in uncle's ear, wouldn't he

+think me a queer fish!  But I owe my life to Maxica,

+and I know it."

+

+He threw himself down on the blanket, glad indeed

+of the rest for his swollen ankle.  From this lowly

+bed he fell to contemplating his temporary refuge.

+It looked so very temporary, especially the side from

+which Maxica had abstracted his alpenstock, Wilfred

+began to fear the next disaster would be its downfall.

+He was dozing, when a sudden noise made him start

+up, in the full belief the catastrophe he had dreaded

+had arrived; but it was only Maxica dropping the

+firewood he had with difficulty collected through the

+hole in the roof.

+

+He called out to Wilfred that he had discovered his

+atim digging in the snow at some distance.

+

+What his atim might prove to be Wilfred could

+not imagine.  He was choosing a stick from the heap

+of firewood.  Balancing himself on one foot, he popped

+his head through the hole to reconnoitre.  He fancied

+he too could see a moving speck in the distance.

+

+"The dog!" he cried joyfully, giving a long, shrill

+whistle that brought it bounding over the crisping

+snow towards him with a ptarmigan in its mouth.

+

+After much coaxing, Wilfred induced the dog to

+lay the bird down, to lap the melting snow which was

+filling the hollows in the floor with little puddles.

+

+The squaw pounced upon the bird as a welcome

+addition to the beaver-skin soup.  Where had the dog

+found it?  He had not killed it, that was clear, for it

+was frozen hard.  Yet it had not been frozen to death.

+The quick Indian perception of the squaw pointed to

+the bite on its breast.  It was not the tooth of a dog,

+but the sharp beak of some bird of prey which had

+killed it.  The atim had found the *cache* of a great

+white owl; a provident bird, which, when once its

+hunger is satisfied, stores the remainder of its prey in

+some handy crevice.

+

+The snow had ceased to fall.  The moon was rising.

+The thick white carpet which covered all around was

+hardening under the touch of the coming frost.

+

+Another cup from the half-made soup, and Maxica

+proposed to start with Wilfred to search for the

+supposed store.  The dog was no longer hungry.  It had

+stretched itself on the ground at Wilfred's feet for a

+comfortable slumber.

+

+An Indian never stops for pain or illness.  With

+the grasp of death upon him, he will follow the

+war-path or the hunting track, so that Maxica paid no

+regard to Wilfred's swollen foot.  If the boy could

+not walk, his shoulder was ready, but go he must;

+the atim would lead his own master to the spot, but

+it would never show it to a stranger.

+

+Wilfred glanced up quickly, and then looked down

+with a nod to himself.  It would not do to make

+much of his hurt in such company.  Well, he had

+added a word to his limited stock of Indian.  "Atim"

+was Cree for dog, that at least was clear; and they

+had added the atim to his slender possessions.  They

+thought the dog was his own, and why should not he

+adopt him?  They were both lost, they might as well

+be chums.

+

+This conclusion arrived at, Wilfred caught up the

+wing of the ptarmigan, and showing it to the dog

+did his best to incite him to find another.  He caught

+sight of a long strip of moose-skin which had evidently

+tied up the squaw's blanket on her journey.  He

+persuaded her to lend it to him, making more use of signs

+than of words.

+

+"Ugh! ugh!" she replied, and her "yes" was as

+intelligible to Wilfred as Diomé's "caween."  He soon

+found that "yes" and "no" alone can go a good way

+in making our wants understood by any one as

+naturally quick and observant as an Indian.

+

+The squaw saw what Wilfred was trying to do,

+and helped him, feeble as she was, to make a sling

+for his foot.  With the stick in his hand, when this

+was accomplished, he managed to hobble after Maxica

+and the dog.

+

+The Cree went first, treading down a path, and

+partially clearing the way before him with his pole.

+But a disappointment awaited them.  The dog led

+them intelligently enough to the very spot where it

+had unquestionably found a most abundant dinner, by

+the bones and feathers still sticking in the snow.

+Maxica, guided by his long experience, felt about

+him until he found two rats, still wedged in a hole in

+a decaying tree which had gone down before the gale.

+But he would not take them, for fear the owl might

+abandon her reserve.

+

+"The otowuck-oho," said Maxica, mimicking the

+cry of the formidable bird, "will fill it again before

+the dawn.  Wait and watch.  Maxica have the

+otowuck himself.  See!"

+

+With all the skill of the Indian at constructing

+traps, he began his work, intending to catch the

+feathered Nimrod by one leg the next time it visited

+its larder, when all in a moment an alarm was

+sounded—a cry that rent the air, so hoarse, so

+hollow, and so solemn Wilfred clung to his guide

+in the chill of fear.  It was a call that might have

+roused to action a whole garrison of soldiers.  The

+Indian drew back.  Again that dread "Waugh O!" rang

+out, and then the breathless silence which followed

+was broken by half-suppressed screams, as of some

+one suffocating in the throttling grasp of an enemy.

+

+The dog, with his tail between his legs, crouched

+cowering at their feet.

+

+"The Blackfeet are upon us," whispered the Cree,

+with his hand on his bow, when a moving shadow

+became visible above the distant pine trees.

+

+The Cree breathed freely, and drew aside his

+half-made trap, abandoned at the first word that broke

+from Wilfred's lips: "It is not human; it is coming

+through the air."

+

+"It is the otowuck itself," answered Maxica.  "Be

+off, or it will have our eyes out if it finds us near its

+roost."

+

+He was looking round him for some place of

+concealment.  On came the dreaded creature, sailing in

+rapid silence towards its favourite haunt, gliding

+with outstretched pinions over the glistening snow,

+its great round eyes flashing like stars, or gleams of

+angry lightning, as it swept the whitened earth, shooting

+downwards to strike at some furry prey, then rising

+as suddenly in the clear, calm night, until it floated like

+a fleecy cloud above their heads, as ready to swoop

+upon the sparrow nestling on its tiny twig as upon

+the wild turkey-hen roosting among the stunted bushes.

+

+Maxica trembled for the dog, for he knew the

+special hatred with which it regarded dogs.  If it

+recognized the thief at its hoard, its doom was sealed.

+

+Maxica pushed his alpenstock into an empty badger

+hole big enough for the boy and dog to creep into.

+Then, as the owl drew near, he sent an arrow whizzing

+through the air.  It was aimed at the big white breast,

+but the unerring precision of other days was over.  It

+struck the feathery wing.  The bird soared aloft

+unharmed, and the archer, crouching in the snow,

+barely escaped its vengeance.  Down it pounced,

+striking its talons in his shoulder, as he turned his

+back towards it to protect his face.  Wilfred sprang

+out of the friendly burrow, snatched the pole from

+Maxica's hand, and beat off the owl; and the dog,

+unable to rush past Wilfred, barked furiously.  The

+onslaught and the noise were at least distasteful.

+Hissing fiercely, with the horn-like feathers above

+its glaring eyes erect and bristling, the bird spread

+its gigantic wings, wheeling slowly and gracefully

+above their ambush; for Wilfred had retreated as

+quickly as he had emerged, and Maxica lay on his

+face as still as death.  More attractive game presented

+itself.  A hawk flew past.  What hawk could resist

+the pleasure of a passing pounce?  Away went the

+two, chasing and fighting, across the snowy waste.

+

+.. _`Wilfred sprang and beat off the owl.`:

+

+.. figure:: images/img-068.jpg

+   :align: center

+   :alt: Wilfred sprang and beat off the owl.

+

+   Wilfred sprang and beat off the owl.

+

+When the owl was out of sight, the Cree rose

+to his feet to complete the snare.  Wilfred crept out

+of his burrow, to find his fingers as hard and white

+and useless as if they had turned to stone.  He had

+kept his gloveless hands well cuddled up in the long

+sleeves of his coat during the walk, but their

+exposure to the cold when he struck at the owl had

+changed them to a lump of ice.

+

+Maxica heard the exclamation, "Oh, my hands! my

+hands!" and seizing a great lump of snow began

+to rub them vigorously.

+

+The return to the hut was easier than the

+outgoing, for the snow was harder.  The pain in

+Wilfred's fingers was turning him sick and faint as they

+reached the hut a little past midnight.

+

+The gloves were reduced to jelly, but the state of

+Wilfred's hands troubled the old squaw.  She had

+had her supper from the beaver-skin soup, but was

+quite ready, Indian fashion, to begin again.

+

+The three seated themselves on the floor, and the

+cup was passed from one to the other, until the whole

+of the soup was drank.

+

+The walk had been fruitless, as Wilfred said.  They

+had returned with nothing but the key of the big

+owl's larder, which, after such an encounter, it would

+probably desert.

+

+The Cree lit his pipe, the squaw lay down to

+sleep, and Wilfred talked to his dog.

+

+"Do you understand our bargain, old fellow?" he

+asked.  "You and I are going to chum together.

+Now it is clear I must give you a name.  Let us see

+which you will like best."

+

+Wilfred ran through a somewhat lengthy list, for

+nowhere but in Canada are dogs accommodated with

+such an endless variety.  There are names in constant

+use from every Indian dialect, but of the Atims and

+the Chistlis the big, old fellow took no heed.  He

+sat up before his new master, looking very sagacious,

+as if he quite entered into the important business of

+choosing a name.  But clearly Indian would not do.

+even Mist-atim, which Wilfred could now interpret as

+"big dog,"—a name the Cree usually bestows upon

+his horse,—was heard with a contemptuous

+"Ach!"  Chistli, "seven dogs" in the Sircie dialect, which

+appeared to Wilfred highly complimentary to his furry

+friend, met with no recognition.  Then he went over

+the Spankers and Ponys and Boxers, to which the

+numerous hauling dogs so often responded.  No better

+success.  The pricked ears were more erect than ever.

+The head was turned away in positive indifference.

+

+"Are you a Frenchman?" asked Wilfred, going

+over all the old French names he could remember.

+Diomé thought the dogs had a special partiality for

+French.  It would not do, however.  This particular

+dog might hate it.  There were Yankee names

+in plenty from over the border, and uncouth sounding

+Esquimau from the far north.

+

+Wilfred began to question if his dog had ever had

+a name, when Yula caught his ear, and "Yula chummie"

+brought the big shaggy head rubbing on Wilfred's

+knee.  Few dogs are honoured with the choice of their

+own name, but it answered, and "Yula chummie"

+was adhered to by boy and dog.

+

+This weighty matter settled, Wilfred was startled

+to see Maxica rouse himself up with a shake, and

+look to the man-hole, as the Cree called their place of

+exit.  He was going.  Wilfred sprang up in alarm.

+

+"Don't leave me!" he entreated.  "How shall I ever

+find my way home without you?"

+

+It might be four o'clock, for the east was not yet

+gray, and the morning stars shone brightly on the

+glistening snow.  Maxica paused, regarding earth and

+sky attentively, until he had ascertained the way of

+the wind.  It was still blowing from the north-east.

+More snow was surely coming.  His care was for his

+canoe, which he had left in safe mooring by the river

+bank.  No one but an Indian could have hoped, in

+his forlorn condition, to have recovered the lost path

+to the running stream.  His one idea was to grope

+about until he did find it, with the wonderful

+persistency of his race.  The Indian rarely fails in anything

+he sets his mind to accomplish.  But to take the lame

+boy with him was out of the question.  He might

+have many miles to traverse before he reached the

+spot.  He tried to explain to Wilfred that he must

+now pack up his canoe for the winter.  He was going

+to turn it keel upwards, among the branches of some

+strong tree, and cover it with boughs, until the spring

+of the leaf came round again.

+

+"Will it be safe?" asked Wilfred.

+

+"Safe! perfectly."

+

+Maxica's own particular mark was on boat and

+paddle.  No Indian, no hunter would touch it.  Who

+else was there in that wide, lone land?  As for

+Wilfred, his own people would come and look for him,

+now the storm was over.

+

+"I am not so sure of that," said the poor boy sadly,

+remembering Bowkett's words.—"My aunt Miriam

+did not take to me.  She may not trouble herself

+about me.  How could I be so stupid as to set her

+against me," he was thinking, "all for nothing?"

+

+"Then," urged Maxica, "stay here with the

+Far-off-Dawn"—for that was the old squaw's name.  In his

+Indian tongue he called her Pe-na-Koam.  "Will not

+the Good Spirit take care of you?  Did not he guide

+us out of the snowdrift?"

+

+Wilfred was silenced.  "I never did think much

+of myself," he said at last, "but I believe I grow worse

+and worse.  How is it that I know and don't know—that

+I cannot realize this love that never will forsake;

+always more ready to hear than we to ask?  If I

+could but feel it true, all true for me, I should not be

+afraid."

+

+Under that longing the trust was growing stronger

+and stronger in his heart.

+

+"I shall come again for the moose," said Maxica, as

+he shook the red and aching fingers which just peeped

+out from Wilfred's long sleeve; and so he left him.

+

+The boy watched the Indian's lithe figure striding

+across the snow, until he could see him no longer.

+Then a cold, dreary feeling crept over him.  Was

+he abandoned by all the world—forgotten—disliked?

+Did nobody care for him?  He tucked his hands into

+the warm fur which folded over his breast, and tried

+to throw off the fear.  The tears gushed from his

+eyes.  Well, there was nobody to see.

+

+He had forgotten Yula.  Those unwonted raindrops

+had brought him, wondering and troubled, to

+Wilfred's side.  A big head was poking its way under

+his arm, and two strong paws were brushing at his knee.

+Yula was saying, "Don't, don't cry," in every variety

+of doggie language.  Never had he been so loving, so

+comforting, so warm to hug, so quick to understand.

+He was doing his best to melt the heavy heart's lead

+that was weighing poor Wilfred down.

+

+He built up the fire, and knelt before it, with Yula's

+head on his shoulder; for the cold grew sharper in

+the gray of the dawn.  The squaw, now the pangs of

+hunger were so far appeased, was sleeping heavily.

+But there was no sleep for Wilfred.  As the daylight

+grew stronger he went again to his look-out.  His

+thoughts were turning to Forgill.  He had seen so

+much more of Forgill than of any one else at his

+uncle's, and he had been so careful over him on the

+journey.  It was wrong to think they would all forget

+him.  He would trust and hope.

+

+He filled the kettle with fresh snow, and put it on

+to boil.

+

+The sun was streaming through the hole in the roof

+when the squaw awoke, like another creature, but not

+in the least surprised to find Maxica had departed.

+She seemed thankful to see the fire still burning, and

+poured out her gratitude to Wilfred.  Her smiles and

+gestures gave the meaning of the words he did not

+understand.

+

+Then he asked himself, "What would have become

+of her if he too had gone away with Maxica?"

+

+She looked pityingly at Wilfred's unfortunate fingers

+as he offered her a cup of hot water, their sole

+breakfast.  But they could not live on hot water.  Where

+was the daily bread to come from for them both?

+Pe-na-Koam was making signs.  Could Wilfred set a

+trap?  Alas! he knew nothing of the Indian traps

+and snares.  He sent out Yula to forage for himself,

+hoping he might bring them back a bird, as he had

+done the night before.  Wilfred lingered by the hole

+in the roof, watching him dashing through the snow,

+and casting many a wistful glance to the far-away

+south, almost expecting to see Forgill's fur cap and

+broad capote advancing towards him; for help would

+surely come.  But there are the slow, still hours, as

+well as the sudden bursts of storm and sunshine.  All

+have their share in the making of a brave and

+constant spirit.  God's time is not our time, as Wilfred

+had yet to learn.

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER VI.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+Pe-na-Koam insisted upon examining Wilfred's

+hands and feet, and tending to them after her

+native fashion.  She would not suffer him to leave the

+hut, but ventured out herself, for the storm was

+followed by a day of glorious sunshine.  She returned

+with her lap full of a peculiar kind of moss, which

+she had scraped from under the snow.  In her hand

+she carried a bunch of fine brown fibres.

+

+"Wattape!" she exclaimed, holding them up before

+him, with such evident pleasure he thought it was

+something to eat; but no, the moss went into the

+kettle to boil for dinner, but the wattape was laid

+carefully aside.

+

+The squaw had been used to toil from morning to

+night, doing all the work of her little world, whilst

+her warrior, when under shelter, slept or smoked by

+the fire.  She expected no help from Wilfred within

+the hut, but she wanted to incite him to go and hunt.

+She took a sharp-pointed stick and drew a bow and

+arrow on the floor.  Then she made sundry figures.

+which he took for traps; but he could only shake his

+head.  He was thinking of a visit to the owl's tree.

+But when they had eaten the moss, Pe-na-Koam drew

+out a piece of skin from under her blanket, and spreading

+it on the floor laid her fingers beseechingly on his

+hunting-knife.  With this she cut him out a pair of

+gloves, fingerless it is true, shaped like a baby's first

+glove, but oh! so warm.  Wilfred now discovered the

+use of the wattape, as she drew out one long thread

+after another, and began to sew the gloves together

+with it, pricking the holes through which she passed

+it with a quill she produced from some part of her dress.

+

+Wilfred took up the brown tangle and examined it

+closely.  It had been torn from the fine fibrous root

+of the pine.  He stood still to watch her, wondering

+whether there was anything he could do.  He took

+the stick she had used and drew the rough figure of

+a man fishing on the earthen floor.  He felt sure they

+must be near some stream or lakelet.  The Indians

+would never have left her beyond the reach of water.

+The wrinkled face lit up with hopeful smiles.  Away

+she worked more diligently than ever.

+

+Wilfred built up the fire to give her a better blaze.

+They had wood enough to last them through to-morrow.

+Before it was all burnt up he must try to get

+in some more.  The use was returning to his hands.

+He took up some of the soft mud, made by the melting

+of the snow on the earthen floor, and tried to stop

+up the cracks in the bark which formed the walls of

+the hut.

+

+They both worked on in silence, hour after hour,

+as if there were not a moment to lose.  At last the

+gloves were finished.  The Far-off-Dawn considered

+her blanket, and decided a piece might be spared off

+every corner.  Out of these she cut a pair of socks.

+The Indians themselves often wear three or four pairs

+of such blanket socks at once in the very coldest of

+the weather.  But Wilfred could find nothing in the

+hut out of which to make a fishing line.  The only

+thing he could do was to pay a visit to the white

+owl's larder.  He was afraid to touch Maxica's trap.

+He did not think he could manage it.  Poor boy, his

+spirit was failing him for want of food.  Yet he

+determined to go and see if there was anything to be

+found.  Wilfred got up with an air of resolution, and

+began to arrange the sling for his foot.  But the

+Far-off-Dawn soon made him understand he must not go

+without his socks, which she was hurrying to finish.

+

+"I believe I am changing into a snail," thought

+Wilfred; "I do nothing but crawl about.  Yet twenty slips

+brought the snail to the top of his wall.  Twenty slips

+and twenty climbs—that is something to think of."

+

+The moon was rising.  The owl would leave her

+haunt to seek for prey.

+

+"Now it strikes me," exclaimed Wilfred, "why

+she always perches on a leafless tree.  Her blinking

+eyes are dazzled by the flicker of the leaves: but they

+are nearly gone now, she will have a good choice.

+She may not go far a-field, if she does forsake her

+last night's roost."  This reflection was wondrously

+consolatory.

+

+The squaw had kept her kettle filled with melting

+snow all day, so that they could both have a cup of

+hot water whenever they liked.  The Far-off-Dawn was

+as anxious to equip him for his foraging expedition

+as he was to take it.  The socks were finished; she

+had worked hard, and Wilfred knew it.  He began

+to think there was something encouraging in her

+very name—the Far-off-Dawn.  Was it not what

+they were waiting for?  It was an earnest that their

+night would end.

+

+She made him put both the blanket socks on the

+swollen foot, and then persuaded him to exchange his

+boots for her moccasins, which were a much better

+protection against the snow.  The strip of fur, no

+longer needed to protect his toes, was wound round

+and round his wrists.

+

+Then the squaw folded her blanket over his shoulder,

+and started him, pointing out as well as she could

+the streamlet and the pool which had supplied her

+with water when she was strong enough to fetch it.

+

+Both knew their lives depended upon his success.

+Yula was by his side.  Wilfred turned back with a

+great piece of bark, to cover up the hole in the roof

+of the hut to keep the squaw warm.  She had wrapped

+the skin over her feet and was lying before the fire,

+trying to sleep in her dumb despair.  She had

+discovered there was no line and hook forthcoming from

+any one of his many pockets.  How then could he

+catch the fish with which she knew the Canadian

+waters everywhere abounded?

+

+Pe-na-Koam had pointed out the place of the pool

+so earnestly that Wilfred thought, "I will go there

+first; perhaps it was there she found the moss."

+

+The northern lights were flashing overhead, shooting

+long lines of roseate glory towards the zenith, as

+if some unseen angel's hand were stringing heaven's

+own harp.  But the full chord which flowed beneath

+its touch was light instead of music.

+

+Wilfred stood silent, rapt in admiring wonder, as

+he gazed upon those glowing splendours, forgetting

+everything beside.  Yula recalled him to the work in

+hand.  He hobbled on as fast as he could.  He was

+drawing near the pool, for tall rushes bent and

+shivered above the all-covering snow, and pines and

+willows rocked in the night wind overhead.  Another

+wary step, and the pool lay stretched before him like

+a silver shield.

+

+A colony of beavers had made their home in this

+quiet spot, building their mounds of earth like a

+dam across the water.  But the busy workers were

+all settling within doors to their winter

+sleep—drawbridges drawn up, and gates barred against

+intruders.  "You are wiseheads," thought Wilfred, "and

+I almost wish I could do the same—work all summer

+like bees, and sleep all winter like dormice; but

+then the winter is so long."

+

+"Would not it be a grand thing to take home a

+beaver, Yula?" he exclaimed, suddenly remembering

+his gloves in their late reduced condition, and

+longing for another cup of the unpalatable soup; for the

+keen air sharpened the keener appetite, until he felt

+as if he could have eaten the said gloves, boiled or

+unboiled.

+

+But how to get at the clever sleepers under their

+well-built dome was the difficulty, almost the

+impossibility.

+

+"Yula, it can't be done—that is by you and me, old

+boy," he sighed.  "We have not got their house-door

+key for certain.  We shall have to put up with the

+moss, and think ourselves lucky if we find it."

+

+The edge of the pool was already fringed with ice,

+and many a shallow basin where it had overflowed

+its banks was already frozen over.  Wilfred was

+brushing away the crisp snow in his search for moss,

+when he caught sight of a big white fish, made

+prisoner by the ice in an awkward corner, where the

+rising flood had one day scooped a tiny reservoir.

+Making Yula sit down in peace and quietness, and

+remember manners, he set to work.  He soon broke

+the ice with a blow from the handle of his knife, and

+took out the fish.  As he expected, the hungry dog

+stood ready to devour it; but Wilfred, suspecting his

+intention, tied it up in the blanket, and swung it

+over his shoulder.  Fortune did not favour him with

+such another find, although he searched about the

+edge of the lake until it grew so slippery he was

+afraid of falling in.  He had now to retrace his steps,

+following the marks in the snow back to the hut.

+

+The joy of Pe-na-Koam was unbounded when he

+untied the blanket and slid the fish into her hands.

+

+The prospect of the hot supper it would provide

+for them nerved Wilfred to go a little further and

+try to reach the big owl's roost, for fear another

+snow should bury the path Maxica had made to it.

+Once lost he might never find it again.  The owl

+was still their most trusty friend and most formidable

+foe.  Thanks to the kindly labours of Maxica's

+pole, Wilfred could trudge along much faster now;

+but before he reached the hollow tree, strange noises

+broke the all-pervading stillness.  There was a

+barking of dogs in the distance, to which Yula replied

+with all the energy in his nature.  There was a

+tramping as of many feet, and of horses, coming

+nearer and nearer with a lumbering thud on the

+ground, deadened and muffled by the snow, but far

+too plain not to attract all Wilfred's attention.

+

+There was a confusion of sounds, as of a concourse

+of people; too many for a party of hunters, unless

+the winter camp of which Diomé had spoken was

+assembling.  Oh joy! if this could be.  Wilfred was

+working himself into a state of excitement scarcely

+less than Yula's.

+

+He hurried on to the roosting-tree, for it carried

+him nearer still to the trampling and the hum.

+

+What could it mean?  Yula was before him, paws

+up, climbing the old dead trunk, bent still lower by

+the recent storm.  A snatch, and he had something

+out of that hole in the riven bark.  Wilfred scrambled

+on, for fear his dog should forestall him.  The night

+was clear around him, he saw the aurora flashes come

+and go.  Yula had lain down at the foot of the tree,

+devouring his prize.  Wilfred's hand, fumbling in its

+fingerless gloves, at last found the welcome hole.  It

+was full once more.  Soft feathers and furs: a

+gopher—the small ground squirrel—crammed against

+some little snow-birds.

+

+Wilfred gave the squirrel to his dog, for he had

+many fears the squaw would be unwilling to give

+him anything but water in their dearth of food.  The

+snow-birds he transferred to his pocket, looking

+nervously round as he did so; but there was no owl in

+sight.  The white breasts of the snow-birds were

+round and plump; but they were little things, not

+much bigger than sparrows, and remembering Maxica's

+caution, he dare not take them all.

+

+His hand went lower: a few mice—he could leave

+them behind him without any reluctance.  But stop, he

+had not got to the bottom yet.  Better than ever: he

+had felt the webbed feet of a wild duck.  Mrs. Owl

+was nearly forgiven the awful scare of the preceding

+night.  Growing bolder in his elation, Wilfred

+seated himself on the roots of the tree, from which

+Yula's ascent had cleared the snow.  He began to

+prepare his game, putting back the skin and feathers

+to conceal his depredations from the savage tenant,

+lest she should change her domicile altogether.

+

+"I hope she can't count," said Wilfred, who knew

+not how to leave the spot without ascertaining the

+cause of the sounds, which kept him vibrating between

+hope and fear.

+

+Suddenly Yula sprang forward with a bound and

+rushed over the snow-covered waste with frantic fury.

+

+"The Blackfeet! the Blackfeet!" gasped Wilfred,

+dropping like lightning into the badger hole where

+Maxica had hidden him from the owl's vengeance.

+A singular cavalcade came in sight: forty or fifty

+Indian warriors, armed with their bows and guns

+and scalping-knives, the chiefs with their eagles'

+feathers nodding as they marched.  Behind them

+trotted a still greater number of ponies, on which

+their squaws were riding man fashion, each with her

+pappoose or baby tucked up as warm as it could be

+in its deer-skin, and strapped safely to its wooden

+cradle, which its mother carried on her back.

+

+Every pony was dragging after it what the Indians

+call a travoy—that is, two fir poles, the thin ends of

+which are harnessed to the pony's shoulders, while

+the butt ends drag on the ground; another piece of

+wood is fastened across them, making a sort of truck,

+on which the skins and household goods are piled.

+The bigger children were seated on the top of many

+a well-laden travoy, so that the squaws came on but slowly.

+

+Wilfred was right in his conjecture: they were the

+Blackfeet Maxica feared to encounter, coming up to

+trade with the nearest Hudson Bay Company's fort.

+They were bringing piles of furs and robes of skin,

+and bags of pemmican, to exchange for shot and

+blankets, sugar and tea, beads, and such other things as

+Indians desire to possess.  They always came up in

+large parties, because they were crossing the

+hunting-grounds of their enemies the Crees.  They had a

+numerous following of dogs, and many a family of

+squalling puppies, on the children's laps.

+

+The grave, stern, savage aspect of the men, the

+ugly, anxious, careworn faces of the toiling women,

+filled Wilfred with alarm.  Maxica in his semi-blindness

+might well fear to be the one against so many.

+Wilfred dared not even call back Yula, for fear of

+attracting their attention.  They were passing on to

+encamp by the pool he had just quitted.  Friendly

+or unfriendly, Yula was barking and snarling in the

+midst of the new-comers.

+

+"Was his Yula, his Yula chummie, going to leave

+him?" asked Wilfred in his dismay.  "What if he

+had belonged originally to this roving tribe, and they

+should take him away!"  This thought cut deeper into

+Wilfred's heart than anything else at that moment.

+He crept out of his badger hole, and crawled along

+the ditch-like path, afraid to show his head above the

+snow, and still more afraid to remain where he was,

+for fear of the owl's return.

+

+He kept up a hope that Yula might come back of

+his own accord.  He was soon at the birch-bark hut,

+but no Yula had turned up.

+

+He tumbled in, breathless and panting.  Pe-na-Koam

+was sure he had been frightened, but thought only of

+the owl.  She had run a stick through the tail of

+the fish, and was broiling it in the front of the fire.

+The cheery light flickered and danced along the

+misshapen walls, which seemed to lean more and more

+each day from the pressure of the snow outside them.

+

+"The blessed snow!" exclaimed Wilfred.  "It hides

+us so completely no one can see there is a hut at all,

+unless the smoke betrays us."

+

+How was he to make the squaw understand the

+dreaded Blackfeet were here?  He snatched up their

+drawing stick, as he called it, and began to sketch in

+a rough and rapid fashion the moving Indian camp

+which he had seen.  A man with a bow in his hand,

+with a succession of strokes behind him to denote his

+following, and a horse's head with the poles of the

+travoy, were quite sufficient to enlighten the aged

+woman.  She grasped Wilfred's hand and shook it.

+Then she raised her other arm, as if to strike, and

+looked inquiringly in his face.  Friend or foe?  That

+was the all-important question neither could answer.

+

+Before he returned his moccasins to their rightful

+owner, Wilfred limped out of the hut and hung up

+the contents of his blanket game-bag in the nearest

+pine.  They were already frozen.

+

+Not knowing what might happen if their refuge

+were discovered, they seated themselves before the

+fire to enjoy the supper Wilfred had secured.  The

+fish was nearly the size of a salmon trout.  The squaw

+removed the sticks from which it depended a little

+further from the scorch of the fire, and fell to—pulling

+off the fish in flakes from one side of the backbone,

+and signing to Wilfred to help himself in similar

+fashion from the other.

+

+"Fingers were made before forks," thought the

+boy, his hunger overcoming all reluctance to satisfy

+it in such a heathenish way.  But the old squaw's

+brow was clouded and her thoughts were troubled.

+She was trembling for Wilfred's safety.

+

+She knew by the number of dashes on the floor

+the party was large—a band of her own people;

+no other tribe journeyed as they did, moving the

+whole camp at once.  Other camps dispersed, not more

+than a dozen families keeping together.

+

+If they took the boy for a Cree or the friend of a

+Cree, they would count him an enemy.  Before the

+fish had vanished her plan was made.

+

+She brought Wilfred his boots, and took back her

+moccasins.  As the boy pulled off the soft skin sock,

+which drew to the shape of his foot without any

+pressure that could hurt his sprain, feeling far more

+like a glove than a shoe, he wondered at the skill

+which had made it.  He held it to the fire to examine

+the beautiful silk embroidery on the legging attached

+to it.  His respect for his companion was considerably

+increased.  It was difficult to believe that beads and

+dyed porcupine quills and bright-coloured skeins of

+silk had been the delight of her life.  But just now

+she was intent upon getting possession of his

+hunting-knife.  With this she began to cut up the firewood

+into chips and shavings.  Wilfred thought he should

+be the best at that sort of work, and went to her help,

+not knowing what she intended to do with it.

+

+In her nervous haste she seemed at first glad of his

+assistance.  Then she pulled the wood out of his hand,

+stuck the knife in his belt, and implored him by

+gestures to sit down in a hole in the floor close against

+the wall, talking to him rapidly in her soft Indian

+tongue, as if she were entreating him to be patient.

+

+Wilfred thought this was a queer kind of game,

+which he did not half like, and had a good mind to

+turn crusty.  But the tears came into her aged eyes.

+She clasped her hands imploringly, kissed him on both

+cheeks, as if to assure him of her good intentions,

+looked to the door, and laid a finger on his lips

+impressively.  In the midst of this pantomime it struck

+Wilfred suddenly "she wants to hide me."  Soon the

+billet stack was built over him with careful skill, and

+the chips and shavings flung on the top.

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`FOLLOWING THE BLACKFEET`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER VII.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *FOLLOWING THE BLACKFEET.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+There was many a little loophole in Wilfred's

+hiding-place through which he could take a

+peep unseen.  The squaw had let the fire die down

+to a smouldering heap, and this she had carefully

+covered over with bark, so that there was neither

+spark nor flame to shine through the broken roof.

+The hut was unusually clear of smoke, and all was

+still.

+

+Wilfred was soon nodding dangerously behind his

+billet-stack, forgetting in his drowsy musings the

+instability of his surroundings.  The squaw rose up

+from the floor, and replaced the knot of wood he had

+sent rolling.  He dreamed of Yula's bark in the

+distance, and wakened to find the noise a reality, but

+not the bark.  It was not his Yula wanting to be let

+in, as he imagined, but a confused medley of sounds

+suggestive of the putting up of tent poles.  There

+was the ring of the hatchet among the trees, the crash

+of the breaking boughs, the thud of the falling trunk.

+Even Wilfred could not entertain a doubt that the

+Blackfeet were encamping for the night alarmingly near

+their buried hut.  In silence and darkness was their

+only safeguard.  It was all for the best Yula had run

+away, his uneasy growls would have betrayed them.

+

+Midnight came and passed; the sounds of work had

+ceased, but the galloping of the ponies, released from

+the travoys, the scraping of their hoofs seeking a

+supper beneath the snow, kept Wilfred on the rack.

+The echo of the ponies' feet seemed at times so near

+he quite expected to see a horse's head looking down

+through the hole, or, worse still, some unwary kick

+might demolish their fragile roof altogether.

+

+With the gray of the dawn the snow began again

+to fall.  Was ever snow more welcome?  The heavy

+flakes beat back the feeble column of smoke, and

+hissed on the smouldering wood, as they found ready

+entrance through the parting in the bark which did

+duty for a chimney.  No matter, it was filling up the

+path which Maxica had made and obliterating every

+footprint around the hut.  It seemed to Wilfred that

+the great feathery flakes were covering all above them,

+like a sheltering wing.

+

+The tell-tale duck, the little snow-birds he had

+hung on the pine branch would all be hidden now.

+Not a chink was left in the bark through which

+the gray snow-light of the wintry morning could

+penetrate.

+

+In spite of their anxiety, both the anxious watchers

+had fallen asleep.  The squaw was the first to rouse.

+Wilfred's temporary trap-door refused to move when,

+finding all was still around them, she had tried to

+push it aside; for the hut was stifling, and she wanted

+snow to refill the kettle.

+

+The fire was out, and the snow which had

+extinguished it was already stiffening.  She took a

+half-burnt brand from the hearth, and, mounting the

+stones which surrounded the fireplace, opened the

+smoke-vent; for there the snow had not had time to

+harden, although the frost was setting in with the

+daylight.  To get out of their hut in another hour

+might be impossible.  With last night's supper, a

+spark of her former energy had returned.  A piece of

+the smoke-dried bark gave way and precipitated an

+avalanche of snow into the tiny hut.

+

+Wilfred wakened with a start.  The daylight was

+streaming down upon him, and the squaw was gone.

+What could have happened while he slept?  How he

+blamed himself for going to sleep at all.  But then he

+could not live without it.  As he wondered and waited

+and reasoned with himself thus, there was still the

+faint hope the squaw might return.  Anyhow, Wilfred

+thought it was the wisest thing he could do to remain

+concealed where she had left him.  If the Indians

+camping by the pool were her own people, they might

+befriend him too.  Possibly she had gone over to

+their camp to ask for aid.

+

+How long he waited he could not tell—it seemed an

+age—when he heard the joyful sound of Yula's bark.

+Down leaped the dog into the very midst of the

+fireplace, scattering the ashes, and bringing with him

+another avalanche of snow.  But his exuberant joy

+was turned to desperation when he could not find his

+Wilfred.  He was rushing round and round, scenting

+the ground where Wilfred had sat.  Up went his

+head high in the air, as he gave vent to his feelings

+in a perfect yowl of despair.

+

+"Yula!  Yula!" called Wilfred softly.  The dog

+turned round and tore at the billet-stack.  Wilfred's

+defence was levelled in a moment; the wood went

+rolling in every direction, and Yula mounted the

+breach in triumph, digging out his master from the

+debris as a dog might dig out a fox.  He would have

+him out, he would not give up.  He tugged at Wilfred's

+arms, he butted his head under his knees; there

+was no resisting his impetuosity, he made him stand

+upright.  When, as Yula evidently believed, he had

+set his master free, he bounded round him in an

+ecstasy of delight.

+

+"You've done it, old boy," said Wilfred.  "You've

+got me out of hiding; and neither you nor I can pile

+the wood over me again, so now, whatever comes, we

+must face it together."

+

+He clasped his arms round the thick tangle of hair

+that almost hid the two bright eyes, so full of love,

+that were gazing at him.

+

+Wilfred could not help kissing the dear old

+blunderer, as he called him.  "And now, Yula," he

+went on, "since you will have it so, we'll look about us."

+

+Wilfred's foot was a good deal better.  He could

+put his boot on for the first time.  He mounted the

+stones which the squaw had piled, and listened.  Yes,

+there were voices and laughter mingling with the

+neighing of the ponies and the lumbering sounds of

+the travoys.  The camp was moving on.  The

+"Far-off-Dawn" was further off than ever from him.  He

+had no longer a doubt the squaw had gone with her

+people.

+

+She had left him her kettle and the piece of skin.

+To an Indian woman her blanket is hood and cloak

+and muff all in one.  She never goes out of doors

+without it.

+

+Wilfred smoothed the gloves she had made him

+and pulled up the blanket socks.  Oh, she had been

+good to him!  He thought he understood it all now—that

+farewell kiss, and the desire to hide him until

+the fierce warriors of her tribe had passed on.  He

+wrapped the skin over his shoulders, slung the kettle on

+his arm, chose out a good strong staff to lean on, and

+held himself ready for the chapter of accidents,

+whatever they might be.

+

+No one came near him.  The sounds grew fainter and

+fainter.  The silence, the awful stillness, was creeping

+all around him once again.  It became unbearable—the

+dread, the disappointment, the suspense.  Wilfred climbed

+out of the hut and swung himself into the branches

+of the nearest pine.  The duck and the snow-birds

+were frozen as hard as stones.  But the fire was out

+long ago.  Wilfred had no matches, no means of

+lighting it up again.  He put back the game; even

+Yula could not eat it in that state.  He swung himself

+higher up in the tree, just in time to catch sight

+of the vanishing train, winding its way along the

+vast snow-covered waste.  He watched it fading to a

+moving line.  What was it leaving behind?  A lost

+boy.  If Wilfred passed the night in the tree he

+would be frozen to death.  If he crept back into the

+tumble-down hut he might be buried beneath another

+snow.  If he went down to the pool he might find

+the ashes of the Indians' camp-fires still glowing.  If

+they had left a fire behind them he must see the

+smoke—the snow-soaked branches were sure to smoke.

+The sleet was driving in his face, but he looked in

+vain for the dusky curling wreath that must have

+been visible at so short a distance.

+

+Was all hope gone?  His head grew dizzy.  There

+were no words on his lips, and the bitter cry in his

+heart died mute.  Then he seemed to hear again his

+mother's voice reading to him, as she used to read in

+far-off days by the evening fire: "I will not fail thee,

+nor forsake thee.  Be strong, and of a good courage.

+Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed.  For the

+Lord thy God is with thee, whithersoever thou goest."

+

+The Indian train was out of sight, but the trampling

+of those fifty ponies, dragging the heavily-laden

+travoys, had left a beaten track—a path so broad

+he could not lose it—and he knew that it would bring

+him to some white man's home.

+

+Wilfred sprang down from the tree, decided,

+resolute.  Better to try and find this shop in the

+wilderness than linger there and die.  The snow

+beneath the tree was crisp and hard.  Yula bounded on

+before him, eager to follow where the Blackfeet dogs

+had passed.  They were soon upon the road, trudging

+steadily onward.

+

+The dog had evidently shared the strangers' breakfast;

+he was neither hungry nor thirsty.  Not so his

+poor little master, who was feeling very faint for want

+of a dinner, when he saw a bit of pemmican on the

+ground, dropped no doubt by one of the Indian children.

+

+Wilfred snatched it up and began to eat.  Pemmican

+is the Indians' favourite food.  It is made of

+meat cut in slices and dried.  It is then pounded

+between two smooth stones, and put in a bag of

+buffalo-skin.  Melted fat is poured over it, to make it keep.

+To the best kinds of pemmican berries and sugar are

+added.  It forms the most solid food a man can have.

+There are different ways of cooking it, but travellers,

+or voyageurs, as they are usually called in Canada,

+eat it raw.  It was a piece of raw pemmican Wilfred

+had picked up.  Hunger lent it the flavour it might

+have lacked at any other time.

+

+With this for a late dinner, and a rest on a fallen

+tree, he felt himself once more, and started off again

+with renewed vigour.  The sleet was increasing with

+the coming dusk.  On he toiled, growing whiter and

+whiter, until his snow-covered figure was scarcely

+distinguishable from the frozen ground.  Yula was

+powdered from head to foot; moreover, poor dog, he was

+obliged to stop every now and then to bite off the

+little icicles which were forming between his toes.

+

+Fortunately for the weary travellers the sky began

+to clear when the moon arose.  Before them stood

+dark ranks of solemn, stately pines, with here and

+there a poplar thicket rising black and bare from

+the sparkling ground.  Their charred and shrivelled

+branches showed the work of the recent prairie fires,

+which had only been extinguished by the snowstorm.

+

+Wilfred whistled Yula closer and closer to his side,

+as the forest echoes wakened to the moose-call and

+the wolf-howl.  On, on they walked through the

+dusky shadows cast by the giant pines, until the

+strange meteors of the north lit up the icy night,

+flitting across the starry sky in such swift succession

+the Indians call it the dance of the dead spirits.

+

+In a scene so weird and wild the boldest heart

+might quail.  Wilfred felt his courage dwindling with

+every step, when Yula sprang forward with a bark

+that roused a sleeping herd, and Wilfred found

+himself in the midst of the Indian ponies, snorting and

+kicking at the disturber of their peace.  The difficulty

+of getting Yula out again, without losing the track or

+rousing the camp, which they must now be approaching,

+engrossed Wilfred, and taxed his powers to their

+uttermost.  He could see the gleam of their many

+watch-fires, and guided his course more warily.

+Imposing silence on Yula by every device he could

+imagine, he left the beaten track which would have

+taken him into the midst of the dreaded Blackfeet,

+and slanted further and further into the forest gloom,

+but not so far as to lose the glow of the Indians' fires.

+In the first faint gray of the wintry dawn he heard

+the rushing of a mighty fall, and found concealment

+in a wide expanse of frozen reeds and stunted willows.

+

+Yula had been brought to order.  A tired dog is

+far more manageable.  He lay down at his master's

+feet, whilst Wilfred watched and listened.  He was

+wide of the Blackfeet camp, yet not at such a distance

+as to be unable to distinguish the sounds of awakening

+life within it from the roar of the waterfall.  To

+his right the ground was rising.  He scarcely felt

+himself safe so near the Blackfeet, and determined to

+push on to the higher ground, where he would have

+a better chance of seeing what they were about.  If

+they moved on, he could go back to their camping-place

+and gather the crumbs they might have let fall,

+and boil himself some water before their fires were

+extinguished, and then follow in their wake as before.

+

+He began to climb the hill with difficulty, when

+he was aware of a thin, blue column of light smoke

+curling upwards in the morning air.  It was not from

+the Indian camp.  Had he nearly reached his goal?

+The light was steadily increasing, and he could clearly

+see on the height before him three or four tall pines,

+which had been stripped of their branches by the

+voyageur's axe, and left to mark a landing-place.

+These lop-sticks, as the Canadians call them, were a

+welcome sight.  He reached them at last, and gained

+the view he had been longing to obtain.  At his feet

+rolled the majestic river, plunging in one broad, white

+sheet over a hidden precipice.

+

+In the still uncertain light of the early dawn the

+cataract seemed twice its actual size.  The jagged tops

+of the pine trees on the other side of the river rose

+against the pale green of coming day.  Close above

+the falls the bright star of the morning gleamed like

+a diamond on the rim of the descending flood; at its

+foot the silvery spray sprang high into the air,

+covering the gloomy pines which had reared their dark

+branches in many a crack and cleft with glittering

+spangles.

+

+Nestling at the foot of the crag on which Wilfred

+stood was the well-built stockade of the trading-fort.

+The faint blue line of smoke which he had perceived

+was issuing from the chimney of the trader's house,

+but the inmates were not yet astir.

+

+He brushed the tears from his eyes, but they were

+mingled tears of joy and thankfulness and exhaustion.

+As he was watching, a party of Indians stole out from

+their camp, and posted themselves among the frozen

+reeds which he had so recently vacated.

+

+The chief, with a few of the Blackfeet, followed by

+three or four squaws laden with skins, advanced to

+the front of the stockade, where they halted.  The

+chief was waving in his hand a little flag, to show

+that he had come to trade.  After a while the sounds

+of life and movement began within the fort.  The

+little group outside was steadily increasing in numbers.

+Some more of the Blackfeet warriors had loaded their

+horses and their wives, and were coming up behind

+their chief, with their heavy bags of pemmican

+hanging like panniers across the backs of the horses,

+whilst the poor women toiled after them with the

+piles of skins and leather.

+

+All was bustle and activity inside the trader's walls.

+Wilfred guessed they were making all sorts of prudent

+preparations before they ventured to receive so large

+a party.  He was thinking of the men in ambush

+among the reeds, and he longed to give some warning

+to the Hudson Bay officer, who could have no idea

+of the numbers lurking round his gate.

+

+But how was this to be done in time?  There was

+but one entrance to the fort.  He was afraid to

+descend his hill and knock for admittance, under

+the lynx-like eyes of the Blackfoot chief, who was

+growing impatient, and was making fresh signs to

+attract the trader's attention.

+

+At last there was a creaking sound from the fort.

+Bolts and bars were withdrawn, and the gate was

+slowly opened.  Out came the Hudson Bay officer,

+carefully shutting it behind him.  He was a tall,

+white-haired man, with an air of command about him, and

+the easy grace of a gentleman in every action.  He

+surveyed his wild visitors for a moment or two, and

+then advanced to meet them with a smile of welcome.

+The chief came a step or two forward, shook hands

+with the white man, and began to make a speech.  A

+few of his companions followed his example.

+

+"Now," thought Wilfred, "while all this talking

+and speechifying is abroad, I may get a chance to

+reach the fort unobserved."

+

+He slid down the steep hill, with Yula after him,

+crept along the back of the stockade, and round the

+end farthest from the reeds.  In another moment he

+was at the gate.  A gentle tap with his hand was all

+he dared to give.  It met with no answer.  He

+repeated it a little louder.  Yula barked.  The gate was

+opened just a crack, and a boy about his own age

+peeped out.

+

+"Let me in," said Wilfred desperately.  "I have

+something to tell you."

+

+The crack was widened.  Wilfred slipped in and

+Yula followed.  The gate was shut and barred behind

+them.

+

+"Well?" asked the boyish porter.

+

+"There are dozens of Blackfeet Indians hiding

+among the frozen reeds.  I saw them stealing down

+from their camp before it was light.  I am afraid

+they mean mischief," said Wilfred, lowering his voice.

+

+"We need to be careful," returned the other, glancing

+round at their many defences; "but who are you?"

+

+"I belong to some settlers across the prairie.  I

+have lost my way.  I have been wandering about all

+night, following the trail of the Blackfeet.  That is

+how I came to know and see what they were doing,"

+replied Wilfred.

+

+"They always come up in numbers," answered the

+stranger thoughtfully, "ready for a brush with the

+Crees.  They seem friendly to us."

+

+As the boy spoke he slipped aside a little shutter

+in the gate, and peeped through a tiny grill.

+

+In the middle of the enclosure there was a wooden

+house painted white.  Three or four iron funnels

+stuck out of the roof instead of chimneys, giving it a

+very odd appearance.  There were a few more huts

+and sheds.  But Wilfred's attention was called off from

+these surroundings, for a whole family of dogs had

+rushed out upon Yula, with a chorus of barking that

+deafened every other sound.  For Yula had marched

+straight to the back door of the house, where food

+was to be had, and was shaking it and whining to be

+let in.

+

+The young stranger Gaspé took a bit of paper and

+a pencil out of his pocket and wrote hastily: "There

+are lots more of the Blackfeet hiding amongst the

+reeds.  What does that mean?"

+

+"Louison!" he cried to a man at work in one of

+the sheds, "go outside and give this to grandfather."

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`THE SHOP IN THE WILDERNESS`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER VIII.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *THE SHOP IN THE WILDERNESS.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+As soon as Gaspé had despatched his messenger

+he turned to Wilfred, observing, in tones of

+grateful satisfaction, "I am so glad we know in time."

+

+"Is that your grandfather?" asked Wilfred.

+

+Gaspé nodded.  "Come and look at him."

+

+The two boys were soon watching earnestly through

+the grating, their faces almost touching.  Gaspé's arm

+was over Wilfred's shoulder, as they drew closer and

+closer to each other.

+

+Gaspé's grandfather took the slip of paper from his

+man, glanced at it, and crushed it in his hand.  The

+chief was hastily heaping a mass of buffalo robes and

+skins and bags of pemmican upon one of the horses, a

+gift for the white man, horse and all.  This was to

+show his big heart.

+

+"Do you hear what he is saying?" whispered Gaspé,

+who understood the Indians much better than Wilfred

+did.  "Listen!"

+

+"Are there any Crees here?  Crees have no

+manners.  Crees are like dogs, always ready to bite if

+you turn your head away; but the Blackfeet have

+large hearts, and love hospitality."

+

+"After all, those men in the reeds may only be on

+the watch for fear of a surprise from the Crees,"

+continued Gaspé.

+

+"Will there be a fight?" asked Wilfred breathlessly.

+

+"No, I think not," answered Gaspé.  "The Crees

+have lived amongst us whites so long they have given

+up the war-path.  But," he added confidentially, "I

+have locked our old Indian in the kitchen, for if they

+caught sight of him they might say we were friends

+of the Crees, and set on us."

+

+One door in the white-painted house was standing

+open.  It led into a large and almost empty room.

+Just inside it a number of articles were piled on the

+floor—a gun, blankets, scarlet cloth, and a

+brightly-painted canister of tea.  Louison came back to fetch

+them, for a return present, with which the chief

+seemed highly delighted.

+

+"We see but little of you white men," he said;

+"and our young men do not always know how to

+behave.  But if you would come amongst us more,

+we chiefs would restrain them."

+

+"He would have hard work," laughed Wilfred,

+little thinking how soon his words were to be verified.

+The Blackfeet standing round their chief, with their

+piles of skins, were so obviously getting excited, and

+impatient to begin the real trading, the chief must

+have felt even he could not hold them back much

+longer.  But he was earnest in his exhortation to

+them not to give way to violence or rough behaviour.

+

+Gaspé's grandfather was silently noting every face,

+without appearing to do so; and mindful of the

+warning he had received, he led the way to his gate,

+which he invited them to enter, observing, "My places

+are but small, friends.  All shall come in by turns,

+but only a few at a time."

+

+Gaspé drew back the bar and threw the gate

+wide.  In walked the stately chief, with one or two

+of his followers who had taken part in the

+speech-making.  The excited crowd at the back of them

+pushed their way in, as if they feared the gate might

+be shut in their faces.

+

+Gaspé remonstrated, assuring them there was no

+hurry, all should have their turn.

+

+The chief waved them back, and the last of the

+group contented themselves with standing in the

+gateway itself, to prevent it being shut against them.

+

+Gaspé gave up the vain attempt to close it, and

+resumed his post.

+

+"I am here on the watch," he whispered to Wilfred;

+"but you are cold and hungry.  Go with grandfather

+into the shop."

+

+"I would rather stay with you," answered Wilfred.

+"I am getting used to being hungry."

+

+Gaspé answered this by pushing into his hand a

+big hunch of bread and butter, which he had brought

+with him from his hurried breakfast.

+

+Meanwhile Gaspé's grandfather had entered the

+house, taking with him the Blackfoot chief.  He

+invited the others to enter and seat themselves on

+the floor of the empty room into which Wilfred had

+already had a peep.  He unlocked an inner door,

+opening into a passage, which divided the great

+waiting-room from the small shop beyond.  This had

+been carefully prepared for the reception of their

+wild customers.  Only a few of his goods were left

+upon the shelves, which were arranged with much

+ingenuity, and seemed to display a great variety of

+wares, all of them attractive in Indian eyes.  The

+bright-coloured cloths, cut in short lengths, were

+folded in fantastic heaps; the blankets were hung

+in graceful festoons.  Beads scattered lightly on trays

+glittered behind the counter, on which the empty

+scales were lightly swaying up and down, like

+miniature swinging-boats.

+

+A high lattice protected the front of the counter.

+Gaspé's grandfather established himself behind it.

+Louison took his place as door-keeper.  The chief

+and two of his particular friends were the first to

+be admitted.  Louison locked the door to keep out

+the others.  It was the only way to preserve order.

+The wild, fierce strangers from the snow-covered

+plain and the darksome forest drew at once to the

+stove—a great iron box in the middle of the shop,

+with its huge black funnel rising through the ceiling.

+Warmth without smoke was a luxury unknown in

+the wigwam.

+

+The Indians walked slowly round the shop, examining

+and considering the contents of the shelves,

+until their choice was made.

+

+One of the three walked up to the counter and

+handed his pile of skins to the trader, Mr. De Brunier,

+through a little door in the lattice, pointing to some

+bright scarlet cloth and a couple of blankets.  The

+chief was examining the guns.  All three wanted

+shot, and the others inquired earnestly for the

+Indians' special delight, "tea and suga'."  But when

+they saw the canister opened, and the tea poured

+into the scale, there was a grunt of dissatisfaction

+all round.

+

+"What for?" demanded the chief.  "Why put tea

+one side that swing and little bit of iron the other?

+Who wants little bit of iron?  We don't know what

+that medicine is."

+

+The Indians call everything medicine that seems to

+them learned and wise.

+

+Mr. De Brunier tried to explain the use of his

+scales, and took up his steelyard to see if it would

+find more favour.

+

+"Be fair," pursued the chief; "make one side as

+big as the other.  Try bag of pemmican against your

+blankets and tea, then when the thing stops swinging

+you take pemmican, we blankets and tea—that fair!"

+

+His companions echoed their chief's sentiments.

+

+"As you like," smiled the trader.  "We only want

+to make a fair exchange."

+

+So the heavy bag of pemmican was put in the place

+of the weight, and a nice heap of tea was poured upon

+the blanket to make the balance true.  The Indians

+were delighted.

+

+"Now," continued Mr. De Brunier, "we must

+weigh the shot and the gun against your skins,

+according to your plan."

+

+But when the red men saw their beautiful marten

+and otter and fisher skins piling higher and higher,

+and the heavy bag of shot still refusing to rise, a

+grave doubt as to the correctness of their own view

+of the matter arose in the Indians' minds.  The first

+served took up his scarlet cloth and blanket and went

+out quickly, whilst the others deliberated.

+

+The trader waited with good-humoured patience

+and a quiet gleam of amusement in the corner of his

+eye, when they told him at last to do it his own way,

+for the steel swing was a great medicine warriors

+could not understand.  It was plain it could only be

+worked by some great medicine man like himself.

+

+This decision had been reached so slowly, the

+impatience of the crowd in the waiting-room was at

+spirit-boil.

+

+The brave who had come back satisfied was exhibiting

+his blankets and his scarlet cloth, which had to be

+felt and looked at by all in turn.

+

+"Were there many more inside?" they asked eagerly.

+

+He shook his head.

+

+A belief that the good things would all be gone

+before the rest of the Indians could get their turn

+spread among the excited crowd like wild-fire.

+

+Gaspé still held to his watch by the gate, with

+Wilfred beside him.

+

+There was plenty of laughing and talking among

+the party of resolute men who kept it open; they

+seemed full of fun, and were joking each other in the

+highest spirits.  Gaspé's eyes turned again and again

+to the frozen reeds, but all was quiet.

+

+Wilfred was earnestly watching for a chance to

+ask the mirthful Blackfeet if an old squaw, the

+Far-off-Dawn, had joined their camp.  He could not

+make them understand him, but Gaspé repeated the

+question.

+

+At that moment one of the fiercest-looking of the

+younger warriors rushed out of the waiting-room in a

+state of intense excitement.  He beckoned to his

+companions at the gate, exclaiming, "If we don't help

+ourselves there will be nothing left for you and me."

+

+"We know who will see fair play," retorted the

+young chief, who was answering Gaspé.

+

+A whoop rang through the frosty air, and the still

+stiff reeds seemed suddenly alive with dusky faces.

+The crush round the inner door in the waiting-room

+became intense.

+

+"Help me," whispered Gaspé, seizing Wilfred's arm

+and dragging him after him through the sheds to the

+back of the house.  He took out a key and unlocked

+a side door.  There was a second before him, with the

+keyhole at the reverse hand.  It admitted them into

+a darkened room, for the windows were closely

+shuttered; but Gaspé knew his ground, and was not

+at a moment's loss.

+

+The double doors were locked and bolted in double

+quick time behind them.  Then Gaspé lifted up a

+heavy iron bar and banged it into its socket.  Noise

+did not matter.  The clamour in the waiting-room

+drowned every other sound.

+

+"They will clear the shop," he said, "but we

+must stop them getting into the storeroom.  Come

+along."

+

+Wilfred was feeling the way.  He stumbled over a

+chair; his hand felt a table.  He guessed he was in

+the family sitting-room.  Gaspé put his mouth to the

+keyhole of an inner door.

+

+"Chirag!" he shouted to their Indian servant,

+"barricade."

+

+The noises which succeeded showed that his

+command was being obeyed in that direction.

+

+Gaspé was already in the storeroom, endeavouring

+to push a heavy box of nails before the other door

+leading into the shop.  Wilfred was beside him in a

+moment.  He had not much pushing power left in

+him after his night of wandering.

+

+"Perhaps I can push a pound," he thought, laying

+his hands by Gaspé's.

+

+"Now, steady! both together we shall do it," they

+said, and with one hard strain the box was driven

+along the floor.

+

+"That is something," cried Gaspé, heaving up a bag

+of ironmongery to put on the top of it.  And he

+looked round for something else sufficiently ponderous

+to complete his barricade.

+

+"What is this?" asked Wilfred, tugging at a chest

+of tools.

+

+Meanwhile a dozen hatchets' heads were hammering

+at the door from the waiting-room where Louison was

+stationed.  The crack of the wood giving way beneath

+their blows inspired Gaspé with redoubled energy.

+The chest was hoisted upon the box.  He surveyed

+his barricade with satisfaction.  But their work was

+not yet done.  He dragged forward a set of steps,

+and running up to the top, threw open a trap-door in

+the ceiling.  A ray of light streamed down into the

+room, showing Wilfred, very white and exhausted,

+leaning against the pile they had erected.

+

+Gaspé sprang to the ground, rushed back into the

+sitting-room, and began to rummage in the cupboard.

+

+"Here is grandfather's essence of peppermint and

+the sugar-basin and lots of biscuits!" he exclaimed.

+"You are faint, you have had no breakfast yet.

+I am forgetting.  Here."

+

+Wilfred's benumbed fingers felt in the sugar for a

+good-sized lump.  Gaspé poured his peppermint drops

+upon it with a free hand.  The warming, reviving

+dose brought back the colour to Wilfred's pale lips.

+

+"Feel better?" asked his energetic companion,

+running up the steps with a roll of cloth on his

+shoulder, which he deposited safely in the loft above,

+inviting Wilfred to follow.  The place was warm, for

+the iron chimneys ran through it, like so many black

+columns.  Wilfred was ready to embrace the nearest.

+

+Gaspé caught his arm.  "You are too much of a

+human icicle for that," he cried.  "I'll bring up the

+blankets next.  Roll yourself up in them and get

+warm gradually, or you will be worse than ever.

+You must take care of yourself, for I dare not stop.

+It is always a bit dangerous when the Indians come

+up in such numbers to a little station like this.

+There is nobody but grandfather and me and our two

+men about the place, and what are four against a

+hundred?  But all know what to do.  Chirag watches

+inside the house, I outside, and Louison keeps the

+shop door.  That is the most dangerous post, because

+of the crush to get in."

+

+A crash and a thud in the room below verified his

+words.

+

+"There! down it goes," he exclaimed, as a peal of

+laughter from many voices followed the rush of the

+crowd from one room to the other.

+

+"They will be in here next," he added, springing

+down the steps for another load.  Wilfred tried to

+shake off the strange sensations which oppressed him,

+and took it from him.  Another and another followed

+quickly, until the boys had removed the greater part

+of the most valuable of the stores into the roof.  The

+guns and the heavy bags of shot had all been carried

+up in the early morning, before the gate of the fort

+was opened.

+

+And now the hammering began at the storeroom

+door, amid peals of uproarious laughter.

+

+Gaspé tore up the steps with another heavy roll of

+bright blue cloth.

+

+"We can do no more," he said, pausing for breath.

+"Now we will shut ourselves in here."

+

+"We will have these up first," returned Wilfred,

+seizing hold of the top of the steps, and trying to drag

+them through the trap-door.

+

+"Right!" ejaculated Gaspé.  "If we had left them

+standing in the middle of the storeroom, it would have

+been inviting the Blackfeet to follow us."

+

+They let down the trap-door as noiselessly as they

+could, and drew the heavy bolt at the very moment

+the door below was broken open and the triumphant

+crowd rushed wildly in, banging down their bags of

+pemmican on the floor, and seizing the first thing

+which came to hand in return.

+

+Louison had been knocked down in the first rush

+from the waiting-room, and was leaning against the

+wall, having narrowly escaped being trampled to death.

+"All right!" he shouted to his master, who had

+jumped up on his counter to see if his agile servitor

+had regained his feet.  It was wild work, but

+Mr. De Brunier took it all in good part, flinging his

+blankets right and left wherever he saw an eager

+hand outstretched to receive them.  He knew that it

+was far better to give before they had time to take,

+and so keep up a semblance of trade.  Many a

+beautiful skin and buffalo-robe was tossed across the

+counter in return.  The heterogeneous pile was growing

+higher and higher beside him, and in the confusion

+it was hard to tell how much was intended for

+purchase, how much for pillage.

+

+The chief, the Great Swan, as his people called him,

+still stood by the scales, determined to see if the great

+medicine worked fairly for all his people.

+

+Mr. De Brunier called to him by his Indian name:

+"Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu, do you not hear what I am

+saying?  Your young men are too rough.  Restrain

+them.  You say you can.  How am I to weigh and

+measure to each his right portion in such a rout?"

+

+"Give them all something and they will be content,"

+shouted the chief, trying his best to restore order.

+

+Dozens of gaudy cotton handkerchiefs went flying

+over the black heads, scrambling with each other to

+get possession of them.  Spoonfuls of beads were

+received with chuckles of delight by the nearest ranks;

+hut the Indians outside the crowd were growing hot

+and angry.  Turns had been long since disregarded.

+It was catch as catch can.  They broke down the

+lattice, and helped themselves from the shelves behind

+the counter.  These were soon cleared.  A party of

+strong young fellows, laughing as if it were the best

+fun in the world, leaped clear over the counter, and

+began to chop at the storeroom door with their

+hatchets.  With a dexterous hand Mr. De Brunier

+flung his bright silks in their faces.  The dancing

+skeins were quickly caught up.  But the work of

+demolition went forward.  The panels were reduced

+to matchwood.  Three glittering hatchets swung high

+over the men's heads, came down upon the still

+resisting framework, and smashed it.  The mirthful crowd

+dashed in.

+

+The shop was already cleared.  Mr. De Brunier

+would have gone into his storeroom with them if he

+could, but a dozen guns were pointed in his face.  It

+was mere menace, no one attempted to fire.  But the

+chief thought it was going too far.  He backed to

+the waiting-room.  Mr. De Brunier seized his empty

+tea-canister, and offered it to him as a parting gift,

+saying in most emphatic tones, "This is not our

+way of doing business.  Some of these men have got

+too much, and some too little.  It is not my fault.  I

+must deal now with the tribe.  Let them all lay

+down on the floor the rest of the skins and bags they

+have brought, and take away all I have to give in

+exchange, and you must divide when you get back to

+your camp, to every man his right share."

+

+Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu rushed off with his canister

+under his arm; not into the storeroom, where the

+dismayed trader hoped his presence might have

+proved a restraint, but straight through the waiting-room

+with a mad dash into the court, and through the

+gate, where he halted to give a thunderous shout of

+"Crees!  Crees!"  The magic words brought out his

+followers pell-mell.  A second shout, a wilder alarm,

+made the tribe rally round their chief, in the full

+belief the Crees had surprised their camp in their

+hateful dog-like fashion, taking their bite at the

+women and children when the warriors' heads were

+turned.

+

+But the unmannerly foe was nowhere in sight.

+

+"Over the hill!" shouted their Great Wild Swan,

+the man of twenty fights.

+

+Meanwhile the gate of the little fort was securely

+barred against all intruders.  The waiting squaws

+meekly turned their horses' heads, and followed their

+deluded lords, picking up the beads and nails which

+had been dropped in their headlong haste.

+

+"Woe to Maxica," thought Wilfred, "if he should

+happen to be returning for his moose!"

+

+The wild war-whoop died away in the distance,

+only the roar of the cataract broke the stillness of the

+snow-laden air.

+

+De Brunier walked back into his house, to count

+up the gain and loss, and see how much reckless

+mischief that morning's work had brought him.

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`NEW FRIENDS`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER IX.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *NEW FRIENDS.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+"We shall always be friends," said Gaspé,

+looking into Wilfred's face, as they stood side

+by side against the chimney in the loft, emptying

+the biscuit-canister between them.

+

+Wilfred answered with a sunny smile.  The sounds

+below suddenly changed their character.  The general

+stampede to the gate was beginning.

+

+The boys flew to the window.  It was a double

+one, very small and thickly frozen.  They could not

+see the least thing through its glittering panes.

+

+They could scarcely believe their ears, but the

+sudden silence which succeeded convinced Gaspé their

+rough visitors had beaten a hasty retreat.

+

+"Anyhow we will wait a bit, and make sure before

+we go down," they decided.

+

+But De Brunier's first care was for his grandson,

+and he was missing.

+

+"Gaspard!" he shouted, and his call was echoed by

+Louison and Chirag.

+

+"Here, grandfather; I am here, I am coming,"

+answered the boy, gently raising the trap-door and

+peeping down at the dismantled storeroom.  A great

+bag of goose-feathers, which had been hoarded by

+some thrifty squaw, had been torn open, and the down

+was flying in every direction.

+

+There was a groan from Mr. De Brunier.  All his

+most valuable stores had vanished.

+

+"Not quite so bad as that, grandfather," cried

+Gaspé brightly.

+

+The trader stepped up on to the remains of the

+barricade the boys had erected, and popped his head

+through the open trap-door.

+

+"Well done, Gaspard!" he exclaimed.

+

+"This other boy helped me," was the instantaneous

+reply.

+

+The other boy came out from the midst of the

+blanket heap, feeling more dead than alive, and

+expecting every moment some one would say to him,

+"Now go," and he had nowhere to go.

+

+Mr. De Brunier looked at him in amazement.  A

+solitary boy in these lone wastes!  Had he dropped

+from the skies?

+

+"Come down, my little lad, and tell me who you

+are," he said kindly; but without waiting for a reply

+he walked on through the broken door to survey the

+devastation beyond.

+

+"I have grown gray in the service of the Company,

+and never had a more provoking disaster," he lamented,

+as he began to count the tumbled heap of valuable

+furs blocking his pathway.

+

+Louison, looking pale and feeling dizzy from his

+recent knock over, was collecting the bags of pemmican.

+Chirag, released from his imprisonment, was opening

+window shutters and replenishing the burnt-out fires.

+Gaspé dropped down from the roof, without waiting

+to replace the steps, and went to his grandfather's

+assistance, leaving Wilfred to have a good sleep in the

+blanket heap.

+

+The poor boy was so worn out he slept heavily.

+When he roused himself at last, the October day was

+drawing to its close, and Gaspé was laughing beside him.

+

+"Have not you had sleep enough?" he asked.

+"Would not dinner be an improvement?"

+

+Wilfred wakened from his dreams of Acland's Hut.

+Aunt Miriam and Pe-na-Koam had got strangely jumbled

+together; but up he jumped to grasp his new friend's

+warm, young hand, and wondered what had happened.

+He felt as if he had been tossing like a ball from one

+strange scene to another.  When he found himself

+sitting on a real chair, and not on the hard ground, the

+transition was so great it seemed like another dream.

+

+The room was low, no carpet on the floor, only a

+few chairs ranged round the stove in the centre; but

+a real dinner, hot and smoking, was spread on the

+unpainted deal table.

+

+Mr. De Brunier, with one arm thrown over the

+back of his chair, was smoking, to recall his lost

+serenity.  An account-book lay beside his unfinished

+dinner.  Sometimes his eye wandered over its long

+rows of figures, and then for a while he seemed

+absorbed in mental calculation.

+

+He glanced at Wilfred's thin hands and pinched cheeks.

+

+"Let the boy eat," he said to Gaspé.

+

+As the roast goose vanished from Wilfred's plate

+the smile returned to his lips and the mirth to his

+heart.  He outdid the hungry hunter of proverbial

+fame.  The pause came at last; he could not quite

+keep on eating all night, Indian fashion.  He really

+declined the sixth helping Gaspé was pressing

+upon him.

+

+"No, thanks; I have had a Benjamin's portion—five

+times as much as you have had—and I am

+dreadfully obliged to you," said Wilfred, with a bow

+to Mr. De Brunier; "but there is Yula, that is my

+dog.  May he have these bones?"

+

+"He has had something more than bones already;

+Chirag fed him when he fed my puppies," put in Gaspé.

+

+"Puppies," repeated Mr. De Brunier.  "Dogs, I say."

+

+"Not yet, grandfather," remonstrated the happy

+Gaspé.  "You said they would not be really dogs,

+ready for work, until they were a year old, and it

+wants a full week."

+

+"Please, sir," interrupted Wilfred abruptly, "can

+you tell me how I can get home?"

+

+"Where is your home?" asked Mr. De Brunier.

+

+"With my uncle, at Acland's Hut," answered

+Wilfred promptly.

+

+"Acland's Hut," repeated Mr. De Brunier, looking

+across at Gaspé for elucidation.  They did not know

+such a place existed.

+

+"It is miles away from here," added Wilfred

+sorrowfully.  "I went out hunting—"

+

+"You—a small boy like you—to go hunting

+alone!" exclaimed Mr. De Brunier.

+

+"Please, sir, I mean I rode on a pony by the cart

+which was to bring back the game," explained poor

+Wilfred, growing very rueful, as all hope of getting

+home again seemed to recede further and further

+from him.  "The pony threw me," he added, "and

+when I came to myself the men were gone."

+

+"Have you no father?" whispered Gaspé.

+

+"My father died a year ago, and I was left at

+school at Garry," Wilfred went on.

+

+"Fort Garry!" exclaimed Mr. De Brunier, brightening.

+"If this had happened a few weeks earlier, I

+could easily have sent you back to Garry in one of

+the Company's boats.  They are always rowing

+up and down the river during the busy summer

+months, but they have just stopped for the winter

+With this Blackfoot camp so near us, I dare not

+unbar my gate again to-night, so make yourself

+contented.  In the morning we will see what can

+be done."

+

+"Nothing!" thought Wilfred, as he gathered the

+goose-bones together for Yula's benefit.  "If you do

+not know where Acland's Hut is, and I cannot tell

+you, night or morning what difference can it make?"

+

+He studied the table-cloth, thinking hard.  "Bowkett

+and Diomé had talked of going to a hunters'

+camp.  Where was that?"

+

+"Ask Louison," said Mr. De Brunier, in reply to

+his inquiry.

+

+Gaspé ran out to put the question.

+

+Louison was a hunter's son.  He had wintered in

+the camp himself when he was a boy.  The hunters

+gathered there in November.  Parties would soon be

+calling at the fort, to sell their skins by the way.

+Wilfred could go on with one of them, no doubt, and

+then Bowkett could take him home.

+

+Wilfred's heart grew lighter.  It was a roundabout-road,

+but he felt as if getting back to Bowkett

+was next to getting home.

+

+"How glad your uncle will be to see you!" cried

+Gaspé radiantly, picturing the bright home-coming

+in the warmth of his own sympathy.

+

+"Oh, don't!" said Wilfred; "please, don't.  It

+won't be like that; not a bit.  Nobody wants me.

+Aunt wanted my little sister, not me.  You don't

+understand; I am such a bother to her."

+

+Gaspé was silenced, but his hand clasped Wilfred's

+a little closer.  All the chivalrous feelings of the

+knightly De Bruniers were rousing in his breast for

+the strange boy who had brought them the timely

+warning.  For some of the best and noblest blood of

+old France was flowing in his veins.  A De Brunier

+had come out with the early French settlers, the first

+explorers, the first voyageurs along the mighty

+Canadian rivers.  A De Brunier had fought against

+Wolfe on the Heights of Abraham, in the front ranks

+of that gallant band who faithfully upheld their

+nation's honour, loyal to the last to the shameless

+France, which despised, neglected, and abandoned

+them—men whose high sense of duty never swerved

+in the hour of trial, when they were given over into

+the hands of their enemy.  Who cared what happened

+in that far-off corner of the world?  It was not

+worth troubling about.  So the France of that day

+reasoned when she flung them from her.

+

+It was of those dark hours Gaspé loved to make

+his grandfather talk, and he was thinking that

+nothing would divert Wilfred from his troubled thoughts

+like one of grandfather's stories.  The night drew on.

+The snow was falling thicker and denser than before.

+Mr. De Brunier turned his chair to the stove, afraid

+to go to bed with the Blackfoot camp within half-a-mile

+of his wooden walls.

+

+"They might," he said, "have a fancy to give us

+a midnight scare, to see what more they could get."

+

+The boys begged hard to remain.  The fire, shut

+in its iron box, was burning at its best, emitting a

+dull red glow, even through its prison walls.  Gaspé

+refilled his grandfather's pipe.

+

+"Wilfred," he remarked gently, "has a home that

+is no home, and he thinks we cannot understand

+the ups and downs of life, or what it is to be pushed

+to the wall."

+

+Gaspé had touched the right spring.  The veteran

+trader smiled.  "Not know, my lad, what it is to be

+pushed to the wall, when I have been a servant for

+fifty years in the very house where my grandfather

+was master, before the golden lilies on our snow-white

+banner were torn down to make room for your Union

+Jack!  Why am I telling you this to-night?  Just

+to show you, when all seems lost in the present, there

+is the future beyond, and no one can tell what that

+may hold.  The pearl lies hidden under the stormiest

+waters.  Do you know old Cumberland House?  A

+De Brunier built it, the first trading-fort in the

+Saskatchewan.  It was lost to us when the cold-hearted

+Bourbon flung us like a bone to the English mastiff.

+Our homes were ours no longer.  Our lives were in

+our hands, but our honour no one but ourselves could

+throw away.  What did we do?  What could we do?

+What all can do—our duty to the last.  We braved

+our trouble; and when all seemed lost, help came.

+Who was it felt for us?  The men who had torn

+from us our colours and entered our gates by force.

+Under the British flag our homes were given back,

+our rights assured.  Our Canadian Quebec remains

+unaltered, a transplant from the old France of the

+Bourbons.  In the long years that have followed the

+harvest has been reaped on both sides.  Now, my

+boy, don't break your heart with thinking, If there

+had been anybody to care for me, I should not have

+been left senseless in a snow-covered wilderness; but

+rouse your manhood and face your trouble, for in

+God's providence it may be more than made up to

+you.  Here you can stay until some opportunity

+occurs to send you to this hunters' camp.  You are

+sure it will be your best way to get home again?"

+

+"Yes," answered Wilfred decidedly.  "I shall find

+Bowkett there, and I am sure he will take me back

+to Acland's Hut.  But please, sir, I did not mean aunt

+and uncle were unkind; but I had been there such a

+little while, and somehow I was always wrong; and

+then I know I teased."

+

+The cloud was gathering over him again.

+

+"If—" he sighed.

+

+"Don't dwell on the *ifs*, my boy; talk of what has

+been.  That will teach you best what may be," inter

+posed Mr. De Brunier.

+

+Gaspé saw the look of pain in Wilfred's eyes,

+although he did not say again, "Please don't talk

+about it," for he was afraid Mr. De Brunier would

+not call that facing his trouble.

+

+Gaspé came to the rescue.  "But, grandfather, you

+have not told us what the harvest was that Canada

+reaped," he put in.

+

+"Cannot you see it for yourself, Gaspard?" said

+Mr. De Brunier.  "When French and English,

+conquered and conqueror, settled down side by side, it

+was their respect for each other, their careful

+consideration for each other's rights and wrongs, that

+taught their children and their children's children

+the great lesson how to live and let live.  No other

+nation in the world has learned as we have done.  It

+is this that makes our Canada a land of refuge for

+the down-trodden slave.  And we, the French in

+Canada, what have we reaped?" he went on, shaking

+the ashes from his pipe, and looking at the two boys

+before him, French and English; but the old lines

+were fading, and uniting in the broader name of

+Canadian.  "Yes," he repeated, "what did we find at

+the bottom of our bitter cup?  Peace, security, and

+freedom, whilst the streets of Paris ran red with

+Frenchmen's blood.  The last De Brunier in France

+was dragged from his ancestral home to the steps of

+the guillotine by Frenchmen's hands, and the old

+chateau in Brittany is left a moss-grown ruin.  When

+my father saw the hereditary foe of his country walk

+into Cumberland House to turn him out, they met

+with a bonjour [good day]; and when they parted this

+was the final word: 'You are a young man, Monsieur

+De Brunier, but your knowledge of the country and

+your influence with the Indians can render us

+valuable assistance.  If at any time you choose to take

+office in your old locale, you will find that faithful

+service will be handsomely requited.'  We kept our

+honour and laid down our pride.  Content.  Your

+British Queen has no more loyal subjects in all her

+vast dominions than her old French Canadians."

+

+There was a mist before Wilfred's eyes, and his

+voice was low and husky.  He only whispered, "I

+shall not forget, I never can forget to-night."

+

+The small hours of the morning were numbered

+before Gaspé opened the door of his little sleeping

+room, which Wilfred was to share.  It was not

+much bigger than a closet.  The bed seemed to

+fill it.

+

+There was just room for Gaspé's chest of clothes

+and an array of pegs.  But to Wilfred it seemed a

+palace, in its cozy warmth.  It made him think of

+Pe-na-Koam.  He hoped she was as comfortable in

+the Blackfoot camp.

+

+Gaspé was growing sleepy.  One arm was round

+Wilfred's neck; he roused himself to answer, "Did

+not you hear what the warrior with the scalps at his

+belt told me?  She came into their camp, and they

+gave her food as long as she could eat it.  She was

+too old to travel, and they left her asleep by their

+camp-fires."

+

+Up sprang Wilfred.  "Whatever shall I do?  I

+have brought away her kettle; I thought she had

+gone to her own people, and left it behind her for me."

+

+"Do!" repeated Gaspé, laughing.  "Why, go to

+sleep old fellow; what else can we do at four o'clock

+in the morning?  If we don't make haste about it,

+we shall have no night at all."

+

+Gaspé was quick to follow his own advice.  But

+the "no night" was Wilfred's portion.  There was no

+rest for him for thinking of Pe-na-Koam.  How was

+she to get her breakfast?  The Blackfeet might have

+given her food, but how could she boil a drop of water

+without her kettle?

+

+At the first movement in the house he slipped out

+of bed and dressed himself.  The fire had burned low

+in the great stove in the sitting-room, but when he

+softly opened the door of their closet it struck fairly

+warm.  The noise he had heard was Louison coming

+in with a great basket of wood to build it up.

+

+"A fire in prison is a dull affair by daylight,"

+remarked Wilfred.  "I think I shall go for a

+walk—a long walk."

+

+"Mr. De Brunier will have something to say about

+that after last night's blizzard," returned Louison.

+

+"Then please tell him it is my duty to go, for I am

+afraid an old Indian woman, who was very kind to me,

+was out in last night's snow, and I must go and look

+for her.  Will you just undo that door and let me out?"

+

+"Not quite so fast; I have two minds about that,"

+answered Louison.  "Better wait for Mr. De Brunier.

+I know I shall be wrong if I let you go off like this."

+

+"How can you be wrong?" retorted Wilfred.  "I

+came to this place to warn you all there was a party

+of Blackfeet hidden in the reeds.  Well, if I had

+waited, what good would it have been to you?  Now

+I find the old squaw who made me these gloves was

+out in last night's snow, and I must go and look for

+her, and go directly."

+

+"But a boy like you will never find her," laughed

+Louison.

+

+"I'll try it," said Wilfred doggedly.

+

+"Was she a Blackfoot?"

+

+"Yes."

+

+"Then she is safe enough in camp, depend upon it,"

+returned Louison.

+

+"No, she was left behind," persisted Wilfred.

+

+"Then come with me," said Louison, by no means

+sorry to have found a friendly reason for approaching

+the Blackfeet camp.  "I have a little bit of scout

+business in hand, just to find out whether these wild

+fellows are moving on, or whether they mean waiting

+about to pay us another visit."

+

+Chirag was clearing away the snow in the enclosure

+outside.  Wilfred found the kettle and the skin just

+where he had laid them down, inside the first shed.

+He called up Yula, and started by Louison's side.

+Chirag was waiting to bar the gate behind them.

+

+"Beautiful morning," said the Canadians, vigorously

+rubbing their noses to keep them from freezing, and

+violently clapping their mittened hands together.

+The snow lay white and level, over hill and marsh,

+one sparkling sheet of silvery sheen.  The edging of

+ice was broadening along the river, and the roar of

+the falls came with a thunderous boom through the

+all-pervading stillness around them.

+

+The snow was already hard, as the two ran briskly

+forward, with Yula careering and bounding in

+extravagant delight.

+

+Wilfred looked back to the little fort, with its

+stout wooden walls, twice the height of a man, hiding

+the low white house with its roof of bark, hiding

+everything within but the rough lookout and the

+tall flag-staff, for

+

+   |  "Ever above the topmost roof the banner of England blew."

+   |

+

+Wilfred was picturing the feelings with which the

+De Bruniers had worked on beneath it, giving the

+same faithful service to their foreign masters that

+they had to the country which had cast them off.

+

+"It is a dirty old rag," said Louison; "gone all to

+ribbons in last night's gale.  But it is good enough for

+a little place like this—we call it Hungry Hall.  We

+don't keep it open all the year round.  Just now, in

+October, the Indians and the hunters are bringing in

+the produce of their summer's hunting.  We shall

+shut up soon, and open later again for the winter trade."

+

+"A dirty old rag!" repeated Wilfred.  "Yes, but

+I am prouder of it than ever, for it means protection

+and safety wherever it floats.  Boy as I am, I can

+see that."

+

+"Can you see something else," asked Louison—"the

+crossing poles of the first wigwam?  We are

+at the camp."

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`THE DOG-SLED`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER X.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *THE DOG-SLED.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+A cloud of smoke from its many wigwam fires

+overhung the Indian camp as Louison and

+Wilfred drew near.  The hunter's son, with his quick

+ear, stole cautiously through the belt of pine trees

+which sheltered it from the north wind, listening for

+any sounds of awakening life.  Yesterday's adventure

+had no doubt been followed by a prolonged feast,

+and men and dogs were still sleeping.  A few squaws,

+upon whom the hard work of the Indian world all

+devolves, were already astir.  Louison thought they

+were gathering firewood outside the camp.  This was

+well.  Louison hung round about the outskirts,

+watching their proceedings, until he saw one woman behind

+a wigwam gathering snow to fill her kettle.  Her

+pappoose in its wooden cradle was strapped to her

+back; but she had seen or heard them, for she paused

+in her occupation and looked up wondering.

+

+Louison stepped forward.

+

+"Now for your questions, my boy," he said to

+Wilfred, "and I will play interpreter."

+

+"Is there an old squaw in your camp named the

+Far-off-Dawn?"

+

+Wilfred needed no interpreter to explain the

+"caween" given in reply.

+

+"Tell her, Louison," he hurried on, "she was with

+me the night before last.  I thought she left me to

+follow this trail.  If she has not reached this camp,

+she must be lost in the snow."

+

+"Will not some of your people go and look for

+her," added Louison, on his own account, "before you

+move on?"

+

+"What is the use?" she asked.  "Death will have

+got her by this time.  She came to the camp; she was

+too old to travel.  If she is alive, she may overtake

+us again.  We shall not move on until another

+sunrising, to rest the horses."

+

+"Then I shall go and look for her," said Wilfred

+resolutely.

+

+"Not you," retorted Louison; "wait a bit."  He put

+his hand in his pockets.  They had been well filled

+with tea and tobacco, in readiness for any emergency.

+"Is not there anybody in the camp who will go and

+look for her?"

+

+Louison was asking his questions for the sake of

+the information he elicited, but Wilfred caught at

+the idea in earnest.  "Go and see," urged Louison,

+offering her a handful of his tea.

+

+"Thé!" she repeated.  The magic word did wonders.

+Louison knew if one of the men were willing to leave the

+camp to look for Pe-na-Koam, no further mischief was

+intended.  But if they were anticipating a repetition of

+"the high old time" they had enjoyed yesterday, not one

+of them could be induced to forego their portion in so

+congenial a lark, for in their eyes it was nothing more.

+

+The squaw took the tea in both her hands, gladly

+leaving her kettle in the snow, as she led the way

+into the camp.

+

+Wilfred, who had only seen the poor little canvas

+tents of the Crees, looked round him in astonishment.

+In the centre stood the lodge or moya of the chief—a

+wigwam built in true old Indian style, fourteen

+feet high at the least.  Twelve strong poles were

+stuck in the ground, round a circle fifteen feet across.

+They were tied together at the top, and the outside

+was covered with buffalo-skins, painted black and

+red in all sorts of figures.  Eagles seemed perching

+on the heads of deers, and serpents twisted and coiled

+beneath the feet of buffaloes.  The other wigwams

+built around it were in the same style, on a smaller

+scale, all brown with smoke.

+

+A goodly array of spears, bows, and shields adorned

+the outside of the moya; above them the much-coveted

+rifles were ranged with exceeding pride.  The ground

+between the moya and the tents was littered with

+chips and bones, among which the dogs were busy.

+A few children were pelting each other with the

+snow, or trying to shoot at the busy jays with a baby

+of a bow and arrows to match.

+

+Louison pushed aside the fur which hung over the

+entrance to the moya—the man-hole—and stepped

+inside.  A beautiful fire was burning in the middle

+of the tent.  The floor was strewed with pine brush,

+and skins were hung round the inside wall, like a

+dado.  They fitted very closely to the ground, so as

+to keep out all draught.  The rabbits and swans, the

+buzzards and squirrels painted on this dado were so

+lifelike, Wilfred thought it must be as good as a

+picture-book to the dear little pappoose, strapped to

+its flat board cradle, and set upright against the wall

+whilst mother was busy.  The sleeping-places were

+divided by wicker-screens, and seemed furnished with

+plenty of blankets and skins.  One or two of them

+were still occupied; but Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu lay

+on a bear-skin by the fire, with his numerous pipes

+arranged beside him.  The squaw explained the errand

+of their early visitors: a woman was lost in the snow,

+would the chief send one of his people to find her?

+

+The Great Swan looked over his shoulder and said

+something.  A young man rose up from one of the

+sleeping-places.

+

+Both were asking, "What was the good?"

+

+"She is one of your own people," urged Louison.

+"We came to tell you."

+

+This was not what Wilfred had said, and it was

+not all he wanted, but he was forced to trust it to

+Louison, although he was uneasy.

+

+He could see plainly enough an Indian would be

+far more likely to find her than himself, but would

+they?  Would any of them go?

+

+Louison offered a taste of his tobacco to the old

+chief and the young, by way of good-fellowship.

+

+"They will never do it for that," thought Wilfred

+growing desperate again.  He had but one thing

+about him he could offer as an inducement, and that

+was his knife.  He hesitated a moment.  He thought

+of Pe-na-Koam dying in the snow, and held it out to

+the young chieftain.

+

+The dusky fingers gripped the handle.

+

+"Will you take care of her and bring her here, or

+give her food and build up her hut?" asked Wilfred,

+making his meaning as plain as he could, by the help

+of nods and looks and signs.

+

+The young chief was outside the man-hole in

+another moment.  He slung his quiver to his belt and

+took down his bow, flung a stout blanket over his

+shoulder, and shouted to his squaw to catch a bronco,

+the usual name for the Canadian horse.  The kettle

+was in his hand.

+

+"Can we trust him?" asked Wilfred, as he left

+the camp by Louison's side.

+

+"Trust him! yes," answered his companion.  "Young

+Sapoo is one of those Indians who never break faith.

+His word once given, he will keep it to the death."

+

+"Then I have only to pray that he may be in time,"

+said Wilfred gravely, as he stood still to watch the wild

+red man galloping back to the beavers' lakelet.

+

+"Oh, he will be in time," returned Louison

+cheerily.  "All their wigwam poles would be left

+standing, and plenty of pine brush and firewood

+strewing about.  She is sure to have found some

+shelter before the heaviest fall of snow; that did

+not come until it was nearly morning."

+

+Gaspé had climbed the lookout to watch for their

+return.

+

+"Wilfred, *mon cher*," he exclaimed, "you must

+have a perfect penchant for running away.  How

+could you give us the slip in such a shabby fashion?

+I could not believe Chirag.  If the bears were not

+all dropping off into their winter sleep, I should have

+thought some hungry bruin had breakfasted upon you."

+

+Gaspé's grandfather had turned carpenter, and was

+already at work mending his broken doors.  Not

+being a very experienced workman, his planking and

+his panelling did not square.  Wood was plentiful, and

+more than one piece was thrown aside as a misfit.  Both

+the boys were eager to assist in the work of restoration.

+A broken shelf was mended between them—in first-rate

+workmanly style, as Wilfred really thought.  "We

+have done that well," they agreed; and when Mr. De

+Brunier—who was still chipping at his refractory

+panel—added a note of commendation to their labours, Gaspé's

+spirits ran up to the very top of the mental thermometer.

+

+To recover his balance—for Wilfred unceremoniously

+declared he was off his head—Gaspé fell into a

+musing fit.  He wakened up, exclaiming,—

+

+"I'm flying high!"

+

+"Then mind you don't fall," retorted Mr. De

+Brunier, who himself was cogitating somewhat darkly

+over Louison's intelligence.  "There will be no peace

+for me," he said, "no security, whilst these Blackfeet

+are in the neighbourhood.  'Wait for another

+sun-rising'—that means another forty-eight hours of

+incessant vigilance for me.  It was want of confidence

+did it all.  I should teach them to trust me in time,

+but it cannot be done in a day."

+

+As he moved on, lamenting over the scene of

+destruction, Gaspé laid a hand on Wilfred's arm.  "How

+are you going to keep pace with the hunters with

+that lame foot?" he demanded.

+

+"As the tortoise did with the hare," laughed Wilfred.

+"Get myself left behind often enough, I don't doubt

+that."

+

+"But I doubt if you will ever get to your home

+*à la tortoise*," rejoined Gaspé.  "No, walking will

+never do for you.  I am thinking of making you

+a sled."

+

+"A sledge!" repeated Wilfred in surprise.

+

+"Oh, we drop the 'ge' you add to it in your

+English dictionaries," retorted Gaspé.  "We only say

+sled out here.  There will be plenty of board when

+grandfather has done his mending.  We may have

+what we want, I'm sure.  Your dog is a trained

+hauler, and why shouldn't we teach my biggest pup

+to draw with him?  They would drag you after the

+hunters in fine style.  We can do it all, even to their

+jingling bells."

+

+Wilfred, who had been accustomed to the light and

+graceful carioles and sledges used in the Canadian

+towns, thought it was flying a bit too high.  But

+Gaspé, up in all the rough-and-ready contrivances of

+the backwoods, knew what he was about.  Louison

+and Chirag had to be consulted.

+

+When all the defences were put in order—bolts,

+bars, and padlocks doubled and trebled, and a rough

+but very ponderous double door added to the

+storeroom—Mr. De Brunier began to speak of rest.

+

+"The night cometh in which no man can work," he

+quoted, as if in justification of the necessary stoppage.

+

+The hammer was laid down, and he sank back in

+his hard chair, as if he were almost ashamed to

+indulge in his one solace, the well-filled pipe Gaspé

+was placing so coaxingly in his fingers.  A few

+sedative whiffs were enjoyed in silence; but before

+the boys were sent off to bed, Gaspé had secured the

+reversion of all the wooden remains of the carpentering

+bout, and as many nails as might be reasonably

+required.

+

+"Now," said Gaspé, as he tucked himself up by

+Wilfred's side, and pulled the coverings well over

+head and ears, "I'll show you what I can do."

+

+Three days passed quickly by.  On the morning

+of the fourth Louison walked in with a long face.

+The new horse, the gift of the Blackfoot chief, had

+vanished in the night.  The camp had moved on,

+nothing but the long poles of the wigwams were left

+standing.

+

+The loss of a horse is such an everyday occurrence

+in Canada, where horses are so often left to take care

+of themselves, it was by no means clear that

+Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu had resumed his gift, but it was highly

+probable.

+

+Notwithstanding, the Company had not been losers

+by the riotous marketing, for the furs the Blackfeet

+had brought in were splendid.

+

+"Yes, we were all on our guard—thanks to you, my

+little man—or it might have ended in the demolition

+of the fort," remarked Mr. De Brunier.  "Now, if

+there is anything you want for your journey, tell me,

+and you shall have it."

+

+"Yes, grandfather," interposed Gaspé.  "He must

+have a blanket to sleep in, and there is the harness

+for the dogs, and a lot of things."

+

+Wilfred grew hot.  "Please, sir, thanks; but I don't

+think I want much.  Most of all, perhaps, something

+to eat."

+

+Mr. De Brunier recommended a good hunch of

+pemmican, to cut and come again.  The hunters would

+let him mess with them if he brought his own pemmican

+and a handful of tea to throw into their boiling

+kettle.  The hunters' camp was about sixty miles

+from Hungry Hall.  They would be two or three

+days on the road.

+

+More than one party of hunters had called at the

+fort already, wanting powder and ball, matches, and a

+knife; and when the lynx and marten and wolf skins

+which they brought were told up, and the few necessaries

+they required were provided, the gay, careless,

+improvident fellows would invest in a tasselled cap

+bright with glittering beads.

+

+The longer Wilfred stayed at the fort, the more

+Mr. De Brunier hesitated about letting the boy start

+for so long a journey with no better protection.

+Gaspard never failed to paint the danger and

+magnify the difficulties of the undertaking, wishing to

+keep his new friend a little longer.  But Wilfred was

+steady to his purpose.  He saw no other chance of

+getting back to his home.  He did not say much

+when Mr. De Brunier and Gaspé were weighing

+chances and probabilities, hoping some travelling party

+from the north might stop by the way at Hungry

+Hall and take him on with them.  Such things did

+happen occasionally.

+

+But Wilfred had a vivid recollection of his

+cross-country journey with Forgill.  He could not see that

+he should be sure of getting home if he accepted

+Mr. De Brunier's offer and stayed until the river was

+frozen and then went down with him to their

+mid-winter station, trusting to a seat in some of the

+Company's carts or the Company's sledges to their

+next destination.

+

+Then there would be waiting and trusting again to

+be sent on another stage, and another, and another,

+until he would at last find himself at Fort Garry.

+"Then," he asked, "what was he to do?  If his

+uncle and aunt knew that he was there, they might

+send Forgill again to fetch him.  But if letters reached

+Acland's Hut so uncertainly, how was he to let them

+know?"

+

+As Wilfred worked the matter out thus in his own

+mind, he received every proposition of Mr. De Brunier's

+with, "Please, sir, I'd rather go to Bowkett.  He lost

+me.  He will be sure to take me straight home."

+

+"The boy knew his own mind so thoroughly," Mr. De

+Brunier told Gaspard at last, "they must let him

+have his own way."

+

+The sled was finished.  It was a simple affair—two

+thin boards about four feet long nailed together

+edgeways, with a tri-cornered piece of wood fitted in

+at the end.  Two old skates were screwed on the

+bottom, and the thing was done.  The boys worked

+together at the harness as they sat round the stove in

+the evening.  The snow was thicker, the frost was

+harder every night.  Ice had settled on the quiet

+pools, and was spreading over the quick-running

+streams, but the dash of the falls still resisted its

+ever-encroaching influence.  By-and-by they too

+must yield, and the whole face of nature would be

+locked in its iron clasp.  November was wearing

+away.  A sunny morning came now and then to

+cheer the little party so soon to separate.

+

+Gaspé proposed a run with the dogs, just to try

+how they would go in their new harness, and if, after

+all, the sled would run as a sled should.

+

+Other things were set aside, and boys and men

+gathered in the court.  Even Mr. De Brunier stepped

+out to give his opinion about the puppies.  Gaspé had

+named them from the many tongues of his native

+Canada.

+

+In his heart Wilfred entertained a secret belief that

+not one of them would ever be equal to his Yula.

+They were Athabascans.  They would never be as big

+for one thing, and no dog ever could be half as

+intelligent; that was not possible.  But he did not give

+utterance to these sentiments.  It would have looked

+so ungrateful, when Gaspé was designing the best and

+biggest for his parting gift.  And they were beauties,

+all four of them.

+

+There was Le Chevalier, so named because he never

+appeared, as Gaspé declared, without his white

+shirtfront and white gloves.  Then there was his bluff

+old English Boxer, the sturdiest of the four.  He

+looked like a hauler.  Kusky-tay-ka-atim-moos, or

+"the little black dog," according to the Cree dialect,

+had struck up a friendship with Yula, only a little

+less warm than that which existed between their

+respective masters.  Then the little schemer with the

+party-coloured face was Yankee-doodle.

+

+"Try them all in harness, and see which runs the

+best," suggested grandfather, quite glad that his

+Gaspard should have one bright holiday to checker the

+leaden dulness of the everyday life at Hungry Hall.

+

+Louison was harnessing the team.  He nailed two

+long strips of leather to the lowest end of the sled for

+traces.  The dogs' collars were made of soft leather,

+and slipped over the head.  Each one was ornamented

+with a little tinkling bell under the chin and a tuft of

+bright ribbon at the back of the ear, and a buckle on

+either side through which the traces were passed.  A

+band of leather round the dogs completed the harness,

+and to this the traces were also securely buckled.

+The dogs stood one before the other, about a foot apart.

+

+Yula was an experienced hand, and took the collar

+as a matter of course.  Yankee was the first of the

+puppies to stand in the traces, and his severe doggie

+tastes were completely outraged by the amount of

+finery Gaspé and Louison seemed to think necessary

+for their proper appearance.

+

+Wilfred was seated on a folded blanket, with a

+buffalo-robe tucked over his feet.  Louison flourished

+a whip in the air to make the dogs start.  Away

+went Yula with something of the velocity of an arrow

+from a bow, knocking down Gaspé, who thought of

+holding the back of the sled to guide it.

+

+He scrambled to his feet and ran after it.  Yula

+was careering over the snow at racehorse speed, ten

+miles an hour, and poor little Yankee, almost frightened

+out of his senses, was bent upon making a dash at the

+ribbon waving so enticingly before his eyes.  He

+darted forward.  He hung back.  He lurched from

+side to side.  He twisted, he turned.  He upset the

+equilibrium of the sledge.  It banged against a tree

+on one side, and all but tilted over on the other.  One

+end went down into a badger hole, leaving Wilfred

+and his blanket in a heap on the snow, when Yankee,

+lightened of half his load, fairly leaped upon Yula's

+back and hopelessly entangled the traces.  The boys

+concealed an uneasy sense of ignominious failure

+under an assertion calculated to put as good a face as

+they could on the matter: "We have not got it quite

+right yet, but we shall."

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`THE HUNTERS' CAMP`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER XI.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *THE HUNTERS' CAMP.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+A burst of merry laughter made the two boys

+look round, half afraid that it might be at

+their own expense.

+

+Wilfred felt a bit annoyed when he perceived a

+little party of horsemen spurring towards the fort.

+But Gaspé ran after them, waving his arms with a

+bonjour as he recognized his own Louison's cousin,

+Batiste, among the foremost.

+

+Dog training and dog driving are the never-failing

+topics of interest among the hunters and trappers.

+Batiste had reined in his horse to watch the ineffectual

+efforts of the boys to disentangle the two dogs, who

+were fighting and snarling with each other over the

+upturned sled.

+

+Batiste and his comrades soon advanced from

+watching to helping.  The sled was lifted up, the

+traces disentangled, and Wilfred and Gaspé were told

+and made to feel that they knew nothing at all

+about dog driving, and might find themselves in a

+heap all pell-mell at the bottom of the river bank

+some day if they set about it in such a reckless

+fashion.  They were letting the dogs run just where

+they liked.  Dogs wanted something to follow.

+Batiste jumped from his horse at last, quite unable

+to resist the pleasure of breaking in a young dog.

+

+"It takes two to manage a dog team," he asserted.

+"It wants a man in snow-shoes to walk on in front

+and mark a track, and another behind to keep them

+steady to their work."

+

+Dogs, horses, men, and boys all turned back together

+to discuss Yankee's undeveloped powers.  But

+no, Batiste himself could do nothing with him.

+Yankee refused to haul.

+

+"I'll make him," said Batiste.

+

+But Gaspé preferred to take his dog out of the

+traces rather than surrender him to the tender mercies

+of a hunter.  "I know they are very cruel," he

+whispered to Wilfred.  So Yula was left to draw

+the empty sled back to the fort, and he did it in

+first-rate style.

+

+"He is just cut out for hauling, as the hound is for

+hunting," explained Batiste.  "It is not any dog can

+do it."

+

+They entered the gate of the fort.  The men stood

+patting and praising Yula, while Batiste exchanged

+greetings with his cousin.

+

+Before he unlocked the door of his shop, Mr. De

+Brunier called Wilfred to him.

+

+"Now is your chance, my boy," he said kindly.

+"Batiste tells me he passed this Bowkett on his way

+to the camp, so you are sure to find him there.  Shall

+I arrange with Batiste to take you with him?"

+

+The opportunity had come so suddenly at last.

+If Wilfred had any misgiving, he did not show it.

+

+"What do you think I had better do, sir?" he asked.

+

+"There is so much good common sense in your own

+plan," answered his friend, "I think you had better

+follow it.  When we shut up, you cannot remain

+here; and unless we take you with us, this is the best

+thing to do."

+

+Wilfred put both his hands in Mr. De Brunier's.

+

+"I can't thank you," he said; "I can't thank you

+half enough."

+

+"Never mind the thanks, my boy.  Now I want

+you to promise me, when you get back to your home,

+you will make yourself missed, then you will soon find

+yourself wanted."  Mr. De Brunier turned the key in

+the lock as he spoke, and went in.

+

+Wilfred crossed the court to Gaspé.  He looked

+up brightly, exclaiming, "Kusky is the boy for you;

+they all say Kusky will draw."

+

+"I am going," whispered Wilfred.

+

+"Going! how and why?" echoed Gaspé in consternation.

+

+"With these men," answered Wilfred.

+

+"Then I shall hate Batiste if he takes you from

+me!" exclaimed Gaspé impetuously.

+

+They stepped back into the shed the puppies had

+occupied, behind some packing-cases, where nobody

+could see them, for the parting words.

+

+"We shall never forget each other, never.  Shall

+we ever meet again?" asked Wilfred despairingly.

+"We may when we are men."

+

+"We may before," whispered Gaspé, trying to

+comfort him.  "Grandfather's time is up this Christmas.

+Then he will take his pension and retire.  He talks

+of buying a farm.  Why shouldn't it be near your

+uncle's?"

+

+"Come, Gaspard, what are you about?" shouted

+Mr. De Brunier from the shop door.  "Take Wilfred

+in, and see that he has a good dinner."

+

+Words failed over the knife and fork.  Yula and

+Kusky had to be fed.

+

+"Will the sled be of any use?" asked Gaspé.

+

+Even Wilfred did not feel sure.  They had fallen

+very low—had no heart for anything.

+

+Louison was packing the sled—pemmican and tea

+for three days.

+

+"Put plenty," said Gaspé, as he ran out to see all

+was right.

+

+Louison and Batiste were talking.

+

+"We'll teach that young dog to haul," Batiste was

+saying; "and if the boy gets tired of them, we'll take

+them off his hands altogether."

+

+"With pleasure," added Louison, and they both laughed.

+

+The last moment had come.

+

+"Good-bye, good-bye!" said Wilfred, determined not

+to break down before the men, who were already

+mounting their horses.

+

+"God bless you!" murmured Gaspé.

+

+Batiste put Wilfred on his horse, and undertook the

+management of the sled.  The unexpected pleasure of

+a ride helped to soften the pain of parting.

+

+"I ought to be thankful," thought Wilfred—"I

+ought to rejoice that the chance I have longed for has

+come.  I ought to be grateful that I have a home,

+and such a good home."  But it was all too new.  No

+one had learned to love him there.  Whose hand

+would clasp his when he reached Acland's Hut as

+Gaspé had done?

+

+On, on, over the wide, wild waste of sparkling

+snow, with his jovial companions laughing and talking

+around him.  It was so similar to his ride with

+Bowkett and Diomé, save for the increase in the cold.

+He did not mind that.

+

+But there was one thing Wilfred did mind, and

+that was the hard blows Batiste was raining down

+on Kusky and Yula.  He sprang down to remonstrate.

+He wanted to drive them himself.  He was laughed

+at for a self-conceited jackass, and pushed aside.

+

+Dog driving was the hunter's hobby.  The whole

+party were engrossed in watching Yula's progress, and

+quiet, affectionate little Kusky's infantine endeavours

+to keep up with him.

+

+Batiste regarded himself as a crack trainer, and

+when poor Kusky brought the whole cavalcade to a

+standstill by sitting down in the midst of his traces,

+he announced his intention of curing him of such a

+trick with his first taste.

+

+"Send him to Rome," shouted one of the foremost

+of the hunters.  "He'll not forget that in a hurry."

+

+"He is worth training well," observed another.

+"See what a chest he has.  He will make as good a

+hauler as the old one by-and-by.  Pay him well first

+start."

+

+What "sending to Rome" might mean Wilfred did

+not stay to see.  Enough to know it was the

+uttermost depth of dog disgrace.  He saw Batiste double

+up his fist and raise his arm.  The sprain in his

+ankle was forgotten.  He flew to the ground, and

+dashed between Batiste and his dogs, exclaiming,

+"They are mine, my own, and they shan't be hurt

+by anybody!"

+

+He caught the first blow, that was all.  He staggered

+backwards on the slippery ground.

+

+Another of the hunters had alighted.  He caught

+Wilfred by the arm, and pulled him up, observing

+dryly, "Well done, young 'un.  Got a settler unawares.

+That just comes of interfering.—Here, Mathurin, take

+him up behind ye."

+

+The hunter appealed to wheeled round with a

+good-natured laugh.

+

+But Wilfred could not stand; the horses, dogs,

+and snow seemed dancing round him.

+

+"Yula!  Kusky!" he called, like one speaking in a

+dream.

+

+But Yula, dragging the sled behind him, and rolling

+Kusky over and over in the tangling harness, had

+sprung at Batiste's arm; but he was too hampered to

+seize him.  Wilfred was only aware of a confused

+*mêlée* as he was hoisted into Mathurin's strong arms

+and trotted away from the scene of action.

+

+"Come, you are the sauciest young dog of the

+three," said Mathurin rather admiringly.  "There, lay

+your head on me.  You'll have to sleep this off a

+bit," he continued, gently walking his horse, and

+gradually dropping behind the rest of the party.

+

+Poor Wilfred roused up every now and then with

+a rather wild and incoherent inquiry for his dogs, to

+which Mathurin replied with a drawling, sleepy-sounding

+"All right."

+

+Wilfred's eyes were so swollen over that he hardly

+knew it was starshine when Mathurin laid him down

+by a new-lit camping-fire.

+

+"There," said the hunter, in the self-congratulatory

+tone of a man who knows he has got over an awkward

+piece of business; "let him have his dogs, and give

+him a cup of tea, and he'll be himself again by the

+morning."

+

+"Ready for the same game?" asked Batiste, who

+was presiding over the tea-kettle.

+

+The cup which Mathurin recommended was poured

+out; the sugar was not spared.  Wilfred drank it

+gladly without speaking.  When words were useless

+silence seemed golden.  Yula was on guard beside

+him, and poor little Kusky, cowed and cringing, was

+shivering at his feet.  They covered him up, and all

+he had seen and heard seemed as unreal as his dreams.

+

+The now familiar cry of "*Lève! lève!*" made Yula

+sit upright.  The hunters were astir before the dawn,

+but Wilfred was left undisturbed for another hour at

+least, until the rubeiboo was ready—that is, pemmican

+boiled in water until it makes a sort of soup.  Pemmican,

+as Mr. De Brunier had said, was the hunters'

+favourite food.

+

+"Now for the best of the breakfast for the lame

+and tame," laughed Batiste, pulling up Wilfred, and

+looking at his disfiguring bruises with a whistle.

+

+Wilfred shrank from the prospect before him.

+Another day of bitter biting cold, and merciless cruelty

+to his poor dogs.  "Oh, if Gaspé knew!—if Kusky

+could but have run back home!"

+

+Wilfred could not eat much.  He gave his breakfast

+to his dogs, and fondled them in silence.  It was

+enough to make a fellow's blood boil to be called

+Mathurin's babby, *l'enfant endormi* (sleepy child),

+and Pierre the pretty face.

+

+"Can we be such stoics, Yula," he whispered, "as

+to stand all this another twenty-four hours, and see

+our poor little Kusky beaten right and left?  Can

+we bear it till to-morrow morning?"

+

+Yula washed the nervous fingers stroking his hair

+out of his eyes, and looked the picture of patient

+endurance.  There was no escape, but it could not

+last long.  Wilfred set his teeth, and asserted no one

+but himself should put the harness on his dogs.

+

+"Gently, my little turkey-cock," put in Mathurin.

+"The puppy may be your own, but the stray belongs

+to a friend of mine, who will be glad enough to see

+him back again."

+

+Wilfred was fairly frightened now.  "Oh, if he

+had to give his Yula chummie back to some horrid

+stranger!"  He thought it would be the last straw

+which brings the breakdown to boy as well as camel.

+But he consoled himself at their journey's end.

+Bowkett would interfere on his behalf.  Mathurin's

+assertion was not true, by the twinkle in his eye and the

+laugh to his companions.  Louison must have told his

+cousin that Yula was a stray, or they would never

+have guessed it.  True or false, the danger of losing

+his dog was a real one.  They meant to take it from

+him.  One thing Wilfred had the sense to see, getting

+in a passion was of no good anyway.  "Frederick the

+Great lost his battle when he lost his temper," he

+thought.  "Keep mine for Yula's sake I will."

+

+But the work was harder than he expected, although

+the time was shorter.  The hardy broncos of the hunters

+were as untiring as their masters.  Ten, twenty, thirty

+miles were got over without a sign of weariness from

+any one but Wilfred and Kusky.  If they were dead

+beat, what did it matter?  The dog was lashed along,

+and Wilfred was teased, to keep him from falling

+asleep.

+

+"One more push," said the hunters, "and instead of

+sleeping with our feet to a camp-fire, and our beards

+freezing to the blankets, we shall be footing it to

+Bowkett's fiddle."

+

+The moon had risen clear and bright above the

+sleeping clouds still darkening the horizon.  A silent

+planet burned lamp-like in the western sky.  Forest

+and prairie, ridges and lowland, were sparkling in

+the sheen of the moonlight and the snow.

+

+Wilfred roused himself.  The tinkle of the

+dog-bells was growing fainter and fainter, as Mathurin

+galloped into the midst of a score or so of huts

+promiscuously crowded together, while many a high-piled

+meat-stage gave promise of a winter's plenty.  Huge

+bones and horns, the remnants of yesterday's feast,

+were everywhere strewing the ground, and changing

+its snowy carpet to a dingy drab.  There were

+wolf-skins spread over framework.  There were

+buffalo-skins to be smoked, and buffalo-robes—as they are

+called when the hair is left on—stretched out to dry.

+Men and horses, dogs and boys, women drawing water

+or carrying wood, jostled each other.  There was a

+glow of firelight from many a parchment window,

+and here and there the sound of a fiddle, scraped by

+some rough hunter's hand, and the quick thud of the

+jovial hunter's heel upon the earthen floor.

+

+It resembled nothing in the old world so much as

+an Irish fair, with its shouts of laughter and snatches

+of song, and that sense of inextricable confusion,

+heightened by the all too frequent fight in a most

+inconvenient corner.  The rule of contrary found a

+notable example in the name bestowed upon this

+charming locality.  A French missionary had once

+resided on the spot, so it was still called La Mission.

+

+Mathurin drew up before one of the biggest of the

+huts, where the sounds of mirth were loudest, and the

+light streamed brightest on the bank of snow beside

+the door.

+

+"Here we are!" he exclaimed, swinging Wilfred

+from the saddle to the threshold.

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`MAXICA'S WARNING`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER XII.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *MAXICA'S WARNING.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+Mathurin knocked at the door.  It was on

+the latch.  He pushed Wilfred inside; but

+the boy was stubborn.

+

+"No, no, I won't go in; I'll stand outside and wait

+for the others," he said.  "I want my dogs."

+

+"But the little 'un's dead beat.  You would not

+have him hurried.  I am going back to meet them,"

+laughed Mathurin, proud of the neat way in which

+he had slipped out of all explanation of the blow

+Wilfred had received, which Bowkett might make

+awkward.

+

+He was in the saddle and off again in a moment,

+leaving Wilfred standing at the half-open door.

+

+"This is nothing but a dodge to get my dogs away

+from me," thought the boy, unwilling to go inside the

+hut without them.

+

+"I am landed at last," he sighed, with a grateful sense

+of relief, as he heard Bowkett's voice in the pause of

+the dance.  His words were received with bursts of

+laughter.  But what was he saying?

+

+"It all came about through the loss of the boy.

+There was lamentation and mourning and woe when

+I went back without him.  The auntie would have

+given her eyes to find him.  See my gain by the

+endeavour.  As hope grew beautifully less, it dwindled

+down to 'Bring me some certain tidings of his fate,

+and there is nothing I can refuse you.'  As luck would

+have it, I came across a Blackfoot wearing the very

+knife we stuck in the poor boy's belt before we started.

+I was not slow in bartering for an exchange; and

+when I ride next to Acland's Hut, it is but to change

+horses and prepare for a longer drive to the nearest

+church.  So, friends, I invite you all to dance at my

+wedding feast.  Less than three days of it won't

+content a hunter."

+

+A cheer went up from the noisy dancers, already

+calling for the fiddles.

+

+Bowkett paused with the bow upraised.  There

+stood Wilfred, like the skeleton at the feast, in the

+open doorway before him.

+

+"If you have not found me, I have found you,

+Mr. Bowkett," he was saying.  "I am the lost boy.

+I am Wilfred Acland."

+

+The dark brow of the handsome young hunter

+contracted with angry dismay.

+

+"Begone!" he exclaimed, with a toss of his head.

+"You!  I know nothing of you!  What business have

+you here?"

+

+Hugh Bowkett turned his back upon Wilfred, and

+fiddled away more noisily than before.  Two or three

+of his friends who stood nearest to him—men whom

+it would not have been pleasant to meet alone in the

+darkness of the night—closed round him as the dance

+began.

+

+"A coyote in your lamb's-skin," laughed one, "on

+the lookout for a supper."

+

+A coyote is a little wolfish creature, a most

+impudent thief, for ever prowling round the winter

+camps, nibbling at the skins and watching the

+meat-stage, fought off by the dogs and trapped like a rat

+by the hunters.

+

+Wilfred looked round for Diomé.  He might have

+recognized him; but no Diomé was there.

+

+Was there not one among the merry fellows

+tripping before him, not one that had ever seen him

+before?  He knew he was sadly changed.  His face

+was still swollen from the disfiguring blow.  Could

+he wonder if Bowkett did not know him?  Should

+he run back and call the men who had brought him

+to his assistance?  He hated them, every one.  He

+was writhing still under every lash which had fallen

+on poor Kusky's sides.  Turn to them? no, never!

+His dogs would be taken as payment for any help

+that they might give.  He would reason it out.  He

+would convince Bowkett he was the same boy.

+

+Three or four Indians entered behind him, and

+seated themselves on the floor, waiting for something

+to eat.  He knew their silent way of begging for

+food when they thought that food was plentiful in

+the camp: the high-piled meat-stage had drawn them.

+It was such an ordinary thing Wilfred paid no heed

+to them.  He was bent on making Bowkett listen;

+and yet he was afraid to leave the door, for fear of

+missing his dogs.

+

+"A word in your ear," said the most ill-looking of

+the hunters standing by Bowkett's fiddle, trusting to

+the noise of the music to drown his words from every

+one but him for whom they were intended.  "You and

+I have been over the border together, sharpened up a

+bit among the Yankee bowie-knives.  You are counting

+Caleb Acland as a dead man.  You are expecting,

+as his sister's husband, to step into his shoes.  Back

+comes this boy and sweeps the stakes out of your

+very hand.  He'll stand first."

+

+"I know it," retorted Bowkett with a scowl.  "But,"

+he added hurriedly, "it is not he."

+

+"Oh, it isn't the boy you lost?  Of course not.

+But take my advice, turn this impudent young coyote

+out into the snow.  One midnight's frost will save you

+from any more bother.  There are plenty of badger

+holes where he can rest safe and snug till doomsday."

+

+Bowkett would not venture a reply.  The low aside

+was unnoticed by the dancers; not the faintest breath

+could reach Wilfred, vainly endeavouring to pass

+between the whirling groups to Bowkett's side; but

+every syllable was caught by the quick ear of one of

+the Indians on the floor.

+

+He picked up a tiny splinter of wood from the

+hearth, near which he was sitting; another was

+secreted.  There were three in the hollow of his

+hand.  Noiselessly and unobtrusively he stole behind

+the dancers.  A gentle pull at Wilfred's coat made

+him look up into the half-blind eyes of Maxica the Cree.

+

+Not a word was said.  Maxica turned from him

+and seated himself once more on the ground, in which

+he deliberately stuck his three pegs.

+

+Wilfred could not make out what he was going to

+do, but his heart felt lighter at the sight of him; "for,"

+he thought, "he will confirm my story.  He will tell

+Bowkett how he found me by the banks of the

+dried-up river."  He dropped on the floor beside the

+wandering Cree.  But the Indian laid a finger on his lips,

+and one of his pegs was pressed on Wilfred's palm;

+another was pointed towards Bowkett.  The third,

+which was a little charred, and therefore blackened,

+was turned to the door, which Wilfred had left open,

+to the darkness without, from whence, according to

+Indian belief, the evil spirits come.

+

+Then Maxica took the three pegs and moved them

+rapidly about the floor.  The black peg and Bowkett's

+peg were always close together, rubbing against each

+other until both were as black as a piece of charcoal.

+It was clear they were pursuing the other peg—which

+Wilfred took for himself—from corner to corner.  At

+last it was knocked down under them, driven right

+into the earthen floor, and the two blackened pegs

+were left sticking upright over it.

+

+Wilfred laid his hand softly on Maxica's knee, to

+show his warning was understood.

+

+But what then?

+

+Maxica got up and glided out of the hut as noiselessly

+as he had entered it.  The black-browed hunter

+whispering at Bowkett's elbow made his way through

+the dancers towards Wilfred with a menacing air.

+

+"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

+

+"Waiting to speak to Mr. Bowkett," replied Wilfred

+stoutly.

+

+"Then you may wait for him on the snow-bank,"

+retorted the hunter, seizing Wilfred by the collar and

+flinging him out of the door.

+

+"What is that for?" asked several of the dancers.

+

+"I'll vow it is the same young imp who passed us

+with a party of miners coming from a summer's work

+in the Rocky Mountains, who stole my dinner from

+the spit," he went on, working himself into the

+semblance of a passion.  "I marked him with a rare

+black eye before we parted then, and I'll give him

+another if he shows his face again where I am."

+

+"It is false!" cried Wilfred, rising up in the heat

+of his indignation.

+

+His tormentor came a step or two from the door, and

+gathering up a great lump of snow, hurled it at him.

+

+Wilfred escaped from the avalanche, and the mocking

+laughter which accompanied it, to the sheltering

+darkness.  He paused among the sombre shadows

+thrown by the wall of the opposite hut.  Maxica

+was waiting for him under its pine-bark eaves,

+surveying the cloudless heavens.

+

+"He speaks with a forked tongue," said the Cree,

+pointing to the man in the doorway, and dividing his

+fingers, to show that thoughts went one way and

+words another.

+

+The scorn of the savage beside him was balm to

+Wilfred.  The touch of sympathy which makes the

+whole world kin drew them together.  But between

+him and the hunter swaggering on the snow-bank

+there was a moral gulf nothing could bridge over.

+There was a sense—a strange sense—of deliverance.

+What would it have been to live on with such men,

+touching their pitch, and feeling himself becoming

+blackened?  That was the uttermost depth from which

+this fellow's mistake had saved him.

+

+It was no mistake, as Maxica was quick to show

+him, but deliberate purpose.  Then Wilfred gave up

+every hope of getting back to his home.  All was lost

+to him—even his dogs were gone.

+

+He tried to persuade Maxica to walk round the

+huts with him, to find out where they were.  But

+the Cree was resolute to get him away as fast as

+he could beyond the reach of Bowkett and his

+companions.  He expected that great lump of snow would

+be followed by a stone; that their steps would be

+dogged until they reached the open, when—he did not

+particularize the precise form that when was likeliest

+to assume.  The experiences of his wild, wandering

+life suggested dangers that could not occur to Wilfred.

+There must be no boyish footprint in the snow to

+tell which way they were going.  Maxica wrapped his

+blanket round Wilfred, and threw him over his

+shoulder as if he had been a heavy pack of skins, and

+took his way through the noisiest part of the camp,

+choosing the route a frightened boy would be the last

+to take.  He crossed in front of an outlying hut.

+Yula was tied by a strip of leather to one of the

+posts supporting its meat-stage, and Kusky to another.

+Maxica recognized Yula's bark before Wilfred did.

+He muffled the boy's head in the blanket, and drew it

+under his arm in such a position that Wilfred could

+scarcely either speak or hear.  Then Maxica turned

+his course, and left the dogs behind him.  But Yula

+could not be deceived.  He bounded forward to the

+uttermost length of his tether.  One sniff at the toe

+of Wilfred's boot, scarcely visible beneath the blanket,

+made him desperate.  He hung at his collar; he tore

+up the earth; he dragged at the post, as if, like

+another Samson, he would use his unusual strength to

+pull down this prison-house.

+

+Maxica, with his long, ungainly Indian stride, was

+quickly out of sight.  Then Yula forbore his wailing

+howl, and set himself to the tough task of biting

+through the leathern thong which secured him.

+Fortunately for him, a dog-chain was unattainable in the

+hunters' camp.  Time and persistency were safe to set

+him free before the daylight.

+

+"I thought you were going to stifle me outright,"

+said Wilfred, when Maxica released him.

+

+"I kept you still," returned the Cree.  "There

+were ears behind every log."

+

+"Where are we going?" asked Wilfred.

+

+But Maxica had no answer to that question.  He

+was stealing over the snow with no more definite

+purpose before him than to take the boy away

+somewhere beyond the hunters' reach.  A long night walk

+was nothing to him.  He could find his way as well

+in the dark as in the light.

+

+They were miles from the hunters' camp before he

+set Wilfred on his feet or paused to rest.

+

+"You have saved me, Maxica," said Wilfred, in a

+low, deep voice.  "You have saved my life from a

+greater danger than the snowdrift.  I can only pray

+the Good Spirit to reward you."

+

+"I was hunger-bitten, and you gave me beaver-skin,"

+returned Maxica.  "Now think; whilst this

+bad hunter keeps the gate of your house there is no

+going back for you, and you have neither trap nor

+bow.  I'll guide you where the hunter will never

+follow—across the river to the pathless forest; and

+then—" he looked inquiringly, turning his dim eyes

+towards the boy.

+

+"Oh, if I were but back in Hungry Hall!" Wilfred

+broke forth.

+

+Maxica was leading on to where a poplar thicket

+concealed the entrance to a sheltered hollow scooped

+on the margin of a frozen stream.  The snow had

+fallen from its shelving sides, and lay in white masses,

+blocking the entrance from the river.  Giving Wilfred

+his hand, Maxica began to descend the slippery steep.

+It was one of nature's hiding-places, which Maxica

+had frequently visited.  He scooped out his circle in

+the frozen snow at the bottom, fetched down the dead

+wood from the overhanging trees, and built his fire,

+as on the first night of their acquaintance.  But now

+the icy walls around them reflected the dancing flames

+in a thousand varied hues.  Between the black rocks,

+from which the raging winds had swept the recent

+snow, a cascade turned to ice hung like a drapery of

+crystal lace suspended in mid-air.

+

+It was the second night they had passed together,

+with no curtain but the star-lit sky.  Now Maxica

+threw the corner of his blanket over Wilfred's

+shoulders, and drew him as closely to his side as if he

+were his son.  The Cree lit his pipe, and abandoned

+himself to an hour or two of pure Indian enjoyment.

+

+Wilfred nestled by his side, thinking of Jacob on

+his stony pillow.  The rainbow flashes from the frozen

+fall gleamed before him like stairs of light, by which

+God's messengers could come and go.  It is at such

+moments, when we lie powerless in the grasp of a

+crushing danger, and sudden help appears in

+undreamed-of ways, that we know a mightier power

+than man's is caring for us.

+

+He thought of his father and mother—the love he

+had missed and mourned; and love was springing up

+for him again in stranger hearts, born of the pity for

+his great trouble.

+

+There was a patter on the snow.  It was not the

+step of a man.  With a soft and stealthy movement

+Maxica grasped his bow, and was drawing the arrow

+from his quiver, when Yula bounded into Wilfred's

+arms.  There was a piteous whine from the midst of

+the poplars, where Kusky stood shivering, afraid to

+follow.  To scramble up by the light of the fire and

+bring him down was the work of a moment.

+

+Yula's collar was still round his neck, with the

+torn thong dangling from it; but Kusky had slipped

+his head out of his, only leaving a little of his abundant

+hair behind him.

+

+Three hours' rest sufficed for Maxica.  He rose and

+shook himself.

+

+"That other place," he said, "where's that?"

+

+Now his dogs were with him, Wilfred was loath

+to leave their icy retreat and face the cruel world.

+

+The fireshine and the ice, with all their mysterious

+beauty, held him spell-bound.

+

+"Maxica," he whispered, not understanding the

+Cree's last question, "they call this the new world;

+but don't you think it really is the very old, old

+world, just as God made it?  No one has touched it

+in all these ages."

+

+Yes, it was a favourite nook of Maxica's, beautiful,

+he thought, as the happy hunting-grounds beyond the

+sunset—the Indian's heaven.  Could he exchange the

+free range of his native wilds, with all their majestic

+beauty, for a settler's hut? the trap and the bow

+for the plough and the spade, and tie himself down

+to one small corner?  The earth was free to all.

+Wilfred had but to take his share, and roam its plains

+and forests, as the red man roamed.

+

+But Wilfred knew better than to think he could

+really live their savage life, with its dark alternations

+of hunger and cold.

+

+"Could I get back to Hungry Hall in time to travel

+with Mr. De Brunier?" he asked his swarthy friend.

+

+"Yes; that other place," repeated Maxica, "where

+is that?"

+

+Wilfred could hardly tell him, he remembered so

+little of the road.

+

+"Which way did the wind blow and the snow drift

+past as you stood at the friendly gates?" asked

+Maxica.  "On which cheek did the wind cut keenest

+when you rode into the hunters' camp at nightfall?"

+

+Wilfred tried to recollect.

+

+"A two days' journey," reflected Maxica, "with the

+storm-wind in our faces."

+

+He felt the edge of his hatchet, climbed the steep

+ascent, and struck a gash in the stem of the nearest

+poplar.  His quick sense of touch told him at which

+edge of the cut the bark grew thickest.  That was

+the north.  He found it with the unerring precision

+of the mariner's compass.  Although he had no names

+for the cardinal points, he knew them all.

+

+There was an hour or two yet before daylight.

+Wilfred found himself a stick, as they passed between

+the poplars, to help himself along, and caught up

+Kusky under his other arm; for the poor little fellow

+was stiff in every limb, and his feet were pricked and

+bleeding, from the icicles which he had suffered to

+gather between his toes, not yet knowing any better.

+But he was too big a dog for Wilfred to carry long.

+Wilfred carefully broke out the crimsoned spikes as

+soon as there was light enough to show him what was

+the matter, and Yula came and washed Kusky's feet

+more than once; so they helped him on.

+

+Before the gray of the winter's dawn La Mission

+was miles behind them, and breakfast a growing

+necessity.

+

+Maxica had struck out a new route for himself.

+He would not follow the track Batiste and his

+companions had taken.  The black pegs might yet pursue

+the white and trample it down in the snow if they

+were not wary.  Sooner or later an Indian

+accomplishes his purpose.  He attributed the same fierce

+determination to Bowkett.  Wilfred lagged more and

+more.  Food must be had.  Maxica left him to

+contrive a trap in the run of the game through the

+bushes to their right.  So Wilfred took the dogs

+slowly on.  Sitting down in the snow, without first

+clearing a hole or lighting a fire, was dangerous.

+

+Yula, sharing in the general desire for breakfast,

+started off on a little hunting expedition of his own.

+Kusky was limping painfully after him, as he darted

+between the tall, dark pines which began to chequer

+the landscape and warn the travellers they were

+nearing the river.

+

+Wilfred went after his dog to recall him.  The sun

+was glinting through the trees, and the all-pervading

+stillness was broken by the sound of a hatchet.  Had

+Maxica crossed over unawares?  Had Wilfred turned

+back without knowing it?  He drew to the spot.

+There was Diomé chopping firewood, which Pe-na-Koam

+was dragging across the snow towards a roughly-built

+log-hut.

+

+She dropped the boughs on the snow, and drawing

+her blanket round her, came to meet him.

+

+Diomé, not perceiving Wilfred's approach, had

+retreated further among the trees, intent upon his

+occupation.

+

+Wilfred's first sensation of joy at the sight of

+Pe-na-Koam turned to something like fear as he saw

+her companion, for he had known him only as

+Bowkett's man.  But retreat was impossible.  The

+old squaw had shuffled up to him and grasped his

+arm.  The sight of Yula bounding over the snow had

+made her the first to perceive him.  She was pouring

+forth her delight in her Indian tongue, and explaining

+her appearance in such altered surroundings.  Wilfred

+could not understand a word, but Maxica was not far

+behind.  Kusky and Yula were already in the hut,

+barking for the wa-wa (the goose) that was roasting

+before the fire.

+

+When Maxica came up, walking beside Diomé,

+Wilfred knew escape was out of the question.  He

+must try to make a friend—at least he must meet

+him as a friend, even if he proved himself to be an

+enemy.  But the work was done already.

+

+"Ah, it is you!" cried Diomé.  "I was sure it was.

+You had dropped a button in the tumble-down hut,

+and the print of your boot, an English boot, was all

+over the snow when I got there.  You look dazed,

+my little man; don't you understand what I'm talking

+about?  That old squaw is my grandmother.  You

+don't know, of course, who it was sent the Blackfoot

+Sapoo to dig her out of the snow; but I happen to

+know.  The old man is going from Hungry Hall, and

+Louison is to be promoted.  I'm on the look-out to

+take his place with the new-comer; so when I met

+with him, a snow-bird whispered in my ear a thing or

+two.  But where are your guides?"

+

+Wilfred turned for a word with Maxica before he

+dared reply.

+

+Both felt the only thing before them was to win

+Diomé to Wilfred's side.

+

+"Have you parted company with Bowkett?" asked

+Maxica cautiously.

+

+"Bowkett," answered Diomé, "is going to marry

+and turn farmer, and I to try my luck as voyageur

+to the Company.  This is the hunters' idle month, and

+I am waiting here until my services are wanted at

+the fort.—What cheer?" he shouted to his bright-eyed

+little wife, driving the dogs from the door of the hut.

+

+The wa-wa shortly disappeared before Maxica's

+knife, for an Indian likes about ten pounds of meat

+for a single meal.  Wilfred was asleep beside the fire

+long before it was over; when they tried to rouse

+him his senses were roaming.  The excitement and

+exertion, following the blow on his head, had taken

+effect at last.

+

+Pe-na-Koam, with all an Indian woman's skill in

+the use of medicinal herbs, and the experience of a

+long life spent among her warrior tribe, knew well

+how to take care of him.

+

+"Leave him to me," she said to Maxica, "and go

+your ways."

+

+Diomé too was anxious for the Cree to depart.

+He was looking forward to taking Wilfred back to

+Acland's Hut himself.  Caleb Acland's gratitude would

+express itself in a tangible form, and he did not intend

+to divide it with Maxica.  His evident desire to get

+rid of the Cree put the red man on his guard.  Long

+did he sit beside the hunter's fire in brooding silence,

+trusting that Wilfred might rise up from his

+lengthened sleep ready to travel, as an Indian might have

+done.  But his hope was abortive.  He drew out of

+Pe-na-Koam all he wanted to know.  Diomé had been

+long in Bowkett's employ.  When the Cree heard this

+he shut his lips.

+

+"Watch over the boy," he said to Pe-na-Koam, "for

+danger threatens him."

+

+Then Maxica went out and set his traps in the

+fir-brake and the marsh, keeping stealthy watch round

+the hut for fear Bowkett should appear, and often

+looking in to note Wilfred's progress.

+

+One day the casual mention of Bowkett's name

+threw the poor boy into such a state of agitation,

+Diomé suspected there had been some passage between

+the two he was ignorant of.  A question now and

+then, before Wilfred was himself again, convinced him

+the boy had been to La Mission, and that Bowkett

+had refused to recognize him.  When he spoke of it

+to Pe-na-Koam, she thought of the danger at which

+Maxica had hinted.  She watched for the Cree.

+Diomé began to fear Wilfred's reappearance might

+involve him in a quarrel with Bowkett.

+

+As Wilfred got better, and found Hungry Hall was

+shut up, he resolved to go back to Acland's Hut, if

+possible, whilst his Aunt Miriam and Bowkett were

+safe out of the way on their road to the church where

+they were to be married.  Diomé said they would be

+gone two days.  He proposed to take Wilfred with

+him, when he went to the wedding, on the return of

+the bride and bridegroom.

+

+"Lend me your snow-shoes," entreated Wilfred,

+"and with Maxica for a guide, I can manage the

+journey alone.  Don't go with me, Diomé, for Bowkett

+will never forgive the man who takes me back.  You

+have been good and kind to me, why should I bring

+you into trouble?"

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`JUST IN TIME`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER XIII.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *JUST IN TIME.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+The walk from Diomé's log hut to Uncle Caleb's

+farm was a long one, but the clear, bright

+sunshine of December had succeeded the pitiless sleet

+and blinding snow.  Lake and river had hardened

+in the icy breath of the north wind.  An iron frost

+held universal sway, as Wilfred and Maxica drew near

+to Acland's Hut.

+

+.. _`The walk to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one.`:

+

+.. figure:: images/img-164.jpg

+   :align: center

+   :alt: The walk to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one.

+

+   The walk to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one.

+

+The tinkle of a distant sledge-bell arrested Maxica.

+Had some miscount in the day brought them face

+to face with the bridal party?

+

+They turned away from the well-known gate,

+crept behind the farm buildings, and crossed the

+reedy pool to Forgill's hut.

+

+With the frozen snow full three feet deep beneath

+their feet there was roadway everywhere.  Railings

+scarcely showed above it, and walls could be easily

+cleared with one long step.  The door of the hut was

+fastened, but Wilfred waited behind it while Maxica

+stole round to reconnoitre.

+

+He returned quickly.  It was not the bridal party,

+for there was not a single squaw among them.  They

+were travellers in a horse-sledge, stopping at the

+farm to rest.  He urged Wilfred to seize the chance

+and enter with them.  The presence of the strangers

+would be a protection.  They took their way through

+the orchard trees, and came out boldly on the

+well-worn tracks before the gate.  It excited no surprise

+in the occupants of the sledge to see two dusky

+figures in their long, pointed snow-shoes gliding

+swiftly after them; travellers like themselves, no

+doubt, hoping to find hospitality at the farm.

+

+Yula and Kusky went bounding over the intervening space.

+

+There were two travellers and a sledge-driver.

+The dogs considered them, and did not bark.  Then

+Kusky, in frantic delight, endeavoured to leap into

+the sledge.  It drew up.  The driver thundered on

+the gate.

+

+"What cheer?" shouted a voice from the sledge.

+

+It was the usual traveller's inquiry, but it thrilled

+through Wilfred's ears, for it was—it could not

+be—yet it was the voice of Mr. De Brunier.

+

+Kusky was already on Gaspé's knee devouring him

+with his doggie caresses.

+

+"Is it a dream, or is it real?" asked Wilfred, as

+with one long slide he overtook the sledge, and

+grasped a hand of each.

+

+"I didn't know you, coming after us in your

+seven-league boots," laughed Gaspé, pointing to the long,

+oval frame of Wilfred's snow-shoes, reaching a foot

+or more before and behind his boot.

+

+But Wilfred did not answer, he was whispering

+rapidly to Mr. De Brunier.

+

+"Wilfred, *mon ami*," (my friend), pursued Gaspé,

+bent upon interrupting the low-voiced confidence, "it

+was for your sake grandfather decided to make his

+first inquiries for a farm in this neighbourhood.

+Batiste was so ambiguous and so loath to speak

+of your journey when he came after Louison's post,

+we grew uneasy about you.  All the more glad to

+find you safe at home."

+

+"At home, but not in home," answered Wilfred,

+significantly laying his finger on his lips, to prevent

+any exclamation from his bewildered friend.

+

+"All right," said Mr. De Brunier.  "We will enter

+together."

+

+Pête, who was already opening the gate, bade them

+heartily welcome.  Hospitality in the lone North-West

+becomes a duty.

+

+Wilfred dropped behind the sledge, slouched his fur

+cap well over his eyes, and let Maxica fold his blanket

+round him, Indian fashion.

+

+Pête led the way into the kitchen, Wilfred followed

+behind the sledge-driver, and the Cree was the last to

+enter.  A long row of joints were roasting before the

+ample fire, giving undoubted indications of an

+approaching feast.

+

+"Just in time," observed Mr. De Brunier with a

+smile, which gained a peculiar significance as it rested

+on Wilfred.

+

+"Ay, and that you are," returned old Pête; "for

+the missis is gone to be married, and I was on the

+look-out for her return when I heard the jingling of

+your sledge-bells.  The house will be full enough by

+nightfall, I reckon."

+

+Wilfred undid the strap of his snow-shoes, gave

+them to Maxica, and walked softly to the door of his

+uncle's room.

+

+He opened it with a noiseless hand, and closed it

+behind him.

+

+Mr. De Brunier's retort about the welcome which

+awaited uninvited guests on a bridal night kept

+Pête from noticing his movements.

+

+The logs crackled and the sparks flew on the

+kitchen hearth.  The fat from the savoury roast fell

+hissing in the pan, and the hungry travellers around

+it seemed to have eyes for nothing else.

+

+Wilfred crept to his uncle's bed.  He was asleep.

+The boy glanced round.  He threw off his wraps.

+His first care was to find his uncle's comb and brush.

+It was a luxury unknown since his departure from

+Hungry Hall.  He was giving a good tug at his

+tangled locks, hoping to make himself look a little

+more like the schoolboy who had once before roused

+the old man from his sleep, when a cough and an

+exclamation sounding like, "Who is there?" told him

+his uncle was awake.

+

+"O uncle, you surely have not forgotten me—me,

+your nephew, Wilfred!  Got home at last.  The

+pony threw me, and I was utterly lost.  An Indian

+guided me here," he answered, tumbling his words

+one upon another as fast as he could, for his heart

+was beating wildly.

+

+Caleb Acland raised himself on one elbow and

+grasped Wilfred by the wrist.  "It is he!  It is

+flesh and blood!" he ejaculated.  "The boy himself

+Pête!  Pête!"  He felt for the stick left leaning

+against his bed, and stamped it on the floor.

+

+A great sob burst unawares from the poor boy's lips.

+

+"Don't!" said the old man in alarm.  "What are

+you crying for, lad?  What's happened?  I don't

+understand.  Give me your hand!  That's cold

+enough—death cold.  Pête!  Pête! what are ye about?

+Have you grown deaf that you can't hear me?"

+

+He pulled Wilfred's cold fingers under the blankets

+and tried to chafe them between his swollen hands.

+

+"I'm not crying," protested Wilfred, brushing his

+other hand across his eyes.  "It is the ice melting

+out of me.  I'm thawing all over.  It is because I

+have got back uncle, and you are glad to have me.

+I should have been dead but for the Cree who

+brought me home.  I was almost starving at times.

+I have wandered in the snow all night."

+

+"God bless the boy!" ejaculated the old man,

+thundering on the floor once more.

+

+"Here, Pête!  Pête!  Something quick to eat."

+

+Pête's head appeared at the door at last.

+

+"Whatever do you want now, master?" he demanded

+in an injured tone.  "I thought I had put

+everything ready for you, as handy as could be; and

+you said you wouldn't call me off, with the bride

+expected every minute, and the supper to cook, as

+you know."

+

+"Cook away then," returned his master impatiently.

+"It is the hour for the fatted calf.  Oh, you've no

+eyes, none!  Whom have I got here?  Who is this?"

+

+Pête backed to the door in wide-eyed wonder.

+"I'm struck of a heap!" he gasped, staring at

+Wilfred as if he thought he would melt away into

+vacancy.

+

+"Where were you that you did not see him come

+in?" asked his master sharply.

+

+"Where?" repeated Pête indignantly.  "At your

+own gate, answering a party of travellers—men

+who've come down to buy land; and," he added,

+changing his tone, "there is a gentleman among

+them says he must speak to you, master, your own

+self particular, this very night."

+

+"It is Mr. De Brunier, uncle.  He took me in, and

+sent me to the hunters' camp, where Mr. Bowkett

+was to be found," interposed Wilfred.

+

+This name was spoken with an effort.  Like many

+a noble-minded boy, Wilfred hated to tell of another.

+He hesitated, then went on abruptly: "I thought he

+would be sure to bring me home.  Well, I got there.

+He did not seem to know me.  He was all for

+fiddling and dancing.  They were a rough set, uncle,

+a very rough set.  Father would not have liked to

+have seen me with such men.  I got away again as

+quickly as I could.  The Cree who had saved me

+before guided me home at last."

+

+"What is that?  Did you say Bowkett, Hugh

+Bowkett?" repeated the old man.  "Why, your aunt

+was married to him this morning."

+

+When Pête disappeared into his master's room,

+Maxica, who had seated himself on the kitchen floor,

+rose suddenly, and leaning over Mr. De Brunier,

+asked, "Who in this place is friend to the boy

+without a father?"

+

+"I can answer your question for myself, but no

+further, for I am a stranger here," replied

+Mr. De Brunier.

+

+"We are four," said Maxica, counting on his fingers.

+"I hear the voice of the man at the gate—the man

+who spoke against the white boy with a forked

+tongue; the man who drove him out into the frosty

+night, that it might kill him.  We have brought the

+marten to the trap.  If it closes on him, Maxica stays

+to break it."

+

+"Come outside, where we can talk freely," answered

+Mr. De Brunier, leading the way.

+

+Gaspé and the sledge-driver were left to the enjoyment

+of the roaring fire.  They were considering the

+state of Kusky's feet.  Gaspé was removing the icicles

+from his toes, and the man of the sledge was warmly

+recommending boots, and describing the way to

+make them, when the shouts at the gate told them

+the bridal party had arrived.  The stupid Pête, as

+they began to think, had vanished, for no one

+answered the summons.  Gaspé guessed the reason,

+and sent the man to open the gate.  He silenced the

+dogs, and drew back into the corner, with instinctive

+good breeding, to make himself as little in the way as

+possible.

+

+The great farm-house kitchen was entrance-hall

+as well.  Every door opened into it.  On one hand

+was the dining-room, reserved chiefly for state

+occasions; on the other, the storeroom.  The family

+sleeping rooms were at the back.  Like a provident

+housewife, Aunt Miriam had set the tables for her

+marriage feast, and filled the storeroom with good

+things, before she went to church.  Pête, with a

+Frenchman's genius for the spit, could manage the rest.

+

+The arrival of one or two other guests at the same

+moment detained the bridal party with their noisy

+greetings.

+

+When Aunt Miriam entered the kitchen, leaning on

+her bridegroom's arm, Gaspé was almost asleep in his

+dim corner.

+

+Out ran Pête, effervescing with congratulations,

+and crossing the heartiness of the bridal welcome

+with the startling exclamation, "The boy,

+Mrs. Bowkett!—the boy's come home!"

+

+The bridegroom looked sharply round.  "The boy,"

+he repeated, seeing Gaspé by the fire.  "There he is."

+

+Up sprang Gaspé, bowing to the bride with all the

+courtly grace of the chivalrous De Bruniers of

+Breton days.

+

+Aunt Miriam turned her head away.  "O Pête!"

+she groaned, "I thought—I thought you meant—"

+

+Bowkett did not let her finish her sentence, he

+hurried her into the dining-room.  Behind him came

+his bright-eyed sister, who had played the part of

+bridesmaid, and was eager for the dancing and the

+fun, so soon to commence.  At her side walked

+Forgill in his Sunday best, all important with the

+responsibility of his position, acting as proxy for his

+old master.  He had given the bride away, and was

+at that moment cogitating over some half-dozen

+sentences destined for the after-dinner speech which

+he knew would be required of him.  They were

+restive, and would not follow each other.  "Happy

+day" and "Best wishes" wanted setting up on stilts,

+with a few long words to back them, for such an

+occasion.  He knew the Indian love of speechifying

+would be too strong in their hunter guests to let him

+off.  He had got as far as, "Uncommonly happy day

+for us all."  But "uncommonly" sounded far too

+common in his critical ears.  He was searching for a

+finer-sounding word, and thought he had got it in

+"preternaturally," when he heard the feeble voice of

+his master calling out, "Miriam!  Here, Miriam."

+

+"Are they all deaf?" said Caleb Acland to Wilfred.

+"Open the door, my lad, and show yourself to

+your aunt."

+

+Slowly and reluctantly Wilfred obeyed him.  He

+held it open just a hand-breadth, and met the

+scowling brow of the owner of the forked tongue.

+

+There was mutual recognition in the glance

+exchanged.

+

+Wilfred shut the door softly, and drew the bolt

+without attracting his uncle's attention.

+

+"The place is full of strangers," he said; "I shall

+see auntie soon.  I'd rather wait here with you.  I

+shall be sure to see her before she goes to her new

+home."

+

+"As you like, my boy;—that Pête's a cow.  There

+is no going away to a new home.  It is bringing in

+a new master here before the old one is gone, so that

+your aunt should not be left unprotected a single day."

+

+As Caleb Acland spoke, Wilfred felt himself growing

+hard and desperate in the cold clutch of a giant

+despair.  The star of hope dropped from his sky.

+He saw himself in the hand of the man who had

+turned him from his door into the killing frost.

+

+It was too late to speak out; Bowkett would be

+sure to deny it, and hate him the more.  No, not a

+word to Uncle Caleb until he had taken counsel with

+Mr. De Brunier.  But in his hasty glance into the outer

+world Mr. De Brunier was nowhere to be seen.

+

+Wilfred was sure he would not go away without

+seeing him again.  There was nothing for it but to

+gain a little time, wait with his uncle until the

+wedding guests were shut in the dining-room, and

+then go out and find Mr. De Brunier, unless Aunt

+Miriam had invited him to sit down with them.  Yes,

+she was sure to do that, and Gaspé would be with

+his grandfather.  But Maxica was there.  He had

+saved him twice.  He knew what Maxica would say:

+"To the free wild forest, and learn the use of the

+trap and the bow with me."

+

+Wilfred was sorely tempted to run away.  The

+recollection of Mr. De Brunier's old-world stories

+restrained him.  He thought of the Breton emigrants.

+"What did they do in their despair?  What all men

+can do, their duty."  He kept on saying these words

+over and over, asking himself, "What is my duty?

+Have I no duty to the helpless old man who has

+welcomed me so kindly?  How will Bowkett behave

+to him?"  Wilfred felt much stronger to battle

+through with the hunter on his uncle's behalf, than

+when he thought only of himself.  "The brave and

+loyal die at their posts.  Gaspé would, rather than

+run away—rather than do anything that looked like

+running away."

+

+"What is the matter with you, Wilfred?" asked

+his uncle anxiously.  "What makes you stand like

+that, my boy?"

+

+"I am so tired," answered Wilfred, "I have

+walked all day to-day, and all day yesterday.  If I

+take the cushion out of your chair for a pillow, I

+might lie down before the stove, uncle."

+

+"That Pête is an ass not to bring something to eat,

+as if he could not make those fellows in the

+dining-room wait half-a-minute.  But stop, there is some

+broth keeping hot on the stove.  Take that, and come

+and lie down on the bed by me; then I can see you

+and feel you, and know I have got you again,"

+answered Uncle Caleb, as if he had some

+presentiment of what was passing in Wilfred's mind.

+

+Glad enough to obey, Wilfred drank the broth

+eagerly, and came to the bed.  The old man took him

+by both hands and gazed in his face, murmuring,

+"Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace."

+

+The peace that Uncle Caleb rejoiced in was his

+own alone; all around him strife was brewing.  But

+his peace was of that kind which circumstances

+cannot give or take away.

+

+"Kneel down beside me just one minute, my boy,"

+he went on.  "We must not be like the nine lepers,

+who forgot the thanks when the good had come.

+They wouldn't even with the tailors, for in the whole

+nine put together there was not one bit of a true

+man, or they could not have done it."

+

+Wilfred fell on his knees and repeated softly the

+Christ-taught prayer of the ages, "Our Father who

+art in heaven."  He remembered how he had been

+fed from the wild bird's *cache*, and saved by the wild

+man's pity, and his heart was swelling.  But when

+he came to "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive

+them that trespass against us," he stopped abruptly.

+

+"Go on," whispered the old man softly.

+

+"I can't," muttered Wilfred.  "It isn't in my heart;

+I daren't go on.  It is speaking with a forked tongue:

+words one way, thoughts another; telling lies to God."

+

+Caleb Acland looked at him as if he were slowly

+grasping the position.

+

+"Is it Bowkett that you can't forgive?" he asked

+gently.  "Did you think he need not have lost you?

+Did you think he would not know you, my poor boy?"

+

+"Have I got to live with him always?" returned

+Wilfred.

+

+"No, not if you don't like him.  I'll send you back

+to school," answered his uncle in a tone of decision.

+

+"Do you mean it, uncle?  Do you really say that

+I shall go back to school?" exclaimed the boy, his

+heavy heart's lead beginning to melt, as the way of

+escape opened so unexpectedly before him.

+

+"It is a promise," repeated the old man soothingly.

+It was obvious now there was something wrong,

+which the boy refused to explain.

+

+"Patience a bit," he thought; "I can't distress him.

+It will leak out soon; but it is growing strange that

+nobody comes near us."

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`WEDDING GUESTS`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER XIV

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *WEDDING GUESTS.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+More guests were arriving—Diomé, Batiste,

+Mathurin, and a dozen others.  Bowkett

+came out into the porch to receive them, and usher

+one after the other into the dining-room.  As the last

+went in before him, his friend Dick Vanner of the

+forked tongue tapped him on the shoulder.

+

+"Who is in there?" he whispered.  "Did you

+see?" pointing as he spoke to the door of Uncle

+Caleb's room.

+

+Gaspé was on the alert in a moment, longing to

+break a lance in his friend's behalf.  The men

+dropped their voices, but the echo of one sentence

+reached him.  It sounded like, "No, she only saw the

+other boy."

+

+"So, Wilfred, *mon cher*, you and I have changed

+places, and I have become that 'other boy,'" laughed

+Gaspé to himself, lying perdu with an open ear.

+

+As the two separated they muttered, "Outwit us?

+Like to see it done!"

+

+"Keep that door shut, and leave the rest to me,"

+added Vanner, sauntering up to the fire.—"Accommodation

+is scanty here to-night.  How many are there

+in your party?" he asked, looking down on Gaspé.

+"Pête said four—three men and a boy.  Was not it

+five—three men and two boys?"

+

+"Yes, five," answered Gaspé.

+

+"You boys must want something to eat," remarked

+Vanner, carelessly pushing open the door of the

+storeroom, and returning with a partridge pie.  "Here,

+fall to.  Where's your chum?"

+

+Gaspé saw the trap into which he was expected to

+walk.  He stepped over it.

+

+"Have not you been taught to look out for number

+one?" asked Gaspé.  "I'll have a turn at that pie by

+myself, now I have got the chance, before I call on a

+chum to help me.  I can tell you that."

+

+"Confound you, you greedy young beggar!" exclaimed

+Vanner.

+

+"Try thirty miles in an open sled, with twenty-five

+degrees of frost on the ground, and see if you

+would be willing to divide your pie at the end of it,"

+retorted Gaspé.

+

+"That is a cool way of asking for one apiece,"

+remarked Vanner, abstracting a second pie from the

+storeroom shelves.

+

+"If you've another to spare I'd like two for

+myself," persisted Gaspé.

+

+"Then have it," said Vanner.  "I am bound to

+give you a satisfaction.  We do not reckon on a

+wedding feast every night.  Now, where is the other

+boy?  You can't object to call him.  Here is a

+sausage as long as your arm.  Walk into that."

+

+"You will not get me to move with this dish

+before me," returned the undaunted Gaspé, and Vanner

+felt it waste of time to urge him further.  He went

+back to his friends.

+

+Gaspé was at Caleb Acland's door in a moment,

+singing through the keyhole,—

+

+   |  "St. George he is for England, St. Denis is for France.

+   |  *Honi soit qui mal y pense.*"

+   |

+

+Wilfred rose to open the door as he recognized his

+friend's voice.

+

+"Keep where you are.  Don't come out for anybody,"

+urged Gaspé, retreating as he heard a noise:

+but it was only his grandfather re-entering the porch.

+

+He flew to his side.  "What's up?" he asked

+breathlessly.

+

+"A goodly crop of suspicions, if all the Cree tells

+me is true.  Your poor friend is fitted with an uncle

+in this Bowkett after their old ballad type of the

+Babes in the Wood."

+

+"Now listen to me, grandfather, and I can tell

+you a little bit more," answered Gaspé, giving his

+narrative with infinite delight at the success of his

+manoeuvring.

+

+The moon shone clear and bright.  The tree in the

+centre of the court, laden with hoar-frost, glittered

+in its crystal white like some bridal bouquet of

+gigantic size.  The house was ablaze with light from

+every window.  The hunters had turned their horses

+adrift.  They were galloping at will among the

+orchard trees to keep themselves warm.  Maxica was

+wandering in their midst, counting their numbers to

+ascertain the size of the party.  Mr. De Brunier

+crossed over to him, to discuss Gaspé's intelligence,

+and sent his grandson back indoors, where the

+sledge-driver was ready to assist him in the demolition of

+the pies which had so signally failed to lure Wilfred

+from his retreat.

+

+Mr. De Brunier followed his grandson quickly, and

+walking straight to Uncle Caleb's door, knocked for

+admittance.

+

+The cowkeeper, the only individual at Acland's Hut

+who did not know Wilfred personally, was sent by

+Bowkett to keep up the kitchen fire.

+

+The man stared.  "The master has got his door

+fastened," he said; "I can't make it out."

+

+"Is Mr. Acland ready to see me?" asked Mr. De

+Brunier, repeating his summons.

+

+"Yes," answered Uncle Caleb; "come in."

+

+Wilfred opened the door.

+

+Uncle Caleb raised himself on his elbow, and catching

+sight of the dishes on the kitchen-table, said, "It

+seems to me the old man's orders are to go for little.

+But whilst the life is in me I am master in this place.

+Be so good, sir, as to tell that fellow of mine to bring

+that pie in here, and give this child something to eat."

+

+"With pleasure," returned his visitor.

+

+Wilfred's supper provided for, the two looked well

+at each other.

+

+"What sort are you?" was the question in both

+minds.  They trusted, as we all do more or less, to

+the expression.  A good honest character writes itself

+on the face.  They shook hands.

+

+"I have to thank you for bringing back my boy,"

+said Uncle Caleb.

+

+"Not me," returned Mr. De Brunier, briefly

+recapitulating the circumstances which led to Wilfred's

+sojourn at Hungry Hall, and why he sent him to the

+hunters' camp.  "Since then," he added, "your

+nephew has been wandering among the Indians.  It

+was a Cree who guided him home—the same Cree

+who warned him not to trust himself with Bowkett."

+

+"Come here, Wilfred, and tell me exactly what this

+Indian said," interposed Caleb Acland, a grave look

+gathering on his wrinkled brow.

+

+"Not one word, uncle.  Maxica did not speak,"

+answered Wilfred.  "He brought me three queer bits

+of wood from the hearth and stuck them in the floor

+before me, so, and so," continued the boy, trying to

+explain the way in which the warning had been given

+to him.

+

+Uncle Caleb was getting so much exhausted with

+the excitement of Wilfred's return, and the effort of

+talking to a stranger, he did not quite understand all

+Wilfred was saying.

+

+"We can't condemn a fellow on evidence like that,"

+moaned the old man, "and one so near to me as

+Bowkett.  What does it mean for Miriam?"

+

+"Will you see this Cree and hear for yourself?"

+asked Mr. De Brunier.  "We are neither judge nor

+jury.  We are not here to acquit or condemn, but a

+warning like this is not to be despised.  I came to

+put you on your guard."

+

+The feeble hand grasped his, "I am about spent,"

+groaned Caleb.  "It is my breath.  Let me rest a bit.

+I'll think this over.  Come again."

+

+The gasping words came with such painful effort,

+Mr. De Brunier could only lay him back amongst his

+pillows and promise to return in the morning, or

+earlier if it were wished.  He was at the door,

+when Caleb Acland signed to him to return.

+

+"Not a word to my sister yet.  The boy is safe

+here.  Tell him he is not to go out of this room."

+

+Mr. De Brunier shook the feeble hand once more,

+and gave the required promise.  There was one more

+word.  "What was that about buying land?  I might

+help you there; a little business between us, you

+understand."

+

+"Yes, yes," answered Mr. De Brunier, feeling as if

+such another effort might shake the labouring breath

+out of the enfeebled frame in a moment.

+

+"Keep in here.  Keep quiet; and remember,

+whatever happens, I shall be near," was Mr. De Brunier's

+parting charge to Wilfred as he went back into the

+kitchen, intending to watch there through the night,

+if no one objected to his presence.

+

+The old man started as the door closed after him.

+"Don't fasten it, lad!" he exclaimed.  "It looks too

+much like being afraid of them."

+

+Mr. De Brunier joined Gaspé and the sledge-driver

+at their supper.  Gaspé watched him attentively as

+they ate on in silence.

+

+Bowkett came out and spoke to them.  "I am

+sorry," he said, "to seem inhospitable, but the house

+is so full to-night I really cannot offer you any further

+accommodation.  But the men have a sleeping hut

+round the corner, under the pines, where you can pass

+the night.  I'll send one of them with you to show

+you the way and light a fire."

+

+No exception could be taken to this.  The three

+finished their supper and were soon ready to depart.

+

+"I must see Mr. Acland again about the land

+business," remarked Mr. De Brunier, recalling Uncle

+Caleb's hint.

+

+Bowkett summoned his man, and Diomé came out

+with him.  He strolled through the porch and looked

+about him, as if he were considering the weather.

+

+Maxica was still prowling behind the orchard trees,

+like a hungry coyote watching for the remnants of

+the feast, as it seemed.  The two met.

+

+"There will be mischief before these fellows part,"

+said Diomé.  "Keep a sharp look-out for the boy."

+

+Diomé went on to catch Dick Vanner's pony.

+Maxica stole up to the house.  The travellers were

+just coming out.  He gave Yula a call.  Gaspé was

+the only one who perceived him, as Yula bounded

+between them.

+

+It was hard for Gaspé to go away and leave his

+friend without another word.  He had half a mind

+to take Kusky with him.  He lingered irresolute a

+moment or two behind his grandfather.  Bowkett

+had opened the door of Caleb Acland's room, and he

+saw Kusky creeping in between Bowkett's legs.

+

+"How is this?" the latter was saying in a noisy

+voice.  "Wilfred got home, and won't show his

+face!—won't come out amongst us to have his dinner and

+speak to his aunt!  What is the meaning of it?

+What makes him afraid of being seen?"

+

+There was not a word from Wilfred.  It was the

+feeble voice of his Uncle Caleb that was speaking:—

+

+"Yes, it is Wilfred come back.  I've got him here

+beside me all safe.  He has been wandering about

+among the redskins, half dead and nearly starved.

+Don't disturb us.  I am getting him to sleep.  Tell

+Miriam she must come here and look at him.  You can

+all come and look at him; Forgill and your Diomé too.

+They all know my boy.  How has Miriam managed to

+keep away?"

+

+"As if we could spare the bride from the marriage

+feast," laughed Bowkett, raising his voice that every

+one might hear what they were saying.

+

+"Neither can I spare my boy out of my sight a

+single moment," said the old man quietly.

+

+"That's capital," laughed Gaspé to himself, as he

+ran after his grandfather.

+

+They did not encounter Maxica, but they passed

+Diomé trying to catch the horse, and gave him a little

+help by the way.

+

+"You are not going?" he asked anxiously.  "I

+thought you would be sure to stay the night.  You are

+a friend of Wilfred Acland's, are you not, Mr. De

+Brunier?  He was so disappointed when he found

+Hungry Hall was shut up.  I thought you would

+know him; so do I.  Mrs. Bowkett says the boy is

+not her nephew."

+

+"I rather think that has been said for her," remarked

+Mr. De Brunier quietly.

+

+"I see through it," exclaimed Gaspé; "I see what

+they are driving at.  Her husband told her I was the

+boy.  She came and looked at me.  Bowkett knows

+well enough the real Wilfred is in his uncle's room,

+If they could get him out into the kitchen, they would

+make a great clamour and declare he is an impostor

+trying to take the old man in."

+

+"You've hit it," muttered Diomé.  "But they shan't

+give him lynch law.  I'll not stand by and see that."

+

+"Come back, grandfather," cried Gaspé.  "Give me

+one of your English sovereigns with a little silver

+threepenny on either side to kiss it.  I'll string them

+on my watch-chain for a lady's locket, walk in with

+it for a wedding present, and undeceive the bride

+before them all."

+

+"Not so fast, Gaspard.  We should only bring the

+crisis before we have raised our safeguards," rejoined

+Mr. De Brunier thoughtfully.  "I saw many a gun

+set down against the wall, as the hunters came in."

+

+"That is nothing," put in Diomé; "we are never

+without them."

+

+"That is everything," persisted Mr. De Brunier.

+"Men with arms habitually in their hands use them

+with small provocation, and things are done which

+would never be done by deliberate purpose."

+

+"I am not Dick Vanner's groom," said Diomé, "but

+he wants me to hold his horse in the shadow of those

+pines or under the orchard wall; and I'll hold it as

+long as he likes, and walk it about half the night in

+readiness for him, and then I shall know where he is

+bound for."

+

+"The American frontier, with Wilfred behind him,

+unless I am making a great mistake.  If Bowkett laid

+a finger on him here, half his guests would turn upon

+him," observed Mr. De Brunier.

+

+"That's about it," returned Diomé.  "Now I am

+going to shut up this horse in one of the sheds, ready

+for Vanner at a moment's notice, and then I'll try for

+a word with Forgill.  He is working so hard with the

+carving-knife there is no getting at him."

+

+"There is one of the Aclands' men lighting a fire in

+his hut, ready for us," put in Gaspé.

+

+Diomé shook his head.  "He!" he repeated in accents

+of contempt; "he would let it all out at the

+wrong time."

+

+"Is the Cree gone?"

+

+"Maxica is on the scent already,' replied Diomé,

+whistling carelessly as they parted.

+

+"Gaspard," said Mr. De Brunier, as they entered the

+hut, "do you remember passing a policeman on the

+road.  He was watching for a Yankee spirit cart,

+contraband of course.  He will have caught it by this

+time, and emptied the barrels, according to our new

+Canadian law.  Go back in the sledge—you will meet

+him returning—and bring him here.  If he rides into

+the farm-court before daybreak, your little friend is

+safe.  As for me, I must keep watch here.  No one

+can leave the house without me seeing him, the night

+is so clear.  A dark figure against the white ground

+is visible at twice this distance; and Maxica is

+somewhere by the back of the homestead.  Neither sight

+nor sound will escape an Indian."

+

+Mr. De Brunier despatched the sledge-driver back

+to the farm with the man Bowkett had sent to light

+their fire, to try to procure a fresh horse.  This was

+easily managed.  Bowkett was delighted to think the

+travellers were about to resume their journey, and

+declared the better half of hospitality was to speed the

+parting guest.

+

+The sledge went round to Forgill's hut.  Gaspé

+wrapped himself in the bearskin and departed.  No

+one saw him go; no one knew that Mr. De Brunier

+was left behind.  He built up the fire and reconnoitred

+his ground.  In one corner of the hut was a good stout

+cudgel.

+

+"I must anticipate your owner's permission and

+adopt you," he said, as he gave it a flourish to try its

+weight.  Then he looked to the revolver in his breast

+pocket, and began his walk, so many paces in front

+of the hut, with his eye on the farm-house porch, and

+so many paces walking backwards, with it still in

+sight—a self-appointed sentry, ready to challenge the

+enemy single-handed, for he did not count much upon

+Diomé.  He saw how loath he was to come into

+collision with Bowkett, and reckoned him more as a

+friend in the camp than as an active ally.  There

+was Maxica, ready like a faithful mastiff to fly at the

+throat of the first man who dared to lay a hand on

+Wilfred, regardless of consequences.  He did not know

+Maxica, but he knew the working of the Indian

+mind.  Revenge is the justice of the savage.  It was

+Maxica's retaliation that he feared.  Diomé had spoken

+of Forgill, but Mr. De Brunier knew nothing of him, so

+he left him out of count.  It was clear he must chiefly

+rely on his own coolness and courage.  "The moral force

+will tell in such an encounter as this, and that is all

+on my side," he said to himself.  "It will tell on the

+outsiders and the farm-servants.  I shall find some to

+second me."  He heard the scrape of the fiddle and

+the merry chorus of some hunting-song, followed by

+the quick beat of the dancers' footsteps.

+

+Hour succeeded hour.  The fire in the hut burned

+low.  De Brunier left his post for a moment to throw

+on fresh logs.  He returned to his watch.  The

+house-door opened.  Out came Diomé and crossed to the

+cattle-sheds.  Mr. De Brunier saw him come back

+with Vanner's horse.  He changed his position,

+creeping in behind the orchard trees, until he was within

+a few yards of the house.  The three feet of snow

+beneath his feet gave him an elevation.  He was

+looking down into the court, where the snow had been

+partially cleared.

+

+Diomé was walking the horse up and down before

+the door.  It was not a night in which any one could

+stand still.  His impatient stamping to warm his feet

+brought out Vanner and Bowkett, with half-a-dozen

+others.  The leave-taking was noisy and prolonged.

+Batiste's head appeared in the doorway.

+

+"I cannot count on his assistance," thought Mr. De

+Brunier, "but I can count on his neutrality; and

+Diomé must know that a word from me would bring

+about his dismissal from his new master."

+

+Vanner mounted and rode off along the slippery

+ground as only a hunter could ride.

+

+"Now for the first act," thought Mr. De Brunier.

+"May my Gaspard be speeding on his errand.  The

+hour draws near."

+

+As Bowkett and his friends turned back into the

+house, Diomé walked rapidly across the other end of

+the orchard and went towards Forgill's hut.  With

+cautious steps De Brunier followed.

+

+Diomé was standing moodily by the fire.  He started.

+

+"Well," demanded Mr. De Brunier, "how goes the night?"

+

+"For God's sake keep out of the way, sir.  They

+have made this hut the rendezvous, believing you had

+started hours ago," exclaimed Diomé brightening.

+

+"Did you think I had deserted the poor boy?"

+asked Mr. De Brunier.

+

+"I was thinking," answered Diomé, waiving the

+question, "Dick Vanner is a dangerous fellow to thwart

+when the bowie-knife is in his hand."

+

+"Well, you will see it done, and then you may find

+him not quite so dangerous as he seems," was the quiet

+reply.

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`TO THE RESCUE`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER XV.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *TO THE RESCUE.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+Diomé had no more information to give.  "For

+the love of life, sir," he entreated, as the brief

+conference ended, "move off to the other side of the

+house, or you will be seen by Vanner as he returns.

+A hunter's eye, Mr. De Brunier, notices the least

+change in the shadows.  You mean to hide among

+the orchard trees, but you can't stand still.  You will

+be frozen to death, and a moving shadow will betray you."

+

+His cautionary counsels were wasted on a

+preoccupied mind.  De Brunier was examining the

+fastenings of the door.  There was a lock, but the

+key was with the owners of the hut.  There was

+also a bar which secured it on the inside.  Forgill's

+basket of tools stood by the chimney.

+

+"How much time have we?" asked Mr. De Brunier.

+

+"A good half-hour, sir," replied Diomé.

+

+"Time enough for me to transfer this staple to the

+outside of the doorpost?"

+

+Diomé hesitated before he answered this inquiry.

+"Well then?" he asked in turn.

+

+"Well then," repeated Mr. De Brunier, "this Vanner

+is to meet you here.  Don't go out of the hut to take

+his horse; beckon him to come inside.  Shut the

+door, as if for caution, and tell him you have seen me

+watching him from the orchard trees.  He will listen

+to that.  Two minutes will be enough for me to bar

+the door on the outside, and we shall have caged the

+wild hawk before he has had time to pounce upon his

+prey.  I must shut you in together; but play your

+part well, and leave the rest to me."

+

+"Shut me in with Dick Vanner in a rage!"

+exclaimed Diomé.  "He would smell treachery in a

+moment.  Not for me."

+

+It went hard with Diomé to turn against his old

+companions.  It was clear to Mr. De Brunier the

+man was afraid of a hand-to-hand encounter.  With

+such half-hearted help the attempt was too hazardous.

+He changed his tactics.

+

+"I am not in their secrets," protested Diomé.  "I

+am only here to hold his horse.  They don't trust me."

+

+"And I," added Mr. De Brunier, "am intent upon

+preventing mischief.  I'll walk round once more.

+Should you hear the house-door open, you will

+probably find I have gone in."

+

+Yes, Mr. De Brunier was beginning to regret

+leaving the house; and yet, if he had not done so, he

+could not have started Gaspé to intercept the

+policeman.  "Now," he thought, "the boy will be carried

+off before they can arrive."  His thoughts were turning

+to a probable pursuit.  He crossed to the back of

+the house to look for the Cree.  No one better than

+an Indian for work like that.

+

+The light from the windows of the farm-house was

+reflected from the shining ground, making it bright as

+day before them, and deepening the gloom of the

+shadows beyond.  A low, deep growl from Yula

+brought Mr. De Brunier to the opposite corner of

+the house, where he discovered Maxica lying on the

+ground, with his ear to the end of one of the largest

+logs with which the house was built.  They recognized

+each other instantly, but not a word was said.  They

+were at the angle of the building where the logs

+crossed each other.

+

+Suddenly Mr. De Brunier remembered the capacity

+in the uncut trunk of a tree for transmitting sound,

+and following Maxica's example he too laid his ear to

+the end of another log, and found himself, as it were,

+in a whispering gallery.  The faintest sound at the

+other end of the log was distinctly audible.  They

+tried each corner of the house.  The music and the

+dancing from dining-room to kitchen did not detain

+them long.  At the back they could hear the regular

+breathing of a healthy sleeper and the laboured,

+painful respiration of the broken-down old man.

+

+The log which crossed the one at which they were

+now listening ran at the end of the storeroom, and

+gave back no sound.  It was evident both Wilfred

+and his uncle had fallen asleep, and were therefore off

+their guard.

+

+To drive up the loose ponies and make them gallop

+round the house to waken them was a task Yula took

+off their hands and accomplished so well that Bowkett,

+listening in the midst of the whirling dancers, believed

+that Vanner had returned.

+

+Maxica was back at the angle of the logs, moving

+his ear from one to the other.  He raised a warning

+finger, and laid his ear a little closer to the storeroom

+side.  Mr. De Brunier leaned over him and pressed

+his own to the tier above.  Some one had entered the

+storeroom.

+

+"Anything here?" asked a low voice.

+

+"What's that behind the door?" whispered another

+in reply.

+

+"A woman's ironing board."

+

+"A woman's what?"

+

+"Never mind what it is if it will slide through the

+window," interposed a third impatiently, and they

+were gone.

+

+But the watchers without had heard enough to

+shape their plan.  Maxica was ear, Mr. De Brunier

+was eye, and so they waited for the first faint echo of

+the horse-hoofs in the distance or the tinkle of the

+sledge-bell.

+

+Within the house the merriment ran high.  Bridal

+healths were drank with three times three.  The

+stamp of the untiring dancers drowned the galloping

+of the ponies.

+

+Aunt Miriam paused a moment, leaning on her

+bridegroom's arm.  "I am dizzy with tiredness," she

+said.  "I think I have danced with every one.  I

+can surely slip away and speak to Caleb now.  What

+made him fasten his door?"

+

+"To keep those travellers out; and now he won't

+undo it: an old man's crotchet, my dear.  I have

+spoken to him.  He is all right, and his cry is, 'Don't

+disturb me, I must sleep,'" answered Bowkett.  "You'll

+give Batiste his turn? just one more round."

+

+Wilfred was wakened by his Yula's bark beneath

+the window.  Kusky, who was sleeping by the stove,

+sprang up and answered it, and then crept stealthily

+to Wilfred's feet.

+

+"That dog will wake the master," said some one in

+the kitchen.

+

+The bedroom door was softly opened, a low whistle

+and a tempting bone lured Kusky away.  Wilfred

+was afraid to attempt to detain him, not venturing

+to show himself to he knew not whom.  There was

+a noise at the window.  He remembered it was a

+double one.  It seemed to him somebody was trying

+to force open the outer pane.

+

+A cry of "Thieves! thieves!" was raised in the

+kitchen.  Wilfred sprang upright.  Uncle Caleb

+wakened with a groan.

+

+"Look to the door.  Guard every window," shouted

+Bowkett, rushing into the room, followed by

+half-a-dozen of his friends, who had seized their guns as

+they ran.

+

+The outer window was broken.  Through the inner,

+which was not so thickly frozen, Wilfred could see the

+shadow of a man.  He knew that Bowkett was by the

+side of the bed, but his eyes were fixed on the pane.

+

+At the first smash of the butt end of Vanner's gun,

+through shutter and frame, Mr. De Brunier laid a

+finger on Maxica's arm.  The Cree, who was holding

+down Yula, suddenly let him go with a growl and a

+spring.  Vanner half turned his head, but Yula's

+teeth were in his collar.  The thickness of the hunter's

+clothing kept the grip from his throat, but he was

+dragged backwards.  Maxica knelt upon him in a

+moment, with a huge stone upraised, ready to dash his

+brains out if he ventured to utter a cry.  Mr. De

+Brunier stepped out from the shadow and stood before

+the window, waiting in Vanner's stead.  For what?

+He hardly dared to think.  The window was raised a

+finger's breadth, and the muzzle of a hunter's gun

+was pointed at his ear.  He drew a little aside and

+flattened himself against the building.  The gun was

+fired into the air.

+

+"That is a feint," thought Mr. De Brunier.  "They

+have not seen us yet.  When they do, the tug comes.

+Two against twenty at the very least, unless we hear

+the sledge-bell first.  It is a question of time.  The

+clock is counting life and death for more than one of

+us.  All hinges on my Gaspé.  Thank God, I know

+he will do his very best.  There is no mistrust of

+Gaspé; and if I fall before he comes, if I meet death

+in endeavouring to rescue this fatherless boy, the God

+who sees it all, in whose hand these lawless hunters

+are but as grasshoppers, will never forget my Gaspé."

+

+The report of Bowkett's gun roused old Caleb's

+latent fire.

+

+"What is it?" he demanded.  "Are the Indians

+upon us?  Where is Miriam?"

+

+Wilfred threw the bearskin across his feet over

+the old man's back.

+

+"I am here!" cried Bowkett, with an ostentatious

+air of protection.  "I'll defend the place; but the

+attack is at this end of the house.  First of all, I

+carry you to Miriam and safety at the other."

+

+Bowkett, in the full pride of his strength, lifted up

+the feeble old man as if he were a child and carried

+him out of the room.

+

+"Wilfred, my boy, keep close to me, keep close,"

+called Uncle Caleb; but a strong man's hand seized

+hold of Wilfred and pulled him back.

+

+"Who are you?" demanded Wilfred, struggling

+with all his might.  "Let me go, I tell you; let

+me go!"

+

+The door was banged up behind Uncle Caleb and

+Bowkett.  The room was full of men.

+

+Wilfred knew too well the cry of "Thieves" was all

+humbug—a sham to get him away from his uncle.

+

+"Forgill!  Forgill!" he shouted.  "Pête!  Pête!

+Help me! help me!"

+

+A pillow was tossed in his face.

+

+"Don't cram the little turkey-cock with his own

+feathers," said a voice he was almost glad to recognize,

+for he could not feel that Mathurin would really hurt

+him.  He kicked against his captor, and getting one

+hand free, he tried to grasp at this possible friend;

+but the corner of the pillow, crushed into his mouth,

+choked his shouts.  "So it's Mathurin's own old

+babby, is it?" continued the deep, jovial voice.  "Didn't

+I tell ye he was uncommon handy with his little fists?

+But he is a regular mammy's darling for all that.  It

+is Mathurin will put the pappoose in its cradle.  Ah! but

+if it won't lie still, pat it on its little head; Batiste

+can show you how."

+

+In all this nonsense Wilfred comprehended the

+threat and the caution.  His frantic struggles were

+useless.  They only provoked fresh bursts of

+merriment.  Oh, it was hard to know they were useless,

+and feel the impotency of his rage!  He was forced

+to give in.  They bound him in the sheets.

+

+Mathurin was shouting for—

+

+   |  "A rabbit-skin,

+   |  To wrap his baby bunting in.

+   |

+

+They took the rug from the floor and wrapped

+it round Wilfred.  He was laid on the ironing board.

+

+He felt the strong, firm straps that were binding

+him to it growing tighter and tighter.

+

+What were they going to do with him? and where

+was Mr. De Brunier?

+

+The hunters set him up against the wall, like the

+pappoose in the wigwam of the Blackfoot chief, whilst

+they opened the window.

+

+Mr. De Brunier stood waiting, his arms uplifted

+before his face, ready to receive the burden they

+were to let fall.  It was but a little bit of face

+that was ever visible beneath a Canadian fur cap,

+such as both the men were wearing.  Smoked

+skin was the only clothing which could resist the

+climate, therefore the sleeves of one man's coat were

+like the sleeves of another.  The noisy group in

+the bedroom, who had been drinking healths all

+night, saw little but the outstretched arms, and took

+no notice.

+

+"Young lambs to sell!" shouted Mathurin, heaving

+up the board.

+

+"What if he takes to blaring?" said one of the

+others.

+

+"Let him blare as he likes when once he is

+outside," retorted a third.

+

+"Lull him off with 'Yankee-doodle,'" laughed

+another.

+

+"He'll just lie quiet like a little angel, and then

+nothing will hurt him," continued the incorrigible

+Mathurin, "till we come to—

+

+   |  "'Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top,

+   |  When the wind blows the cradle will rock;

+   |  When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,

+   |  Then down goes cradle, and baby, and all.'"

+   |

+

+This ridiculous nursery ditty, originated by the

+sight of the Indian pappooses hung so often on the

+bough of a tree when their mothers are busy, read to

+Wilfred his doom.

+

+Would these men really take him out into the

+darksome forest, and hang him to some giant pine,

+and leave him there, as Pe-na-Koam was left, to die

+alone of hunger and cold?

+

+It was an awful moment.  The end of the board

+to which he was bound was resting on the window-sill.

+

+"Gently now," said one.

+

+"Steady there," retorted another.

+

+"Now it is going beautifully," cried a third.

+

+"Ready, Vanner, ready," they exclaimed in chorus.

+Caution and prudence had long since gone to the

+winds with the greater part of them.  Mathurin

+alone kept the control.

+

+Mr. De Brunier nodded, and placed himself between

+the window and the two men on the snow in deadly

+silent wrestle, trusting that his own dark shadow

+might screen them from observation yet a little longer.

+He saw Wilfred's feet appear at the window.  His

+hand was up to guide the board in a moment, acting

+in concert with the men above.  They slid it easily

+to the ground.

+

+Mr. De Brunier's foot was on a knot in the logs of

+the wall, and stretching upwards he shut the window

+from the outside.  It was beyond his power to fasten

+it; but a moment or two were gained.  His knife

+was soon hacking at the straps which bound Wilfred

+to his impromptu cradle.  They looked in each other's

+faces; not a word was breathed.  Wilfred's hands

+were freed.  He sat up and drew out his feet from

+the thick folds of the rug.  Mr. De Brunier seized

+his hand, and they ran, as men run for their lives,

+straight to Forgill's hut.

+

+Diomé saw them coming.  He was still leading

+Vanner's horse.  He wheeled it round and covered

+their retreat, setting it off prancing and curvetting

+between them and the house.

+

+Through the open door of Forgill's hut the fire was

+glowing like a beacon across the snow.  It was the

+darkest hour of all that brilliant night.  The moon

+was sinking low, the stars were fading; the dawning

+was at hand.

+

+The hut was gained at last.  The door was shut

+behind the fugitives, and instantly barred.  Every

+atom of furniture the hut contained was piled against

+it, and then they listened for the return of the sledge.

+Whether daylight would increase their danger or

+diminish it, Mr. De Brunier hardly knew.  But with

+the dreaded daylight came the faint tinkle of a distant

+bell and the jingling of a chain bridle.

+

+The Canadian police in the Dominion of the far

+North-West are an experienced troop of cavalry.

+Trooper and charger are alike fitted for the difficult

+task of maintaining law and order among the scattered,

+lawless population sprinkling its vast plains and forest

+wilds.  No bronco can outride the splendid war-horse,

+and the mere sight of his scarlet-coated rider produces

+an effect which we in England little imagine.  For he

+is the representative of the strong and even hand of

+British justice, which makes itself felt wherever it

+touches, ruling all alike with firmness and mercy,

+exerting a moral force to which even the Blackfoot

+in his moya yields.

+

+Mr. De Brunier pulled down his barricade almost

+before it was finished, for the sledge came shooting

+down the clearing with the policeman behind it.

+

+Wilfred clasped his hands together at the joyful

+sight.  "They come! they come!" he cried.

+

+Out ran Mr. De Brunier, waving his arms in the

+air to attract attention, and direct the policeman to the

+back of the farm-house, where he had left Dick Vanner

+writhing under Maxica's grasp on the frozen ground.

+

+When the window was so suddenly closed from the

+outside, the hunters, supposing Vanner had shut it,

+let it alone for a few minutes, until wonder prompted

+Mathurin to open it just a crack for a peep-hole.

+

+At the sight of Vanner held down by his Indian

+antagonist he threw it to its widest.  Gun after gun

+was raised and pointed at Maxica's head; but none

+of them dared to fire, for the ball would have struck

+Vanner also.  Mathurin was leaping out of the window

+to his assistance, when Yula relaxed his hold of

+Vanner's collar, and sprang at Mathurin, seizing him

+by the leg, and keeping him half in half out of the

+window, so that no one else could get out over him

+or release him from the inside.

+

+There was a general rush to the porch; but the

+house-door had been locked and barred by Bowkett's

+orders, and the key was in his pocket.

+

+He did it to prevent any of the Aclands' old servants

+going out of the house to interfere with Vanner.  It

+was equally successful in keeping in the friends who

+would have gone to his help.

+

+"The key! the key!" roared Batiste.

+

+Another seized on old Pête and shook him because

+he would not open the door.  In vain Pête protested

+the key was missing.  They were getting furious.

+"The key! the key!" was reiterated in an

+ever-increasing crescendo.

+

+They seized on Pête and shook him again.  They

+would have the key.

+

+Mathurin's yell for help grew more desperate.  With

+one hand holding on to the window-frame, he could not

+beat off the dog.  The blows he aimed at him with

+the other were uncertain and feeble.

+

+"Who let the brute out?" demanded Batiste.

+

+He had seen Yula lying by the kitchen fire when

+he first arrived, and of course knew him again.

+Ah! and the dog had recognized him also, for he had

+saluted him with a low, deep growl.  It had watched

+its chance.  It was paying back old scores.  Batiste

+knew that well.

+

+Another howl of pain from Mathurin.

+

+The heel of an English boot might have given such

+a kick under the lock that it would have sent the

+spring back with a jerk; but they were all wearing

+the soft, glove-like moccasin, and knew no more

+about the mechanism of a lock than a baby.  Their

+life had been passed in the open; when they left the

+saddle for the hut in the winter camp, their ideas of

+door-fastening never rose beyond the latch and the

+bar.  A dozen gun-stocks battered on the door.  It

+was tough and strong, and never stirred.

+

+Pête was searching everywhere for the key.  He

+would have let them out gladly, only too thankful to

+rid the house of such a noisy crew, and leave them to

+fight the thieves outside; but no key was to be found.

+

+"We always hang it on this nail," he protested,

+groping about the floor.

+

+Patience could hold out no longer.  There was a

+shout for Bowkett.

+

+"Don't leave me," Miriam had entreated, when

+Bowkett brought her brother into the dining-room

+and set him in the arm-chair by the fire; for she

+thought the old man's life would go every moment,

+and Forgill shared her fears.

+

+"There are enough to defend the place," he said,

+"without me;" and he gave all his care to his master.

+

+"The boy!  Wilfred!" gasped Caleb Acland, making

+vain attempts to return to find him.  His sister and

+Forgill thought he was wandering, and trusted in

+Bowkett's strong arm to hold him back.

+

+How could Bowkett leave his bride?  He was

+keeping his hands clean.  There were plenty to do

+his dirty work.  He himself was to have nothing to

+do with it, according to Vanner's programme.  He

+would not go.

+

+

+

+

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. _`IN CONFUSION`:

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   CHAPTER XVI.

+

+

+.. class:: center large bold

+

+   *IN CONFUSION.*

+

+.. vspace:: 2

+

+There was a thundering rap at the dining-room

+window, and a voice Bowkett instantly

+recognized as Diomé's rang out the warning word,—

+

+"The police!  The police are here!"

+

+"Thank God!" exclaimed Miriam; but her bridegroom's

+cheek grew deadly pale, and he rushed into

+the kitchen, key in hand.  The clamouring group

+around the door divided before him, as Diomé hissed

+his warning through the keyhole.

+

+The door flew open.  Bowkett was almost knocked

+down by his hurrying guests.  Each man for his

+horse.  Some snatched up their guns, some left them

+behind.  Broncos were caught by the mane, by the

+ear, by the tail.  Their masters sprang upon their

+backs.  Each man leaped upon the first horse he

+could lay hold of, saddle or no saddle, bridle or no

+bridle.  What did it matter so that they got away? or

+else, horrors of horrors! such an escapade as they

+had been caught in might get one or other among

+them shut up for a month or two in Garry Jail.

+They scattered in every direction, as chickens scatter

+at the flutter of the white owl's wing.

+

+Diomé put the bridle of Vanner's horse into

+Bowkett's hand.  "To the frontier," he whispered.

+"You know the shortest road.  We are parting

+company; for I go northwards."

+

+Bowkett looked over his shoulder to where Pête

+stood staring in the doorway.  "Tell your mistress

+we are starting in pursuit," he shouted, loud enough

+for all to hear, as he sprang on Vanner's horse and

+galloped off, following the course of the wild geese to

+Yankee land.

+

+Within ten minutes after the first jingling sound

+from the light shake of the trooper's bridle the place

+was cleared.

+

+"Oh, I did it!" said Gaspé, with his arm round

+Wilfred's neck.  "I was back to a minute, wasn't I,

+grandfather?"

+

+Mr. De Brunier scarcely waited to watch the

+break-neck flight.  He was off with the sledge-driver to

+the policeman's assistance.  He beckoned to the boys

+to follow him at a cautious distance, judging it safer

+than leaving them unguarded in Forgill's hut.

+

+The policeman, seeing Yula had already arrested

+Mathurin, turned to the two on the ground.  He

+knocked the stone out of Maxica's hand, and

+handcuffed Vanner.

+

+Mr. De Brunier was giving his evidence on the

+spot.  "I was warned there would be mischief here

+before morning.  I sent my messenger for you, and

+watched the house all night.  The Indian and the dog

+were with me.  I saw this fellow attempt to break

+in at that window.  The dog flew on him, dragged

+him to the ground, and the Indian held him there.

+That other man I denounce as an accomplice indoors,

+evidently acting in concert with him."

+

+Wilfred shook off Gaspé's arm and flew to Yula.

+"Leave go," he said, "leave go."  His hands went

+round the dog's throat to enforce obedience as he

+whispered, "I am not quite a babby to choke him off

+like that, am I?  Draw your leg up, Mathurin, and

+run.  You meant to save me—I saw it in your face—and

+I'll save you.  The porch-door stands open, run!"

+

+Mathurin drew up his leg with a groan, but Yula's

+teeth had gone so deeply into the flesh he could

+scarcely move for pain.  If Mathurin could not run,

+the sledge-driver could.  He was round the house and

+through the porch before Mathurin could reach it.

+He collared him by the kitchen-table, to Pête's

+amazement.  Forgill burst out of the dining-room,

+ready to identify him as one of their guests, and

+was pushed aside.  The policeman was dragging in

+his prisoner.

+

+Mr. De Brunier held Wilfred by the arm.  "You

+should not have done that," he was saying.  "Your

+dog knew what he was about better than you did.

+At any other time to call him off would only have

+been humane and right, but in such circumstances—"

+

+He never finished his sentence.  There was Mathurin

+cowed and trembling at the sight of Yula, who was

+marching into the porch with his head up and his

+tail wagging in triumph.

+

+Aunt Miriam, aghast and pale, stood in the doorway

+of the dining-room.  Mr. De Brunier led her aside for

+a word of explanation.  "The thieves among the guests

+of her wedding party, incredible!"  She was stunned.

+

+Yula seated himself in front of Mathurin, daring

+him to move hand or foot.

+

+Wilfred was looking round him for the Cree, who

+was feeling for his bow and arrows, thrown somewhere

+on the ground during his prolonged struggle.  When

+the stone was struck from Maxica's grasp, and he

+knew that Vanner was dragged off helpless, he felt

+himself in the presence of a power that was mightier

+than his own.  As Wilfred caught up the bow and

+put it in his hand, he said solemnly, "You are safe

+under the shadow of that great white warrior chief,

+and Maxica is no longer needed; for as the horse is

+as seven to the dog, so is the great white medicine as

+seven to one, therefore the redman shuns his presence,

+and here we part."

+

+"Not yet, not yet," urged Wilfred desperately; but

+whilst he was speaking the Cree was gone.  He had

+vanished with the morning shadows behind the pine

+trees.

+

+Wilfred stretched out his arms to recall him; but

+Gaspé, who had followed his friend like his shadow,

+pulled him back.  "It would be but poor gratitude

+for Maxica's gallant rescue to run your head into the

+noose a second time," he said.  "With these hunters

+lurking about the place, we ought to make our way

+indoors as fast as we can."

+

+The chill of the morning wrapped them round.

+They were shivering in the icy mist, through which

+the rising sun was struggling.  It was folly to linger.

+Gaspé knew the Indian was afraid to trust himself in

+the company of the policeman.

+

+"Shall I never see him more?" burst out Wilfred

+mournfully.

+

+"Don't say that," retorted Gaspé.  "He is sure to

+come again to Hungry Hall with the furs from his

+winter's hunting.  You can meet him then."

+

+"I?  I shall be at school at Garry.  How can I go

+there?" asked Wilfred.

+

+"At Garry," repeated his consoler, brightening.

+"Well, from Garry you can send him anything you

+like by the winter packet of letters.  You know our

+postman, the old Indian, who carries them in his

+dog-sled to every one of the Hudson Bay stations.  You

+can send what you like by him to Hungry Hall.

+Sooner or later it will be sure to reach your dusky

+friend."

+

+"It will be something to let him know I don't

+forget," sighed Wilfred, whose foot was in his uncle's

+porch, where safety was before him.

+

+There was a sudden stillness about the place.  A

+kind of paralysis had seized upon the household, as

+it fell under the startling interdict of the

+policeman: "Not a thing on the premises to be touched;

+not an individual to leave them until he gave

+permission."  This utter standstill was more appalling to

+the farm-servants than the riotous confusion which

+had preceded it.  The dread of what would come

+next lay like a nightmare over master and men.

+

+Wilfred scarcely looked at prisoners or policeman;

+he made his way to his uncle.

+

+"I can finish my prayer this morning, and I will—I

+will try to do my duty.  Tell me what it is?"

+

+"To speak the truth," returned old Caleb solemnly,

+"without fear or prevarication.  No, no! don't tell

+me beforehand what you are going to say, or that

+fellow in the scarlet coat will assert I have tutored you."

+

+Gaspé began to speak.

+

+"No, no!" continued Uncle Caleb, "you must not

+talk it over with your friend.  Sit down, my boy;

+think of all that has happened in the night quietly

+and calmly, and God help us to bear the result."

+

+Again he rocked himself backwards and forwards,

+murmuring under his breath, "My poor Miriam!  I

+have two to think of—my poor, poor Miriam!"

+

+Wilfred's own clear commonsense came to his aid;

+he looked up brightly.  The old man's tears were

+slowly trickling down his furrowed cheeks.  "Uncle,"

+he urged, "my friends have not only saved me, they

+have saved you all.  They stopped those fellows

+short, before they had time to do their worst.  They

+will not be punished for what they were going to do,

+but for what they actually did do."

+

+A sudden rush of gratitude came over Wilfred as

+he recalled his peril.  His arms went round Gaspé

+with a clasp that seemed to know no unloosening.  A

+friend is worth all hazards.

+

+His turn soon came.  Aunt Miriam had preceded

+her nephew.  She had so little to tell.  "In the midst

+of the dancing there was a cry of 'Thieves!'  The

+men ran.  Her husband came back to her, bringing

+her invalid brother to the safest part of the house.

+He stayed to guard them, until there arose a second

+cry, 'The police!'  She supposed the thieves made

+off.  Her husband had started in pursuit."

+

+In pursuit, when there was nothing to pursue; the

+aggressor was already taken.  Aunt Miriam saw the

+inevitable inference: her husband had fled with his

+guests.  She never looked up.  She could not meet

+the eyes around her, until she was asked if Vanner

+and Mathurin were among her guests.  Her pale

+cheeks grew paler.

+

+Their own men were stupid and sleepy, and could

+only stare at each other.  All they had had to say

+confirmed their mistress's statements.

+

+Mr. De Brunier had fetched Wilfred whilst his

+aunt was speaking.  He looked at the men crowding

+round the table, pushed between the sledge-driver and

+Pête to where his aunt was standing, and squeezed

+her hand.  There was just one look exchanged

+between them.  Of all the startling events in that

+strange night, it was strangest of all to Aunt Miriam

+to see him there.  The fervency in the pressure she

+returned set Wilfred's heart at ease.  One determination

+possessed them both—not to make a scene.

+

+Aunt Miriam got back into her own room; how,

+she never knew.  She threw herself on her knees

+beside her bed, and listened; for in that wood-built

+house every word could be heard as plainly as if she

+had remained in the kitchen.  Her grief and shame

+were hidden, that was all.

+

+Wilfred's clear, straightforward answers made it

+plain there were no thieves in the case.  Her

+wedding guests had set upon her little wanderer in the

+moment of his return.

+

+Vanner, scowling and sullen, never uttered a single

+word.

+

+Mathurin protested volubly.  He never meant to

+let them hurt the boy, but some amongst them owed

+him a grudge, and they were bent on paying it off

+before they parted.

+

+"A base and cowardly trick, by your own showing,

+to break into an old man's room in the dead of the

+night with a false alarm; not to mention your

+behaviour to the boy.  If this outrage hastens the old

+gentleman's end, you will find yourselves in a very

+awkward position.  His seizure in the night was

+solely due to the unwarrantable alarm," observed the

+policeman.

+

+Mathurin began to interrupt.  He checked him.

+

+"If you have anything to say for yourself, reserve

+it for the proper time and place; for the present you

+must step into that sledge and come with me at

+once.—Mr. De Brunier, I shall meet you and your son at

+Garry on the twenty-ninth."

+

+He marched his prisoners through the porch; a

+sullen silence reigned around.  The sledge-bell

+tinkled, the snow gleamed white as ever in the

+morning sunshine, as Vanner and Mathurin left the

+farm.

+

+With the air of a mute at a funeral, Forgill bolted

+the door behind them.  Mr. De Brunier walked into

+the sleeping-room, to examine the scene of confusion

+it presented for himself.

+

+Aunt Miriam came out, leaving the door behind

+her open, without knowing it.  She moved like one

+in a dream.  "I cannot understand all this," she said,

+"but we must do the thing that is nearest."

+

+She directed Forgill to board up the broken window

+and to see that the house was secure, and took Pête

+with her to make up a bed for her brother in the

+dining-room.  She laid her hand on Wilfred's shoulder

+as she passed him, but the words died on her lips.

+

+The men obeyed her without reply.  Forgill was

+afraid to go out of the house alone.  As the cowman

+followed him, he patted Yula's head, observing, "After

+all that's said and done, it was this here dog which

+caught 'em.  I reckon he's worth his weight in gold,

+wherever he comes from, that I do."

+

+Yula shook off the stranger's caress as if it were

+an impertinent freedom.  His eye was fixed on two

+small moccasined feet peeping out from under Aunt

+Miriam's bed.

+

+There was a spring, but Wilfred's hand was in

+his collar.

+

+"I know I had better stop him," he whispered,

+looking up at Gaspé, as he thought of Mr. De

+Brunier's reproof.

+

+"Right enough now," cried Gaspé.  "Wilfred, it is

+a girl."

+

+He ran to the bed and handed out Bowkett's young

+sister, Anastasia.  Her dress was of the universal

+smoked skin, but its gay embroidery of beads and

+the white ribbons which adorned it spoke of the

+recent bridal.  Her black hair fell in one long, heavy

+braid to her waist.

+

+"Oh, you uncomplimentary creatures!" she exclaimed,

+"not one of you remembered my existence;

+but I'll forgive you two"—extending a hand to

+each—"because you did not know of it.  I crawled in

+here at the first alarm, and here I have lain trembling,

+and nobody missed me.  But, I declare, you men

+folk have been going on awful.  You will be the

+death of us all some of these days.  I could have

+knocked your heads together until I had knocked

+some sense into you.  Put your pappoose in its cradle,

+indeed!  I wish you were all pappooses; I would soon

+let you know what I think of upsetting a poor old

+man like that."

+

+The indignant young beauty shook the dust from

+her embroidery, and twirled her white ribbons into

+their places as she spoke.

+

+"Spoiling all the fun," she added.

+

+"Now don't perform upon us, Miss Bowkett," put

+in Gaspé.  "We are not the representatives of last

+night's rowdyism.  My poor friend here is chief

+sufferer from it.  Only he had a four-footed friend,

+and a dark-skinned friend, and two others at the

+back of them of a very ordinary type, but still friends

+with hands and feet.  So the tables were turned,

+and the two real representatives are gone up for

+their exam."

+

+"I daren't be the first to tell a tale like this in the

+hunters' camp.  Besides," she demanded, "who is to

+take me there?  This is what the day after brings," she

+pouted, passing the boys as she went into the kitchen.

+The guns which the hunters had left behind them

+had been carefully unloaded by the policeman and

+Mr. De Brunier, and were piled together in one

+corner, waiting for their owners to reclaim them.

+Every one knew the hunters could not live without

+their trading guns; they must come back to fetch

+them.  Anastasia, too, was aware she had only to

+wait for the first who should put in an appearance to

+escort her home.  Little was said, for Aunt Miriam

+knew Anastasia's departure from Acland's Hut would

+be Hugh Bowkett's recall.

+

+When Mr. De Brunier understood this, his anxiety

+on Wilfred's account was redoubled.

+

+But when Uncle Caleb revived enough for conversation,

+he spoke of the little business to be settled

+between them, and asked for Mr. De Brunier.

+

+"I have thought it all through," he said.  "In the

+face of the Cree's warning, and all that happened

+under this roof, I can never leave my nephew and

+Hugh Bowkett to live together beneath it.  As

+soon as he hears from his sister how matters stand

+here, and finds sentence has been passed on Vanner and

+Mathurin, he may come back at any hour.  I want

+to leave my nephew to your care; a better friend he

+could not have."

+

+"As he has had it already, he shall always have it,

+as if he were next to Gaspé, I promise you," was the

+ready answer.

+

+"I want a little more than that," Uncle Caleb

+continued.  "I want you to take him away at once, and

+send him back to school.  You spoke of buying land;

+buy half of mine.  That will be Wilfred's portion.

+Invest the money in the Hudson Bay Company,

+where Bowkett can never touch it, and I shall feel

+my boy is safe.  As for Miriam, she will still have a

+good home and a good farm; and the temptation out

+of his reach, Bowkett may settle down."

+

+"I have no faith in bribery for making a man

+better.  It wants the change here, and that is God's

+work, not man's," returned Mr. De Brunier, tapping

+his own breast.

+

+Caleb Acland had but one more charge: "Let

+nobody tell poor Miriam the worst."  But she knew

+enough without the telling.

+

+When Wilfred found he was to return to Garry

+with his friends the next day his arms went round

+his dogs, and a look of mute appeal wandered from

+Mr. De Brunier to Aunt Miriam.

+

+"Had not I better take back Kusky?" suggested

+Gaspé.  "And could not we have Yula too?"

+

+"Yula!" repeated Aunt Miriam.  "It is I who

+must take care of Yula.  He shall never want a bone

+whilst I have one.  I shall feed him, Wilfred, with

+my own hands till you come back to claim him."

+

+.. vspace:: 4

+

+.. class:: center

+

+   THE END.

+

+.. vspace:: 6

+

+.. pgfooter::

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+                           LOST IN THE WILDS
+
+
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost
+no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
+under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
+eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license.
+
+
+
+Title: Lost in the Wilds
+       A Canadian Story
+Author: Eleanor Stredder
+Release Date: September 03, 2013 [EBook #43640]
+Language: English
+Character set encoding: US-ASCII
+
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST IN THE WILDS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Al Haines.
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Cover]
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: It was an awful moment.]
+
+
+
+
+                           LOST IN THE WILDS
+
+                            A CANADIAN STORY
+
+
+                          BY ELEANOR STREDDER
+
+
+
+                           LONDON, EDINBURGH,
+                           DUBLIN, & NEW YORK
+                             THOMAS NELSON
+                                AND SONS
+                                  1893
+
+
+
+
+                              *CONTENTS.*
+
+      I. _In Acland's Hut_
+     II. _Hunting the Buffalo_
+    III. _The First Snowstorm_
+     IV. _Maxica, the Cree Indian_
+      V. _In the Birch-bark Hut_
+     VI. _Searching for a Supper_
+    VII. _Following the Blackfeet_
+   VIII. _The Shop in the Wilderness_
+     IX. _New Friends_
+      X. _The Dog-sled_
+     XI. _The Hunters' Camp_
+    XII. _Maxica's Warning_
+   XIII. _Just in Time_
+    XIV. _Wedding Guests_
+     XV. _To the Rescue_
+    XVI. _In Confusion_
+
+
+
+
+                          *LOST IN THE WILDS.*
+
+
+
+                              *CHAPTER I.*
+
+                          _*IN ACLAND'S HUT.*_
+
+
+The October sun was setting over a wild, wide waste of waving grass,
+growing dry and yellow in the autumn winds.  The scarlet hips gleamed
+between the whitening blades wherever the pale pink roses of summer had
+shed their fragrant leaves.
+
+But now the brief Indian summer was drawing to its close, and winter was
+coming down upon that vast Canadian plain with rapid strides.  The
+wailing cry of the wild geese rang through the gathering stillness.
+
+The driver of a rough Red River cart slapped the boy by his side upon
+the shoulder, and bade him look aloft at the swiftly-moving cloud of
+chattering beaks and waving wings.
+
+For a moment or two the twilight sky was darkened, and the air was
+filled with the restless beat of countless pinions.  The flight of the
+wild geese to the warmer south told the same story, of approaching snow,
+to the bluff carter.  He muttered something about finding the cows which
+his young companion did not understand.  The boy's eyes had travelled
+from the winged files of retreating geese to the vast expanse of sky and
+plain.  The west was all aglow with myriad tints of gold and saffron and
+green, reflected back from many a gleaming lakelet and curving river,
+which shone like jewels on the broad breast of the grassy ocean.  Where
+the dim sky-line faded into darkness the Touchwood Hills cast a
+blackness of shadow on the numerous thickets which fringed their
+sheltering slopes.  Onward stole the darkness, while the prairie fires
+shot up in wavy lines, like giant fireworks.
+
+Between the fire-flash and the dying sun the boy's quick eye was aware
+of the long winding course of the great trail to the north.  It was a
+comfort to perceive it in the midst of such utter loneliness; for if men
+had come and gone, they had left no other record behind them.  He seemed
+to feel the stillness of an unbroken solitude, and to hear the silence
+that was brooding over lake and thicket, hill and waste alike.
+
+He turned to his companion.  "Forgill," he asked, in a low venturing
+tone, "can you find your way in the dark?"
+
+He was answered by a low, short laugh, too expressive of contempt to
+suffer him to repeat his question.
+
+One broad flash of crimson light yet lingered along the western sky, and
+the evening star gleamed out upon the shadowy earth, which the night was
+hugging to itself closer and closer every moment.
+
+Still the cart rumbled on.  It was wending now by the banks of a
+nameless river, where the pale, faint star-shine reflected in its watery
+depths gave back dim visions of inverted trees in wavering, uncertain
+lines.
+
+"How far are we now from Acland's Hut?" asked the boy, disguising his
+impatience to reach their journey's end in careless tones.
+
+"Acland's Hut," repeated the driver; "why, it is close at hand."
+
+The horse confirmed this welcome piece of intelligence by a joyous neigh
+to his companion, who was following in the rear.  A Canadian always
+travels with two horses, which he drives by turns.  The horses
+themselves enter into the arrangement so well that there is no trouble
+about it.  The loose horse follows his master like a dog, and trots up
+when the cart comes to a standstill, to take the collar warm from his
+companion's shoulders.
+
+But for once the loose pony had galloped past them in the darkness, and
+was already whinnying at the well-known gate of Acland's Hut.
+
+The driver put his hand to his mouth and gave a shout, which seemed to
+echo far and wide over the silent prairie.  It was answered by a chorus
+of barking from the many dogs about the farm.  A lantern gleamed through
+the darkness, and friendly voices shouted in reply.  Another bend in the
+river brought them face to face with the rough, white gate of Acland's
+Hut.  Behind lay the low farm-house, with its log-built walls and roof
+of clay.  Already the door stood wide, and the cheerful blaze from the
+pine-logs burning on the ample hearth within told of the hospitable
+welcome awaiting the travellers.
+
+An unseen hand undid the creaking gate, and a gruff voice from the
+darkness exchanged a hearty "All right" with Forgill.  The lantern
+seemed to dance before the horse's head, as he drew up beneath the
+solitary tree which had been left for a hen-roost in the centre of the
+enclosure.
+
+Forgill jumped down.  He gave a helping hand to his boy companion,
+observing, "There is your aunt watching for you at the open door.  Go
+and make friends; you won't be strangers long."
+
+"Have you got the child, Forgill?" asked an anxious woman's voice.
+
+An old Frenchman, who fulfilled the double office of man and maid at
+Acland's Hut, walked up to the cart and held out his arms to receive the
+expected visitor.
+
+Down leaped the boy, altogether disdaining the over-attention of the
+farming man.  Then he heard Forgill whisper, "It isn't the little girl
+she expected, it is this here boy; but I have brought him all the same."
+
+This piece of intelligence was received with a low chuckle, and all
+three of the men became suddenly intent upon the buckles of the harness,
+leaving aunt and nephew to rectify the little mistake which had clearly
+arisen--not that they had anything to do with it.
+
+"Come in," said the aunt in kindly tones, scarcely knowing whether it
+was a boy or a girl that she was welcoming.  But when the rough
+deer-skin in which Forgill had enveloped his charge as the night drew on
+was thrown aside, the look which spread over her face was akin to
+consternation, as she asked his name and heard the prompt reply,
+"Wilfred Acland; and are you my own Aunt Miriam?  How is my uncle?"  But
+question was exchanged for question with exceeding rapidity.  Then
+remembering the boy's long journey, Aunt Miriam drew a three-legged
+stool in front of the blazing fire, and bade him be seated.
+
+The owner of Acland's Hut was an aged man, the eldest of a large family,
+while Wilfred's father was the youngest.  They had been separated from
+each other in early life; the brotherly tie between them was loosely
+knitted.  Intervals of several years' duration occurred in their
+correspondence, and many a kindly-worded epistle failed to reach its
+destination; for the adventurous daring of the elder brother led him
+again and again to sell his holding, and push his way still farther
+west.  He loved the ring of the woodman's axe, the felling and the
+clearing.  He grew rich from the abundant yield of the virgin soil, and
+his ever-increasing droves of cattle grew fat and fine in the grassy sea
+which surrounded his homestead. All went well until his life of arduous
+toil brought on an attack of rheumatic fever, which had left him a
+bedridden old man.  Everything now depended upon the energy of his sole
+surviving sister, who had shared his fortunes.
+
+Aunt Miriam retained a more affectionate remembrance of Wilfred's
+father, who had been her playmate. When the letter arrived announcing
+his death she was plunged in despondency.  The letter had been sent from
+place to place, and was nine months after date before it reached
+Acland's Hut, on the verge of the lonely prairie between the Qu'appelle
+and South Saskatchewan rivers.  The letter was written by a Mr. Cromer,
+who promised to take care of the child the late Mr. Acland had left,
+until he heard from the uncle he was addressing.
+
+The brother and sister at Acland's Hut at once started the most capable
+man on their farm to purchase their winter stores and fetch the orphan
+child.  Aunt Miriam looked back to the old letters to ascertain its age.
+In one of them the father rejoiced over the birth of a son; in another
+he spoke of a little daughter, named after herself; a third, which
+lamented the death of his wife, told also of the loss of a child--which,
+it did not say.  Aunt Miriam, with a natural partiality for her
+namesake, decided, as she re-read the brief letter, that it must be the
+girl who was living; for it was then a baby, and every one would have
+called it "the baby."  By using the word "child," the poor father must
+have referred to the eldest, the boy.
+
+"Ah! very likely," answered her brother, who had no secret preference to
+bias his expectations.  So the conjecture came to be regarded as a
+certainty, until Wilfred shook off the deer-skin and stood before his
+aunt, a strong hearty boy of thirteen summers, awkwardly shy, and
+alarmingly hungry.
+
+But her welcome was not the less kindly, as she heaped his plate again
+and again.  Wilfred was soon nodding over his supper in the very front
+of the blazing fire, basking in its genial warmth.  But the delightful
+sense of comfort and enjoyment was rather shaken when he heard his aunt
+speaking in the inner room.
+
+"Forgill has come back, Caleb; and after all it is the boy."
+
+"The boy, God bless him!  I only wish he were more of a man, to take my
+place," answered the dreamy voice of her sick brother, just rousing from
+his slumbers.
+
+"Oh, but I am so disappointed!" retorted Aunt Miriam.  "I had been
+looking forward to a dear little niece to cheer me through the winter.
+I felt so sure--"
+
+"Now, now!" laughed the old man, "that is just where it is.  If once you
+get an idea in your head, there it wedges to the exclusion of everything
+else. You like your own way, Miriam, but you cannot turn your wishes
+into a coach and six to override everything.  You cannot turn him into a
+girl."
+
+Wilfred burst out laughing, as he felt himself very unpromising material
+for the desired metamorphosis.
+
+"How shall I keep him out of mischief when we are all shut in with the
+snow?" groaned Aunt Miriam.
+
+"Let me look at him," said her brother, growing excited.
+
+When Wilfred stood by the bedside, his uncle took the boy's warm hands
+in both his own and looked earnestly in his bright open face.
+
+"He will do," murmured the old man, sinking back amongst his pillows.
+"There, be a good lad; mind what your aunt says to you, and make
+yourself at home."
+
+While he was speaking all the light there was in the shadowy room shone
+full on Wilfred.
+
+"He is like his father," observed Aunt Miriam.
+
+"You need not tell me that," answered Caleb Acland, turning away his
+face.
+
+"Could we ever keep him out of mischief?" she sighed.
+
+Wilfred's merry laugh jarred on their ears.  They forgot the lapse of
+time since his father's death, and wondered to find him so cheerful.
+Aunt and nephew were decidedly out of time, and out of time means out of
+tune, as Wilfred dimly felt, without divining the reason.
+
+Morning showed him his new home in its brightest aspect.  He was up
+early and out with Forgill and the dogs, busy in the long row of
+cattle-sheds which sheltered one end of the farm-house, whilst a
+well-planted orchard screened the other.
+
+Wilfred was rejoicing in the clear air, the joyous sunshine, and the
+wonderful sense of freedom which seemed to pervade the place.  The wind
+was whispering through the belt of firs at the back of the clearing
+where Forgill had built his hut, as he made his way through the long,
+tawny grass to gather the purple vetches and tall star-like asters,
+still to be found by the banks of the reed-fringed pool where Forgill
+was watering the horses.
+
+Wilfred was intent upon propitiating his aunt, when he returned to the
+house with his autumn bouquet, and a large basket of eggs which Forgill
+had intrusted to his care.
+
+Wilfred rushed into the kitchen, elate with his morning ramble, and
+quite regardless of the long trail of muddy footsteps with which he was
+soiling the freshly-cleaned floor.
+
+"Look!" cried Aunt Miriam; but she spoke to deaf ears, for Wilfred's
+attention was suddenly absorbed by the appearance of a stranger at the
+gate.  His horse and gun proclaimed him an early visitor.  His jaunty
+air and the glittering beads and many tassels which adorned his
+riding-boots made Wilfred wonder who he was.  He set his basket on the
+ground, and was darting off again to open the gate, when Aunt Miriam,
+finding her remonstrances vain, leaned across the table on which she was
+arranging the family breakfast and caught him by the arm.  Wilfred was
+going so fast that the sudden stoppage upset his equilibrium; down he
+went, smash into the basket of eggs.  Out flew one-half in a frantic
+dance, while the mangled remains of the other streamed across the floor.
+
+"Oh! the eggs, the eggs!" exclaimed Wilfred.
+
+Aunt Miriam, who was on the other side of the table when he came in, had
+not noticed the basket he was carrying.  She held up her hands in
+dismay, exclaiming, "I am afraid, Wilfred, you are one of the most
+aggravating boys that ever walked this earth."
+
+For the frost was coming, and eggs were growing scarce.
+
+"And so, auntie, since you can't transform me, you have abased me
+utterly.  I humbly beg your pardon from the very dust, and lay my poor
+bruised offering at your indignant feet.  I thought the coach and six
+was coming over me, I did indeed!" exclaimed Wilfred.
+
+"Get up" reiterated Aunt Miriam angrily, her vexation heightened by the
+burst of laughter which greeted her ears from the open door, where the
+stranger now stood shaking with merriment at the ridiculous scene.
+
+"Yes, off with you, you young beggar!" he repeated, stepping aside
+good-naturedly to let Wilfred pass. For what could a fellow do but go in
+such disastrous circumstances?
+
+"It is not to be expected that the missis will put up with this sort of
+game," remarked Petre Fleurie, as he passed him.
+
+Wilfred began to think it better to forego his breakfast than face his
+indignant aunt.  What did she care for the handful of weeds?  The mud he
+had gone through to get them had caused all the mischief. Everywhere
+else the ground was dry and crisp with the morning frost.  "What an
+unlucky dog I am!" thought Wilfred dolefully.  "Haven't I made a bad
+beginning, and I never meant to."  He crept under the orchard railing to
+hide himself in his repentance and keep out of everybody's way.
+
+But it was not the weather for standing still, and he longed for
+something to do.  He took to running in and out amongst the now almost
+leafless fruit-trees to keep himself warm.
+
+Forgill, who was at work in the court putting the meat-stage in order,
+looked down into the orchard from the top of the ladder on which he was
+mounted, and called to Wilfred to come and help him.
+
+It was a very busy time on the farm.  Marley, the other labourer, who
+was Forgill's chum in the little hut in the corner, was away in the
+prairie looking up the cows, which had been turned loose in the early
+summer to get their own living, and must now be brought in and
+comfortably housed for the winter. Forgill had been away nearly a
+fortnight.  Hands were short on the farm now the poor old master was
+laid aside.  There was land to be sold all round them; but at present it
+was unoccupied, and the nearest settler was dozens of miles away.  Their
+only neighbours were the roving hunters, who had no settled home, but
+wandered about like gipsies, living entirely by the chase and selling
+furs.  They were partly descended from the old French settlers, and
+partly Indians.  They were a careless, light-hearted, dashing set of
+fellows, who made plenty of money when skins were dear, and spent it
+almost as fast as it came. Uncle Caleb thought it prudent to keep on
+friendly terms with these roving neighbours, who were always ready to
+give him occasional help, as they were always well paid for it.
+
+"There is one of these hunter fellows here now," said Forgill.  "The
+missis is arranging with him to help me to get in the supply of meat for
+the winter."
+
+The stage at which Forgill was hammering resembled the framework of a
+very high, long, narrow table, with four tall fir poles for its legs.
+Here the meat was to be laid, high up above the reach of the many
+animals, wild and tame.  It would soon be frozen through and through as
+hard as a stone, and keep quite good until the spring thaws set in.
+
+Wilfred was quickly on the top of the stage, enjoying the prospect, for
+the atmosphere in Canada is so clear that the eye can distinguish
+objects a very long way off.  He had plenty of amusement watching the
+great buzzards and hawks, which are never long out of sight.  He had
+entered a region where birds abounded.  There were cries in the air
+above and the drumming note of the prairie-hen in the grass below. There
+were gray clouds of huge white pelicans flapping heavily along, and
+faster-flying strings of small white birds, looking like rows of pearls
+waving in the morning air.  A moving band, also of snowy white, crossing
+the blue water of a distant lakelet, puzzled him a while, until it rose
+with a flutter and scream, and proved itself another flock of northern
+geese on wing for the south, just pausing on its way to drink.
+
+Presently Wilfred was aware that Petre was at the foot of the ladder
+talking earnestly to Forgill.  An unpleasant tingling in his cheek told
+the subject of their conversation.  He turned his back towards them, not
+choosing to hear the remarks they might be making upon his escapade of
+the morning, until old Petre--or Pete as he was usually called, for
+somehow the "r" slipped out of his name on the English lips around
+him--raised his voice, protesting, "You and I know well how the black
+mud by the reed pool sticks like glue.  Now, I say, put him on the
+little brown pony, and take him with you."
+
+"Follow the hunt!" cried Wilfred, overjoyed.  "Oh, may I, Forgill?"
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER II.*
+
+                        _*HUNTING THE BUFFALO.*_
+
+
+The cloudy morning ended in a brilliant noon. Wilfred was in ecstasies
+when he found himself mounted on the sagacious Brownie, who had followed
+them like a dog on the preceding evening.
+
+Aunt Miriam had consented to Pete's proposal with a thankfulness which
+led the hunter, Hugh Bowkett, to remark, as Wilfred trotted beside him,
+"Come, you young scamp! so you are altogether beyond petticoat
+government, are you?"
+
+"That is not true," retorted Wilfred, "for I was never out of her
+Majesty's dominion for a single hour in my life."
+
+It was a chance hit, for Bowkett had been over the frontier more than
+once, wintering among the Yankee roughs on the other side of the border,
+a proceeding which is synonymous in the North-West Dominion with
+"getting out of the way."
+
+Bowkett was a handsome fellow, and a first-rate shot, who could
+accomplish the difficult task of hunting the long-eared, cunning
+moose-deer as well as a born Red Indian.  Wilfred looked up at him with
+secret admiration.  Not so Forgill, who owned to Pete there was no
+dependence on these half-and-half characters.  But without Bowkett's
+help there would be no meat for the winter; and since the master had
+decided the boy was to go with them, there was nothing more to be said.
+
+Aunt Miriam came to the gate, in her hood and cloak, to see them depart.
+
+"Good-bye! good-bye, auntie!" shouted Wilfred. "I am awfully sorry about
+those eggs."
+
+"Ah, you rogue! do you think I am going to believe you?"  She laughed,
+shaking a warning finger at him; and so they parted, little dreaming of
+all that would happen before they met again.
+
+Wilfred was equipped in an old, smoked deer-skin coat of his uncle's,
+and a fur cap with a flap falling like a cape on his neck, and
+ear-pieces which met under his chin.  He was a tall boy of his age, and
+his uncle was a little, wiry man.  The coat was not very much too long
+for him.  It wrapped over famously in front, and was belted round the
+waist.  Pete had filled the pockets with a good supply of biscuit, and
+one or two potatoes, which he thought Wilfred could roast for his supper
+in the ashes of the campfire.  For the hunting-party expected to camp
+out in the open for a night or two, as the buffaloes they were in quest
+of were further to seek and harder to find every season.
+
+Forgill had stuck a hunting-knife in Wilfred's belt, to console him for
+the want of a gun.  The boy would have liked to carry a gun like the
+others, but on that point there was a resolute "No" all round.
+
+As they left the belt of pine trees, and struck out into the vast,
+trackless sea of grass, Wilfred looked back to the light blue column of
+smoke from the farm-house chimney, and wistfully watched it curling
+upwards in the clear atmosphere, with a dash of regret that he had not
+yet made friends with his uncle, or recovered his place in Aunt Miriam's
+good graces. But it scarcely took off the edge of his delight.
+
+Forgill was in the cart, which he hoped to bring back loaded with game.
+At the corner of the first bluff, as the hills in Canada are usually
+called, they encountered Bowkett's man with a string of horses, one of
+which he rode.  There was a joyous blaze of sunshine glinting through
+the broad fringes of white pines which marked the course of the river,
+making redder the red stems of the Norwegians which sprang up here and
+there in vivid contrast.  A light canoe of tawny birch-bark, with its
+painted prow, was threading a narrow passage by the side of a tiny eyot
+or islet, where the pine boughs seemed to meet high overhead.  The
+hunters exchanged a shout of recognition with its skilful rower, ere a
+stately heron, with grand crimson eye and leaden wings, came slowly
+flapping down the stream intent on fishing.  Then the little party wound
+their way by ripple-worn rocks, covered with mosses and lichens.  At
+last, on one of the few bare spots on a distant hillside, some dark
+moving specks became visible.  The hunt began in earnest. Away went the
+horsemen over the wide, open plain. Wilfred and the cart following more
+slowly, yet near enough to watch the change to the stealthy approach and
+the cautious outlook over the hill-top, where the hunter's practised eye
+had detected the buffalo.
+
+"Keep close by me," said Forgill to his young companion, as they wound
+their way upwards, and reached the brow of the hill just in time to
+watch the wild charge upon the herd, which scattered in desperate
+flight, until the hindmost turned to bay upon his reckless pursuers, his
+shaggy head thrown up as he stood for a moment at gaze.  With a whoop
+and a cheer, in which Wilfred could not help joining, Bowkett again gave
+chase, followed by his man Diome. A snap shot rattled through the air.
+Forgill drew the cart aside to the safer shelter of a wooded copse, out
+of the line of the hunters.  He knew the infuriated buffalo would
+shortly turn on his pursuers.  The loose horses were racing after their
+companions, and Brownie was quivering with excitement.
+
+"Hold hard!" cried Forgill, who saw the boy was longing to give the pony
+its head and follow suit. "Quiet, my lad," he continued.  "None of us
+are up to that sort of work.  It takes your breath to look at them."
+
+The buffalo was wheeling round.  Huge and unwieldy as the beast
+appeared, it changed its front with the rapidity of lightning.  Then
+Bowkett backed his horse and fled.  On the proud beast thundered, with
+lowered eyes flashing furiously under its shaggy brows.  A bullet from
+Diome's gun struck him on the forehead.  He only shook his haughty head
+and bellowed till the prairie rang; but his pace slackened as the
+answering cries of the retreating herd seemed to call him back.  He was
+within a yard of Bowkett's horse, when round he swung as swiftly and
+suddenly as he had advanced.  Wilfred stood up in his stirrups to watch
+him galloping after his companions, through a gap in a broken bluff at
+no great distance.  Away went Bowkett and Diome, urging on their horses
+with shout and spur.
+
+"Halt a bit," said Forgill, restraining Wilfred and his pony, until they
+saw the two hunters slowly returning over the intervening ridge with
+panting horses.  They greeted the approach of the cart with a hurrah of
+success, proposing, as they drew nearer, to halt for dinner in the
+shelter of the gap through which the buffalo had taken its way.
+
+Wilfred was soon busy with Diome gathering the dry branches last night's
+wind had broken to make a fire, whilst Bowkett and Forgill went forward
+with the cart to look for the fallen quarry.
+
+It was the boy's first lesson in camping out, and he enjoyed it
+immensely, taking his turn at the frying-pan with such success that
+Diome proposed to hand it over to his exclusive use for the rest of
+their expedition.
+
+It was hard work to keep the impudent blue jays, with which the prairie
+abounded, from darting at the savoury fry, and pecking out the very
+middle of the steak, despite the near neighbourhood of smoke and flame,
+which threatened to singe their wings in the mad attempt.
+
+But in spite of the thievish birds, dinner was eaten and appreciated in
+the midst of so much laughter and chaff that even Forgill unbent.
+
+But a long day's work was yet before them, spurring over the sand-ridges
+and through the rustling grass. They had almost reached one of the
+westward jutting spurs of the Touchwood Hills, when the sun went down.
+As it neared the earth and sank amidst the glorious hues of emerald and
+gold, the dark horizon line became visible for a few brief instants
+across its blood-red face; but so distant did it seem, so very far away,
+the whole scene became dreamlike from its immensity.
+
+"We've done, my lads!" shouted Bowkett; "we have about ended as glorious
+a day's sport as ever I had."
+
+"Not yet," retorted Diome.  "Just listen."  There was a trampling,
+snorting sound as of many cattle on the brink of a lakelet sheltering at
+the foot of the neighbouring hills.
+
+Were they not in the midst of what the early Canadian settlers used to
+call the Land of the Wild Cows?  Those sounds proceeded from another
+herd coming down for its evening drink.  On they crept with stealthy
+steps through bush and bulrush to get a nearer view in the bewildering
+shadows, which were growing darker and darker every moment.
+
+"Stop! stop!" cried Forgill, hurrying forward, as the light yet
+lingering on the lake showed the familiar faces of his master's cows
+stooping down to reach the pale blue water at their feet.  Yes, there
+they were, the truant herd Marley was endeavouring in vain to find.
+
+Many a horned head was lifted at the sound of Forgill's well-known call.
+Away he went into the midst of the group, pointing out the great "A" he
+had branded deep in the thick hair on the left shoulder before he had
+turned them loose.
+
+What was now to be done?
+
+"Drive them home," said the careful Forgill, afraid of losing them
+again.  But Bowkett was not willing to return.
+
+Meanwhile Diome and Wilfred were busy preparing for the night at the
+spot where they had halted, when the presence of the herd was first
+perceived. They had brought the horses down to the lake to water at a
+sufficient distance from the cows not to disturb them.  But one or two
+of the wanderers began to "moo," as if they partially recognized their
+former companions.
+
+"They will follow me and the horses," pursued Forgill, who knew he could
+guide his way across the trackless prairie by the aid of the stars.
+
+"If you come upon Marley," he said, "he can take my place in the cart,
+for he has most likely found the trail of the cows by this time; or if I
+cross his path, I shall leave him to drive home the herd and return. You
+will see one of us before morning."
+
+"As you like," replied Bowkett, who knew he could do without either man
+provided he kept the cart. "You will probably see us back at the gate of
+Acland's Hut by to-morrow night; and if we do not bring you game enough,
+we must plan a second expedition when you have more leisure."
+
+So it was settled between them.
+
+Forgill hurried back to the camping place to get his supper before he
+started.  Bowkett lingered behind, surveying the goodly herd, whilst
+vague schemes for combining the twofold advantages of hunter and farmer
+floated through his mind.
+
+When he rejoined his companions he found them seated round a blazing
+fire, enjoying the boiling kettle of tea, the fried steak, and biscuit
+which composed their supper.  The saddles were hung up on the branches
+of the nearest tree, and the skins and blankets which were to make their
+bed were already spread upon the pine brush which strewed the ground.
+
+"Now, young 'un," said Forgill solemnly, "strikes me I had better keep
+you alongside anyhow."
+
+"No, no," retorted Diome.  "The poor little fellow has been in the
+saddle all day, and he is dead asleep already; leave him under his
+blankets.  He'll be right enough; must learn to rough it sooner or
+later."
+
+Forgill, who had to be his own tailor and washer-woman, was lamenting
+over a rent in his sleeve, which he was endeavouring to stitch up.  For
+a housewife, with its store of needles and thread, was never absent from
+his pocket.
+
+His awkward attempts awakened the mirth of his companions.
+
+"What, poor old boy! haven't you got a wife at home to do the stitching
+for you?" asked Diome.
+
+"When you have passed the last oak which grows on this side the Red
+River, are there a dozen English women in a thousand miles?" asked
+Forgill; and then he added, "The few there are are mostly real ladies,
+the wives of district governors and chief factors.  A fellow must make
+up his mind to do for himself and rub through as he can."
+
+"Unless he follows my father's example," put in Bowkett, "and chooses
+himself a faithful drudge from an Indian wigwam.  He would want no other
+tailor or washerwoman, for there are no such diligent workers in the
+world.  Look at that," he continued, pointing to his beautifully
+embroidered leggings, the work of his Indian relations.
+
+"Pay a visit to our hunters' winter camp," added Diome, "and we will
+show you what an old squaw can do to make home comfortable."
+
+There was this difference between the men: Diome who had been left by
+his French father to be brought up by his Indian mother, resembled her
+in many things; whilst Bowkett, whose father was English, despised his
+Indian mother, and tried to make himself more and more of an Englishman.
+This led him to cultivate the acquaintance with the Aclands.
+
+"I am going to send your mistress a present," he said, "of a mantle
+woven of wild dogs' hair.  It belonged to the daughter of an Indian
+chief from the Rocky Mountains.  It has a fringe a foot deep, and is
+covered all over with embroidery.  You will see then what a squaw can
+do."
+
+Forgill did not seem over-pleased at this information.
+
+"Are you talking of my Aunt Miriam?" asked Wilfred, opening his sleepy
+eyes.
+
+"So you are thinking about her," returned Forgill. "That's right, my
+lad; for your aunt and uncle at Acland's Hut are the only kith and kin
+you have left, and they are quite ready to make much of you, and you
+can't make too much of them."
+
+"You have overshot the mark there," laughed Bowkett; "rather think the
+missis was glad to be rid of the young plague on any terms."
+
+Diome pulled the blankets over Wilfred's head, and wished him a _bonne
+nuit_ (good night).
+
+When the boy roused up at last Forgill had long since departed, and
+Diome, who had been the first to awaken, was vigorously clapping his
+hands to warm them, and was shouting, "_Leve! leve! leve!_" to his
+sleepy companions.
+
+"Get up," interpreted Bowkett, who saw that Wilfred did not understand
+his companion's provincial French.  Then suiting the action to the word,
+he crawled out from between the shafts of the cart, where he had passed
+the night, tossed off his blankets and gave himself a shake, dressing
+being no part of the morning performances during camping out in the
+Canadian wilds, as every one puts on all the clothing he has at going to
+bed, to keep himself warm through the night.
+
+The fire was reduced to a smouldering ash-heap, and every leaf and twig
+around was sparkling with hoar-frost, for the frost had deepened in the
+night, and joints were stiff and limbs were aching.  A run for a mile
+was Bowkett's remedy, and a look round for the horses, which had been
+turned loose, Canadian fashion, to get their supper where they could
+find it.
+
+The first red beams of the rising sun were tinging the glassy surface of
+the lake when Bowkett came upon the scattered quadrupeds, and drove
+them, with Wilfred's assistance, down to its blue waters for their
+morning drink.
+
+Diome's shouts recalled them to their own breakfast.  He was a man of
+many tongues, invariably scolding in French--especially the horses and
+dogs, who heeded it, he asserted, better than any other language except
+Esquimau--explaining in English, and coming out with the Indian "Caween"
+when discourse required an animated "no."  "Caween," he reiterated now,
+as Bowkett asked, "Are we to dawdle about all day for these English
+cow-keepers?"  For neither Forgill nor Marley had yet put in an
+appearance.
+
+The breakfast was not hurried over.  The fire was built up bigger than
+ever before they left, that its blackened remains might mark their
+camping place for days, if the farming men came after them.
+
+Wilfred, who had buckled the saddle on Brownie, received a riding
+lesson, and then they started, Diome driving the cart.  Wilfred kept
+beside him at first, but growing bolder as his spirits rose, he trotted
+onward to exchange a word with Bowkett.
+
+The sharp, frosty night seemed likely to be followed by a day of bright
+and mellow sunshine.  The exhilarating morning breeze banished all
+thoughts of fear and care from the light-hearted trio; and when the tall
+white stems of the pines appeared to tremble in the mid-day mirage,
+Wilfred scampered hither and thither, as merry as the little gopher, or
+ground squirrel, that was gambolling across his path.  But no large game
+had yet been sighted.  Then all unexpectedly a solitary buffalo stalked
+majestically across what was now the entrance to a valley, but what
+would become the bed of a rushing river when the ice was melting in the
+early spring.
+
+Bowkett paused, looked to his rifle and saddle-girths, waved his arm to
+Wilfred to fall back, and with a shout that made the boy's heart leap
+dashed after it.  Wilfred urged his Brownie up the bank, where he
+thought he could safely watch the chase and enjoy a repetition of the
+exciting scenes of yesterday.
+
+Finding itself pursued, the buffalo doubled.  On it came, tearing up the
+ground in its course, and seeming to shake the quivering trees with its
+mighty bellow. Brownie plunged and reared, and Wilfred was flung
+backwards, a senseless heap at the foot of the steep bank.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER III.*
+
+                        _*THE FIRST SNOWSTORM.*_
+
+
+IN the midst of the danger and excitement of the chase, Bowkett had not
+a thought to spare for Wilfred.  He and Diome were far too busy to even
+wonder what had become of him.  It was not until their work was done,
+and the proverbial hunger of the hunter urged them to prepare for
+dinner, that the question arose.
+
+"Where on earth is that young scoundrel of a boy? Has he fallen back so
+far that it will take him all day to recover ground?" asked Bowkett.
+
+"And if it is so," remarked Diome, "he has only to give that cunning
+little brute its head.  It is safe to follow the track of the
+cart-wheel, and bring him in for the glorious teasing that is waiting to
+sugar his tea."
+
+"Rare seasoning for the frying-pan," retorted Bowkett, as he lit his
+pipe, and proposed to halt a bit longer until the truant turned up.
+
+"Maybe," suggested Diome, "if May bees fly in October, that moose-eared
+pony [the long ears of the moose detect the faintest sound at an
+inconceivable distance] has been more than a match for his raw
+equestrianism.  It has heard the jog-trot of that solemn and sober
+cowherd, and galloped him off to join his old companions.  What will
+become of the scattered flock?"
+
+"Without a leader," put in Bowkett.  "I have a great mind to bid for the
+office."
+
+"Oh, oh!" laughed Diome.  "I have something of the keen scent of my
+Indian grandfather; I began to sniff the wind when that mantle was
+talked about last night.  Now then, are we going to track back to find
+this boy?"
+
+"I do not know where you propose to look for him, but I can tell you
+where you will find him--munching cakes on his auntie's lap.  We may as
+well save time by looking in the likeliest place first," retorted
+Bowkett.
+
+The bivouac over, they returned to Acland's Hut with their well-laden
+cart, and Wilfred was left behind them, no one knew where.  The hunters'
+careless conclusions were roughly shaken, when they saw a riderless pony
+trotting leisurely after them to the well-known door.  Old Pete came out
+and caught it by the bridle.  An ever-rising wave of consternation was
+spreading.  No one as yet had put it into words, until Forgill emerged
+from the cattle-sheds with a sack on his shoulder, exclaiming, "Where's
+the boy?"
+
+"With you, is not he?  He did not say much to us; either he or his pony
+started off to follow you. He was an unruly one, you know," replied
+Bowkett. Forgill's only answer was a hoarse shout to Marley, who had
+returned from his wanderings earlier in the day, to come with torches.
+Diome joined them in the search.
+
+Bowkett stepped into the house to allay Aunt Miriam's fears with his
+regret the boy had somehow given them the slip, but Forgill and Diome
+had gone back for him.
+
+An abundant and what seemed to them a luxuriant supper had been provided
+for the hunting party. Whilst Bowkett sat down to enjoy it to his
+heart's content, Aunt Miriam wandered restlessly from room to room,
+cautiously breaking the ill news to her brother, by telling him only
+half the hunting party had yet turned up.  Pete was watching for the
+stragglers.
+
+He roused himself up to ask her who was missing.
+
+But her guarded reply reassured him, and he settled back to sleep.  Such
+mishaps were of every-day occurrence.
+
+"A cold night for camping out," he murmured. "You will see them with the
+daylight."
+
+But the chilly hour which precedes the dawn brought with it a heavy fall
+of snow.
+
+Aunt Miriam's heart sank like lead, for she knew that every track would
+be obliterated now.  Bowkett still laughed away her fears.  Find the boy
+they would, benumbed perhaps at the foot of a tree, or huddled up in
+some sheltering hollow.
+
+Then Aunt Miriam asked Bowkett if he would earn her everlasting
+gratitude, by taking the dogs and Pete, with skins and blankets--
+
+"And bringing the truant home," responded Bowkett boastfully.
+
+The farm-house, with its double doors and windows, its glowing stoves in
+every room, was as warm and cozy within as the night without was
+cheerless and cold.  Bowkett, who had been enjoying his taste of true
+English comfort, felt its allurements enhanced by the force of the
+contrast.  Aunt Miriam barred the door behind him with a great deal of
+unearned gratitude in her heart.  Her confidence in Forgill was shaken.
+He ought not to have brought home the cows and left her nephew behind.
+Yet the herd was so valuable, and he felt himself responsible to his
+master for their well-being.  She did not blame Forgill; she blamed
+herself for letting Wilfred go with him.  She leaned upon the hunter's
+assurances, for she knew that his resource and daring, and his knowledge
+of the country, were far greater than that possessed by either of the
+farming men.
+
+The storm which had burst at daybreak had shrouded all around in a dense
+white sheet of driving snowflakes.  Even objects close at hand showed
+dim and indistinct in the gray snow-light.  On the search-party went,
+groping their way through little clumps of stunted bushes, which
+frequently deceived them by a fancied resemblance to a boyish figure,
+now throwing up its arms to call attention, now huddled in a darkling
+heap.  Their shouts received no answer: that went for little.  The boy
+must long ago have succumbed to such a night without fire or shelter
+They felt among the bushes.  The wet mass of snow struck icily cold on
+hands and faces.  A bitter, biting wind swept down the river from the
+north-east, breaking the tall pine branches and uprooting many a
+sapling.  The two search-parties found each other that was all.  Such
+weather in itself makes many a man feel savage-tempered and sullen.  If
+they spoke at all, it was to blame one another.
+
+While thus they wandered to and fro over the hunting-ground of
+yesterday, where was the boy they failed to meet?  Where was Wilfred?
+Fortunately for him the grass grew thick and tall at the bottom of the
+bank down which he had fallen.  Lost to view amid the waving yellow
+tufts which had sprung up to giant size in the bed of the dried-up
+stream, he lay for some time in utter unconsciousness; whilst the
+frightened pony, finding itself free, galloped madly away over the sandy
+ridges they had been crossing earlier in the morning.
+
+By slow degrees sight and sound returned to the luckless boy.  He was
+bruised and shaken, and one ankle which he had bent under him made him
+cry out with pain when he tried to rise.  At last he drew himself into a
+sitting posture and looked around. Recollections came back confusedly at
+first.  As his ideas grew clearer, he began to realize what had
+happened. Overhead the sky was gloomy and dark.  A stormy wind swept the
+whitened grass around him into billowy waves.  Wilfred's first thought
+was to shout to his companions; but his voice was weak and faint, and a
+longing for a little water overcame him.
+
+Finding himself unable to walk, he dropped down again in the grassy nest
+which he had formed for himself, and tried to think.  The weight of his
+fall had crushed the grass beneath him into the soft clayey mud at the
+bottom of the valley.  But the pain in his ankle predominated over every
+other consideration. His first attempt to help himself was to take the
+knife out of his belt and cut down some of the grass within reach, and
+make a softer bed on which to rest it.  His limbs were stiffening with
+the cold, and whilst he had still feeling enough in his fingers to undo
+his boot, he determined to try to bind up his ankle.  Whilst he held it
+pressed between both his hands it seemed easier.
+
+But Wilfred knew he must not sit there waiting for Forgill, who, he felt
+sure, would come and look for him if he had rejoined the hunting party:
+if--there were so many _ifs_ clinging to every thought Wilfred grew
+desperate.  He grasped a great handful of the sticky clay and pressed it
+round his ankle in a stiff, firm band.  There was a change in the
+atmosphere.  In the morning that clay would have been hard and crisp
+with the frost, now it was yielding in his hand; surely the snow was
+coming.  Boy as he was, he knew what that would do for him--he should be
+buried beneath it in the hole in which he lay.  It roused him to the
+uttermost.  Deep down in Wilfred's nature there was a vein of that cool
+daring which the great Napoleon called "two o'clock in the morning
+courage"--a feeling which rises highest in the face of danger, borrowing
+little from its surroundings, and holding only to its own.
+
+"If," repeated Wilfred, as his thoughts ran on--"if they could not find
+me, and that is likely enough, am I going to lie here and die?"
+
+He looked up straight into the leaden sky.  "There is nothing between us
+and God's heaven," he thought. "It is we who see such a little way.  He
+can send me help.  It may be coming for what I know, one way or another.
+What is the use of sitting here thinking? Has Bowkett missed me?  Will
+he turn back to look me up?  Will Forgill come?  If I fall asleep down
+in this grass, how could they see me?  Any way, I must get out of this
+hole."  He tore the lining out of his cap and knotted it round his
+ankle, to keep the clay in place; but to put his boot on again was an
+impossibility.  Even he knew his toes would freeze before morning if he
+left them uncovered.  He took his knife and cut off the fur edge down
+the front of the old skin coat, and wound his foot up in it as fast as
+he could.  Then, dragging his boot along with him, he tried hard to
+crawl up the bank; but it was too steep for him, and he slipped back
+again, hurting himself a little more at every slide.
+
+This, he told himself, was most unnecessary, as he was sore enough and
+stiff enough before.  Another bad beginning.  What was the use of
+stopping short at a bad beginning?  He thought of Bruce and his spider.
+He had not tried seven times yet.
+
+Wilfred's next attempt was to crawl towards the entrance of the
+valley--this was easier work.  Then he remembered the biscuit in his
+pocket.  It was not all gone yet.  He drew himself up and began to eat
+it gladly enough, for he had had nothing since his breakfast.  The
+biscuit was very hard, and he crunched it, making all the noise he
+could.  It seemed a relief to make any sort of sound in that awful
+stillness.
+
+He was growing almost cheery as he ate.  "If I can only find the
+cart-track," he thought; "and I must be near it.  Diome was behind us
+when I was thrown; he must have driven past the end of this valley.  If
+I could only climb a tree, I might see where the grass was crushed by
+the cart-wheel."
+
+But this was just what Wilfred could not do.  The last piece of biscuit
+was in his hand, when a dog leaped out of the bushes on the bank above
+him and flew at it. Wilfred seized his boot to defend himself; but that
+was hopeless work, crawling on the ground.  It was a better thought to
+fling the biscuit to the dog, for if he enraged it--ah! it might tear
+him to pieces.  It caught the welcome boon in its teeth, and devoured
+it, pawing the ground impatiently for more.  Wilfred had but one potato
+left.  He began to cut it in slices and toss them to the dog.  A bright
+thought had struck him: this dog might have a master near.  No doubt
+about that; and if he were only a wild Red Indian, he was yet a man.
+Full of this idea, Wilfred emptied out his pockets to see if a corner of
+biscuit was left at the bottom.  There were plenty of crumbs.  He forgot
+his own hunger, and held out his hand to the dog. It was evidently
+starving.  It sat down before him, wagging its bushy tail and moving its
+jaws beseechingly, in a mute appeal for food.  Wilfred drew himself a
+little nearer, talking and coaxing.  One sweep of the big tongue and the
+pile of crumbs had vanished.
+
+There was a sound--a crashing, falling sound--in the distance.  How they
+both listened!  Off rushed the furry stranger.
+
+"It is my chance," thought Wilfred, "my only chance."
+
+He picked up the half-eaten potato and scrambled after the dog, quite
+forgetting his pain in his desperation. A vociferous barking in the
+distance urged him on.
+
+It was not Bowkett, by the strange dog; but another hunting party might
+be near.  The noise he had heard was the fall of some big game.  Hope
+rose high; but he soon found himself obliged to rest, and then he
+shouted with all his might.  He was making his way up the valley now.
+He saw before him a clump of willows, whose drooping boughs must have
+lapped the stream.  His boot was too precious to be left behind; he
+slung it to his belt, and then crawled on.  One more effort.  He had
+caught the nearest bough, and, by its help, he drew himself upright.  Oh
+the pain in the poor foot when he let it touch the ground! it made him
+cry out again and again.  Still he persisted in his purpose.  He grasped
+a stronger stem arching higher overhead, and swung himself clear from
+the ground.  The pliant willow swayed hither and thither in the stormy
+blast.  Wilfred almost lost his hold. The evening shadows were gathering
+fast.  The dead leaves swept down upon him with every gust.  The wind
+wailed and sighed amongst the tall white grass and the bulrushes at his
+feet.  It was impossible to resist a feeling of utter desolation.
+
+Wilfred shut his eyes upon the dreary scene.  The snatch of prayer on
+his lips brought back the bold spirit of an hour ago.  He rested the
+poor injured ankle on his other foot, and drew himself up, hand over
+hand, higher and higher, to the topmost bough, and there he clung, until
+a stronger blast than ever flung him backwards towards the bank.  He
+felt the bough giving way beneath his weight, and, with a desperate
+spring, clutched at the stunted bushes which had scratched his cheek
+when for one moment, in the toss of the gale, he had touched the hard,
+firm, stony ridge.  Another moment, and Wilfred found himself, gasping
+and breathless, on the higher ground.  An uprooted tree came down with a
+shock of thunder, shaking the earth beneath him, loosening the
+water-washed stones, and crashing among the decaying branches of its
+fellow pines.
+
+At last the whirl of dust and stones subsided, and the barking of the
+dog made itself heard once more above the roar of the gale.  Trembling
+at his hair-breadth escape, Wilfred cleared the dust from his eyes and
+looked about him.  A dark form was lying upon the shelving ground.  He
+could just distinguish the outstretched limbs and branching antlers of a
+wild moose-deer.
+
+Whoever the hunter might be he would seek his quarry.  Wilfred felt
+himself saved.  The tears swam before his eyes.  He was looking upward
+in the intensity of his thankfulness.  He did not see the arrow
+quivering still in the dead deer's flank, or he would have known that it
+could only have flown from some Indian bow.
+
+He had nothing to do but to wait, to wait and shout. A warm touch on the
+tip of his ear made him look round; the dog had returned to him.  It,
+too, had been struck--a similar arrow was sticking in the back of its
+neck.  It twisted its head round as far as it was possible, vainly
+trying to reach it, and then looked at Wilfred with a mute, appealing
+glance there was no mistaking.  The boy sat up, laid one hand on the
+dog's back, and grasped the arrow with the other. He tugged at it with
+all his might; the point was deep in the flesh.  But it came out at
+last, followed by a gush of blood.
+
+"Stand still, good dog.  There, quiet, quiet!" cried Wilfred quickly, as
+he tore a bit of fur off his cap and plugged the hole.
+
+The poor wounded fellow seemed to understand all about it.  He only
+turned his head and licked the little bit of Wilfred's face that was
+just visible under his overwhelming cap.  A doggie's gratitude is never
+wanting.
+
+"Don't, you stupid," said Wilfred.  "How am I to see what I am about if
+you keep washing me between my eyes?  There! just what I expected, it is
+out again.  Now, steady."
+
+Another try, and the plug was in again, firmer than before.
+
+"There, there!  lie down, and let me hold it a bit," continued Wilfred,
+carefully considering his shaggy acquaintance.
+
+He was a big, handsome fellow, with clean, strong legs and a hairy coat,
+which hung about his keen, bright eyes and almost concealed them.  But
+the fur was worn and chafed around his neck and across his back, leaving
+no doubt in Wilfred's mind as to what he was.
+
+"You have been driven in a sledge, old boy," he said, as he continued to
+fondle him.  "You've worn harness until it has torn your coat and made
+it shabbier than mine.  You are no hunter's dog, as I hoped.  I expect
+you have been overdriven, lashed along until you dropped down in the
+traces; and then your hard-hearted driver undid your harness, and left
+you to live or die.  Oh!  I know their cruel ways.  How long have you
+been wandering?  It isn't in nature that I shouldn't feel for you, for I
+am afraid, old fellow, I am in for such another 'do.'"
+
+Wilfred was not talking to deaf ears.  The dog lay down beside him, and
+stretched its long paws across his knee, looking up in his face, as if a
+word of kindness were something so new, so unimagined, so utterly
+incomprehensible.  Was it the first he had ever heard?
+
+No sunset glory brightened the dreary scene.  All around them was an
+ever-deepening gloom.  Wilfred renewed his shouts at intervals, and the
+dog barked as if in answer.  Then followed a long silent pause, when
+Wilfred listened as if his whole soul were in his ears.  Was there the
+faintest echo of a sound? Who could distinguish in the teeth of the
+gale, still tearing away the yellow leaves from the storm-tossed
+branches, and scaring the wild fowl from marsh and lakelet?  Who could
+tell?  And yet there was a shadow thrown across the white pine stem.
+
+Another desperate shout.  Wilfred's heart was in his mouth as he strove
+to make himself heard above the roar of the wind.  On came the stately
+figure of a wild Cree chief.  His bow was in his hand, but he was
+glancing upwards at the stormy sky.  His stealthy movements and his
+light and noiseless tread had been unheard, even by the dog.
+
+The Indian was wearing the usual dress of the Cree--a coat of skin with
+a scarlet belt, and, as the night was cold, his raven elf-locks were
+covered with a little cap his squaw had manufactured from a rat-skin.
+His blue cloth leggings and beautiful embroidered moccasins were not so
+conspicuous in the fading light.  Wilfred could but notice the
+fingerless deer-skin mittens covering the hand which grasped his bow.
+His knife and axe were stuck in his belt, from which his well-filled
+quiver hung.
+
+Wilfred tumbled himself on to one knee, and holding out the arrow he had
+extracted from the dog, he pointed to the dead game on the bank.
+
+Wilfred was more truly afraid of the wild-looking creature before him
+than he would have been of the living moose.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER IV.*
+
+                      _*MAXICA, THE CREE INDIAN.*_
+
+
+Wilfred thought his fears were only too well-founded when he saw the
+Indian lay an arrow on his bow-string and point it towards him. He had
+heard that Indians shoot high.  Down he flung himself flat on his face,
+exclaiming, "Spare me! spare me!  I'm nothing but a boy."
+
+The dog growled savagely beside him.
+
+Despite the crash of the storm the Indian's quick ear had detected the
+sound of a human voice, and his hand was stayed.  He seemed groping
+about him, as if to find the speaker.
+
+"I am here," shouted Wilfred, "and there is the moose your arrow has
+brought down."
+
+The Indian pointed to his own swarthy face, saying with a grave dignity,
+"The day has gone from me.  I know it no longer.  In the dim, dim
+twilight which comes before the night I perceive the movement, but I no
+longer see the game.  Yet I shoot, for the blind man must eat."
+
+Wilfred turned upon his side, immensely comforted to hear himself
+answered in such intelligent English. He crawled a little nearer to the
+wild red man, and surveyed him earnestly as he tried to explain the
+disaster which had left him helpless in so desolate a spot.  He knew he
+was in the hunting-grounds of the Crees, one of the most friendly of the
+Indian tribes.  His being there gave no offence to the blind archer, for
+the Indians hold the earth is free to all.
+
+The chief was wholly intent upon securing the moose Wilfred had told him
+his arrow had brought down.
+
+"I have missed the running stream," he went on. "I felt the willow
+leaves, but the bed by which they are growing is a grassy slope."
+
+"How could you know it?" asked Wilfred, in astonishment.
+
+The Indian picked up a stone and threw it over the bank.  "Listen," he
+said; "no splash, no gurgle, no water there."  He stumbled against the
+fallen deer, and stooping down, felt it all over with evident rejoicing.
+
+He had been medicine man and interpreter for his tribe before the
+blindness to which the Indians are so subject had overwhelmed him.  It
+arises from the long Canadian winter, the dazzling whiteness of the
+frozen snow, over which they roam for three parts of the year, which
+they only exchange for the choking smoke that usually fills their
+chimneyless wig-wams.
+
+The Cree was thinking now how best to secure his prize.  He carefully
+gathered together the dry branches the storm was breaking and tearing
+away in every direction, and carefully covered it over.  Then he took
+his axe from his belt and cut a gash in the bark of the nearest tree to
+mark the spot.
+
+Wilfred sat watching every movement with a nervous excitement, which
+helped to keep his blood from freezing and his heart from failing.
+
+The dog was walking cautiously round and round whilst this work was
+going forward.
+
+The Cree turned to Wilfred.
+
+"You are a boy of the Moka-manas?" (big knives, an Indian name for the
+white men).
+
+"Yes," answered Wilfred.
+
+When the _cache_, as the Canadians call such a place as the Indian was
+making, was finished, the darkness of night had fallen.  Poor Wilfred
+sat clapping his hands, rubbing his knees, and hugging the dog to keep
+himself from freezing altogether.  He could scarcely tell what his
+companion was about, but he heard the breaking of sticks and a steady
+sound of chopping and clearing.  Suddenly a bright flame shot up in the
+murky midnight, and Wilfred saw before him a well-built pyramid of logs
+and branches, through which the fire was leaping and running until the
+whole mass became one steady blaze.  Around the glowing heap the Indian
+had cleared away the thick carpet of pine brush and rubbish, banking it
+up in a circle as a defence from the cutting wind.
+
+He invited Wilfred to join him, as he seated himself in front of the
+glowing fire, wrapped his bearskin round him, and lit his pipe.
+
+The whole scene around them was changed as if by magic.  The freezing
+chill, the unutterable loneliness had vanished.  The ruddy light of the
+fire played and flickered among the shadowy trees, casting bright
+reflections of distorted forms along the whitening ground, and lighting
+up the cloudy sky with a radiance that must have been visible for miles.
+Wilfred was not slow in making his way into the charmed circle.  He got
+over the ground like a worm, wriggling himself along until his feet were
+over the bank, and down he dropped in front of the glorious fire.  He
+coiled himself round with a sense of exquisite enjoyment, stretching his
+stiffened limbs and spreading his hands to the glowing warmth, and
+altogether behaving in as senseless a fashion as the big doggie himself.
+He had waited for no invitation, bounding up to Wilfred in extravagant
+delight, and now lay rolling over and over before the fire, giving
+sharp, short barks of delight at the unexpected pleasure.
+
+It was bliss, it was ecstasy, it was paradise, that sudden change from
+the bleak, dark, shivering night to the invigorating warmth and the
+cheery glow.
+
+The Cree sat back in dreamy silence, sending great whiffs of smoke from
+the carved red-stone bowl of his long pipe, and watching the dog and the
+boy at play. Their presence in noways detracted from his Indian comfort,
+for the puppy and the pappoose are the Cree's delight by his wigwam
+fire.
+
+Hunger and thirst were almost forgotten, until Wilfred remembered his
+potato, and began to busy himself with roasting it in the ashes.  But
+the dog, mistaking his purpose, and considering it a most inappropriate
+gift to the fire, rolled it out again before it was half roasted, and
+munched it up with great gusto.
+
+"There's a shame! you bad old greedy boy," exclaimed Wilfred, when he
+found out what the dog was eating.  "Well," he philosophised, determined
+to make the best of what could not now be helped, "I had a breakfast,
+and you--why, you look as if you had had neither breakfast, dinner, nor
+supper for many a long day.  How have you existed?"
+
+But this question was answered before the night was out.  The potato was
+hot, and the impatient dog burned his lips.  After sundry shakings and
+rubbings of his nose in the earth, the sagacious old fellow jumped up
+the bank and ran off.  When he returned, his tongue touched damp and
+cool, and there were great drops of water hanging in his hair.  Up
+sprang the thirsty Wilfred to search for the spring.  The Cree was
+nodding; but the boy had no fear of losing himself, with that glorious
+fire-shine shedding its radiance far and wide through the lonely night.
+He called the dog to follow him, and groped along the edge of the
+dried-up watercourse, sometimes on all fours, sometimes trying to take a
+step.  Painful as it was, he was satisfied his foot was none the worse
+for a little movement. His effort was rewarded.  He caught the echo of a
+trickling sound from a corner of rock jutting out of the stunted bushes.
+The dog, which seemed now to guess the object of his search, led him up
+to a breakage in the lichen-covered stone, through which a bubbling
+spring dashed its warm spray into their faces.  Yes, it was warm; and
+when Wilfred stooped to catch the longed-for water in his hands, it was
+warm to his lips, with a strong disagreeable taste.  No matter, it was
+water; it was life.  It was more than simple water; he had lighted on a
+sulphur spring.  Wilfred drank eagerly as he felt its tonic effects
+fortifying him against the benumbing cold.  For the wind seemed cutting
+the skin from his face, and the snowflakes driving before the blast were
+changing the dog from black to white.
+
+Much elated with his discovery, Wilfred returned to the fire, where the
+Cree still sat in statue-like repose.
+
+"He is fast asleep," thought Wilfred, as he got down again as
+noiselessly as he could; but the Indian's sleep was like the sleep of
+the wild animal.  Hearing was scarcely closed.  He opened one eye,
+comprehended that it was Wilfred returning, and shut it, undisturbed by
+the whirling snow.  Wilfred set up two great pieces of bark like a
+penthouse over his head, and coaxed the dog to nestle by his side.
+Sucking the tip of his beaver-skin gloves to still the craving for his
+supper, he too fell asleep, to awake shivering in the gray of the dawn
+to a changing world.  Everywhere around him there was one vast dazzling
+whirl of driving sleet and dancing snow.  The fire had become a
+smouldering pile, emitting a fitful visionary glow.  On every side dim
+uncertain shapes loomed through the whitened atmosphere.  A scene so
+weird and wild struck a chill to his heart.  The dog moved by Wilfred's
+side, and threw off something of the damp, cold weight that was
+oppressing him.  He sat upright.
+
+Maxica, or Crow's Foot--for that was the Cree's name--was groping round
+and round the circle, pulling out pieces of dead wood from under the
+snow to replenish the dying fire.  But he only succeeded in making it
+hiss and crackle and send up volumes of choking smoke, instead of the
+cheery flames of last night.
+
+Between the dark, suffocating cloud which hovered over the fire and the
+white whirling maze beyond it, Maxica, with his failing sight, was
+completely bewildered. All tracks were long since buried and lost.  It
+was equally impossible to find the footprints of Wilfred's hunting
+party, or to follow his own trail back to the birch-bark canoe which had
+been his home during the brief, bright summer.  He folded his arms in
+hopeless, stony despair.
+
+"We are in for a two days' snow," he said; "if the fire fails us and
+refuses to burn, we are as good as lost."
+
+The dog leaped out of the sunken circle, half-strangled with the smoke,
+and Wilfred was coughing.  One thought possessed them both, to get back
+to the water. Snow or no snow, the dog would find it.  The Cree yielded
+to Wilfred's entreaty not to part company.
+
+"I'll be eyes for both," urged the boy, "if you will only hold my hand."
+
+Maxica replied by catching him round the waist and carrying him under
+one arm.  They were soon at the spring.  It was gushing and bubbling
+through the snow which surrounded it, hot and stinging as before. The
+dog was lapping at the little rill ere it lost itself in the
+all-shrouding snow.
+
+In another minute Wilfred and the Cree were bending down beside it.
+Wilfred was guiding the rough, red hand to the right spot; and as Maxica
+drank, he snatched a drop for himself.
+
+To linger beside it seemed to Wilfred their wisest course, but Maxica
+knew the snow was falling so thick and fast they should soon be buried
+beneath it.  The dog, however, did not share in their perplexity.
+Perhaps, like Maxica, he knew they must keep moving, for he dashed
+through the pathless waste, barking loudly to Wilfred to follow.
+
+The snow was now a foot deep, at least, on the highest ground, and
+Wilfred could no longer make his way through it.  Maxica had to lift him
+out of it again and again.  At last he took him on his back, and from
+this unwonted elevation Wilfred commanded a better outlook.  The dog was
+some way in advance, making short bounds across the snow and leaving a
+succession of holes behind him.  He at least appeared to know where he
+was going, for he kept as straight a course as if he were following some
+beaten path.
+
+But Maxica knew well no such path existed.  Every now and then they
+paused at one of the holes their pioneer had made, to recover breath.
+
+"How long will this go on?" thought Wilfred.  "If Maxica tires and lays
+me down my fate is sealed."
+
+He began to long for another draught of the warm, sulphurous water.  But
+the faint hope they both entertained, that the dog might be leading them
+to some camping spot of hunter or Indian, made them afraid to turn back.
+
+It was past the middle of the day when Wilfred perceived a round dark
+spot rising out of the snow, towards which the dog was hurrying.  The
+snow beat full in their faces, but with the eddying gusts which almost
+swept them off their feet the Cree's keen sense of smell detected a
+whiff of smoke.  This urged him on.  Another and a surer sign of help at
+hand--the dog had vanished.  Yet Maxica was sure he could hear him
+barking wildly in the distance. But Wilfred could no longer distinguish
+the round dark spot towards which they had been hastening. Maxica stood
+still in calm and proud despair.  It was as impossible now to go, back
+to the _cache_ of game and the sulphur spring as it was to force his way
+onward.  They had reached a snow-drift.  The soft yielding wall of white
+through which he was striding grew higher and higher.
+
+In vain did Wilfred's eyes wander from one side to the other.  As far as
+he could see the snow lay round them, one wide, white, level sheet, in
+which the Cree was standing elbow-deep.  Were they, indeed, beyond the
+reach of human aid?
+
+Wilfred was silent, hushed; but it was the hush of secret prayer.
+
+Suddenly Maxica exclaimed, "Can the Good Spirit the white men talk of,
+can he hear us?  Will he show us the path?"
+
+Such a question from such wild lips, at such an hour, how strangely it
+struck on Wilfred's ear.  He had scarcely voice enough left to make
+himself heard, for the storm was raging round them more fiercely than
+ever.
+
+"I was thinking of him, Maxica.  While we are yet speaking, will he
+hear?"
+
+Wilfred's words were cut short, for Maxica had caught his foot against
+something buried in the snow, and stumbled.  Wilfred was thrown forward.
+The ground seemed giving way beneath him.  He was tumbled through the
+roof of the little birch-bark hut, which they had been wandering round
+and round without knowing it.  Wilfred was only aware of a faint glimmer
+of light through a column of curling, blinding smoke.  He thought he
+must be descending a chimney, but his outstretched hands were already
+touching the ground, and he wondered more and more where he could have
+alighted.  Not so Maxica.  He had grasped the firm pole supporting the
+fragile birch-bark walls, through which Wilfred had forced his way.  One
+touch was sufficient to convince him they had groped their way to an
+Indian hut.  The column of smoke rushing through the hole Wilfred had
+made in his most lucky tumble told the Cree of warmth and shelter
+within.
+
+There was a scream from a feeble woman's voice, but the exclamation was
+in the rich, musical dialect of the Blackfeet, the hereditary enemies of
+his tribe. In the blind warrior's mind it was a better thing to hide
+himself beneath the snow and freeze to death, than submit to the
+scalping-knife of a hated foe.
+
+Out popped Wilfred's head to assure him there was only a poor old woman
+inside, but she had got a fire.
+
+The latter half of his confidences had been already made plain by the
+dense smoke, which was producing such a state of strangulation Wilfred
+could say no more.
+
+But the hut was clearing; Maxica once more grasped the nearest pole, and
+swung himself down.
+
+A few words with the terrified squaw were enough for the Cree, who knew
+so well the habits of their wandering race.  The poor old creature had
+probably journeyed many hundreds of miles, roaming over their wide
+hunting-grounds, until she had sunk by the way, too exhausted to proceed
+any further.  Then her people had built her this little hut, lit a fire
+in the hastily-piled circle of stones in the middle of it, heaped up the
+dry wood on one side to feed it, placed food and water on the other, and
+left her lying on her blankets to die alone.  It was the custom of the
+wild, wandering tribes.  She had accepted her fate with Indian
+resignation, simply saying that her hour had come.  But the rest she so
+much needed had restored her failing powers, and whilst her stock of
+food lasted she was getting better.  They had found her gathering
+together the last handful of sticks to make up the fire once more, and
+then she would lie down before it and starve.  Every Indian knows what
+starvation means, and few can bear it as well. Living as they do
+entirely by the chase, the feast which follows the successful hunt is
+too often succeeded by a lengthy fast.  Her shaking hands were gathering
+up the lumps of snow which had come down on the pieces of the broken
+roof, to fill her empty kettle.
+
+Wilfred picked up the bits of bark to which it had been sticking, and
+threw them on the fire.
+
+"My bow and quiver for a few old shreds of beaver-skin, and we are
+saved," groaned the Cree, who knew that all his garments were made from
+the deer.  He felt the hem of the old squaw's tattered robe, but beaver
+there was none.
+
+"What do you want it for, Maxica?" asked Wilfred, as he pulled off his
+gloves and offered them to him.  "There is nothing about me that I would
+not give you, and be only too delighted to have got it to give, when I
+think how you carried me through the snowdrift.  These are new
+beaver-skin; take them, Maxica."
+
+A smile lit up the chief's dark face as he carefully felt the proffered
+gloves, and to make assurance doubly sure added taste to touch.  Then he
+began to tear them into shreds, which he directed Wilfred to drop into
+the melting snow in the kettle, explaining to him as well as he could
+that there was an oiliness in the beaver-skin which never quite dried
+out of it, and would boil down into a sort of soup.
+
+"A kind of coarse isinglass, I should say," put in Wilfred.  But the
+Cree knew nothing of isinglass and its nourishing qualities; yet he knew
+the good of the beaver-skin when other food had failed.  It was a
+wonderful discovery to Wilfred, to think his gloves could provide them
+all with a dinner; but they required some long hours' boiling, and the
+fire was dying down again for want of fuel.  Maxica ventured out to
+search for driftwood under the snow.  He carefully drew out a pole from
+the structure of the hut, and using it as an alpenstock, swung himself
+out of the hollow in which the hut had been built for shelter, and where
+the snow had accumulated to such a depth that it was completely buried.
+
+Whilst he was gone Wilfred and the squaw were beside the fire, sitting
+on the ground face to face, regarding each other attentively.
+
+
+
+
+                              *CHAPTER V.*
+
+                       _*IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT.*_
+
+
+The squaw was a very ugly woman; starvation and old age combined had
+made her perfectly hideous.  As Wilfred sat in silence watching the
+simmering kettle, he thought she was the ugliest creature he had ever
+seen.  Her complexion was a dark red-brown.  Her glittering black eyes
+seemed to glare on him in the darkness of the hut like a cat's.  Her
+shrivelled lips showed a row of formidably long teeth, which made
+Wilfred think of Little Red Ridinghood's grandmother, and he hoped she
+would not pounce on him and devour him before Maxica returned.
+
+He wronged her shamefully, for she had been watching his limping
+movements with genuine pity. What did it matter that her gown was scant
+and short, or that her leggings, which had once been of bright-coloured
+cloth, curiously worked with beads, were reduced by time to a sort of
+no-colour and the tracery upon them to a dirty line?  They hid a good,
+kind heart.
+
+She loosened the English handkerchief tied over her head, and the long,
+raven locks, now streaked with white, fell over her shoulders.
+
+She was a wild-looking being, but her awakening glance of alertness need
+not have alarmed Wilfred, for she was only intent upon dipping him a cup
+of water from the steaming kettle.  She was careful to taste it and cool
+it with a little of the snow still driving through the hole in the roof,
+until she made it the right degree of heat that was safest for Wilfred
+in his starving, freezing condition.
+
+"What would Aunt Miriam think if she could see me now?" mused the boy,
+as he fixed his eyes on the dying embers and turned away from the
+steaming cup he longed to snatch at.
+
+Yet when the squaw held it towards him, he put it back with a smile,
+resolutely repeating "After you," for was she not a woman?
+
+He made her drink.  A little greasy water, oh! how nice!  Then he
+refilled the cup and took his share.
+
+The tottering creature smoothed the blanket from which she had risen on
+Wilfred's summary entrance, and motioned to him to lie down.
+
+"It will be all glove with us now," laughed Wilfred to himself--"hand
+and glove with the Red Indians. If any one whispered that in uncle's
+ear, wouldn't he think me a queer fish!  But I owe my life to Maxica,
+and I know it."
+
+He threw himself down on the blanket, glad indeed of the rest for his
+swollen ankle.  From this lowly bed he fell to contemplating his
+temporary refuge. It looked so very temporary, especially the side from
+which Maxica had abstracted his alpenstock, Wilfred began to fear the
+next disaster would be its downfall. He was dozing, when a sudden noise
+made him start up, in the full belief the catastrophe he had dreaded had
+arrived; but it was only Maxica dropping the firewood he had with
+difficulty collected through the hole in the roof.
+
+He called out to Wilfred that he had discovered his atim digging in the
+snow at some distance.
+
+What his atim might prove to be Wilfred could not imagine.  He was
+choosing a stick from the heap of firewood.  Balancing himself on one
+foot, he popped his head through the hole to reconnoitre.  He fancied he
+too could see a moving speck in the distance.
+
+"The dog!" he cried joyfully, giving a long, shrill whistle that brought
+it bounding over the crisping snow towards him with a ptarmigan in its
+mouth.
+
+After much coaxing, Wilfred induced the dog to lay the bird down, to lap
+the melting snow which was filling the hollows in the floor with little
+puddles.
+
+The squaw pounced upon the bird as a welcome addition to the beaver-skin
+soup.  Where had the dog found it?  He had not killed it, that was
+clear, for it was frozen hard.  Yet it had not been frozen to death. The
+quick Indian perception of the squaw pointed to the bite on its breast.
+It was not the tooth of a dog, but the sharp beak of some bird of prey
+which had killed it.  The atim had found the _cache_ of a great white
+owl; a provident bird, which, when once its hunger is satisfied, stores
+the remainder of its prey in some handy crevice.
+
+The snow had ceased to fall.  The moon was rising. The thick white
+carpet which covered all around was hardening under the touch of the
+coming frost.
+
+Another cup from the half-made soup, and Maxica proposed to start with
+Wilfred to search for the supposed store.  The dog was no longer hungry.
+It had stretched itself on the ground at Wilfred's feet for a
+comfortable slumber.
+
+An Indian never stops for pain or illness.  With the grasp of death upon
+him, he will follow the war-path or the hunting track, so that Maxica
+paid no regard to Wilfred's swollen foot.  If the boy could not walk,
+his shoulder was ready, but go he must; the atim would lead his own
+master to the spot, but it would never show it to a stranger.
+
+Wilfred glanced up quickly, and then looked down with a nod to himself.
+It would not do to make much of his hurt in such company.  Well, he had
+added a word to his limited stock of Indian.  "Atim" was Cree for dog,
+that at least was clear; and they had added the atim to his slender
+possessions.  They thought the dog was his own, and why should not he
+adopt him?  They were both lost, they might as well be chums.
+
+This conclusion arrived at, Wilfred caught up the wing of the ptarmigan,
+and showing it to the dog did his best to incite him to find another.
+He caught sight of a long strip of moose-skin which had evidently tied
+up the squaw's blanket on her journey.  He persuaded her to lend it to
+him, making more use of signs than of words.
+
+"Ugh! ugh!" she replied, and her "yes" was as intelligible to Wilfred as
+Diome's "caween."  He soon found that "yes" and "no" alone can go a good
+way in making our wants understood by any one as naturally quick and
+observant as an Indian.
+
+The squaw saw what Wilfred was trying to do, and helped him, feeble as
+she was, to make a sling for his foot.  With the stick in his hand, when
+this was accomplished, he managed to hobble after Maxica and the dog.
+
+The Cree went first, treading down a path, and partially clearing the
+way before him with his pole. But a disappointment awaited them.  The
+dog led them intelligently enough to the very spot where it had
+unquestionably found a most abundant dinner, by the bones and feathers
+still sticking in the snow. Maxica, guided by his long experience, felt
+about him until he found two rats, still wedged in a hole in a decaying
+tree which had gone down before the gale. But he would not take them,
+for fear the owl might abandon her reserve.
+
+"The otowuck-oho," said Maxica, mimicking the cry of the formidable
+bird, "will fill it again before the dawn.  Wait and watch.  Maxica have
+the otowuck himself.  See!"
+
+With all the skill of the Indian at constructing traps, he began his
+work, intending to catch the feathered Nimrod by one leg the next time
+it visited its larder, when all in a moment an alarm was sounded--a cry
+that rent the air, so hoarse, so hollow, and so solemn Wilfred clung to
+his guide in the chill of fear.  It was a call that might have roused to
+action a whole garrison of soldiers.  The Indian drew back.  Again that
+dread "Waugh O!" rang out, and then the breathless silence which
+followed was broken by half-suppressed screams, as of some one
+suffocating in the throttling grasp of an enemy.
+
+The dog, with his tail between his legs, crouched cowering at their
+feet.
+
+"The Blackfeet are upon us," whispered the Cree, with his hand on his
+bow, when a moving shadow became visible above the distant pine trees.
+
+The Cree breathed freely, and drew aside his half-made trap, abandoned
+at the first word that broke from Wilfred's lips: "It is not human; it
+is coming through the air."
+
+"It is the otowuck itself," answered Maxica.  "Be off, or it will have
+our eyes out if it finds us near its roost."
+
+He was looking round him for some place of concealment.  On came the
+dreaded creature, sailing in rapid silence towards its favourite haunt,
+gliding with outstretched pinions over the glistening snow, its great
+round eyes flashing like stars, or gleams of angry lightning, as it
+swept the whitened earth, shooting downwards to strike at some furry
+prey, then rising as suddenly in the clear, calm night, until it floated
+like a fleecy cloud above their heads, as ready to swoop upon the
+sparrow nestling on its tiny twig as upon the wild turkey-hen roosting
+among the stunted bushes.
+
+Maxica trembled for the dog, for he knew the special hatred with which
+it regarded dogs.  If it recognized the thief at its hoard, its doom was
+sealed.
+
+Maxica pushed his alpenstock into an empty badger hole big enough for
+the boy and dog to creep into. Then, as the owl drew near, he sent an
+arrow whizzing through the air.  It was aimed at the big white breast,
+but the unerring precision of other days was over.  It struck the
+feathery wing.  The bird soared aloft unharmed, and the archer,
+crouching in the snow, barely escaped its vengeance.  Down it pounced,
+striking its talons in his shoulder, as he turned his back towards it to
+protect his face.  Wilfred sprang out of the friendly burrow, snatched
+the pole from Maxica's hand, and beat off the owl; and the dog, unable
+to rush past Wilfred, barked furiously.  The onslaught and the noise
+were at least distasteful. Hissing fiercely, with the horn-like feathers
+above its glaring eyes erect and bristling, the bird spread its gigantic
+wings, wheeling slowly and gracefully above their ambush; for Wilfred
+had retreated as quickly as he had emerged, and Maxica lay on his face
+as still as death.  More attractive game presented itself.  A hawk flew
+past.  What hawk could resist the pleasure of a passing pounce?  Away
+went the two, chasing and fighting, across the snowy waste.
+
+[Illustration: Wilfred sprang and beat off the owl.]
+
+When the owl was out of sight, the Cree rose to his feet to complete the
+snare.  Wilfred crept out of his burrow, to find his fingers as hard and
+white and useless as if they had turned to stone.  He had kept his
+gloveless hands well cuddled up in the long sleeves of his coat during
+the walk, but their exposure to the cold when he struck at the owl had
+changed them to a lump of ice.
+
+Maxica heard the exclamation, "Oh, my hands! my hands!" and seizing a
+great lump of snow began to rub them vigorously.
+
+The return to the hut was easier than the outgoing, for the snow was
+harder.  The pain in Wilfred's fingers was turning him sick and faint as
+they reached the hut a little past midnight.
+
+The gloves were reduced to jelly, but the state of Wilfred's hands
+troubled the old squaw.  She had had her supper from the beaver-skin
+soup, but was quite ready, Indian fashion, to begin again.
+
+The three seated themselves on the floor, and the cup was passed from
+one to the other, until the whole of the soup was drank.
+
+The walk had been fruitless, as Wilfred said.  They had returned with
+nothing but the key of the big owl's larder, which, after such an
+encounter, it would probably desert.
+
+The Cree lit his pipe, the squaw lay down to sleep, and Wilfred talked
+to his dog.
+
+"Do you understand our bargain, old fellow?" he asked.  "You and I are
+going to chum together. Now it is clear I must give you a name.  Let us
+see which you will like best."
+
+Wilfred ran through a somewhat lengthy list, for nowhere but in Canada
+are dogs accommodated with such an endless variety.  There are names in
+constant use from every Indian dialect, but of the Atims and the
+Chistlis the big, old fellow took no heed.  He sat up before his new
+master, looking very sagacious, as if he quite entered into the
+important business of choosing a name.  But clearly Indian would not do.
+even Mist-atim, which Wilfred could now interpret as "big dog,"--a name
+the Cree usually bestows upon his horse,--was heard with a contemptuous
+"Ach!"  Chistli, "seven dogs" in the Sircie dialect, which appeared to
+Wilfred highly complimentary to his furry friend, met with no
+recognition.  Then he went over the Spankers and Ponys and Boxers, to
+which the numerous hauling dogs so often responded.  No better success.
+The pricked ears were more erect than ever. The head was turned away in
+positive indifference.
+
+"Are you a Frenchman?" asked Wilfred, going over all the old French
+names he could remember. Diome thought the dogs had a special partiality
+for French.  It would not do, however.  This particular dog might hate
+it.  There were Yankee names in plenty from over the border, and uncouth
+sounding Esquimau from the far north.
+
+Wilfred began to question if his dog had ever had a name, when Yula
+caught his ear, and "Yula chummie" brought the big shaggy head rubbing
+on Wilfred's knee.  Few dogs are honoured with the choice of their own
+name, but it answered, and "Yula chummie" was adhered to by boy and dog.
+
+This weighty matter settled, Wilfred was startled to see Maxica rouse
+himself up with a shake, and look to the man-hole, as the Cree called
+their place of exit.  He was going.  Wilfred sprang up in alarm.
+
+"Don't leave me!" he entreated.  "How shall I ever find my way home
+without you?"
+
+It might be four o'clock, for the east was not yet gray, and the morning
+stars shone brightly on the glistening snow.  Maxica paused, regarding
+earth and sky attentively, until he had ascertained the way of the wind.
+It was still blowing from the north-east. More snow was surely coming.
+His care was for his canoe, which he had left in safe mooring by the
+river bank.  No one but an Indian could have hoped, in his forlorn
+condition, to have recovered the lost path to the running stream.  His
+one idea was to grope about until he did find it, with the wonderful
+persistency of his race.  The Indian rarely fails in anything he sets
+his mind to accomplish.  But to take the lame boy with him was out of
+the question.  He might have many miles to traverse before he reached
+the spot.  He tried to explain to Wilfred that he must now pack up his
+canoe for the winter.  He was going to turn it keel upwards, among the
+branches of some strong tree, and cover it with boughs, until the spring
+of the leaf came round again.
+
+"Will it be safe?" asked Wilfred.
+
+"Safe! perfectly."
+
+Maxica's own particular mark was on boat and paddle.  No Indian, no
+hunter would touch it.  Who else was there in that wide, lone land?  As
+for Wilfred, his own people would come and look for him, now the storm
+was over.
+
+"I am not so sure of that," said the poor boy sadly, remembering
+Bowkett's words.--"My aunt Miriam did not take to me.  She may not
+trouble herself about me.  How could I be so stupid as to set her
+against me," he was thinking, "all for nothing?"
+
+"Then," urged Maxica, "stay here with the Far-off-Dawn"--for that was
+the old squaw's name.  In his Indian tongue he called her Pe-na-Koam.
+"Will not the Good Spirit take care of you?  Did not he guide us out of
+the snowdrift?"
+
+Wilfred was silenced.  "I never did think much of myself," he said at
+last, "but I believe I grow worse and worse.  How is it that I know and
+don't know--that I cannot realize this love that never will forsake;
+always more ready to hear than we to ask?  If I could but feel it true,
+all true for me, I should not be afraid."
+
+Under that longing the trust was growing stronger and stronger in his
+heart.
+
+"I shall come again for the moose," said Maxica, as he shook the red and
+aching fingers which just peeped out from Wilfred's long sleeve; and so
+he left him.
+
+The boy watched the Indian's lithe figure striding across the snow,
+until he could see him no longer. Then a cold, dreary feeling crept over
+him.  Was he abandoned by all the world--forgotten--disliked? Did nobody
+care for him?  He tucked his hands into the warm fur which folded over
+his breast, and tried to throw off the fear.  The tears gushed from his
+eyes.  Well, there was nobody to see.
+
+He had forgotten Yula.  Those unwonted raindrops had brought him,
+wondering and troubled, to Wilfred's side.  A big head was poking its
+way under his arm, and two strong paws were brushing at his knee. Yula
+was saying, "Don't, don't cry," in every variety of doggie language.
+Never had he been so loving, so comforting, so warm to hug, so quick to
+understand. He was doing his best to melt the heavy heart's lead that
+was weighing poor Wilfred down.
+
+He built up the fire, and knelt before it, with Yula's head on his
+shoulder; for the cold grew sharper in the gray of the dawn.  The squaw,
+now the pangs of hunger were so far appeased, was sleeping heavily. But
+there was no sleep for Wilfred.  As the daylight grew stronger he went
+again to his look-out.  His thoughts were turning to Forgill.  He had
+seen so much more of Forgill than of any one else at his uncle's, and he
+had been so careful over him on the journey.  It was wrong to think they
+would all forget him.  He would trust and hope.
+
+He filled the kettle with fresh snow, and put it on to boil.
+
+The sun was streaming through the hole in the roof when the squaw awoke,
+like another creature, but not in the least surprised to find Maxica had
+departed. She seemed thankful to see the fire still burning, and poured
+out her gratitude to Wilfred.  Her smiles and gestures gave the meaning
+of the words he did not understand.
+
+Then he asked himself, "What would have become of her if he too had gone
+away with Maxica?"
+
+She looked pityingly at Wilfred's unfortunate fingers as he offered her
+a cup of hot water, their sole breakfast.  But they could not live on
+hot water.  Where was the daily bread to come from for them both?
+Pe-na-Koam was making signs.  Could Wilfred set a trap?  Alas! he knew
+nothing of the Indian traps and snares.  He sent out Yula to forage for
+himself, hoping he might bring them back a bird, as he had done the
+night before.  Wilfred lingered by the hole in the roof, watching him
+dashing through the snow, and casting many a wistful glance to the
+far-away south, almost expecting to see Forgill's fur cap and broad
+capote advancing towards him; for help would surely come.  But there are
+the slow, still hours, as well as the sudden bursts of storm and
+sunshine.  All have their share in the making of a brave and constant
+spirit.  God's time is not our time, as Wilfred had yet to learn.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER VI.*
+
+                      _*SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER.*_
+
+
+Pe-na-Koam insisted upon examining Wilfred's hands and feet, and tending
+to them after her native fashion.  She would not suffer him to leave the
+hut, but ventured out herself, for the storm was followed by a day of
+glorious sunshine.  She returned with her lap full of a peculiar kind of
+moss, which she had scraped from under the snow.  In her hand she
+carried a bunch of fine brown fibres.
+
+"Wattape!" she exclaimed, holding them up before him, with such evident
+pleasure he thought it was something to eat; but no, the moss went into
+the kettle to boil for dinner, but the wattape was laid carefully aside.
+
+The squaw had been used to toil from morning to night, doing all the
+work of her little world, whilst her warrior, when under shelter, slept
+or smoked by the fire.  She expected no help from Wilfred within the
+hut, but she wanted to incite him to go and hunt. She took a
+sharp-pointed stick and drew a bow and arrow on the floor.  Then she
+made sundry figures. which he took for traps; but he could only shake
+his head.  He was thinking of a visit to the owl's tree. But when they
+had eaten the moss, Pe-na-Koam drew out a piece of skin from under her
+blanket, and spreading it on the floor laid her fingers beseechingly on
+his hunting-knife.  With this she cut him out a pair of gloves,
+fingerless it is true, shaped like a baby's first glove, but oh! so
+warm.  Wilfred now discovered the use of the wattape, as she drew out
+one long thread after another, and began to sew the gloves together with
+it, pricking the holes through which she passed it with a quill she
+produced from some part of her dress.
+
+Wilfred took up the brown tangle and examined it closely.  It had been
+torn from the fine fibrous root of the pine.  He stood still to watch
+her, wondering whether there was anything he could do.  He took the
+stick she had used and drew the rough figure of a man fishing on the
+earthen floor.  He felt sure they must be near some stream or lakelet.
+The Indians would never have left her beyond the reach of water. The
+wrinkled face lit up with hopeful smiles.  Away she worked more
+diligently than ever.
+
+Wilfred built up the fire to give her a better blaze. They had wood
+enough to last them through to-morrow. Before it was all burnt up he
+must try to get in some more.  The use was returning to his hands. He
+took up some of the soft mud, made by the melting of the snow on the
+earthen floor, and tried to stop up the cracks in the bark which formed
+the walls of the hut.
+
+They both worked on in silence, hour after hour, as if there were not a
+moment to lose.  At last the gloves were finished.  The Far-off-Dawn
+considered her blanket, and decided a piece might be spared off every
+corner.  Out of these she cut a pair of socks. The Indians themselves
+often wear three or four pairs of such blanket socks at once in the very
+coldest of the weather.  But Wilfred could find nothing in the hut out
+of which to make a fishing line.  The only thing he could do was to pay
+a visit to the white owl's larder.  He was afraid to touch Maxica's
+trap. He did not think he could manage it.  Poor boy, his spirit was
+failing him for want of food.  Yet he determined to go and see if there
+was anything to be found.  Wilfred got up with an air of resolution, and
+began to arrange the sling for his foot.  But the Far-off-Dawn soon made
+him understand he must not go without his socks, which she was hurrying
+to finish.
+
+"I believe I am changing into a snail," thought Wilfred; "I do nothing
+but crawl about.  Yet twenty slips brought the snail to the top of his
+wall.  Twenty slips and twenty climbs--that is something to think of."
+
+The moon was rising.  The owl would leave her haunt to seek for prey.
+
+"Now it strikes me," exclaimed Wilfred, "why she always perches on a
+leafless tree.  Her blinking eyes are dazzled by the flicker of the
+leaves: but they are nearly gone now, she will have a good choice. She
+may not go far a-field, if she does forsake her last night's roost."
+This reflection was wondrously consolatory.
+
+The squaw had kept her kettle filled with melting snow all day, so that
+they could both have a cup of hot water whenever they liked.  The
+Far-off-Dawn was as anxious to equip him for his foraging expedition as
+he was to take it.  The socks were finished; she had worked hard, and
+Wilfred knew it.  He began to think there was something encouraging in
+her very name--the Far-off-Dawn.  Was it not what they were waiting for?
+It was an earnest that their night would end.
+
+She made him put both the blanket socks on the swollen foot, and then
+persuaded him to exchange his boots for her moccasins, which were a much
+better protection against the snow.  The strip of fur, no longer needed
+to protect his toes, was wound round and round his wrists.
+
+Then the squaw folded her blanket over his shoulder, and started him,
+pointing out as well as she could the streamlet and the pool which had
+supplied her with water when she was strong enough to fetch it.
+
+Both knew their lives depended upon his success. Yula was by his side.
+Wilfred turned back with a great piece of bark, to cover up the hole in
+the roof of the hut to keep the squaw warm.  She had wrapped the skin
+over her feet and was lying before the fire, trying to sleep in her dumb
+despair.  She had discovered there was no line and hook forthcoming from
+any one of his many pockets.  How then could he catch the fish with
+which she knew the Canadian waters everywhere abounded?
+
+Pe-na-Koam had pointed out the place of the pool so earnestly that
+Wilfred thought, "I will go there first; perhaps it was there she found
+the moss."
+
+The northern lights were flashing overhead, shooting long lines of
+roseate glory towards the zenith, as if some unseen angel's hand were
+stringing heaven's own harp.  But the full chord which flowed beneath
+its touch was light instead of music.
+
+Wilfred stood silent, rapt in admiring wonder, as he gazed upon those
+glowing splendours, forgetting everything beside.  Yula recalled him to
+the work in hand.  He hobbled on as fast as he could.  He was drawing
+near the pool, for tall rushes bent and shivered above the all-covering
+snow, and pines and willows rocked in the night wind overhead.  Another
+wary step, and the pool lay stretched before him like a silver shield.
+
+A colony of beavers had made their home in this quiet spot, building
+their mounds of earth like a dam across the water.  But the busy workers
+were all settling within doors to their winter sleep--drawbridges drawn
+up, and gates barred against intruders.  "You are wiseheads," thought
+Wilfred, "and I almost wish I could do the same--work all summer like
+bees, and sleep all winter like dormice; but then the winter is so
+long."
+
+"Would not it be a grand thing to take home a beaver, Yula?" he
+exclaimed, suddenly remembering his gloves in their late reduced
+condition, and longing for another cup of the unpalatable soup; for the
+keen air sharpened the keener appetite, until he felt as if he could
+have eaten the said gloves, boiled or unboiled.
+
+But how to get at the clever sleepers under their well-built dome was
+the difficulty, almost the impossibility.
+
+"Yula, it can't be done--that is by you and me, old boy," he sighed.
+"We have not got their house-door key for certain.  We shall have to put
+up with the moss, and think ourselves lucky if we find it."
+
+The edge of the pool was already fringed with ice, and many a shallow
+basin where it had overflowed its banks was already frozen over.
+Wilfred was brushing away the crisp snow in his search for moss, when he
+caught sight of a big white fish, made prisoner by the ice in an awkward
+corner, where the rising flood had one day scooped a tiny reservoir.
+Making Yula sit down in peace and quietness, and remember manners, he
+set to work.  He soon broke the ice with a blow from the handle of his
+knife, and took out the fish.  As he expected, the hungry dog stood
+ready to devour it; but Wilfred, suspecting his intention, tied it up in
+the blanket, and swung it over his shoulder.  Fortune did not favour him
+with such another find, although he searched about the edge of the lake
+until it grew so slippery he was afraid of falling in.  He had now to
+retrace his steps, following the marks in the snow back to the hut.
+
+The joy of Pe-na-Koam was unbounded when he untied the blanket and slid
+the fish into her hands.
+
+The prospect of the hot supper it would provide for them nerved Wilfred
+to go a little further and try to reach the big owl's roost, for fear
+another snow should bury the path Maxica had made to it. Once lost he
+might never find it again.  The owl was still their most trusty friend
+and most formidable foe.  Thanks to the kindly labours of Maxica's pole,
+Wilfred could trudge along much faster now; but before he reached the
+hollow tree, strange noises broke the all-pervading stillness.  There
+was a barking of dogs in the distance, to which Yula replied with all
+the energy in his nature.  There was a tramping as of many feet, and of
+horses, coming nearer and nearer with a lumbering thud on the ground,
+deadened and muffled by the snow, but far too plain not to attract all
+Wilfred's attention.
+
+There was a confusion of sounds, as of a concourse of people; too many
+for a party of hunters, unless the winter camp of which Diome had spoken
+was assembling.  Oh joy! if this could be.  Wilfred was working himself
+into a state of excitement scarcely less than Yula's.
+
+He hurried on to the roosting-tree, for it carried him nearer still to
+the trampling and the hum.
+
+What could it mean?  Yula was before him, paws up, climbing the old dead
+trunk, bent still lower by the recent storm.  A snatch, and he had
+something out of that hole in the riven bark.  Wilfred scrambled on, for
+fear his dog should forestall him.  The night was clear around him, he
+saw the aurora flashes come and go.  Yula had lain down at the foot of
+the tree, devouring his prize.  Wilfred's hand, fumbling in its
+fingerless gloves, at last found the welcome hole.  It was full once
+more.  Soft feathers and furs: a gopher--the small ground
+squirrel--crammed against some little snow-birds.
+
+Wilfred gave the squirrel to his dog, for he had many fears the squaw
+would be unwilling to give him anything but water in their dearth of
+food.  The snow-birds he transferred to his pocket, looking nervously
+round as he did so; but there was no owl in sight.  The white breasts of
+the snow-birds were round and plump; but they were little things, not
+much bigger than sparrows, and remembering Maxica's caution, he dare not
+take them all.
+
+His hand went lower: a few mice--he could leave them behind him without
+any reluctance.  But stop, he had not got to the bottom yet.  Better
+than ever: he had felt the webbed feet of a wild duck.  Mrs. Owl was
+nearly forgiven the awful scare of the preceding night.  Growing bolder
+in his elation, Wilfred seated himself on the roots of the tree, from
+which Yula's ascent had cleared the snow.  He began to prepare his game,
+putting back the skin and feathers to conceal his depredations from the
+savage tenant, lest she should change her domicile altogether.
+
+"I hope she can't count," said Wilfred, who knew not how to leave the
+spot without ascertaining the cause of the sounds, which kept him
+vibrating between hope and fear.
+
+Suddenly Yula sprang forward with a bound and rushed over the
+snow-covered waste with frantic fury.
+
+"The Blackfeet! the Blackfeet!" gasped Wilfred, dropping like lightning
+into the badger hole where Maxica had hidden him from the owl's
+vengeance. A singular cavalcade came in sight: forty or fifty Indian
+warriors, armed with their bows and guns and scalping-knives, the chiefs
+with their eagles' feathers nodding as they marched.  Behind them
+trotted a still greater number of ponies, on which their squaws were
+riding man fashion, each with her pappoose or baby tucked up as warm as
+it could be in its deer-skin, and strapped safely to its wooden cradle,
+which its mother carried on her back.
+
+Every pony was dragging after it what the Indians call a travoy--that
+is, two fir poles, the thin ends of which are harnessed to the pony's
+shoulders, while the butt ends drag on the ground; another piece of wood
+is fastened across them, making a sort of truck, on which the skins and
+household goods are piled. The bigger children were seated on the top of
+many a well-laden travoy, so that the squaws came on but slowly.
+
+Wilfred was right in his conjecture: they were the Blackfeet Maxica
+feared to encounter, coming up to trade with the nearest Hudson Bay
+Company's fort. They were bringing piles of furs and robes of skin, and
+bags of pemmican, to exchange for shot and blankets, sugar and tea,
+beads, and such other things as Indians desire to possess.  They always
+came up in large parties, because they were crossing the hunting-grounds
+of their enemies the Crees.  They had a numerous following of dogs, and
+many a family of squalling puppies, on the children's laps.
+
+The grave, stern, savage aspect of the men, the ugly, anxious, careworn
+faces of the toiling women, filled Wilfred with alarm.  Maxica in his
+semi-blindness might well fear to be the one against so many. Wilfred
+dared not even call back Yula, for fear of attracting their attention.
+They were passing on to encamp by the pool he had just quitted.
+Friendly or unfriendly, Yula was barking and snarling in the midst of
+the new-comers.
+
+"Was his Yula, his Yula chummie, going to leave him?" asked Wilfred in
+his dismay.  "What if he had belonged originally to this roving tribe,
+and they should take him away!"  This thought cut deeper into Wilfred's
+heart than anything else at that moment. He crept out of his badger
+hole, and crawled along the ditch-like path, afraid to show his head
+above the snow, and still more afraid to remain where he was, for fear
+of the owl's return.
+
+He kept up a hope that Yula might come back of his own accord.  He was
+soon at the birch-bark hut, but no Yula had turned up.
+
+He tumbled in, breathless and panting.  Pe-na-Koam was sure he had been
+frightened, but thought only of the owl.  She had run a stick through
+the tail of the fish, and was broiling it in the front of the fire. The
+cheery light flickered and danced along the misshapen walls, which
+seemed to lean more and more each day from the pressure of the snow
+outside them.
+
+"The blessed snow!" exclaimed Wilfred.  "It hides us so completely no
+one can see there is a hut at all, unless the smoke betrays us."
+
+How was he to make the squaw understand the dreaded Blackfeet were here?
+He snatched up their drawing stick, as he called it, and began to sketch
+in a rough and rapid fashion the moving Indian camp which he had seen.
+A man with a bow in his hand, with a succession of strokes behind him to
+denote his following, and a horse's head with the poles of the travoy,
+were quite sufficient to enlighten the aged woman.  She grasped
+Wilfred's hand and shook it. Then she raised her other arm, as if to
+strike, and looked inquiringly in his face.  Friend or foe?  That was
+the all-important question neither could answer.
+
+Before he returned his moccasins to their rightful owner, Wilfred limped
+out of the hut and hung up the contents of his blanket game-bag in the
+nearest pine.  They were already frozen.
+
+Not knowing what might happen if their refuge were discovered, they
+seated themselves before the fire to enjoy the supper Wilfred had
+secured.  The fish was nearly the size of a salmon trout.  The squaw
+removed the sticks from which it depended a little further from the
+scorch of the fire, and fell to--pulling off the fish in flakes from one
+side of the backbone, and signing to Wilfred to help himself in similar
+fashion from the other.
+
+"Fingers were made before forks," thought the boy, his hunger overcoming
+all reluctance to satisfy it in such a heathenish way.  But the old
+squaw's brow was clouded and her thoughts were troubled. She was
+trembling for Wilfred's safety.
+
+She knew by the number of dashes on the floor the party was large--a
+band of her own people; no other tribe journeyed as they did, moving the
+whole camp at once.  Other camps dispersed, not more than a dozen
+families keeping together.
+
+If they took the boy for a Cree or the friend of a Cree, they would
+count him an enemy.  Before the fish had vanished her plan was made.
+
+She brought Wilfred his boots, and took back her moccasins.  As the boy
+pulled off the soft skin sock, which drew to the shape of his foot
+without any pressure that could hurt his sprain, feeling far more like a
+glove than a shoe, he wondered at the skill which had made it.  He held
+it to the fire to examine the beautiful silk embroidery on the legging
+attached to it.  His respect for his companion was considerably
+increased.  It was difficult to believe that beads and dyed porcupine
+quills and bright-coloured skeins of silk had been the delight of her
+life.  But just now she was intent upon getting possession of his
+hunting-knife.  With this she began to cut up the firewood into chips
+and shavings.  Wilfred thought he should be the best at that sort of
+work, and went to her help, not knowing what she intended to do with it.
+
+In her nervous haste she seemed at first glad of his assistance.  Then
+she pulled the wood out of his hand, stuck the knife in his belt, and
+implored him by gestures to sit down in a hole in the floor close
+against the wall, talking to him rapidly in her soft Indian tongue, as
+if she were entreating him to be patient.
+
+Wilfred thought this was a queer kind of game, which he did not half
+like, and had a good mind to turn crusty.  But the tears came into her
+aged eyes. She clasped her hands imploringly, kissed him on both cheeks,
+as if to assure him of her good intentions, looked to the door, and laid
+a finger on his lips impressively.  In the midst of this pantomime it
+struck Wilfred suddenly "she wants to hide me."  Soon the billet stack
+was built over him with careful skill, and the chips and shavings flung
+on the top.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER VII.*
+
+                      _*FOLLOWING THE BLACKFEET.*_
+
+
+There was many a little loophole in Wilfred's hiding-place through which
+he could take a peep unseen.  The squaw had let the fire die down to a
+smouldering heap, and this she had carefully covered over with bark, so
+that there was neither spark nor flame to shine through the broken roof.
+The hut was unusually clear of smoke, and all was still.
+
+Wilfred was soon nodding dangerously behind his billet-stack, forgetting
+in his drowsy musings the instability of his surroundings.  The squaw
+rose up from the floor, and replaced the knot of wood he had sent
+rolling.  He dreamed of Yula's bark in the distance, and wakened to find
+the noise a reality, but not the bark.  It was not his Yula wanting to
+be let in, as he imagined, but a confused medley of sounds suggestive of
+the putting up of tent poles.  There was the ring of the hatchet among
+the trees, the crash of the breaking boughs, the thud of the falling
+trunk. Even Wilfred could not entertain a doubt that the Blackfeet were
+encamping for the night alarmingly near their buried hut.  In silence
+and darkness was their only safeguard.  It was all for the best Yula had
+run away, his uneasy growls would have betrayed them.
+
+Midnight came and passed; the sounds of work had ceased, but the
+galloping of the ponies, released from the travoys, the scraping of
+their hoofs seeking a supper beneath the snow, kept Wilfred on the rack.
+The echo of the ponies' feet seemed at times so near he quite expected
+to see a horse's head looking down through the hole, or, worse still,
+some unwary kick might demolish their fragile roof altogether.
+
+With the gray of the dawn the snow began again to fall.  Was ever snow
+more welcome?  The heavy flakes beat back the feeble column of smoke,
+and hissed on the smouldering wood, as they found ready entrance through
+the parting in the bark which did duty for a chimney.  No matter, it was
+filling up the path which Maxica had made and obliterating every
+footprint around the hut.  It seemed to Wilfred that the great feathery
+flakes were covering all above them, like a sheltering wing.
+
+The tell-tale duck, the little snow-birds he had hung on the pine branch
+would all be hidden now. Not a chink was left in the bark through which
+the gray snow-light of the wintry morning could penetrate.
+
+In spite of their anxiety, both the anxious watchers had fallen asleep.
+The squaw was the first to rouse. Wilfred's temporary trap-door refused
+to move when, finding all was still around them, she had tried to push
+it aside; for the hut was stifling, and she wanted snow to refill the
+kettle.
+
+The fire was out, and the snow which had extinguished it was already
+stiffening.  She took a half-burnt brand from the hearth, and, mounting
+the stones which surrounded the fireplace, opened the smoke-vent; for
+there the snow had not had time to harden, although the frost was
+setting in with the daylight.  To get out of their hut in another hour
+might be impossible.  With last night's supper, a spark of her former
+energy had returned.  A piece of the smoke-dried bark gave way and
+precipitated an avalanche of snow into the tiny hut.
+
+Wilfred wakened with a start.  The daylight was streaming down upon him,
+and the squaw was gone. What could have happened while he slept?  How he
+blamed himself for going to sleep at all.  But then he could not live
+without it.  As he wondered and waited and reasoned with himself thus,
+there was still the faint hope the squaw might return.  Anyhow, Wilfred
+thought it was the wisest thing he could do to remain concealed where
+she had left him.  If the Indians camping by the pool were her own
+people, they might befriend him too.  Possibly she had gone over to
+their camp to ask for aid.
+
+How long he waited he could not tell--it seemed an age--when he heard
+the joyful sound of Yula's bark. Down leaped the dog into the very midst
+of the fireplace, scattering the ashes, and bringing with him another
+avalanche of snow.  But his exuberant joy was turned to desperation when
+he could not find his Wilfred.  He was rushing round and round, scenting
+the ground where Wilfred had sat.  Up went his head high in the air, as
+he gave vent to his feelings in a perfect yowl of despair.
+
+"Yula!  Yula!" called Wilfred softly.  The dog turned round and tore at
+the billet-stack.  Wilfred's defence was levelled in a moment; the wood
+went rolling in every direction, and Yula mounted the breach in triumph,
+digging out his master from the debris as a dog might dig out a fox.  He
+would have him out, he would not give up.  He tugged at Wilfred's arms,
+he butted his head under his knees; there was no resisting his
+impetuosity, he made him stand upright.  When, as Yula evidently
+believed, he had set his master free, he bounded round him in an ecstasy
+of delight.
+
+"You've done it, old boy," said Wilfred.  "You've got me out of hiding;
+and neither you nor I can pile the wood over me again, so now, whatever
+comes, we must face it together."
+
+He clasped his arms round the thick tangle of hair that almost hid the
+two bright eyes, so full of love, that were gazing at him.
+
+Wilfred could not help kissing the dear old blunderer, as he called him.
+"And now, Yula," he went on, "since you will have it so, we'll look
+about us."
+
+Wilfred's foot was a good deal better.  He could put his boot on for the
+first time.  He mounted the stones which the squaw had piled, and
+listened.  Yes, there were voices and laughter mingling with the
+neighing of the ponies and the lumbering sounds of the travoys.  The
+camp was moving on.  The "Far-off-Dawn" was further off than ever from
+him.  He had no longer a doubt the squaw had gone with her people.
+
+She had left him her kettle and the piece of skin. To an Indian woman
+her blanket is hood and cloak and muff all in one.  She never goes out
+of doors without it.
+
+Wilfred smoothed the gloves she had made him and pulled up the blanket
+socks.  Oh, she had been good to him!  He thought he understood it all
+now--that farewell kiss, and the desire to hide him until the fierce
+warriors of her tribe had passed on.  He wrapped the skin over his
+shoulders, slung the kettle on his arm, chose out a good strong staff to
+lean on, and held himself ready for the chapter of accidents, whatever
+they might be.
+
+No one came near him.  The sounds grew fainter and fainter.  The
+silence, the awful stillness, was creeping all around him once again.
+It became unbearable--the dread, the disappointment, the suspense.
+Wilfred climbed out of the hut and swung himself into the branches of
+the nearest pine.  The duck and the snow-birds were frozen as hard as
+stones.  But the fire was out long ago.  Wilfred had no matches, no
+means of lighting it up again.  He put back the game; even Yula could
+not eat it in that state.  He swung himself higher up in the tree, just
+in time to catch sight of the vanishing train, winding its way along the
+vast snow-covered waste.  He watched it fading to a moving line.  What
+was it leaving behind?  A lost boy.  If Wilfred passed the night in the
+tree he would be frozen to death.  If he crept back into the tumble-down
+hut he might be buried beneath another snow.  If he went down to the
+pool he might find the ashes of the Indians' camp-fires still glowing.
+If they had left a fire behind them he must see the smoke--the
+snow-soaked branches were sure to smoke. The sleet was driving in his
+face, but he looked in vain for the dusky curling wreath that must have
+been visible at so short a distance.
+
+Was all hope gone?  His head grew dizzy.  There were no words on his
+lips, and the bitter cry in his heart died mute.  Then he seemed to hear
+again his mother's voice reading to him, as she used to read in far-off
+days by the evening fire: "I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.  Be
+strong, and of a good courage. Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed.
+For the Lord thy God is with thee, whithersoever thou goest."
+
+The Indian train was out of sight, but the trampling of those fifty
+ponies, dragging the heavily-laden travoys, had left a beaten track--a
+path so broad he could not lose it--and he knew that it would bring him
+to some white man's home.
+
+Wilfred sprang down from the tree, decided, resolute.  Better to try and
+find this shop in the wilderness than linger there and die.  The snow
+beneath the tree was crisp and hard.  Yula bounded on before him, eager
+to follow where the Blackfeet dogs had passed.  They were soon upon the
+road, trudging steadily onward.
+
+The dog had evidently shared the strangers' breakfast; he was neither
+hungry nor thirsty.  Not so his poor little master, who was feeling very
+faint for want of a dinner, when he saw a bit of pemmican on the ground,
+dropped no doubt by one of the Indian children.
+
+Wilfred snatched it up and began to eat.  Pemmican is the Indians'
+favourite food.  It is made of meat cut in slices and dried.  It is then
+pounded between two smooth stones, and put in a bag of buffalo-skin.
+Melted fat is poured over it, to make it keep. To the best kinds of
+pemmican berries and sugar are added.  It forms the most solid food a
+man can have. There are different ways of cooking it, but travellers, or
+voyageurs, as they are usually called in Canada, eat it raw.  It was a
+piece of raw pemmican Wilfred had picked up.  Hunger lent it the flavour
+it might have lacked at any other time.
+
+With this for a late dinner, and a rest on a fallen tree, he felt
+himself once more, and started off again with renewed vigour.  The sleet
+was increasing with the coming dusk.  On he toiled, growing whiter and
+whiter, until his snow-covered figure was scarcely distinguishable from
+the frozen ground.  Yula was powdered from head to foot; moreover, poor
+dog, he was obliged to stop every now and then to bite off the little
+icicles which were forming between his toes.
+
+Fortunately for the weary travellers the sky began to clear when the
+moon arose.  Before them stood dark ranks of solemn, stately pines, with
+here and there a poplar thicket rising black and bare from the sparkling
+ground.  Their charred and shrivelled branches showed the work of the
+recent prairie fires, which had only been extinguished by the snowstorm.
+
+Wilfred whistled Yula closer and closer to his side, as the forest
+echoes wakened to the moose-call and the wolf-howl.  On, on they walked
+through the dusky shadows cast by the giant pines, until the strange
+meteors of the north lit up the icy night, flitting across the starry
+sky in such swift succession the Indians call it the dance of the dead
+spirits.
+
+In a scene so weird and wild the boldest heart might quail.  Wilfred
+felt his courage dwindling with every step, when Yula sprang forward
+with a bark that roused a sleeping herd, and Wilfred found himself in
+the midst of the Indian ponies, snorting and kicking at the disturber of
+their peace.  The difficulty of getting Yula out again, without losing
+the track or rousing the camp, which they must now be approaching,
+engrossed Wilfred, and taxed his powers to their uttermost.  He could
+see the gleam of their many watch-fires, and guided his course more
+warily. Imposing silence on Yula by every device he could imagine, he
+left the beaten track which would have taken him into the midst of the
+dreaded Blackfeet, and slanted further and further into the forest
+gloom, but not so far as to lose the glow of the Indians' fires. In the
+first faint gray of the wintry dawn he heard the rushing of a mighty
+fall, and found concealment in a wide expanse of frozen reeds and
+stunted willows.
+
+Yula had been brought to order.  A tired dog is far more manageable.  He
+lay down at his master's feet, whilst Wilfred watched and listened.  He
+was wide of the Blackfeet camp, yet not at such a distance as to be
+unable to distinguish the sounds of awakening life within it from the
+roar of the waterfall.  To his right the ground was rising.  He scarcely
+felt himself safe so near the Blackfeet, and determined to push on to
+the higher ground, where he would have a better chance of seeing what
+they were about.  If they moved on, he could go back to their
+camping-place and gather the crumbs they might have let fall, and boil
+himself some water before their fires were extinguished, and then follow
+in their wake as before.
+
+He began to climb the hill with difficulty, when he was aware of a thin,
+blue column of light smoke curling upwards in the morning air.  It was
+not from the Indian camp.  Had he nearly reached his goal? The light was
+steadily increasing, and he could clearly see on the height before him
+three or four tall pines, which had been stripped of their branches by
+the voyageur's axe, and left to mark a landing-place. These lop-sticks,
+as the Canadians call them, were a welcome sight.  He reached them at
+last, and gained the view he had been longing to obtain.  At his feet
+rolled the majestic river, plunging in one broad, white sheet over a
+hidden precipice.
+
+In the still uncertain light of the early dawn the cataract seemed twice
+its actual size.  The jagged tops of the pine trees on the other side of
+the river rose against the pale green of coming day.  Close above the
+falls the bright star of the morning gleamed like a diamond on the rim
+of the descending flood; at its foot the silvery spray sprang high into
+the air, covering the gloomy pines which had reared their dark branches
+in many a crack and cleft with glittering spangles.
+
+Nestling at the foot of the crag on which Wilfred stood was the
+well-built stockade of the trading-fort. The faint blue line of smoke
+which he had perceived was issuing from the chimney of the trader's
+house, but the inmates were not yet astir.
+
+He brushed the tears from his eyes, but they were mingled tears of joy
+and thankfulness and exhaustion. As he was watching, a party of Indians
+stole out from their camp, and posted themselves among the frozen reeds
+which he had so recently vacated.
+
+The chief, with a few of the Blackfeet, followed by three or four squaws
+laden with skins, advanced to the front of the stockade, where they
+halted.  The chief was waving in his hand a little flag, to show that he
+had come to trade.  After a while the sounds of life and movement began
+within the fort.  The little group outside was steadily increasing in
+numbers. Some more of the Blackfeet warriors had loaded their horses and
+their wives, and were coming up behind their chief, with their heavy
+bags of pemmican hanging like panniers across the backs of the horses,
+whilst the poor women toiled after them with the piles of skins and
+leather.
+
+All was bustle and activity inside the trader's walls. Wilfred guessed
+they were making all sorts of prudent preparations before they ventured
+to receive so large a party.  He was thinking of the men in ambush among
+the reeds, and he longed to give some warning to the Hudson Bay officer,
+who could have no idea of the numbers lurking round his gate.
+
+But how was this to be done in time?  There was but one entrance to the
+fort.  He was afraid to descend his hill and knock for admittance, under
+the lynx-like eyes of the Blackfoot chief, who was growing impatient,
+and was making fresh signs to attract the trader's attention.
+
+At last there was a creaking sound from the fort. Bolts and bars were
+withdrawn, and the gate was slowly opened.  Out came the Hudson Bay
+officer, carefully shutting it behind him.  He was a tall, white-haired
+man, with an air of command about him, and the easy grace of a gentleman
+in every action.  He surveyed his wild visitors for a moment or two, and
+then advanced to meet them with a smile of welcome. The chief came a
+step or two forward, shook hands with the white man, and began to make a
+speech.  A few of his companions followed his example.
+
+"Now," thought Wilfred, "while all this talking and speechifying is
+abroad, I may get a chance to reach the fort unobserved."
+
+He slid down the steep hill, with Yula after him, crept along the back
+of the stockade, and round the end farthest from the reeds.  In another
+moment he was at the gate.  A gentle tap with his hand was all he dared
+to give.  It met with no answer.  He repeated it a little louder.  Yula
+barked.  The gate was opened just a crack, and a boy about his own age
+peeped out.
+
+"Let me in," said Wilfred desperately.  "I have something to tell you."
+
+The crack was widened.  Wilfred slipped in and Yula followed.  The gate
+was shut and barred behind them.
+
+"Well?" asked the boyish porter.
+
+"There are dozens of Blackfeet Indians hiding among the frozen reeds.  I
+saw them stealing down from their camp before it was light.  I am afraid
+they mean mischief," said Wilfred, lowering his voice.
+
+"We need to be careful," returned the other, glancing round at their
+many defences; "but who are you?"
+
+"I belong to some settlers across the prairie.  I have lost my way.  I
+have been wandering about all night, following the trail of the
+Blackfeet.  That is how I came to know and see what they were doing,"
+replied Wilfred.
+
+"They always come up in numbers," answered the stranger thoughtfully,
+"ready for a brush with the Crees.  They seem friendly to us."
+
+As the boy spoke he slipped aside a little shutter in the gate, and
+peeped through a tiny grill.
+
+In the middle of the enclosure there was a wooden house painted white.
+Three or four iron funnels stuck out of the roof instead of chimneys,
+giving it a very odd appearance.  There were a few more huts and sheds.
+But Wilfred's attention was called off from these surroundings, for a
+whole family of dogs had rushed out upon Yula, with a chorus of barking
+that deafened every other sound.  For Yula had marched straight to the
+back door of the house, where food was to be had, and was shaking it and
+whining to be let in.
+
+The young stranger Gaspe took a bit of paper and a pencil out of his
+pocket and wrote hastily: "There are lots more of the Blackfeet hiding
+amongst the reeds.  What does that mean?"
+
+"Louison!" he cried to a man at work in one of the sheds, "go outside
+and give this to grandfather."
+
+
+
+
+                            *CHAPTER VIII.*
+
+                    _*THE SHOP IN THE WILDERNESS.*_
+
+
+As soon as Gaspe had despatched his messenger he turned to Wilfred,
+observing, in tones of grateful satisfaction, "I am so glad we know in
+time."
+
+"Is that your grandfather?" asked Wilfred.
+
+Gaspe nodded.  "Come and look at him."
+
+The two boys were soon watching earnestly through the grating, their
+faces almost touching.  Gaspe's arm was over Wilfred's shoulder, as they
+drew closer and closer to each other.
+
+Gaspe's grandfather took the slip of paper from his man, glanced at it,
+and crushed it in his hand.  The chief was hastily heaping a mass of
+buffalo robes and skins and bags of pemmican upon one of the horses, a
+gift for the white man, horse and all.  This was to show his big heart.
+
+"Do you hear what he is saying?" whispered Gaspe, who understood the
+Indians much better than Wilfred did.  "Listen!"
+
+"Are there any Crees here?  Crees have no manners.  Crees are like dogs,
+always ready to bite if you turn your head away; but the Blackfeet have
+large hearts, and love hospitality."
+
+"After all, those men in the reeds may only be on the watch for fear of
+a surprise from the Crees," continued Gaspe.
+
+"Will there be a fight?" asked Wilfred breathlessly.
+
+"No, I think not," answered Gaspe.  "The Crees have lived amongst us
+whites so long they have given up the war-path.  But," he added
+confidentially, "I have locked our old Indian in the kitchen, for if
+they caught sight of him they might say we were friends of the Crees,
+and set on us."
+
+One door in the white-painted house was standing open.  It led into a
+large and almost empty room. Just inside it a number of articles were
+piled on the floor--a gun, blankets, scarlet cloth, and a
+brightly-painted canister of tea.  Louison came back to fetch them, for
+a return present, with which the chief seemed highly delighted.
+
+"We see but little of you white men," he said; "and our young men do not
+always know how to behave.  But if you would come amongst us more, we
+chiefs would restrain them."
+
+"He would have hard work," laughed Wilfred, little thinking how soon his
+words were to be verified. The Blackfeet standing round their chief,
+with their piles of skins, were so obviously getting excited, and
+impatient to begin the real trading, the chief must have felt even he
+could not hold them back much longer.  But he was earnest in his
+exhortation to them not to give way to violence or rough behaviour.
+
+Gaspe's grandfather was silently noting every face, without appearing to
+do so; and mindful of the warning he had received, he led the way to his
+gate, which he invited them to enter, observing, "My places are but
+small, friends.  All shall come in by turns, but only a few at a time."
+
+Gaspe drew back the bar and threw the gate wide.  In walked the stately
+chief, with one or two of his followers who had taken part in the
+speech-making.  The excited crowd at the back of them pushed their way
+in, as if they feared the gate might be shut in their faces.
+
+Gaspe remonstrated, assuring them there was no hurry, all should have
+their turn.
+
+The chief waved them back, and the last of the group contented
+themselves with standing in the gateway itself, to prevent it being shut
+against them.
+
+Gaspe gave up the vain attempt to close it, and resumed his post.
+
+"I am here on the watch," he whispered to Wilfred; "but you are cold and
+hungry.  Go with grandfather into the shop."
+
+"I would rather stay with you," answered Wilfred. "I am getting used to
+being hungry."
+
+Gaspe answered this by pushing into his hand a big hunch of bread and
+butter, which he had brought with him from his hurried breakfast.
+
+Meanwhile Gaspe's grandfather had entered the house, taking with him the
+Blackfoot chief.  He invited the others to enter and seat themselves on
+the floor of the empty room into which Wilfred had already had a peep.
+He unlocked an inner door, opening into a passage, which divided the
+great waiting-room from the small shop beyond.  This had been carefully
+prepared for the reception of their wild customers.  Only a few of his
+goods were left upon the shelves, which were arranged with much
+ingenuity, and seemed to display a great variety of wares, all of them
+attractive in Indian eyes.  The bright-coloured cloths, cut in short
+lengths, were folded in fantastic heaps; the blankets were hung in
+graceful festoons.  Beads scattered lightly on trays glittered behind
+the counter, on which the empty scales were lightly swaying up and down,
+like miniature swinging-boats.
+
+A high lattice protected the front of the counter. Gaspe's grandfather
+established himself behind it. Louison took his place as door-keeper.
+The chief and two of his particular friends were the first to be
+admitted.  Louison locked the door to keep out the others.  It was the
+only way to preserve order. The wild, fierce strangers from the
+snow-covered plain and the darksome forest drew at once to the stove--a
+great iron box in the middle of the shop, with its huge black funnel
+rising through the ceiling. Warmth without smoke was a luxury unknown in
+the wigwam.
+
+The Indians walked slowly round the shop, examining and considering the
+contents of the shelves, until their choice was made.
+
+One of the three walked up to the counter and handed his pile of skins
+to the trader, Mr. De Brunier, through a little door in the lattice,
+pointing to some bright scarlet cloth and a couple of blankets.  The
+chief was examining the guns.  All three wanted shot, and the others
+inquired earnestly for the Indians' special delight, "tea and suga'."
+But when they saw the canister opened, and the tea poured into the
+scale, there was a grunt of dissatisfaction all round.
+
+"What for?" demanded the chief.  "Why put tea one side that swing and
+little bit of iron the other? Who wants little bit of iron?  We don't
+know what that medicine is."
+
+The Indians call everything medicine that seems to them learned and
+wise.
+
+Mr. De Brunier tried to explain the use of his scales, and took up his
+steelyard to see if it would find more favour.
+
+"Be fair," pursued the chief; "make one side as big as the other.  Try
+bag of pemmican against your blankets and tea, then when the thing stops
+swinging you take pemmican, we blankets and tea--that fair!"
+
+His companions echoed their chief's sentiments.
+
+"As you like," smiled the trader.  "We only want to make a fair
+exchange."
+
+So the heavy bag of pemmican was put in the place of the weight, and a
+nice heap of tea was poured upon the blanket to make the balance true.
+The Indians were delighted.
+
+"Now," continued Mr. De Brunier, "we must weigh the shot and the gun
+against your skins, according to your plan."
+
+But when the red men saw their beautiful marten and otter and fisher
+skins piling higher and higher, and the heavy bag of shot still refusing
+to rise, a grave doubt as to the correctness of their own view of the
+matter arose in the Indians' minds.  The first served took up his
+scarlet cloth and blanket and went out quickly, whilst the others
+deliberated.
+
+The trader waited with good-humoured patience and a quiet gleam of
+amusement in the corner of his eye, when they told him at last to do it
+his own way, for the steel swing was a great medicine warriors could not
+understand.  It was plain it could only be worked by some great medicine
+man like himself.
+
+This decision had been reached so slowly, the impatience of the crowd in
+the waiting-room was at spirit-boil.
+
+The brave who had come back satisfied was exhibiting his blankets and
+his scarlet cloth, which had to be felt and looked at by all in turn.
+
+"Were there many more inside?" they asked eagerly.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+A belief that the good things would all be gone before the rest of the
+Indians could get their turn spread among the excited crowd like
+wild-fire.
+
+Gaspe still held to his watch by the gate, with Wilfred beside him.
+
+There was plenty of laughing and talking among the party of resolute men
+who kept it open; they seemed full of fun, and were joking each other in
+the highest spirits.  Gaspe's eyes turned again and again to the frozen
+reeds, but all was quiet.
+
+Wilfred was earnestly watching for a chance to ask the mirthful
+Blackfeet if an old squaw, the Far-off-Dawn, had joined their camp.  He
+could not make them understand him, but Gaspe repeated the question.
+
+At that moment one of the fiercest-looking of the younger warriors
+rushed out of the waiting-room in a state of intense excitement.  He
+beckoned to his companions at the gate, exclaiming, "If we don't help
+ourselves there will be nothing left for you and me."
+
+"We know who will see fair play," retorted the young chief, who was
+answering Gaspe.
+
+A whoop rang through the frosty air, and the still stiff reeds seemed
+suddenly alive with dusky faces. The crush round the inner door in the
+waiting-room became intense.
+
+"Help me," whispered Gaspe, seizing Wilfred's arm and dragging him after
+him through the sheds to the back of the house.  He took out a key and
+unlocked a side door.  There was a second before him, with the keyhole
+at the reverse hand.  It admitted them into a darkened room, for the
+windows were closely shuttered; but Gaspe knew his ground, and was not
+at a moment's loss.
+
+The double doors were locked and bolted in double quick time behind
+them.  Then Gaspe lifted up a heavy iron bar and banged it into its
+socket.  Noise did not matter.  The clamour in the waiting-room drowned
+every other sound.
+
+"They will clear the shop," he said, "but we must stop them getting into
+the storeroom.  Come along."
+
+Wilfred was feeling the way.  He stumbled over a chair; his hand felt a
+table.  He guessed he was in the family sitting-room.  Gaspe put his
+mouth to the keyhole of an inner door.
+
+"Chirag!" he shouted to their Indian servant, "barricade."
+
+The noises which succeeded showed that his command was being obeyed in
+that direction.
+
+Gaspe was already in the storeroom, endeavouring to push a heavy box of
+nails before the other door leading into the shop.  Wilfred was beside
+him in a moment.  He had not much pushing power left in him after his
+night of wandering.
+
+"Perhaps I can push a pound," he thought, laying his hands by Gaspe's.
+
+"Now, steady! both together we shall do it," they said, and with one
+hard strain the box was driven along the floor.
+
+"That is something," cried Gaspe, heaving up a bag of ironmongery to put
+on the top of it.  And he looked round for something else sufficiently
+ponderous to complete his barricade.
+
+"What is this?" asked Wilfred, tugging at a chest of tools.
+
+Meanwhile a dozen hatchets' heads were hammering at the door from the
+waiting-room where Louison was stationed.  The crack of the wood giving
+way beneath their blows inspired Gaspe with redoubled energy. The chest
+was hoisted upon the box.  He surveyed his barricade with satisfaction.
+But their work was not yet done.  He dragged forward a set of steps, and
+running up to the top, threw open a trap-door in the ceiling.  A ray of
+light streamed down into the room, showing Wilfred, very white and
+exhausted, leaning against the pile they had erected.
+
+Gaspe sprang to the ground, rushed back into the sitting-room, and began
+to rummage in the cupboard.
+
+"Here is grandfather's essence of peppermint and the sugar-basin and
+lots of biscuits!" he exclaimed. "You are faint, you have had no
+breakfast yet. I am forgetting.  Here."
+
+Wilfred's benumbed fingers felt in the sugar for a good-sized lump.
+Gaspe poured his peppermint drops upon it with a free hand.  The
+warming, reviving dose brought back the colour to Wilfred's pale lips.
+
+"Feel better?" asked his energetic companion, running up the steps with
+a roll of cloth on his shoulder, which he deposited safely in the loft
+above, inviting Wilfred to follow.  The place was warm, for the iron
+chimneys ran through it, like so many black columns.  Wilfred was ready
+to embrace the nearest.
+
+Gaspe caught his arm.  "You are too much of a human icicle for that," he
+cried.  "I'll bring up the blankets next.  Roll yourself up in them and
+get warm gradually, or you will be worse than ever. You must take care
+of yourself, for I dare not stop. It is always a bit dangerous when the
+Indians come up in such numbers to a little station like this. There is
+nobody but grandfather and me and our two men about the place, and what
+are four against a hundred?  But all know what to do.  Chirag watches
+inside the house, I outside, and Louison keeps the shop door.  That is
+the most dangerous post, because of the crush to get in."
+
+A crash and a thud in the room below verified his words.
+
+"There! down it goes," he exclaimed, as a peal of laughter from many
+voices followed the rush of the crowd from one room to the other.
+
+"They will be in here next," he added, springing down the steps for
+another load.  Wilfred tried to shake off the strange sensations which
+oppressed him, and took it from him.  Another and another followed
+quickly, until the boys had removed the greater part of the most
+valuable of the stores into the roof.  The guns and the heavy bags of
+shot had all been carried up in the early morning, before the gate of
+the fort was opened.
+
+And now the hammering began at the storeroom door, amid peals of
+uproarious laughter.
+
+Gaspe tore up the steps with another heavy roll of bright blue cloth.
+
+"We can do no more," he said, pausing for breath. "Now we will shut
+ourselves in here."
+
+"We will have these up first," returned Wilfred, seizing hold of the top
+of the steps, and trying to drag them through the trap-door.
+
+"Right!" ejaculated Gaspe.  "If we had left them standing in the middle
+of the storeroom, it would have been inviting the Blackfeet to follow
+us."
+
+They let down the trap-door as noiselessly as they could, and drew the
+heavy bolt at the very moment the door below was broken open and the
+triumphant crowd rushed wildly in, banging down their bags of pemmican
+on the floor, and seizing the first thing which came to hand in return.
+
+Louison had been knocked down in the first rush from the waiting-room,
+and was leaning against the wall, having narrowly escaped being trampled
+to death. "All right!" he shouted to his master, who had jumped up on
+his counter to see if his agile servitor had regained his feet.  It was
+wild work, but Mr. De Brunier took it all in good part, flinging his
+blankets right and left wherever he saw an eager hand outstretched to
+receive them.  He knew that it was far better to give before they had
+time to take, and so keep up a semblance of trade.  Many a beautiful
+skin and buffalo-robe was tossed across the counter in return.  The
+heterogeneous pile was growing higher and higher beside him, and in the
+confusion it was hard to tell how much was intended for purchase, how
+much for pillage.
+
+The chief, the Great Swan, as his people called him, still stood by the
+scales, determined to see if the great medicine worked fairly for all
+his people.
+
+Mr. De Brunier called to him by his Indian name: "Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu,
+do you not hear what I am saying?  Your young men are too rough.
+Restrain them.  You say you can.  How am I to weigh and measure to each
+his right portion in such a rout?"
+
+"Give them all something and they will be content," shouted the chief,
+trying his best to restore order.
+
+Dozens of gaudy cotton handkerchiefs went flying over the black heads,
+scrambling with each other to get possession of them.  Spoonfuls of
+beads were received with chuckles of delight by the nearest ranks; hut
+the Indians outside the crowd were growing hot and angry.  Turns had
+been long since disregarded. It was catch as catch can.  They broke down
+the lattice, and helped themselves from the shelves behind the counter.
+These were soon cleared.  A party of strong young fellows, laughing as
+if it were the best fun in the world, leaped clear over the counter, and
+began to chop at the storeroom door with their hatchets.  With a
+dexterous hand Mr. De Brunier flung his bright silks in their faces.
+The dancing skeins were quickly caught up.  But the work of demolition
+went forward.  The panels were reduced to matchwood.  Three glittering
+hatchets swung high over the men's heads, came down upon the still
+resisting framework, and smashed it.  The mirthful crowd dashed in.
+
+The shop was already cleared.  Mr. De Brunier would have gone into his
+storeroom with them if he could, but a dozen guns were pointed in his
+face.  It was mere menace, no one attempted to fire.  But the chief
+thought it was going too far.  He backed to the waiting-room.  Mr. De
+Brunier seized his empty tea-canister, and offered it to him as a
+parting gift, saying in most emphatic tones, "This is not our way of
+doing business.  Some of these men have got too much, and some too
+little.  It is not my fault.  I must deal now with the tribe.  Let them
+all lay down on the floor the rest of the skins and bags they have
+brought, and take away all I have to give in exchange, and you must
+divide when you get back to your camp, to every man his right share."
+
+Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu rushed off with his canister under his arm; not
+into the storeroom, where the dismayed trader hoped his presence might
+have proved a restraint, but straight through the waiting-room with a
+mad dash into the court, and through the gate, where he halted to give a
+thunderous shout of "Crees!  Crees!"  The magic words brought out his
+followers pell-mell.  A second shout, a wilder alarm, made the tribe
+rally round their chief, in the full belief the Crees had surprised
+their camp in their hateful dog-like fashion, taking their bite at the
+women and children when the warriors' heads were turned.
+
+But the unmannerly foe was nowhere in sight.
+
+"Over the hill!" shouted their Great Wild Swan, the man of twenty
+fights.
+
+Meanwhile the gate of the little fort was securely barred against all
+intruders.  The waiting squaws meekly turned their horses' heads, and
+followed their deluded lords, picking up the beads and nails which had
+been dropped in their headlong haste.
+
+"Woe to Maxica," thought Wilfred, "if he should happen to be returning
+for his moose!"
+
+The wild war-whoop died away in the distance, only the roar of the
+cataract broke the stillness of the snow-laden air.
+
+De Brunier walked back into his house, to count up the gain and loss,
+and see how much reckless mischief that morning's work had brought him.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER IX.*
+
+                            _*NEW FRIENDS.*_
+
+
+"We shall always be friends," said Gaspe, looking into Wilfred's face,
+as they stood side by side against the chimney in the loft, emptying the
+biscuit-canister between them.
+
+Wilfred answered with a sunny smile.  The sounds below suddenly changed
+their character.  The general stampede to the gate was beginning.
+
+The boys flew to the window.  It was a double one, very small and
+thickly frozen.  They could not see the least thing through its
+glittering panes.
+
+They could scarcely believe their ears, but the sudden silence which
+succeeded convinced Gaspe their rough visitors had beaten a hasty
+retreat.
+
+"Anyhow we will wait a bit, and make sure before we go down," they
+decided.
+
+But De Brunier's first care was for his grandson, and he was missing.
+
+"Gaspard!" he shouted, and his call was echoed by Louison and Chirag.
+
+"Here, grandfather; I am here, I am coming," answered the boy, gently
+raising the trap-door and peeping down at the dismantled storeroom.  A
+great bag of goose-feathers, which had been hoarded by some thrifty
+squaw, had been torn open, and the down was flying in every direction.
+
+There was a groan from Mr. De Brunier.  All his most valuable stores had
+vanished.
+
+"Not quite so bad as that, grandfather," cried Gaspe brightly.
+
+The trader stepped up on to the remains of the barricade the boys had
+erected, and popped his head through the open trap-door.
+
+"Well done, Gaspard!" he exclaimed.
+
+"This other boy helped me," was the instantaneous reply.
+
+The other boy came out from the midst of the blanket heap, feeling more
+dead than alive, and expecting every moment some one would say to him,
+"Now go," and he had nowhere to go.
+
+Mr. De Brunier looked at him in amazement.  A solitary boy in these lone
+wastes!  Had he dropped from the skies?
+
+"Come down, my little lad, and tell me who you are," he said kindly; but
+without waiting for a reply he walked on through the broken door to
+survey the devastation beyond.
+
+"I have grown gray in the service of the Company, and never had a more
+provoking disaster," he lamented, as he began to count the tumbled heap
+of valuable furs blocking his pathway.
+
+Louison, looking pale and feeling dizzy from his recent knock over, was
+collecting the bags of pemmican. Chirag, released from his imprisonment,
+was opening window shutters and replenishing the burnt-out fires. Gaspe
+dropped down from the roof, without waiting to replace the steps, and
+went to his grandfather's assistance, leaving Wilfred to have a good
+sleep in the blanket heap.
+
+The poor boy was so worn out he slept heavily. When he roused himself at
+last, the October day was drawing to its close, and Gaspe was laughing
+beside him.
+
+"Have not you had sleep enough?" he asked. "Would not dinner be an
+improvement?"
+
+Wilfred wakened from his dreams of Acland's Hut. Aunt Miriam and
+Pe-na-Koam had got strangely jumbled together; but up he jumped to grasp
+his new friend's warm, young hand, and wondered what had happened. He
+felt as if he had been tossing like a ball from one strange scene to
+another.  When he found himself sitting on a real chair, and not on the
+hard ground, the transition was so great it seemed like another dream.
+
+The room was low, no carpet on the floor, only a few chairs ranged round
+the stove in the centre; but a real dinner, hot and smoking, was spread
+on the unpainted deal table.
+
+Mr. De Brunier, with one arm thrown over the back of his chair, was
+smoking, to recall his lost serenity.  An account-book lay beside his
+unfinished dinner.  Sometimes his eye wandered over its long rows of
+figures, and then for a while he seemed absorbed in mental calculation.
+
+He glanced at Wilfred's thin hands and pinched cheeks.
+
+"Let the boy eat," he said to Gaspe.
+
+As the roast goose vanished from Wilfred's plate the smile returned to
+his lips and the mirth to his heart.  He outdid the hungry hunter of
+proverbial fame.  The pause came at last; he could not quite keep on
+eating all night, Indian fashion.  He really declined the sixth helping
+Gaspe was pressing upon him.
+
+"No, thanks; I have had a Benjamin's portion--five times as much as you
+have had--and I am dreadfully obliged to you," said Wilfred, with a bow
+to Mr. De Brunier; "but there is Yula, that is my dog.  May he have
+these bones?"
+
+"He has had something more than bones already; Chirag fed him when he
+fed my puppies," put in Gaspe.
+
+"Puppies," repeated Mr. De Brunier.  "Dogs, I say."
+
+"Not yet, grandfather," remonstrated the happy Gaspe.  "You said they
+would not be really dogs, ready for work, until they were a year old,
+and it wants a full week."
+
+"Please, sir," interrupted Wilfred abruptly, "can you tell me how I can
+get home?"
+
+"Where is your home?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"With my uncle, at Acland's Hut," answered Wilfred promptly.
+
+"Acland's Hut," repeated Mr. De Brunier, looking across at Gaspe for
+elucidation.  They did not know such a place existed.
+
+"It is miles away from here," added Wilfred sorrowfully.  "I went out
+hunting--"
+
+"You--a small boy like you--to go hunting alone!" exclaimed Mr. De
+Brunier.
+
+"Please, sir, I mean I rode on a pony by the cart which was to bring
+back the game," explained poor Wilfred, growing very rueful, as all hope
+of getting home again seemed to recede further and further from him.
+"The pony threw me," he added, "and when I came to myself the men were
+gone."
+
+"Have you no father?" whispered Gaspe.
+
+"My father died a year ago, and I was left at school at Garry," Wilfred
+went on.
+
+"Fort Garry!" exclaimed Mr. De Brunier, brightening. "If this had
+happened a few weeks earlier, I could easily have sent you back to Garry
+in one of the Company's boats.  They are always rowing up and down the
+river during the busy summer months, but they have just stopped for the
+winter With this Blackfoot camp so near us, I dare not unbar my gate
+again to-night, so make yourself contented.  In the morning we will see
+what can be done."
+
+"Nothing!" thought Wilfred, as he gathered the goose-bones together for
+Yula's benefit.  "If you do not know where Acland's Hut is, and I cannot
+tell you, night or morning what difference can it make?"
+
+He studied the table-cloth, thinking hard.  "Bowkett and Diome had
+talked of going to a hunters' camp.  Where was that?"
+
+"Ask Louison," said Mr. De Brunier, in reply to his inquiry.
+
+Gaspe ran out to put the question.
+
+Louison was a hunter's son.  He had wintered in the camp himself when he
+was a boy.  The hunters gathered there in November.  Parties would soon
+be calling at the fort, to sell their skins by the way. Wilfred could go
+on with one of them, no doubt, and then Bowkett could take him home.
+
+Wilfred's heart grew lighter.  It was a roundabout-road, but he felt as
+if getting back to Bowkett was next to getting home.
+
+"How glad your uncle will be to see you!" cried Gaspe radiantly,
+picturing the bright home-coming in the warmth of his own sympathy.
+
+"Oh, don't!" said Wilfred; "please, don't.  It won't be like that; not a
+bit.  Nobody wants me. Aunt wanted my little sister, not me.  You don't
+understand; I am such a bother to her."
+
+Gaspe was silenced, but his hand clasped Wilfred's a little closer.  All
+the chivalrous feelings of the knightly De Bruniers were rousing in his
+breast for the strange boy who had brought them the timely warning.  For
+some of the best and noblest blood of old France was flowing in his
+veins.  A De Brunier had come out with the early French settlers, the
+first explorers, the first voyageurs along the mighty Canadian rivers.
+A De Brunier had fought against Wolfe on the Heights of Abraham, in the
+front ranks of that gallant band who faithfully upheld their nation's
+honour, loyal to the last to the shameless France, which despised,
+neglected, and abandoned them--men whose high sense of duty never
+swerved in the hour of trial, when they were given over into the hands
+of their enemy.  Who cared what happened in that far-off corner of the
+world?  It was not worth troubling about.  So the France of that day
+reasoned when she flung them from her.
+
+It was of those dark hours Gaspe loved to make his grandfather talk, and
+he was thinking that nothing would divert Wilfred from his troubled
+thoughts like one of grandfather's stories.  The night drew on. The snow
+was falling thicker and denser than before. Mr. De Brunier turned his
+chair to the stove, afraid to go to bed with the Blackfoot camp within
+half-a-mile of his wooden walls.
+
+"They might," he said, "have a fancy to give us a midnight scare, to see
+what more they could get."
+
+The boys begged hard to remain.  The fire, shut in its iron box, was
+burning at its best, emitting a dull red glow, even through its prison
+walls.  Gaspe refilled his grandfather's pipe.
+
+"Wilfred," he remarked gently, "has a home that is no home, and he
+thinks we cannot understand the ups and downs of life, or what it is to
+be pushed to the wall."
+
+Gaspe had touched the right spring.  The veteran trader smiled.  "Not
+know, my lad, what it is to be pushed to the wall, when I have been a
+servant for fifty years in the very house where my grandfather was
+master, before the golden lilies on our snow-white banner were torn down
+to make room for your Union Jack!  Why am I telling you this to-night?
+Just to show you, when all seems lost in the present, there is the
+future beyond, and no one can tell what that may hold.  The pearl lies
+hidden under the stormiest waters.  Do you know old Cumberland House?  A
+De Brunier built it, the first trading-fort in the Saskatchewan.  It was
+lost to us when the cold-hearted Bourbon flung us like a bone to the
+English mastiff. Our homes were ours no longer.  Our lives were in our
+hands, but our honour no one but ourselves could throw away.  What did
+we do?  What could we do? What all can do--our duty to the last.  We
+braved our trouble; and when all seemed lost, help came. Who was it felt
+for us?  The men who had torn from us our colours and entered our gates
+by force. Under the British flag our homes were given back, our rights
+assured.  Our Canadian Quebec remains unaltered, a transplant from the
+old France of the Bourbons.  In the long years that have followed the
+harvest has been reaped on both sides.  Now, my boy, don't break your
+heart with thinking, If there had been anybody to care for me, I should
+not have been left senseless in a snow-covered wilderness; but rouse
+your manhood and face your trouble, for in God's providence it may be
+more than made up to you.  Here you can stay until some opportunity
+occurs to send you to this hunters' camp.  You are sure it will be your
+best way to get home again?"
+
+"Yes," answered Wilfred decidedly.  "I shall find Bowkett there, and I
+am sure he will take me back to Acland's Hut.  But please, sir, I did
+not mean aunt and uncle were unkind; but I had been there such a little
+while, and somehow I was always wrong; and then I know I teased."
+
+The cloud was gathering over him again.
+
+"If--" he sighed.
+
+"Don't dwell on the _ifs_, my boy; talk of what has been.  That will
+teach you best what may be," inter posed Mr. De Brunier.
+
+Gaspe saw the look of pain in Wilfred's eyes, although he did not say
+again, "Please don't talk about it," for he was afraid Mr. De Brunier
+would not call that facing his trouble.
+
+Gaspe came to the rescue.  "But, grandfather, you have not told us what
+the harvest was that Canada reaped," he put in.
+
+"Cannot you see it for yourself, Gaspard?" said Mr. De Brunier.  "When
+French and English, conquered and conqueror, settled down side by side,
+it was their respect for each other, their careful consideration for
+each other's rights and wrongs, that taught their children and their
+children's children the great lesson how to live and let live.  No other
+nation in the world has learned as we have done.  It is this that makes
+our Canada a land of refuge for the down-trodden slave.  And we, the
+French in Canada, what have we reaped?" he went on, shaking the ashes
+from his pipe, and looking at the two boys before him, French and
+English; but the old lines were fading, and uniting in the broader name
+of Canadian.  "Yes," he repeated, "what did we find at the bottom of our
+bitter cup?  Peace, security, and freedom, whilst the streets of Paris
+ran red with Frenchmen's blood.  The last De Brunier in France was
+dragged from his ancestral home to the steps of the guillotine by
+Frenchmen's hands, and the old chateau in Brittany is left a moss-grown
+ruin.  When my father saw the hereditary foe of his country walk into
+Cumberland House to turn him out, they met with a bonjour [good day];
+and when they parted this was the final word: 'You are a young man,
+Monsieur De Brunier, but your knowledge of the country and your
+influence with the Indians can render us valuable assistance.  If at any
+time you choose to take office in your old locale, you will find that
+faithful service will be handsomely requited.'  We kept our honour and
+laid down our pride.  Content.  Your British Queen has no more loyal
+subjects in all her vast dominions than her old French Canadians."
+
+There was a mist before Wilfred's eyes, and his voice was low and husky.
+He only whispered, "I shall not forget, I never can forget to-night."
+
+The small hours of the morning were numbered before Gaspe opened the
+door of his little sleeping room, which Wilfred was to share.  It was
+not much bigger than a closet.  The bed seemed to fill it.
+
+There was just room for Gaspe's chest of clothes and an array of pegs.
+But to Wilfred it seemed a palace, in its cozy warmth.  It made him
+think of Pe-na-Koam.  He hoped she was as comfortable in the Blackfoot
+camp.
+
+Gaspe was growing sleepy.  One arm was round Wilfred's neck; he roused
+himself to answer, "Did not you hear what the warrior with the scalps at
+his belt told me?  She came into their camp, and they gave her food as
+long as she could eat it.  She was too old to travel, and they left her
+asleep by their camp-fires."
+
+Up sprang Wilfred.  "Whatever shall I do?  I have brought away her
+kettle; I thought she had gone to her own people, and left it behind her
+for me."
+
+"Do!" repeated Gaspe, laughing.  "Why, go to sleep old fellow; what else
+can we do at four o'clock in the morning?  If we don't make haste about
+it, we shall have no night at all."
+
+Gaspe was quick to follow his own advice.  But the "no night" was
+Wilfred's portion.  There was no rest for him for thinking of
+Pe-na-Koam.  How was she to get her breakfast?  The Blackfeet might have
+given her food, but how could she boil a drop of water without her
+kettle?
+
+At the first movement in the house he slipped out of bed and dressed
+himself.  The fire had burned low in the great stove in the
+sitting-room, but when he softly opened the door of their closet it
+struck fairly warm.  The noise he had heard was Louison coming in with a
+great basket of wood to build it up.
+
+"A fire in prison is a dull affair by daylight," remarked Wilfred.  "I
+think I shall go for a walk--a long walk."
+
+"Mr. De Brunier will have something to say about that after last night's
+blizzard," returned Louison.
+
+"Then please tell him it is my duty to go, for I am afraid an old Indian
+woman, who was very kind to me, was out in last night's snow, and I must
+go and look for her.  Will you just undo that door and let me out?"
+
+"Not quite so fast; I have two minds about that," answered Louison.
+"Better wait for Mr. De Brunier. I know I shall be wrong if I let you go
+off like this."
+
+"How can you be wrong?" retorted Wilfred.  "I came to this place to warn
+you all there was a party of Blackfeet hidden in the reeds.  Well, if I
+had waited, what good would it have been to you?  Now I find the old
+squaw who made me these gloves was out in last night's snow, and I must
+go and look for her, and go directly."
+
+"But a boy like you will never find her," laughed Louison.
+
+"I'll try it," said Wilfred doggedly.
+
+"Was she a Blackfoot?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then she is safe enough in camp, depend upon it," returned Louison.
+
+"No, she was left behind," persisted Wilfred.
+
+"Then come with me," said Louison, by no means sorry to have found a
+friendly reason for approaching the Blackfeet camp.  "I have a little
+bit of scout business in hand, just to find out whether these wild
+fellows are moving on, or whether they mean waiting about to pay us
+another visit."
+
+Chirag was clearing away the snow in the enclosure outside.  Wilfred
+found the kettle and the skin just where he had laid them down, inside
+the first shed. He called up Yula, and started by Louison's side. Chirag
+was waiting to bar the gate behind them.
+
+"Beautiful morning," said the Canadians, vigorously rubbing their noses
+to keep them from freezing, and violently clapping their mittened hands
+together. The snow lay white and level, over hill and marsh, one
+sparkling sheet of silvery sheen.  The edging of ice was broadening
+along the river, and the roar of the falls came with a thunderous boom
+through the all-pervading stillness around them.
+
+The snow was already hard, as the two ran briskly forward, with Yula
+careering and bounding in extravagant delight.
+
+Wilfred looked back to the little fort, with its stout wooden walls,
+twice the height of a man, hiding the low white house with its roof of
+bark, hiding everything within but the rough lookout and the tall
+flag-staff, for
+
+    "Ever above the topmost roof the banner of England blew."
+
+
+Wilfred was picturing the feelings with which the De Bruniers had worked
+on beneath it, giving the same faithful service to their foreign masters
+that they had to the country which had cast them off.
+
+"It is a dirty old rag," said Louison; "gone all to ribbons in last
+night's gale.  But it is good enough for a little place like this--we
+call it Hungry Hall.  We don't keep it open all the year round.  Just
+now, in October, the Indians and the hunters are bringing in the produce
+of their summer's hunting.  We shall shut up soon, and open later again
+for the winter trade."
+
+"A dirty old rag!" repeated Wilfred.  "Yes, but I am prouder of it than
+ever, for it means protection and safety wherever it floats.  Boy as I
+am, I can see that."
+
+"Can you see something else," asked Louison--"the crossing poles of the
+first wigwam?  We are at the camp."
+
+
+
+
+                              *CHAPTER X.*
+
+                           _*THE DOG-SLED.*_
+
+
+A cloud of smoke from its many wigwam fires overhung the Indian camp as
+Louison and Wilfred drew near.  The hunter's son, with his quick ear,
+stole cautiously through the belt of pine trees which sheltered it from
+the north wind, listening for any sounds of awakening life.  Yesterday's
+adventure had no doubt been followed by a prolonged feast, and men and
+dogs were still sleeping.  A few squaws, upon whom the hard work of the
+Indian world all devolves, were already astir.  Louison thought they
+were gathering firewood outside the camp.  This was well.  Louison hung
+round about the outskirts, watching their proceedings, until he saw one
+woman behind a wigwam gathering snow to fill her kettle.  Her pappoose
+in its wooden cradle was strapped to her back; but she had seen or heard
+them, for she paused in her occupation and looked up wondering.
+
+Louison stepped forward.
+
+"Now for your questions, my boy," he said to Wilfred, "and I will play
+interpreter."
+
+"Is there an old squaw in your camp named the Far-off-Dawn?"
+
+Wilfred needed no interpreter to explain the "caween" given in reply.
+
+"Tell her, Louison," he hurried on, "she was with me the night before
+last.  I thought she left me to follow this trail.  If she has not
+reached this camp, she must be lost in the snow."
+
+"Will not some of your people go and look for her," added Louison, on
+his own account, "before you move on?"
+
+"What is the use?" she asked.  "Death will have got her by this time.
+She came to the camp; she was too old to travel.  If she is alive, she
+may overtake us again.  We shall not move on until another sunrising, to
+rest the horses."
+
+"Then I shall go and look for her," said Wilfred resolutely.
+
+"Not you," retorted Louison; "wait a bit."  He put his hand in his
+pockets.  They had been well filled with tea and tobacco, in readiness
+for any emergency. "Is not there anybody in the camp who will go and
+look for her?"
+
+Louison was asking his questions for the sake of the information he
+elicited, but Wilfred caught at the idea in earnest.  "Go and see,"
+urged Louison, offering her a handful of his tea.
+
+"The!" she repeated.  The magic word did wonders. Louison knew if one of
+the men were willing to leave the camp to look for Pe-na-Koam, no
+further mischief was intended.  But if they were anticipating a
+repetition of "the high old time" they had enjoyed yesterday, not one of
+them could be induced to forego their portion in so congenial a lark,
+for in their eyes it was nothing more.
+
+The squaw took the tea in both her hands, gladly leaving her kettle in
+the snow, as she led the way into the camp.
+
+Wilfred, who had only seen the poor little canvas tents of the Crees,
+looked round him in astonishment. In the centre stood the lodge or moya
+of the chief--a wigwam built in true old Indian style, fourteen feet
+high at the least.  Twelve strong poles were stuck in the ground, round
+a circle fifteen feet across. They were tied together at the top, and
+the outside was covered with buffalo-skins, painted black and red in all
+sorts of figures.  Eagles seemed perching on the heads of deers, and
+serpents twisted and coiled beneath the feet of buffaloes.  The other
+wigwams built around it were in the same style, on a smaller scale, all
+brown with smoke.
+
+A goodly array of spears, bows, and shields adorned the outside of the
+moya; above them the much-coveted rifles were ranged with exceeding
+pride.  The ground between the moya and the tents was littered with
+chips and bones, among which the dogs were busy. A few children were
+pelting each other with the snow, or trying to shoot at the busy jays
+with a baby of a bow and arrows to match.
+
+Louison pushed aside the fur which hung over the entrance to the
+moya--the man-hole--and stepped inside.  A beautiful fire was burning in
+the middle of the tent.  The floor was strewed with pine brush, and
+skins were hung round the inside wall, like a dado.  They fitted very
+closely to the ground, so as to keep out all draught.  The rabbits and
+swans, the buzzards and squirrels painted on this dado were so lifelike,
+Wilfred thought it must be as good as a picture-book to the dear little
+pappoose, strapped to its flat board cradle, and set upright against the
+wall whilst mother was busy.  The sleeping-places were divided by
+wicker-screens, and seemed furnished with plenty of blankets and skins.
+One or two of them were still occupied; but Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu lay on
+a bear-skin by the fire, with his numerous pipes arranged beside him.
+The squaw explained the errand of their early visitors: a woman was lost
+in the snow, would the chief send one of his people to find her?
+
+The Great Swan looked over his shoulder and said something.  A young man
+rose up from one of the sleeping-places.
+
+Both were asking, "What was the good?"
+
+"She is one of your own people," urged Louison. "We came to tell you."
+
+This was not what Wilfred had said, and it was not all he wanted, but he
+was forced to trust it to Louison, although he was uneasy.
+
+He could see plainly enough an Indian would be far more likely to find
+her than himself, but would they?  Would any of them go?
+
+Louison offered a taste of his tobacco to the old chief and the young,
+by way of good-fellowship.
+
+"They will never do it for that," thought Wilfred growing desperate
+again.  He had but one thing about him he could offer as an inducement,
+and that was his knife.  He hesitated a moment.  He thought of
+Pe-na-Koam dying in the snow, and held it out to the young chieftain.
+
+The dusky fingers gripped the handle.
+
+"Will you take care of her and bring her here, or give her food and
+build up her hut?" asked Wilfred, making his meaning as plain as he
+could, by the help of nods and looks and signs.
+
+The young chief was outside the man-hole in another moment.  He slung
+his quiver to his belt and took down his bow, flung a stout blanket over
+his shoulder, and shouted to his squaw to catch a bronco, the usual name
+for the Canadian horse.  The kettle was in his hand.
+
+"Can we trust him?" asked Wilfred, as he left the camp by Louison's
+side.
+
+"Trust him! yes," answered his companion.  "Young Sapoo is one of those
+Indians who never break faith. His word once given, he will keep it to
+the death."
+
+"Then I have only to pray that he may be in time," said Wilfred gravely,
+as he stood still to watch the wild red man galloping back to the
+beavers' lakelet.
+
+"Oh, he will be in time," returned Louison cheerily.  "All their wigwam
+poles would be left standing, and plenty of pine brush and firewood
+strewing about.  She is sure to have found some shelter before the
+heaviest fall of snow; that did not come until it was nearly morning."
+
+Gaspe had climbed the lookout to watch for their return.
+
+"Wilfred, _mon cher_," he exclaimed, "you must have a perfect penchant
+for running away.  How could you give us the slip in such a shabby
+fashion? I could not believe Chirag.  If the bears were not all dropping
+off into their winter sleep, I should have thought some hungry bruin had
+breakfasted upon you."
+
+Gaspe's grandfather had turned carpenter, and was already at work
+mending his broken doors.  Not being a very experienced workman, his
+planking and his panelling did not square.  Wood was plentiful, and more
+than one piece was thrown aside as a misfit.  Both the boys were eager
+to assist in the work of restoration. A broken shelf was mended between
+them--in first-rate workmanly style, as Wilfred really thought.  "We
+have done that well," they agreed; and when Mr. De Brunier--who was
+still chipping at his refractory panel--added a note of commendation to
+their labours, Gaspe's spirits ran up to the very top of the mental
+thermometer.
+
+To recover his balance--for Wilfred unceremoniously declared he was off
+his head--Gaspe fell into a musing fit.  He wakened up, exclaiming,--
+
+"I'm flying high!"
+
+"Then mind you don't fall," retorted Mr. De Brunier, who himself was
+cogitating somewhat darkly over Louison's intelligence.  "There will be
+no peace for me," he said, "no security, whilst these Blackfeet are in
+the neighbourhood.  'Wait for another sun-rising'--that means another
+forty-eight hours of incessant vigilance for me.  It was want of
+confidence did it all.  I should teach them to trust me in time, but it
+cannot be done in a day."
+
+As he moved on, lamenting over the scene of destruction, Gaspe laid a
+hand on Wilfred's arm.  "How are you going to keep pace with the hunters
+with that lame foot?" he demanded.
+
+"As the tortoise did with the hare," laughed Wilfred. "Get myself left
+behind often enough, I don't doubt that."
+
+"But I doubt if you will ever get to your home _a la tortoise_,"
+rejoined Gaspe.  "No, walking will never do for you.  I am thinking of
+making you a sled."
+
+"A sledge!" repeated Wilfred in surprise.
+
+"Oh, we drop the 'ge' you add to it in your English dictionaries,"
+retorted Gaspe.  "We only say sled out here.  There will be plenty of
+board when grandfather has done his mending.  We may have what we want,
+I'm sure.  Your dog is a trained hauler, and why shouldn't we teach my
+biggest pup to draw with him?  They would drag you after the hunters in
+fine style.  We can do it all, even to their jingling bells."
+
+Wilfred, who had been accustomed to the light and graceful carioles and
+sledges used in the Canadian towns, thought it was flying a bit too
+high.  But Gaspe, up in all the rough-and-ready contrivances of the
+backwoods, knew what he was about.  Louison and Chirag had to be
+consulted.
+
+When all the defences were put in order--bolts, bars, and padlocks
+doubled and trebled, and a rough but very ponderous double door added to
+the storeroom--Mr. De Brunier began to speak of rest.
+
+"The night cometh in which no man can work," he quoted, as if in
+justification of the necessary stoppage.
+
+The hammer was laid down, and he sank back in his hard chair, as if he
+were almost ashamed to indulge in his one solace, the well-filled pipe
+Gaspe was placing so coaxingly in his fingers.  A few sedative whiffs
+were enjoyed in silence; but before the boys were sent off to bed, Gaspe
+had secured the reversion of all the wooden remains of the carpentering
+bout, and as many nails as might be reasonably required.
+
+"Now," said Gaspe, as he tucked himself up by Wilfred's side, and pulled
+the coverings well over head and ears, "I'll show you what I can do."
+
+Three days passed quickly by.  On the morning of the fourth Louison
+walked in with a long face. The new horse, the gift of the Blackfoot
+chief, had vanished in the night.  The camp had moved on, nothing but
+the long poles of the wigwams were left standing.
+
+The loss of a horse is such an everyday occurrence in Canada, where
+horses are so often left to take care of themselves, it was by no means
+clear that Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu had resumed his gift, but it was highly
+probable.
+
+Notwithstanding, the Company had not been losers by the riotous
+marketing, for the furs the Blackfeet had brought in were splendid.
+
+"Yes, we were all on our guard--thanks to you, my little man--or it
+might have ended in the demolition of the fort," remarked Mr. De
+Brunier.  "Now, if there is anything you want for your journey, tell me,
+and you shall have it."
+
+"Yes, grandfather," interposed Gaspe.  "He must have a blanket to sleep
+in, and there is the harness for the dogs, and a lot of things."
+
+Wilfred grew hot.  "Please, sir, thanks; but I don't think I want much.
+Most of all, perhaps, something to eat."
+
+Mr. De Brunier recommended a good hunch of pemmican, to cut and come
+again.  The hunters would let him mess with them if he brought his own
+pemmican and a handful of tea to throw into their boiling kettle.  The
+hunters' camp was about sixty miles from Hungry Hall.  They would be two
+or three days on the road.
+
+More than one party of hunters had called at the fort already, wanting
+powder and ball, matches, and a knife; and when the lynx and marten and
+wolf skins which they brought were told up, and the few necessaries they
+required were provided, the gay, careless, improvident fellows would
+invest in a tasselled cap bright with glittering beads.
+
+The longer Wilfred stayed at the fort, the more Mr. De Brunier hesitated
+about letting the boy start for so long a journey with no better
+protection. Gaspard never failed to paint the danger and magnify the
+difficulties of the undertaking, wishing to keep his new friend a little
+longer.  But Wilfred was steady to his purpose.  He saw no other chance
+of getting back to his home.  He did not say much when Mr. De Brunier
+and Gaspe were weighing chances and probabilities, hoping some
+travelling party from the north might stop by the way at Hungry Hall and
+take him on with them.  Such things did happen occasionally.
+
+But Wilfred had a vivid recollection of his cross-country journey with
+Forgill.  He could not see that he should be sure of getting home if he
+accepted Mr. De Brunier's offer and stayed until the river was frozen
+and then went down with him to their mid-winter station, trusting to a
+seat in some of the Company's carts or the Company's sledges to their
+next destination.
+
+Then there would be waiting and trusting again to be sent on another
+stage, and another, and another, until he would at last find himself at
+Fort Garry. "Then," he asked, "what was he to do?  If his uncle and aunt
+knew that he was there, they might send Forgill again to fetch him.  But
+if letters reached Acland's Hut so uncertainly, how was he to let them
+know?"
+
+As Wilfred worked the matter out thus in his own mind, he received every
+proposition of Mr. De Brunier's with, "Please, sir, I'd rather go to
+Bowkett.  He lost me.  He will be sure to take me straight home."
+
+"The boy knew his own mind so thoroughly," Mr. De Brunier told Gaspard
+at last, "they must let him have his own way."
+
+The sled was finished.  It was a simple affair--two thin boards about
+four feet long nailed together edgeways, with a tri-cornered piece of
+wood fitted in at the end.  Two old skates were screwed on the bottom,
+and the thing was done.  The boys worked together at the harness as they
+sat round the stove in the evening.  The snow was thicker, the frost was
+harder every night.  Ice had settled on the quiet pools, and was
+spreading over the quick-running streams, but the dash of the falls
+still resisted its ever-encroaching influence.  By-and-by they too must
+yield, and the whole face of nature would be locked in its iron clasp.
+November was wearing away.  A sunny morning came now and then to cheer
+the little party so soon to separate.
+
+Gaspe proposed a run with the dogs, just to try how they would go in
+their new harness, and if, after all, the sled would run as a sled
+should.
+
+Other things were set aside, and boys and men gathered in the court.
+Even Mr. De Brunier stepped out to give his opinion about the puppies.
+Gaspe had named them from the many tongues of his native Canada.
+
+In his heart Wilfred entertained a secret belief that not one of them
+would ever be equal to his Yula. They were Athabascans.  They would
+never be as big for one thing, and no dog ever could be half as
+intelligent; that was not possible.  But he did not give utterance to
+these sentiments.  It would have looked so ungrateful, when Gaspe was
+designing the best and biggest for his parting gift.  And they were
+beauties, all four of them.
+
+There was Le Chevalier, so named because he never appeared, as Gaspe
+declared, without his white shirtfront and white gloves.  Then there was
+his bluff old English Boxer, the sturdiest of the four.  He looked like
+a hauler.  Kusky-tay-ka-atim-moos, or "the little black dog," according
+to the Cree dialect, had struck up a friendship with Yula, only a little
+less warm than that which existed between their respective masters.
+Then the little schemer with the party-coloured face was Yankee-doodle.
+
+"Try them all in harness, and see which runs the best," suggested
+grandfather, quite glad that his Gaspard should have one bright holiday
+to checker the leaden dulness of the everyday life at Hungry Hall.
+
+Louison was harnessing the team.  He nailed two long strips of leather
+to the lowest end of the sled for traces.  The dogs' collars were made
+of soft leather, and slipped over the head.  Each one was ornamented
+with a little tinkling bell under the chin and a tuft of bright ribbon
+at the back of the ear, and a buckle on either side through which the
+traces were passed.  A band of leather round the dogs completed the
+harness, and to this the traces were also securely buckled. The dogs
+stood one before the other, about a foot apart.
+
+Yula was an experienced hand, and took the collar as a matter of course.
+Yankee was the first of the puppies to stand in the traces, and his
+severe doggie tastes were completely outraged by the amount of finery
+Gaspe and Louison seemed to think necessary for their proper appearance.
+
+Wilfred was seated on a folded blanket, with a buffalo-robe tucked over
+his feet.  Louison flourished a whip in the air to make the dogs start.
+Away went Yula with something of the velocity of an arrow from a bow,
+knocking down Gaspe, who thought of holding the back of the sled to
+guide it.
+
+He scrambled to his feet and ran after it.  Yula was careering over the
+snow at racehorse speed, ten miles an hour, and poor little Yankee,
+almost frightened out of his senses, was bent upon making a dash at the
+ribbon waving so enticingly before his eyes.  He darted forward.  He
+hung back.  He lurched from side to side.  He twisted, he turned.  He
+upset the equilibrium of the sledge.  It banged against a tree on one
+side, and all but tilted over on the other.  One end went down into a
+badger hole, leaving Wilfred and his blanket in a heap on the snow, when
+Yankee, lightened of half his load, fairly leaped upon Yula's back and
+hopelessly entangled the traces.  The boys concealed an uneasy sense of
+ignominious failure under an assertion calculated to put as good a face
+as they could on the matter: "We have not got it quite right yet, but we
+shall."
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XI.*
+
+                         _*THE HUNTERS' CAMP.*_
+
+
+A burst of merry laughter made the two boys look round, half afraid that
+it might be at their own expense.
+
+Wilfred felt a bit annoyed when he perceived a little party of horsemen
+spurring towards the fort. But Gaspe ran after them, waving his arms
+with a bonjour as he recognized his own Louison's cousin, Batiste, among
+the foremost.
+
+Dog training and dog driving are the never-failing topics of interest
+among the hunters and trappers. Batiste had reined in his horse to watch
+the ineffectual efforts of the boys to disentangle the two dogs, who
+were fighting and snarling with each other over the upturned sled.
+
+Batiste and his comrades soon advanced from watching to helping.  The
+sled was lifted up, the traces disentangled, and Wilfred and Gaspe were
+told and made to feel that they knew nothing at all about dog driving,
+and might find themselves in a heap all pell-mell at the bottom of the
+river bank some day if they set about it in such a reckless fashion.
+They were letting the dogs run just where they liked.  Dogs wanted
+something to follow. Batiste jumped from his horse at last, quite unable
+to resist the pleasure of breaking in a young dog.
+
+"It takes two to manage a dog team," he asserted. "It wants a man in
+snow-shoes to walk on in front and mark a track, and another behind to
+keep them steady to their work."
+
+Dogs, horses, men, and boys all turned back together to discuss Yankee's
+undeveloped powers.  But no, Batiste himself could do nothing with him.
+Yankee refused to haul.
+
+"I'll make him," said Batiste.
+
+But Gaspe preferred to take his dog out of the traces rather than
+surrender him to the tender mercies of a hunter.  "I know they are very
+cruel," he whispered to Wilfred.  So Yula was left to draw the empty
+sled back to the fort, and he did it in first-rate style.
+
+"He is just cut out for hauling, as the hound is for hunting," explained
+Batiste.  "It is not any dog can do it."
+
+They entered the gate of the fort.  The men stood patting and praising
+Yula, while Batiste exchanged greetings with his cousin.
+
+Before he unlocked the door of his shop, Mr. De Brunier called Wilfred
+to him.
+
+"Now is your chance, my boy," he said kindly. "Batiste tells me he
+passed this Bowkett on his way to the camp, so you are sure to find him
+there.  Shall I arrange with Batiste to take you with him?"
+
+The opportunity had come so suddenly at last. If Wilfred had any
+misgiving, he did not show it.
+
+"What do you think I had better do, sir?" he asked.
+
+"There is so much good common sense in your own plan," answered his
+friend, "I think you had better follow it.  When we shut up, you cannot
+remain here; and unless we take you with us, this is the best thing to
+do."
+
+Wilfred put both his hands in Mr. De Brunier's.
+
+"I can't thank you," he said; "I can't thank you half enough."
+
+"Never mind the thanks, my boy.  Now I want you to promise me, when you
+get back to your home, you will make yourself missed, then you will soon
+find yourself wanted."  Mr. De Brunier turned the key in the lock as he
+spoke, and went in.
+
+Wilfred crossed the court to Gaspe.  He looked up brightly, exclaiming,
+"Kusky is the boy for you; they all say Kusky will draw."
+
+"I am going," whispered Wilfred.
+
+"Going! how and why?" echoed Gaspe in consternation.
+
+"With these men," answered Wilfred.
+
+"Then I shall hate Batiste if he takes you from me!" exclaimed Gaspe
+impetuously.
+
+They stepped back into the shed the puppies had occupied, behind some
+packing-cases, where nobody could see them, for the parting words.
+
+"We shall never forget each other, never.  Shall we ever meet again?"
+asked Wilfred despairingly. "We may when we are men."
+
+"We may before," whispered Gaspe, trying to comfort him.  "Grandfather's
+time is up this Christmas. Then he will take his pension and retire.  He
+talks of buying a farm.  Why shouldn't it be near your uncle's?"
+
+"Come, Gaspard, what are you about?" shouted Mr. De Brunier from the
+shop door.  "Take Wilfred in, and see that he has a good dinner."
+
+Words failed over the knife and fork.  Yula and Kusky had to be fed.
+
+"Will the sled be of any use?" asked Gaspe.
+
+Even Wilfred did not feel sure.  They had fallen very low--had no heart
+for anything.
+
+Louison was packing the sled--pemmican and tea for three days.
+
+"Put plenty," said Gaspe, as he ran out to see all was right.
+
+Louison and Batiste were talking.
+
+"We'll teach that young dog to haul," Batiste was saying; "and if the
+boy gets tired of them, we'll take them off his hands altogether."
+
+"With pleasure," added Louison, and they both laughed.
+
+The last moment had come.
+
+"Good-bye, good-bye!" said Wilfred, determined not to break down before
+the men, who were already mounting their horses.
+
+"God bless you!" murmured Gaspe.
+
+Batiste put Wilfred on his horse, and undertook the management of the
+sled.  The unexpected pleasure of a ride helped to soften the pain of
+parting.
+
+"I ought to be thankful," thought Wilfred--"I ought to rejoice that the
+chance I have longed for has come.  I ought to be grateful that I have a
+home, and such a good home."  But it was all too new.  No one had
+learned to love him there.  Whose hand would clasp his when he reached
+Acland's Hut as Gaspe had done?
+
+On, on, over the wide, wild waste of sparkling snow, with his jovial
+companions laughing and talking around him.  It was so similar to his
+ride with Bowkett and Diome, save for the increase in the cold. He did
+not mind that.
+
+But there was one thing Wilfred did mind, and that was the hard blows
+Batiste was raining down on Kusky and Yula.  He sprang down to
+remonstrate. He wanted to drive them himself.  He was laughed at for a
+self-conceited jackass, and pushed aside.
+
+Dog driving was the hunter's hobby.  The whole party were engrossed in
+watching Yula's progress, and quiet, affectionate little Kusky's
+infantine endeavours to keep up with him.
+
+Batiste regarded himself as a crack trainer, and when poor Kusky brought
+the whole cavalcade to a standstill by sitting down in the midst of his
+traces, he announced his intention of curing him of such a trick with
+his first taste.
+
+"Send him to Rome," shouted one of the foremost of the hunters.  "He'll
+not forget that in a hurry."
+
+"He is worth training well," observed another. "See what a chest he has.
+He will make as good a hauler as the old one by-and-by.  Pay him well
+first start."
+
+What "sending to Rome" might mean Wilfred did not stay to see.  Enough
+to know it was the uttermost depth of dog disgrace.  He saw Batiste
+double up his fist and raise his arm.  The sprain in his ankle was
+forgotten.  He flew to the ground, and dashed between Batiste and his
+dogs, exclaiming, "They are mine, my own, and they shan't be hurt by
+anybody!"
+
+He caught the first blow, that was all.  He staggered backwards on the
+slippery ground.
+
+Another of the hunters had alighted.  He caught Wilfred by the arm, and
+pulled him up, observing dryly, "Well done, young 'un.  Got a settler
+unawares. That just comes of interfering.--Here, Mathurin, take him up
+behind ye."
+
+The hunter appealed to wheeled round with a good-natured laugh.
+
+But Wilfred could not stand; the horses, dogs, and snow seemed dancing
+round him.
+
+"Yula!  Kusky!" he called, like one speaking in a dream.
+
+But Yula, dragging the sled behind him, and rolling Kusky over and over
+in the tangling harness, had sprung at Batiste's arm; but he was too
+hampered to seize him.  Wilfred was only aware of a confused _melee_ as
+he was hoisted into Mathurin's strong arms and trotted away from the
+scene of action.
+
+"Come, you are the sauciest young dog of the three," said Mathurin
+rather admiringly.  "There, lay your head on me.  You'll have to sleep
+this off a bit," he continued, gently walking his horse, and gradually
+dropping behind the rest of the party.
+
+Poor Wilfred roused up every now and then with a rather wild and
+incoherent inquiry for his dogs, to which Mathurin replied with a
+drawling, sleepy-sounding "All right."
+
+Wilfred's eyes were so swollen over that he hardly knew it was starshine
+when Mathurin laid him down by a new-lit camping-fire.
+
+"There," said the hunter, in the self-congratulatory tone of a man who
+knows he has got over an awkward piece of business; "let him have his
+dogs, and give him a cup of tea, and he'll be himself again by the
+morning."
+
+"Ready for the same game?" asked Batiste, who was presiding over the
+tea-kettle.
+
+The cup which Mathurin recommended was poured out; the sugar was not
+spared.  Wilfred drank it gladly without speaking.  When words were
+useless silence seemed golden.  Yula was on guard beside him, and poor
+little Kusky, cowed and cringing, was shivering at his feet.  They
+covered him up, and all he had seen and heard seemed as unreal as his
+dreams.
+
+The now familiar cry of "_Leve! leve!_" made Yula sit upright.  The
+hunters were astir before the dawn, but Wilfred was left undisturbed for
+another hour at least, until the rubeiboo was ready--that is, pemmican
+boiled in water until it makes a sort of soup.  Pemmican, as Mr. De
+Brunier had said, was the hunters' favourite food.
+
+"Now for the best of the breakfast for the lame and tame," laughed
+Batiste, pulling up Wilfred, and looking at his disfiguring bruises with
+a whistle.
+
+Wilfred shrank from the prospect before him. Another day of bitter
+biting cold, and merciless cruelty to his poor dogs.  "Oh, if Gaspe
+knew!--if Kusky could but have run back home!"
+
+Wilfred could not eat much.  He gave his breakfast to his dogs, and
+fondled them in silence.  It was enough to make a fellow's blood boil to
+be called Mathurin's babby, _l'enfant endormi_ (sleepy child), and
+Pierre the pretty face.
+
+"Can we be such stoics, Yula," he whispered, "as to stand all this
+another twenty-four hours, and see our poor little Kusky beaten right
+and left?  Can we bear it till to-morrow morning?"
+
+Yula washed the nervous fingers stroking his hair out of his eyes, and
+looked the picture of patient endurance.  There was no escape, but it
+could not last long.  Wilfred set his teeth, and asserted no one but
+himself should put the harness on his dogs.
+
+"Gently, my little turkey-cock," put in Mathurin. "The puppy may be your
+own, but the stray belongs to a friend of mine, who will be glad enough
+to see him back again."
+
+Wilfred was fairly frightened now.  "Oh, if he had to give his Yula
+chummie back to some horrid stranger!"  He thought it would be the last
+straw which brings the breakdown to boy as well as camel. But he
+consoled himself at their journey's end. Bowkett would interfere on his
+behalf.  Mathurin's assertion was not true, by the twinkle in his eye
+and the laugh to his companions.  Louison must have told his cousin that
+Yula was a stray, or they would never have guessed it.  True or false,
+the danger of losing his dog was a real one.  They meant to take it from
+him.  One thing Wilfred had the sense to see, getting in a passion was
+of no good anyway.  "Frederick the Great lost his battle when he lost
+his temper," he thought.  "Keep mine for Yula's sake I will."
+
+But the work was harder than he expected, although the time was shorter.
+The hardy broncos of the hunters were as untiring as their masters.
+Ten, twenty, thirty miles were got over without a sign of weariness from
+any one but Wilfred and Kusky.  If they were dead beat, what did it
+matter?  The dog was lashed along, and Wilfred was teased, to keep him
+from falling asleep.
+
+"One more push," said the hunters, "and instead of sleeping with our
+feet to a camp-fire, and our beards freezing to the blankets, we shall
+be footing it to Bowkett's fiddle."
+
+The moon had risen clear and bright above the sleeping clouds still
+darkening the horizon.  A silent planet burned lamp-like in the western
+sky.  Forest and prairie, ridges and lowland, were sparkling in the
+sheen of the moonlight and the snow.
+
+Wilfred roused himself.  The tinkle of the dog-bells was growing fainter
+and fainter, as Mathurin galloped into the midst of a score or so of
+huts promiscuously crowded together, while many a high-piled meat-stage
+gave promise of a winter's plenty.  Huge bones and horns, the remnants
+of yesterday's feast, were everywhere strewing the ground, and changing
+its snowy carpet to a dingy drab.  There were wolf-skins spread over
+framework.  There were buffalo-skins to be smoked, and buffalo-robes--as
+they are called when the hair is left on--stretched out to dry. Men and
+horses, dogs and boys, women drawing water or carrying wood, jostled
+each other.  There was a glow of firelight from many a parchment window,
+and here and there the sound of a fiddle, scraped by some rough hunter's
+hand, and the quick thud of the jovial hunter's heel upon the earthen
+floor.
+
+It resembled nothing in the old world so much as an Irish fair, with its
+shouts of laughter and snatches of song, and that sense of inextricable
+confusion, heightened by the all too frequent fight in a most
+inconvenient corner.  The rule of contrary found a notable example in
+the name bestowed upon this charming locality.  A French missionary had
+once resided on the spot, so it was still called La Mission.
+
+Mathurin drew up before one of the biggest of the huts, where the sounds
+of mirth were loudest, and the light streamed brightest on the bank of
+snow beside the door.
+
+"Here we are!" he exclaimed, swinging Wilfred from the saddle to the
+threshold.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XII.*
+
+                         _*MAXICA'S WARNING.*_
+
+
+Mathurin knocked at the door.  It was on the latch.  He pushed Wilfred
+inside; but the boy was stubborn.
+
+"No, no, I won't go in; I'll stand outside and wait for the others," he
+said.  "I want my dogs."
+
+"But the little 'un's dead beat.  You would not have him hurried.  I am
+going back to meet them," laughed Mathurin, proud of the neat way in
+which he had slipped out of all explanation of the blow Wilfred had
+received, which Bowkett might make awkward.
+
+He was in the saddle and off again in a moment, leaving Wilfred standing
+at the half-open door.
+
+"This is nothing but a dodge to get my dogs away from me," thought the
+boy, unwilling to go inside the hut without them.
+
+"I am landed at last," he sighed, with a grateful sense of relief, as he
+heard Bowkett's voice in the pause of the dance.  His words were
+received with bursts of laughter.  But what was he saying?
+
+"It all came about through the loss of the boy. There was lamentation
+and mourning and woe when I went back without him.  The auntie would
+have given her eyes to find him.  See my gain by the endeavour.  As hope
+grew beautifully less, it dwindled down to 'Bring me some certain
+tidings of his fate, and there is nothing I can refuse you.'  As luck
+would have it, I came across a Blackfoot wearing the very knife we stuck
+in the poor boy's belt before we started. I was not slow in bartering
+for an exchange; and when I ride next to Acland's Hut, it is but to
+change horses and prepare for a longer drive to the nearest church.  So,
+friends, I invite you all to dance at my wedding feast.  Less than three
+days of it won't content a hunter."
+
+A cheer went up from the noisy dancers, already calling for the fiddles.
+
+Bowkett paused with the bow upraised.  There stood Wilfred, like the
+skeleton at the feast, in the open doorway before him.
+
+"If you have not found me, I have found you, Mr. Bowkett," he was
+saying.  "I am the lost boy. I am Wilfred Acland."
+
+The dark brow of the handsome young hunter contracted with angry dismay.
+
+"Begone!" he exclaimed, with a toss of his head. "You!  I know nothing
+of you!  What business have you here?"
+
+Hugh Bowkett turned his back upon Wilfred, and fiddled away more noisily
+than before.  Two or three of his friends who stood nearest to him--men
+whom it would not have been pleasant to meet alone in the darkness of
+the night--closed round him as the dance began.
+
+"A coyote in your lamb's-skin," laughed one, "on the lookout for a
+supper."
+
+A coyote is a little wolfish creature, a most impudent thief, for ever
+prowling round the winter camps, nibbling at the skins and watching the
+meat-stage, fought off by the dogs and trapped like a rat by the
+hunters.
+
+Wilfred looked round for Diome.  He might have recognized him; but no
+Diome was there.
+
+Was there not one among the merry fellows tripping before him, not one
+that had ever seen him before?  He knew he was sadly changed.  His face
+was still swollen from the disfiguring blow.  Could he wonder if Bowkett
+did not know him?  Should he run back and call the men who had brought
+him to his assistance?  He hated them, every one.  He was writhing still
+under every lash which had fallen on poor Kusky's sides.  Turn to them?
+no, never! His dogs would be taken as payment for any help that they
+might give.  He would reason it out.  He would convince Bowkett he was
+the same boy.
+
+Three or four Indians entered behind him, and seated themselves on the
+floor, waiting for something to eat.  He knew their silent way of
+begging for food when they thought that food was plentiful in the camp:
+the high-piled meat-stage had drawn them. It was such an ordinary thing
+Wilfred paid no heed to them.  He was bent on making Bowkett listen; and
+yet he was afraid to leave the door, for fear of missing his dogs.
+
+"A word in your ear," said the most ill-looking of the hunters standing
+by Bowkett's fiddle, trusting to the noise of the music to drown his
+words from every one but him for whom they were intended.  "You and I
+have been over the border together, sharpened up a bit among the Yankee
+bowie-knives.  You are counting Caleb Acland as a dead man.  You are
+expecting, as his sister's husband, to step into his shoes.  Back comes
+this boy and sweeps the stakes out of your very hand.  He'll stand
+first."
+
+"I know it," retorted Bowkett with a scowl.  "But," he added hurriedly,
+"it is not he."
+
+"Oh, it isn't the boy you lost?  Of course not. But take my advice, turn
+this impudent young coyote out into the snow.  One midnight's frost will
+save you from any more bother.  There are plenty of badger holes where
+he can rest safe and snug till doomsday."
+
+Bowkett would not venture a reply.  The low aside was unnoticed by the
+dancers; not the faintest breath could reach Wilfred, vainly
+endeavouring to pass between the whirling groups to Bowkett's side; but
+every syllable was caught by the quick ear of one of the Indians on the
+floor.
+
+He picked up a tiny splinter of wood from the hearth, near which he was
+sitting; another was secreted.  There were three in the hollow of his
+hand.  Noiselessly and unobtrusively he stole behind the dancers.  A
+gentle pull at Wilfred's coat made him look up into the half-blind eyes
+of Maxica the Cree.
+
+Not a word was said.  Maxica turned from him and seated himself once
+more on the ground, in which he deliberately stuck his three pegs.
+
+Wilfred could not make out what he was going to do, but his heart felt
+lighter at the sight of him; "for," he thought, "he will confirm my
+story.  He will tell Bowkett how he found me by the banks of the
+dried-up river."  He dropped on the floor beside the wandering Cree.
+But the Indian laid a finger on his lips, and one of his pegs was
+pressed on Wilfred's palm; another was pointed towards Bowkett.  The
+third, which was a little charred, and therefore blackened, was turned
+to the door, which Wilfred had left open, to the darkness without, from
+whence, according to Indian belief, the evil spirits come.
+
+Then Maxica took the three pegs and moved them rapidly about the floor.
+The black peg and Bowkett's peg were always close together, rubbing
+against each other until both were as black as a piece of charcoal. It
+was clear they were pursuing the other peg--which Wilfred took for
+himself--from corner to corner.  At last it was knocked down under them,
+driven right into the earthen floor, and the two blackened pegs were
+left sticking upright over it.
+
+Wilfred laid his hand softly on Maxica's knee, to show his warning was
+understood.
+
+But what then?
+
+Maxica got up and glided out of the hut as noiselessly as he had entered
+it.  The black-browed hunter whispering at Bowkett's elbow made his way
+through the dancers towards Wilfred with a menacing air.
+
+"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
+
+"Waiting to speak to Mr. Bowkett," replied Wilfred stoutly.
+
+"Then you may wait for him on the snow-bank," retorted the hunter,
+seizing Wilfred by the collar and flinging him out of the door.
+
+"What is that for?" asked several of the dancers.
+
+"I'll vow it is the same young imp who passed us with a party of miners
+coming from a summer's work in the Rocky Mountains, who stole my dinner
+from the spit," he went on, working himself into the semblance of a
+passion.  "I marked him with a rare black eye before we parted then, and
+I'll give him another if he shows his face again where I am."
+
+"It is false!" cried Wilfred, rising up in the heat of his indignation.
+
+His tormentor came a step or two from the door, and gathering up a great
+lump of snow, hurled it at him.
+
+Wilfred escaped from the avalanche, and the mocking laughter which
+accompanied it, to the sheltering darkness.  He paused among the sombre
+shadows thrown by the wall of the opposite hut.  Maxica was waiting for
+him under its pine-bark eaves, surveying the cloudless heavens.
+
+"He speaks with a forked tongue," said the Cree, pointing to the man in
+the doorway, and dividing his fingers, to show that thoughts went one
+way and words another.
+
+The scorn of the savage beside him was balm to Wilfred.  The touch of
+sympathy which makes the whole world kin drew them together.  But
+between him and the hunter swaggering on the snow-bank there was a moral
+gulf nothing could bridge over. There was a sense--a strange sense--of
+deliverance. What would it have been to live on with such men, touching
+their pitch, and feeling himself becoming blackened?  That was the
+uttermost depth from which this fellow's mistake had saved him.
+
+It was no mistake, as Maxica was quick to show him, but deliberate
+purpose.  Then Wilfred gave up every hope of getting back to his home.
+All was lost to him--even his dogs were gone.
+
+He tried to persuade Maxica to walk round the huts with him, to find out
+where they were.  But the Cree was resolute to get him away as fast as
+he could beyond the reach of Bowkett and his companions.  He expected
+that great lump of snow would be followed by a stone; that their steps
+would be dogged until they reached the open, when--he did not
+particularize the precise form that when was likeliest to assume.  The
+experiences of his wild, wandering life suggested dangers that could not
+occur to Wilfred. There must be no boyish footprint in the snow to tell
+which way they were going.  Maxica wrapped his blanket round Wilfred,
+and threw him over his shoulder as if he had been a heavy pack of skins,
+and took his way through the noisiest part of the camp, choosing the
+route a frightened boy would be the last to take.  He crossed in front
+of an outlying hut. Yula was tied by a strip of leather to one of the
+posts supporting its meat-stage, and Kusky to another. Maxica recognized
+Yula's bark before Wilfred did. He muffled the boy's head in the
+blanket, and drew it under his arm in such a position that Wilfred could
+scarcely either speak or hear.  Then Maxica turned his course, and left
+the dogs behind him.  But Yula could not be deceived.  He bounded
+forward to the uttermost length of his tether.  One sniff at the toe of
+Wilfred's boot, scarcely visible beneath the blanket, made him
+desperate.  He hung at his collar; he tore up the earth; he dragged at
+the post, as if, like another Samson, he would use his unusual strength
+to pull down this prison-house.
+
+Maxica, with his long, ungainly Indian stride, was quickly out of sight.
+Then Yula forbore his wailing howl, and set himself to the tough task of
+biting through the leathern thong which secured him. Fortunately for
+him, a dog-chain was unattainable in the hunters' camp.  Time and
+persistency were safe to set him free before the daylight.
+
+"I thought you were going to stifle me outright," said Wilfred, when
+Maxica released him.
+
+"I kept you still," returned the Cree.  "There were ears behind every
+log."
+
+"Where are we going?" asked Wilfred.
+
+But Maxica had no answer to that question.  He was stealing over the
+snow with no more definite purpose before him than to take the boy away
+somewhere beyond the hunters' reach.  A long night walk was nothing to
+him.  He could find his way as well in the dark as in the light.
+
+They were miles from the hunters' camp before he set Wilfred on his feet
+or paused to rest.
+
+"You have saved me, Maxica," said Wilfred, in a low, deep voice.  "You
+have saved my life from a greater danger than the snowdrift.  I can only
+pray the Good Spirit to reward you."
+
+"I was hunger-bitten, and you gave me beaver-skin," returned Maxica.
+"Now think; whilst this bad hunter keeps the gate of your house there is
+no going back for you, and you have neither trap nor bow.  I'll guide
+you where the hunter will never follow--across the river to the pathless
+forest; and then--" he looked inquiringly, turning his dim eyes towards
+the boy.
+
+"Oh, if I were but back in Hungry Hall!" Wilfred broke forth.
+
+Maxica was leading on to where a poplar thicket concealed the entrance
+to a sheltered hollow scooped on the margin of a frozen stream.  The
+snow had fallen from its shelving sides, and lay in white masses,
+blocking the entrance from the river.  Giving Wilfred his hand, Maxica
+began to descend the slippery steep. It was one of nature's
+hiding-places, which Maxica had frequently visited.  He scooped out his
+circle in the frozen snow at the bottom, fetched down the dead wood from
+the overhanging trees, and built his fire, as on the first night of
+their acquaintance.  But now the icy walls around them reflected the
+dancing flames in a thousand varied hues.  Between the black rocks, from
+which the raging winds had swept the recent snow, a cascade turned to
+ice hung like a drapery of crystal lace suspended in mid-air.
+
+It was the second night they had passed together, with no curtain but
+the star-lit sky.  Now Maxica threw the corner of his blanket over
+Wilfred's shoulders, and drew him as closely to his side as if he were
+his son.  The Cree lit his pipe, and abandoned himself to an hour or two
+of pure Indian enjoyment.
+
+Wilfred nestled by his side, thinking of Jacob on his stony pillow.  The
+rainbow flashes from the frozen fall gleamed before him like stairs of
+light, by which God's messengers could come and go.  It is at such
+moments, when we lie powerless in the grasp of a crushing danger, and
+sudden help appears in undreamed-of ways, that we know a mightier power
+than man's is caring for us.
+
+He thought of his father and mother--the love he had missed and mourned;
+and love was springing up for him again in stranger hearts, born of the
+pity for his great trouble.
+
+There was a patter on the snow.  It was not the step of a man.  With a
+soft and stealthy movement Maxica grasped his bow, and was drawing the
+arrow from his quiver, when Yula bounded into Wilfred's arms.  There was
+a piteous whine from the midst of the poplars, where Kusky stood
+shivering, afraid to follow.  To scramble up by the light of the fire
+and bring him down was the work of a moment.
+
+Yula's collar was still round his neck, with the torn thong dangling
+from it; but Kusky had slipped his head out of his, only leaving a
+little of his abundant hair behind him.
+
+Three hours' rest sufficed for Maxica.  He rose and shook himself.
+
+"That other place," he said, "where's that?"
+
+Now his dogs were with him, Wilfred was loath to leave their icy retreat
+and face the cruel world.
+
+The fireshine and the ice, with all their mysterious beauty, held him
+spell-bound.
+
+"Maxica," he whispered, not understanding the Cree's last question,
+"they call this the new world; but don't you think it really is the very
+old, old world, just as God made it?  No one has touched it in all these
+ages."
+
+Yes, it was a favourite nook of Maxica's, beautiful, he thought, as the
+happy hunting-grounds beyond the sunset--the Indian's heaven.  Could he
+exchange the free range of his native wilds, with all their majestic
+beauty, for a settler's hut? the trap and the bow for the plough and the
+spade, and tie himself down to one small corner?  The earth was free to
+all. Wilfred had but to take his share, and roam its plains and forests,
+as the red man roamed.
+
+But Wilfred knew better than to think he could really live their savage
+life, with its dark alternations of hunger and cold.
+
+"Could I get back to Hungry Hall in time to travel with Mr. De Brunier?"
+he asked his swarthy friend.
+
+"Yes; that other place," repeated Maxica, "where is that?"
+
+Wilfred could hardly tell him, he remembered so little of the road.
+
+"Which way did the wind blow and the snow drift past as you stood at the
+friendly gates?" asked Maxica.  "On which cheek did the wind cut keenest
+when you rode into the hunters' camp at nightfall?"
+
+Wilfred tried to recollect.
+
+"A two days' journey," reflected Maxica, "with the storm-wind in our
+faces."
+
+He felt the edge of his hatchet, climbed the steep ascent, and struck a
+gash in the stem of the nearest poplar.  His quick sense of touch told
+him at which edge of the cut the bark grew thickest.  That was the
+north.  He found it with the unerring precision of the mariner's
+compass.  Although he had no names for the cardinal points, he knew them
+all.
+
+There was an hour or two yet before daylight. Wilfred found himself a
+stick, as they passed between the poplars, to help himself along, and
+caught up Kusky under his other arm; for the poor little fellow was
+stiff in every limb, and his feet were pricked and bleeding, from the
+icicles which he had suffered to gather between his toes, not yet
+knowing any better. But he was too big a dog for Wilfred to carry long.
+Wilfred carefully broke out the crimsoned spikes as soon as there was
+light enough to show him what was the matter, and Yula came and washed
+Kusky's feet more than once; so they helped him on.
+
+Before the gray of the winter's dawn La Mission was miles behind them,
+and breakfast a growing necessity.
+
+Maxica had struck out a new route for himself. He would not follow the
+track Batiste and his companions had taken.  The black pegs might yet
+pursue the white and trample it down in the snow if they were not wary.
+Sooner or later an Indian accomplishes his purpose.  He attributed the
+same fierce determination to Bowkett.  Wilfred lagged more and more.
+Food must be had.  Maxica left him to contrive a trap in the run of the
+game through the bushes to their right.  So Wilfred took the dogs slowly
+on.  Sitting down in the snow, without first clearing a hole or lighting
+a fire, was dangerous.
+
+Yula, sharing in the general desire for breakfast, started off on a
+little hunting expedition of his own. Kusky was limping painfully after
+him, as he darted between the tall, dark pines which began to chequer
+the landscape and warn the travellers they were nearing the river.
+
+Wilfred went after his dog to recall him.  The sun was glinting through
+the trees, and the all-pervading stillness was broken by the sound of a
+hatchet.  Had Maxica crossed over unawares?  Had Wilfred turned back
+without knowing it?  He drew to the spot. There was Diome chopping
+firewood, which Pe-na-Koam was dragging across the snow towards a
+roughly-built log-hut.
+
+She dropped the boughs on the snow, and drawing her blanket round her,
+came to meet him.
+
+Diome, not perceiving Wilfred's approach, had retreated further among
+the trees, intent upon his occupation.
+
+Wilfred's first sensation of joy at the sight of Pe-na-Koam turned to
+something like fear as he saw her companion, for he had known him only
+as Bowkett's man.  But retreat was impossible.  The old squaw had
+shuffled up to him and grasped his arm.  The sight of Yula bounding over
+the snow had made her the first to perceive him.  She was pouring forth
+her delight in her Indian tongue, and explaining her appearance in such
+altered surroundings.  Wilfred could not understand a word, but Maxica
+was not far behind.  Kusky and Yula were already in the hut, barking for
+the wa-wa (the goose) that was roasting before the fire.
+
+When Maxica came up, walking beside Diome, Wilfred knew escape was out
+of the question.  He must try to make a friend--at least he must meet
+him as a friend, even if he proved himself to be an enemy.  But the work
+was done already.
+
+"Ah, it is you!" cried Diome.  "I was sure it was. You had dropped a
+button in the tumble-down hut, and the print of your boot, an English
+boot, was all over the snow when I got there.  You look dazed, my little
+man; don't you understand what I'm talking about?  That old squaw is my
+grandmother.  You don't know, of course, who it was sent the Blackfoot
+Sapoo to dig her out of the snow; but I happen to know.  The old man is
+going from Hungry Hall, and Louison is to be promoted.  I'm on the
+look-out to take his place with the new-comer; so when I met with him, a
+snow-bird whispered in my ear a thing or two.  But where are your
+guides?"
+
+Wilfred turned for a word with Maxica before he dared reply.
+
+Both felt the only thing before them was to win Diome to Wilfred's side.
+
+"Have you parted company with Bowkett?" asked Maxica cautiously.
+
+"Bowkett," answered Diome, "is going to marry and turn farmer, and I to
+try my luck as voyageur to the Company.  This is the hunters' idle
+month, and I am waiting here until my services are wanted at the
+fort.--What cheer?" he shouted to his bright-eyed little wife, driving
+the dogs from the door of the hut.
+
+The wa-wa shortly disappeared before Maxica's knife, for an Indian likes
+about ten pounds of meat for a single meal.  Wilfred was asleep beside
+the fire long before it was over; when they tried to rouse him his
+senses were roaming.  The excitement and exertion, following the blow on
+his head, had taken effect at last.
+
+Pe-na-Koam, with all an Indian woman's skill in the use of medicinal
+herbs, and the experience of a long life spent among her warrior tribe,
+knew well how to take care of him.
+
+"Leave him to me," she said to Maxica, "and go your ways."
+
+Diome too was anxious for the Cree to depart. He was looking forward to
+taking Wilfred back to Acland's Hut himself.  Caleb Acland's gratitude
+would express itself in a tangible form, and he did not intend to divide
+it with Maxica.  His evident desire to get rid of the Cree put the red
+man on his guard.  Long did he sit beside the hunter's fire in brooding
+silence, trusting that Wilfred might rise up from his lengthened sleep
+ready to travel, as an Indian might have done.  But his hope was
+abortive.  He drew out of Pe-na-Koam all he wanted to know.  Diome had
+been long in Bowkett's employ.  When the Cree heard this he shut his
+lips.
+
+"Watch over the boy," he said to Pe-na-Koam, "for danger threatens him."
+
+Then Maxica went out and set his traps in the fir-brake and the marsh,
+keeping stealthy watch round the hut for fear Bowkett should appear, and
+often looking in to note Wilfred's progress.
+
+One day the casual mention of Bowkett's name threw the poor boy into
+such a state of agitation, Diome suspected there had been some passage
+between the two he was ignorant of.  A question now and then, before
+Wilfred was himself again, convinced him the boy had been to La Mission,
+and that Bowkett had refused to recognize him.  When he spoke of it to
+Pe-na-Koam, she thought of the danger at which Maxica had hinted.  She
+watched for the Cree. Diome began to fear Wilfred's reappearance might
+involve him in a quarrel with Bowkett.
+
+As Wilfred got better, and found Hungry Hall was shut up, he resolved to
+go back to Acland's Hut, if possible, whilst his Aunt Miriam and Bowkett
+were safe out of the way on their road to the church where they were to
+be married.  Diome said they would be gone two days.  He proposed to
+take Wilfred with him, when he went to the wedding, on the return of the
+bride and bridegroom.
+
+"Lend me your snow-shoes," entreated Wilfred, "and with Maxica for a
+guide, I can manage the journey alone.  Don't go with me, Diome, for
+Bowkett will never forgive the man who takes me back.  You have been
+good and kind to me, why should I bring you into trouble?"
+
+
+
+
+                            *CHAPTER XIII.*
+
+                           _*JUST IN TIME.*_
+
+
+The walk from Diome's log hut to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one, but
+the clear, bright sunshine of December had succeeded the pitiless sleet
+and blinding snow.  Lake and river had hardened in the icy breath of the
+north wind.  An iron frost held universal sway, as Wilfred and Maxica
+drew near to Acland's Hut.
+
+[Illustration: The walk to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one.]
+
+The tinkle of a distant sledge-bell arrested Maxica. Had some miscount
+in the day brought them face to face with the bridal party?
+
+They turned away from the well-known gate, crept behind the farm
+buildings, and crossed the reedy pool to Forgill's hut.
+
+With the frozen snow full three feet deep beneath their feet there was
+roadway everywhere.  Railings scarcely showed above it, and walls could
+be easily cleared with one long step.  The door of the hut was fastened,
+but Wilfred waited behind it while Maxica stole round to reconnoitre.
+
+He returned quickly.  It was not the bridal party, for there was not a
+single squaw among them.  They were travellers in a horse-sledge,
+stopping at the farm to rest.  He urged Wilfred to seize the chance and
+enter with them.  The presence of the strangers would be a protection.
+They took their way through the orchard trees, and came out boldly on
+the well-worn tracks before the gate.  It excited no surprise in the
+occupants of the sledge to see two dusky figures in their long, pointed
+snow-shoes gliding swiftly after them; travellers like themselves, no
+doubt, hoping to find hospitality at the farm.
+
+Yula and Kusky went bounding over the intervening space.
+
+There were two travellers and a sledge-driver. The dogs considered them,
+and did not bark.  Then Kusky, in frantic delight, endeavoured to leap
+into the sledge.  It drew up.  The driver thundered on the gate.
+
+"What cheer?" shouted a voice from the sledge.
+
+It was the usual traveller's inquiry, but it thrilled through Wilfred's
+ears, for it was--it could not be--yet it was the voice of Mr. De
+Brunier.
+
+Kusky was already on Gaspe's knee devouring him with his doggie
+caresses.
+
+"Is it a dream, or is it real?" asked Wilfred, as with one long slide he
+overtook the sledge, and grasped a hand of each.
+
+"I didn't know you, coming after us in your seven-league boots," laughed
+Gaspe, pointing to the long, oval frame of Wilfred's snow-shoes,
+reaching a foot or more before and behind his boot.
+
+But Wilfred did not answer, he was whispering rapidly to Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"Wilfred, _mon ami_," (my friend), pursued Gaspe, bent upon interrupting
+the low-voiced confidence, "it was for your sake grandfather decided to
+make his first inquiries for a farm in this neighbourhood. Batiste was
+so ambiguous and so loath to speak of your journey when he came after
+Louison's post, we grew uneasy about you.  All the more glad to find you
+safe at home."
+
+"At home, but not in home," answered Wilfred, significantly laying his
+finger on his lips, to prevent any exclamation from his bewildered
+friend.
+
+"All right," said Mr. De Brunier.  "We will enter together."
+
+Pete, who was already opening the gate, bade them heartily welcome.
+Hospitality in the lone North-West becomes a duty.
+
+Wilfred dropped behind the sledge, slouched his fur cap well over his
+eyes, and let Maxica fold his blanket round him, Indian fashion.
+
+Pete led the way into the kitchen, Wilfred followed behind the
+sledge-driver, and the Cree was the last to enter.  A long row of joints
+were roasting before the ample fire, giving undoubted indications of an
+approaching feast.
+
+"Just in time," observed Mr. De Brunier with a smile, which gained a
+peculiar significance as it rested on Wilfred.
+
+"Ay, and that you are," returned old Pete; "for the missis is gone to be
+married, and I was on the look-out for her return when I heard the
+jingling of your sledge-bells.  The house will be full enough by
+nightfall, I reckon."
+
+Wilfred undid the strap of his snow-shoes, gave them to Maxica, and
+walked softly to the door of his uncle's room.
+
+He opened it with a noiseless hand, and closed it behind him.
+
+Mr. De Brunier's retort about the welcome which awaited uninvited guests
+on a bridal night kept Pete from noticing his movements.
+
+The logs crackled and the sparks flew on the kitchen hearth.  The fat
+from the savoury roast fell hissing in the pan, and the hungry
+travellers around it seemed to have eyes for nothing else.
+
+Wilfred crept to his uncle's bed.  He was asleep. The boy glanced round.
+He threw off his wraps. His first care was to find his uncle's comb and
+brush. It was a luxury unknown since his departure from Hungry Hall.  He
+was giving a good tug at his tangled locks, hoping to make himself look
+a little more like the schoolboy who had once before roused the old man
+from his sleep, when a cough and an exclamation sounding like, "Who is
+there?" told him his uncle was awake.
+
+"O uncle, you surely have not forgotten me--me, your nephew, Wilfred!
+Got home at last.  The pony threw me, and I was utterly lost.  An Indian
+guided me here," he answered, tumbling his words one upon another as
+fast as he could, for his heart was beating wildly.
+
+Caleb Acland raised himself on one elbow and grasped Wilfred by the
+wrist.  "It is he!  It is flesh and blood!" he ejaculated.  "The boy
+himself Pete!  Pete!"  He felt for the stick left leaning against his
+bed, and stamped it on the floor.
+
+A great sob burst unawares from the poor boy's lips.
+
+"Don't!" said the old man in alarm.  "What are you crying for, lad?
+What's happened?  I don't understand.  Give me your hand!  That's cold
+enough--death cold.  Pete!  Pete! what are ye about? Have you grown deaf
+that you can't hear me?"
+
+He pulled Wilfred's cold fingers under the blankets and tried to chafe
+them between his swollen hands.
+
+"I'm not crying," protested Wilfred, brushing his other hand across his
+eyes.  "It is the ice melting out of me.  I'm thawing all over.  It is
+because I have got back uncle, and you are glad to have me. I should
+have been dead but for the Cree who brought me home.  I was almost
+starving at times. I have wandered in the snow all night."
+
+"God bless the boy!" ejaculated the old man, thundering on the floor
+once more.
+
+"Here, Pete!  Pete!  Something quick to eat."
+
+Pete's head appeared at the door at last.
+
+"Whatever do you want now, master?" he demanded in an injured tone.  "I
+thought I had put everything ready for you, as handy as could be; and
+you said you wouldn't call me off, with the bride expected every minute,
+and the supper to cook, as you know."
+
+"Cook away then," returned his master impatiently. "It is the hour for
+the fatted calf.  Oh, you've no eyes, none!  Whom have I got here?  Who
+is this?"
+
+Pete backed to the door in wide-eyed wonder. "I'm struck of a heap!" he
+gasped, staring at Wilfred as if he thought he would melt away into
+vacancy.
+
+"Where were you that you did not see him come in?" asked his master
+sharply.
+
+"Where?" repeated Pete indignantly.  "At your own gate, answering a
+party of travellers--men who've come down to buy land; and," he added,
+changing his tone, "there is a gentleman among them says he must speak
+to you, master, your own self particular, this very night."
+
+"It is Mr. De Brunier, uncle.  He took me in, and sent me to the
+hunters' camp, where Mr. Bowkett was to be found," interposed Wilfred.
+
+This name was spoken with an effort.  Like many a noble-minded boy,
+Wilfred hated to tell of another. He hesitated, then went on abruptly:
+"I thought he would be sure to bring me home.  Well, I got there. He did
+not seem to know me.  He was all for fiddling and dancing.  They were a
+rough set, uncle, a very rough set.  Father would not have liked to have
+seen me with such men.  I got away again as quickly as I could.  The
+Cree who had saved me before guided me home at last."
+
+"What is that?  Did you say Bowkett, Hugh Bowkett?" repeated the old
+man.  "Why, your aunt was married to him this morning."
+
+When Pete disappeared into his master's room, Maxica, who had seated
+himself on the kitchen floor, rose suddenly, and leaning over Mr. De
+Brunier, asked, "Who in this place is friend to the boy without a
+father?"
+
+"I can answer your question for myself, but no further, for I am a
+stranger here," replied Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"We are four," said Maxica, counting on his fingers. "I hear the voice
+of the man at the gate--the man who spoke against the white boy with a
+forked tongue; the man who drove him out into the frosty night, that it
+might kill him.  We have brought the marten to the trap.  If it closes
+on him, Maxica stays to break it."
+
+"Come outside, where we can talk freely," answered Mr. De Brunier,
+leading the way.
+
+Gaspe and the sledge-driver were left to the enjoyment of the roaring
+fire.  They were considering the state of Kusky's feet.  Gaspe was
+removing the icicles from his toes, and the man of the sledge was warmly
+recommending boots, and describing the way to make them, when the shouts
+at the gate told them the bridal party had arrived.  The stupid Pete, as
+they began to think, had vanished, for no one answered the summons.
+Gaspe guessed the reason, and sent the man to open the gate.  He
+silenced the dogs, and drew back into the corner, with instinctive good
+breeding, to make himself as little in the way as possible.
+
+The great farm-house kitchen was entrance-hall as well.  Every door
+opened into it.  On one hand was the dining-room, reserved chiefly for
+state occasions; on the other, the storeroom.  The family sleeping rooms
+were at the back.  Like a provident housewife, Aunt Miriam had set the
+tables for her marriage feast, and filled the storeroom with good
+things, before she went to church.  Pete, with a Frenchman's genius for
+the spit, could manage the rest.
+
+The arrival of one or two other guests at the same moment detained the
+bridal party with their noisy greetings.
+
+When Aunt Miriam entered the kitchen, leaning on her bridegroom's arm,
+Gaspe was almost asleep in his dim corner.
+
+Out ran Pete, effervescing with congratulations, and crossing the
+heartiness of the bridal welcome with the startling exclamation, "The
+boy, Mrs. Bowkett!--the boy's come home!"
+
+The bridegroom looked sharply round.  "The boy," he repeated, seeing
+Gaspe by the fire.  "There he is."
+
+Up sprang Gaspe, bowing to the bride with all the courtly grace of the
+chivalrous De Bruniers of Breton days.
+
+Aunt Miriam turned her head away.  "O Pete!" she groaned, "I thought--I
+thought you meant--"
+
+Bowkett did not let her finish her sentence, he hurried her into the
+dining-room.  Behind him came his bright-eyed sister, who had played the
+part of bridesmaid, and was eager for the dancing and the fun, so soon
+to commence.  At her side walked Forgill in his Sunday best, all
+important with the responsibility of his position, acting as proxy for
+his old master.  He had given the bride away, and was at that moment
+cogitating over some half-dozen sentences destined for the after-dinner
+speech which he knew would be required of him.  They were restive, and
+would not follow each other.  "Happy day" and "Best wishes" wanted
+setting up on stilts, with a few long words to back them, for such an
+occasion.  He knew the Indian love of speechifying would be too strong
+in their hunter guests to let him off.  He had got as far as,
+"Uncommonly happy day for us all."  But "uncommonly" sounded far too
+common in his critical ears.  He was searching for a finer-sounding
+word, and thought he had got it in "preternaturally," when he heard the
+feeble voice of his master calling out, "Miriam!  Here, Miriam."
+
+"Are they all deaf?" said Caleb Acland to Wilfred. "Open the door, my
+lad, and show yourself to your aunt."
+
+Slowly and reluctantly Wilfred obeyed him.  He held it open just a
+hand-breadth, and met the scowling brow of the owner of the forked
+tongue.
+
+There was mutual recognition in the glance exchanged.
+
+Wilfred shut the door softly, and drew the bolt without attracting his
+uncle's attention.
+
+"The place is full of strangers," he said; "I shall see auntie soon.
+I'd rather wait here with you.  I shall be sure to see her before she
+goes to her new home."
+
+"As you like, my boy;--that Pete's a cow.  There is no going away to a
+new home.  It is bringing in a new master here before the old one is
+gone, so that your aunt should not be left unprotected a single day."
+
+As Caleb Acland spoke, Wilfred felt himself growing hard and desperate
+in the cold clutch of a giant despair.  The star of hope dropped from
+his sky. He saw himself in the hand of the man who had turned him from
+his door into the killing frost.
+
+It was too late to speak out; Bowkett would be sure to deny it, and hate
+him the more.  No, not a word to Uncle Caleb until he had taken counsel
+with Mr. De Brunier.  But in his hasty glance into the outer world Mr.
+De Brunier was nowhere to be seen.
+
+Wilfred was sure he would not go away without seeing him again.  There
+was nothing for it but to gain a little time, wait with his uncle until
+the wedding guests were shut in the dining-room, and then go out and
+find Mr. De Brunier, unless Aunt Miriam had invited him to sit down with
+them.  Yes, she was sure to do that, and Gaspe would be with his
+grandfather.  But Maxica was there.  He had saved him twice.  He knew
+what Maxica would say: "To the free wild forest, and learn the use of
+the trap and the bow with me."
+
+Wilfred was sorely tempted to run away.  The recollection of Mr. De
+Brunier's old-world stories restrained him.  He thought of the Breton
+emigrants. "What did they do in their despair?  What all men can do,
+their duty."  He kept on saying these words over and over, asking
+himself, "What is my duty? Have I no duty to the helpless old man who
+has welcomed me so kindly?  How will Bowkett behave to him?"  Wilfred
+felt much stronger to battle through with the hunter on his uncle's
+behalf, than when he thought only of himself.  "The brave and loyal die
+at their posts.  Gaspe would, rather than run away--rather than do
+anything that looked like running away."
+
+"What is the matter with you, Wilfred?" asked his uncle anxiously.
+"What makes you stand like that, my boy?"
+
+"I am so tired," answered Wilfred, "I have walked all day to-day, and
+all day yesterday.  If I take the cushion out of your chair for a
+pillow, I might lie down before the stove, uncle."
+
+"That Pete is an ass not to bring something to eat, as if he could not
+make those fellows in the dining-room wait half-a-minute.  But stop,
+there is some broth keeping hot on the stove.  Take that, and come and
+lie down on the bed by me; then I can see you and feel you, and know I
+have got you again," answered Uncle Caleb, as if he had some
+presentiment of what was passing in Wilfred's mind.
+
+Glad enough to obey, Wilfred drank the broth eagerly, and came to the
+bed.  The old man took him by both hands and gazed in his face,
+murmuring, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace."
+
+The peace that Uncle Caleb rejoiced in was his own alone; all around him
+strife was brewing.  But his peace was of that kind which circumstances
+cannot give or take away.
+
+"Kneel down beside me just one minute, my boy," he went on.  "We must
+not be like the nine lepers, who forgot the thanks when the good had
+come. They wouldn't even with the tailors, for in the whole nine put
+together there was not one bit of a true man, or they could not have
+done it."
+
+Wilfred fell on his knees and repeated softly the Christ-taught prayer
+of the ages, "Our Father who art in heaven."  He remembered how he had
+been fed from the wild bird's _cache_, and saved by the wild man's pity,
+and his heart was swelling.  But when he came to "Forgive us our
+trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us," he stopped
+abruptly.
+
+"Go on," whispered the old man softly.
+
+"I can't," muttered Wilfred.  "It isn't in my heart; I daren't go on.
+It is speaking with a forked tongue: words one way, thoughts another;
+telling lies to God."
+
+Caleb Acland looked at him as if he were slowly grasping the position.
+
+"Is it Bowkett that you can't forgive?" he asked gently.  "Did you think
+he need not have lost you? Did you think he would not know you, my poor
+boy?"
+
+"Have I got to live with him always?" returned Wilfred.
+
+"No, not if you don't like him.  I'll send you back to school," answered
+his uncle in a tone of decision.
+
+"Do you mean it, uncle?  Do you really say that I shall go back to
+school?" exclaimed the boy, his heavy heart's lead beginning to melt, as
+the way of escape opened so unexpectedly before him.
+
+"It is a promise," repeated the old man soothingly. It was obvious now
+there was something wrong, which the boy refused to explain.
+
+"Patience a bit," he thought; "I can't distress him. It will leak out
+soon; but it is growing strange that nobody comes near us."
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XIV*
+
+                          _*WEDDING GUESTS.*_
+
+
+More guests were arriving--Diome, Batiste, Mathurin, and a dozen others.
+Bowkett came out into the porch to receive them, and usher one after the
+other into the dining-room.  As the last went in before him, his friend
+Dick Vanner of the forked tongue tapped him on the shoulder.
+
+"Who is in there?" he whispered.  "Did you see?" pointing as he spoke to
+the door of Uncle Caleb's room.
+
+Gaspe was on the alert in a moment, longing to break a lance in his
+friend's behalf.  The men dropped their voices, but the echo of one
+sentence reached him.  It sounded like, "No, she only saw the other
+boy."
+
+"So, Wilfred, _mon cher_, you and I have changed places, and I have
+become that 'other boy,'" laughed Gaspe to himself, lying perdu with an
+open ear.
+
+As the two separated they muttered, "Outwit us? Like to see it done!"
+
+"Keep that door shut, and leave the rest to me," added Vanner,
+sauntering up to the fire.--"Accommodation is scanty here to-night.  How
+many are there in your party?" he asked, looking down on Gaspe. "Pete
+said four--three men and a boy.  Was not it five--three men and two
+boys?"
+
+"Yes, five," answered Gaspe.
+
+"You boys must want something to eat," remarked Vanner, carelessly
+pushing open the door of the storeroom, and returning with a partridge
+pie.  "Here, fall to.  Where's your chum?"
+
+Gaspe saw the trap into which he was expected to walk.  He stepped over
+it.
+
+"Have not you been taught to look out for number one?" asked Gaspe.
+"I'll have a turn at that pie by myself, now I have got the chance,
+before I call on a chum to help me.  I can tell you that."
+
+"Confound you, you greedy young beggar!" exclaimed Vanner.
+
+"Try thirty miles in an open sled, with twenty-five degrees of frost on
+the ground, and see if you would be willing to divide your pie at the
+end of it," retorted Gaspe.
+
+"That is a cool way of asking for one apiece," remarked Vanner,
+abstracting a second pie from the storeroom shelves.
+
+"If you've another to spare I'd like two for myself," persisted Gaspe.
+
+"Then have it," said Vanner.  "I am bound to give you a satisfaction.
+We do not reckon on a wedding feast every night.  Now, where is the
+other boy?  You can't object to call him.  Here is a sausage as long as
+your arm.  Walk into that."
+
+"You will not get me to move with this dish before me," returned the
+undaunted Gaspe, and Vanner felt it waste of time to urge him further.
+He went back to his friends.
+
+Gaspe was at Caleb Acland's door in a moment, singing through the
+keyhole,--
+
+    "St. George he is for England, St. Denis is for France.
+    _Honi soit qui mal y pense._"
+
+
+Wilfred rose to open the door as he recognized his friend's voice.
+
+"Keep where you are.  Don't come out for anybody," urged Gaspe,
+retreating as he heard a noise: but it was only his grandfather
+re-entering the porch.
+
+He flew to his side.  "What's up?" he asked breathlessly.
+
+"A goodly crop of suspicions, if all the Cree tells me is true.  Your
+poor friend is fitted with an uncle in this Bowkett after their old
+ballad type of the Babes in the Wood."
+
+"Now listen to me, grandfather, and I can tell you a little bit more,"
+answered Gaspe, giving his narrative with infinite delight at the
+success of his manoeuvring.
+
+The moon shone clear and bright.  The tree in the centre of the court,
+laden with hoar-frost, glittered in its crystal white like some bridal
+bouquet of gigantic size.  The house was ablaze with light from every
+window.  The hunters had turned their horses adrift.  They were
+galloping at will among the orchard trees to keep themselves warm.
+Maxica was wandering in their midst, counting their numbers to ascertain
+the size of the party.  Mr. De Brunier crossed over to him, to discuss
+Gaspe's intelligence, and sent his grandson back indoors, where the
+sledge-driver was ready to assist him in the demolition of the pies
+which had so signally failed to lure Wilfred from his retreat.
+
+Mr. De Brunier followed his grandson quickly, and walking straight to
+Uncle Caleb's door, knocked for admittance.
+
+The cowkeeper, the only individual at Acland's Hut who did not know
+Wilfred personally, was sent by Bowkett to keep up the kitchen fire.
+
+The man stared.  "The master has got his door fastened," he said; "I
+can't make it out."
+
+"Is Mr. Acland ready to see me?" asked Mr. De Brunier, repeating his
+summons.
+
+"Yes," answered Uncle Caleb; "come in."
+
+Wilfred opened the door.
+
+Uncle Caleb raised himself on his elbow, and catching sight of the
+dishes on the kitchen-table, said, "It seems to me the old man's orders
+are to go for little. But whilst the life is in me I am master in this
+place. Be so good, sir, as to tell that fellow of mine to bring that pie
+in here, and give this child something to eat."
+
+"With pleasure," returned his visitor.
+
+Wilfred's supper provided for, the two looked well at each other.
+
+"What sort are you?" was the question in both minds.  They trusted, as
+we all do more or less, to the expression.  A good honest character
+writes itself on the face.  They shook hands.
+
+"I have to thank you for bringing back my boy," said Uncle Caleb.
+
+"Not me," returned Mr. De Brunier, briefly recapitulating the
+circumstances which led to Wilfred's sojourn at Hungry Hall, and why he
+sent him to the hunters' camp.  "Since then," he added, "your nephew has
+been wandering among the Indians.  It was a Cree who guided him
+home--the same Cree who warned him not to trust himself with Bowkett."
+
+"Come here, Wilfred, and tell me exactly what this Indian said,"
+interposed Caleb Acland, a grave look gathering on his wrinkled brow.
+
+"Not one word, uncle.  Maxica did not speak," answered Wilfred.  "He
+brought me three queer bits of wood from the hearth and stuck them in
+the floor before me, so, and so," continued the boy, trying to explain
+the way in which the warning had been given to him.
+
+Uncle Caleb was getting so much exhausted with the excitement of
+Wilfred's return, and the effort of talking to a stranger, he did not
+quite understand all Wilfred was saying.
+
+"We can't condemn a fellow on evidence like that," moaned the old man,
+"and one so near to me as Bowkett.  What does it mean for Miriam?"
+
+"Will you see this Cree and hear for yourself?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+"We are neither judge nor jury.  We are not here to acquit or condemn,
+but a warning like this is not to be despised.  I came to put you on
+your guard."
+
+The feeble hand grasped his, "I am about spent," groaned Caleb.  "It is
+my breath.  Let me rest a bit. I'll think this over.  Come again."
+
+The gasping words came with such painful effort, Mr. De Brunier could
+only lay him back amongst his pillows and promise to return in the
+morning, or earlier if it were wished.  He was at the door, when Caleb
+Acland signed to him to return.
+
+"Not a word to my sister yet.  The boy is safe here.  Tell him he is not
+to go out of this room."
+
+Mr. De Brunier shook the feeble hand once more, and gave the required
+promise.  There was one more word.  "What was that about buying land?  I
+might help you there; a little business between us, you understand."
+
+"Yes, yes," answered Mr. De Brunier, feeling as if such another effort
+might shake the labouring breath out of the enfeebled frame in a moment.
+
+"Keep in here.  Keep quiet; and remember, whatever happens, I shall be
+near," was Mr. De Brunier's parting charge to Wilfred as he went back
+into the kitchen, intending to watch there through the night, if no one
+objected to his presence.
+
+The old man started as the door closed after him. "Don't fasten it,
+lad!" he exclaimed.  "It looks too much like being afraid of them."
+
+Mr. De Brunier joined Gaspe and the sledge-driver at their supper.
+Gaspe watched him attentively as they ate on in silence.
+
+Bowkett came out and spoke to them.  "I am sorry," he said, "to seem
+inhospitable, but the house is so full to-night I really cannot offer
+you any further accommodation.  But the men have a sleeping hut round
+the corner, under the pines, where you can pass the night.  I'll send
+one of them with you to show you the way and light a fire."
+
+No exception could be taken to this.  The three finished their supper
+and were soon ready to depart.
+
+"I must see Mr. Acland again about the land business," remarked Mr. De
+Brunier, recalling Uncle Caleb's hint.
+
+Bowkett summoned his man, and Diome came out with him.  He strolled
+through the porch and looked about him, as if he were considering the
+weather.
+
+Maxica was still prowling behind the orchard trees, like a hungry coyote
+watching for the remnants of the feast, as it seemed.  The two met.
+
+"There will be mischief before these fellows part," said Diome.  "Keep a
+sharp look-out for the boy."
+
+Diome went on to catch Dick Vanner's pony. Maxica stole up to the house.
+The travellers were just coming out.  He gave Yula a call.  Gaspe was
+the only one who perceived him, as Yula bounded between them.
+
+It was hard for Gaspe to go away and leave his friend without another
+word.  He had half a mind to take Kusky with him.  He lingered
+irresolute a moment or two behind his grandfather.  Bowkett had opened
+the door of Caleb Acland's room, and he saw Kusky creeping in between
+Bowkett's legs.
+
+"How is this?" the latter was saying in a noisy voice.  "Wilfred got
+home, and won't show his face!--won't come out amongst us to have his
+dinner and speak to his aunt!  What is the meaning of it? What makes him
+afraid of being seen?"
+
+There was not a word from Wilfred.  It was the feeble voice of his Uncle
+Caleb that was speaking:--
+
+"Yes, it is Wilfred come back.  I've got him here beside me all safe.
+He has been wandering about among the redskins, half dead and nearly
+starved. Don't disturb us.  I am getting him to sleep.  Tell Miriam she
+must come here and look at him.  You can all come and look at him;
+Forgill and your Diome too. They all know my boy.  How has Miriam
+managed to keep away?"
+
+"As if we could spare the bride from the marriage feast," laughed
+Bowkett, raising his voice that every one might hear what they were
+saying.
+
+"Neither can I spare my boy out of my sight a single moment," said the
+old man quietly.
+
+"That's capital," laughed Gaspe to himself, as he ran after his
+grandfather.
+
+They did not encounter Maxica, but they passed Diome trying to catch the
+horse, and gave him a little help by the way.
+
+"You are not going?" he asked anxiously.  "I thought you would be sure
+to stay the night.  You are a friend of Wilfred Acland's, are you not,
+Mr. De Brunier?  He was so disappointed when he found Hungry Hall was
+shut up.  I thought you would know him; so do I.  Mrs. Bowkett says the
+boy is not her nephew."
+
+"I rather think that has been said for her," remarked Mr. De Brunier
+quietly.
+
+"I see through it," exclaimed Gaspe; "I see what they are driving at.
+Her husband told her I was the boy.  She came and looked at me.  Bowkett
+knows well enough the real Wilfred is in his uncle's room, If they could
+get him out into the kitchen, they would make a great clamour and
+declare he is an impostor trying to take the old man in."
+
+"You've hit it," muttered Diome.  "But they shan't give him lynch law.
+I'll not stand by and see that."
+
+"Come back, grandfather," cried Gaspe.  "Give me one of your English
+sovereigns with a little silver threepenny on either side to kiss it.
+I'll string them on my watch-chain for a lady's locket, walk in with it
+for a wedding present, and undeceive the bride before them all."
+
+"Not so fast, Gaspard.  We should only bring the crisis before we have
+raised our safeguards," rejoined Mr. De Brunier thoughtfully.  "I saw
+many a gun set down against the wall, as the hunters came in."
+
+"That is nothing," put in Diome; "we are never without them."
+
+"That is everything," persisted Mr. De Brunier. "Men with arms
+habitually in their hands use them with small provocation, and things
+are done which would never be done by deliberate purpose."
+
+"I am not Dick Vanner's groom," said Diome, "but he wants me to hold his
+horse in the shadow of those pines or under the orchard wall; and I'll
+hold it as long as he likes, and walk it about half the night in
+readiness for him, and then I shall know where he is bound for."
+
+"The American frontier, with Wilfred behind him, unless I am making a
+great mistake.  If Bowkett laid a finger on him here, half his guests
+would turn upon him," observed Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"That's about it," returned Diome.  "Now I am going to shut up this
+horse in one of the sheds, ready for Vanner at a moment's notice, and
+then I'll try for a word with Forgill.  He is working so hard with the
+carving-knife there is no getting at him."
+
+"There is one of the Aclands' men lighting a fire in his hut, ready for
+us," put in Gaspe.
+
+Diome shook his head.  "He!" he repeated in accents of contempt; "he
+would let it all out at the wrong time."
+
+"Is the Cree gone?"
+
+"Maxica is on the scent already,' replied Diome, whistling carelessly as
+they parted.
+
+"Gaspard," said Mr. De Brunier, as they entered the hut, "do you
+remember passing a policeman on the road.  He was watching for a Yankee
+spirit cart, contraband of course.  He will have caught it by this time,
+and emptied the barrels, according to our new Canadian law.  Go back in
+the sledge--you will meet him returning--and bring him here.  If he
+rides into the farm-court before daybreak, your little friend is safe.
+As for me, I must keep watch here.  No one can leave the house without
+me seeing him, the night is so clear.  A dark figure against the white
+ground is visible at twice this distance; and Maxica is somewhere by the
+back of the homestead.  Neither sight nor sound will escape an Indian."
+
+Mr. De Brunier despatched the sledge-driver back to the farm with the
+man Bowkett had sent to light their fire, to try to procure a fresh
+horse.  This was easily managed.  Bowkett was delighted to think the
+travellers were about to resume their journey, and declared the better
+half of hospitality was to speed the parting guest.
+
+The sledge went round to Forgill's hut.  Gaspe wrapped himself in the
+bearskin and departed.  No one saw him go; no one knew that Mr. De
+Brunier was left behind.  He built up the fire and reconnoitred his
+ground.  In one corner of the hut was a good stout cudgel.
+
+"I must anticipate your owner's permission and adopt you," he said, as
+he gave it a flourish to try its weight.  Then he looked to the revolver
+in his breast pocket, and began his walk, so many paces in front of the
+hut, with his eye on the farm-house porch, and so many paces walking
+backwards, with it still in sight--a self-appointed sentry, ready to
+challenge the enemy single-handed, for he did not count much upon Diome.
+He saw how loath he was to come into collision with Bowkett, and
+reckoned him more as a friend in the camp than as an active ally.  There
+was Maxica, ready like a faithful mastiff to fly at the throat of the
+first man who dared to lay a hand on Wilfred, regardless of
+consequences.  He did not know Maxica, but he knew the working of the
+Indian mind.  Revenge is the justice of the savage.  It was Maxica's
+retaliation that he feared.  Diome had spoken of Forgill, but Mr. De
+Brunier knew nothing of him, so he left him out of count.  It was clear
+he must chiefly rely on his own coolness and courage.  "The moral force
+will tell in such an encounter as this, and that is all on my side," he
+said to himself.  "It will tell on the outsiders and the farm-servants.
+I shall find some to second me."  He heard the scrape of the fiddle and
+the merry chorus of some hunting-song, followed by the quick beat of the
+dancers' footsteps.
+
+Hour succeeded hour.  The fire in the hut burned low.  De Brunier left
+his post for a moment to throw on fresh logs.  He returned to his watch.
+The house-door opened.  Out came Diome and crossed to the cattle-sheds.
+Mr. De Brunier saw him come back with Vanner's horse.  He changed his
+position, creeping in behind the orchard trees, until he was within a
+few yards of the house.  The three feet of snow beneath his feet gave
+him an elevation.  He was looking down into the court, where the snow
+had been partially cleared.
+
+Diome was walking the horse up and down before the door.  It was not a
+night in which any one could stand still.  His impatient stamping to
+warm his feet brought out Vanner and Bowkett, with half-a-dozen others.
+The leave-taking was noisy and prolonged. Batiste's head appeared in the
+doorway.
+
+"I cannot count on his assistance," thought Mr. De Brunier, "but I can
+count on his neutrality; and Diome must know that a word from me would
+bring about his dismissal from his new master."
+
+Vanner mounted and rode off along the slippery ground as only a hunter
+could ride.
+
+"Now for the first act," thought Mr. De Brunier. "May my Gaspard be
+speeding on his errand.  The hour draws near."
+
+As Bowkett and his friends turned back into the house, Diome walked
+rapidly across the other end of the orchard and went towards Forgill's
+hut.  With cautious steps De Brunier followed.
+
+Diome was standing moodily by the fire.  He started.
+
+"Well," demanded Mr. De Brunier, "how goes the night?"
+
+"For God's sake keep out of the way, sir.  They have made this hut the
+rendezvous, believing you had started hours ago," exclaimed Diome
+brightening.
+
+"Did you think I had deserted the poor boy?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"I was thinking," answered Diome, waiving the question, "Dick Vanner is
+a dangerous fellow to thwart when the bowie-knife is in his hand."
+
+"Well, you will see it done, and then you may find him not quite so
+dangerous as he seems," was the quiet reply.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XV.*
+
+                           _*TO THE RESCUE.*_
+
+
+Diome had no more information to give.  "For the love of life, sir," he
+entreated, as the brief conference ended, "move off to the other side of
+the house, or you will be seen by Vanner as he returns. A hunter's eye,
+Mr. De Brunier, notices the least change in the shadows.  You mean to
+hide among the orchard trees, but you can't stand still.  You will be
+frozen to death, and a moving shadow will betray you."
+
+His cautionary counsels were wasted on a preoccupied mind.  De Brunier
+was examining the fastenings of the door.  There was a lock, but the key
+was with the owners of the hut.  There was also a bar which secured it
+on the inside.  Forgill's basket of tools stood by the chimney.
+
+"How much time have we?" asked Mr. De Brunier.
+
+"A good half-hour, sir," replied Diome.
+
+"Time enough for me to transfer this staple to the outside of the
+doorpost?"
+
+Diome hesitated before he answered this inquiry. "Well then?" he asked
+in turn.
+
+"Well then," repeated Mr. De Brunier, "this Vanner is to meet you here.
+Don't go out of the hut to take his horse; beckon him to come inside.
+Shut the door, as if for caution, and tell him you have seen me watching
+him from the orchard trees.  He will listen to that.  Two minutes will
+be enough for me to bar the door on the outside, and we shall have caged
+the wild hawk before he has had time to pounce upon his prey.  I must
+shut you in together; but play your part well, and leave the rest to
+me."
+
+"Shut me in with Dick Vanner in a rage!" exclaimed Diome.  "He would
+smell treachery in a moment.  Not for me."
+
+It went hard with Diome to turn against his old companions.  It was
+clear to Mr. De Brunier the man was afraid of a hand-to-hand encounter.
+With such half-hearted help the attempt was too hazardous. He changed
+his tactics.
+
+"I am not in their secrets," protested Diome.  "I am only here to hold
+his horse.  They don't trust me."
+
+"And I," added Mr. De Brunier, "am intent upon preventing mischief.
+I'll walk round once more. Should you hear the house-door open, you will
+probably find I have gone in."
+
+Yes, Mr. De Brunier was beginning to regret leaving the house; and yet,
+if he had not done so, he could not have started Gaspe to intercept the
+policeman.  "Now," he thought, "the boy will be carried off before they
+can arrive."  His thoughts were turning to a probable pursuit.  He
+crossed to the back of the house to look for the Cree.  No one better
+than an Indian for work like that.
+
+The light from the windows of the farm-house was reflected from the
+shining ground, making it bright as day before them, and deepening the
+gloom of the shadows beyond.  A low, deep growl from Yula brought Mr. De
+Brunier to the opposite corner of the house, where he discovered Maxica
+lying on the ground, with his ear to the end of one of the largest logs
+with which the house was built.  They recognized each other instantly,
+but not a word was said.  They were at the angle of the building where
+the logs crossed each other.
+
+Suddenly Mr. De Brunier remembered the capacity in the uncut trunk of a
+tree for transmitting sound, and following Maxica's example he too laid
+his ear to the end of another log, and found himself, as it were, in a
+whispering gallery.  The faintest sound at the other end of the log was
+distinctly audible.  They tried each corner of the house.  The music and
+the dancing from dining-room to kitchen did not detain them long.  At
+the back they could hear the regular breathing of a healthy sleeper and
+the laboured, painful respiration of the broken-down old man.
+
+The log which crossed the one at which they were now listening ran at
+the end of the storeroom, and gave back no sound.  It was evident both
+Wilfred and his uncle had fallen asleep, and were therefore off their
+guard.
+
+To drive up the loose ponies and make them gallop round the house to
+waken them was a task Yula took off their hands and accomplished so well
+that Bowkett, listening in the midst of the whirling dancers, believed
+that Vanner had returned.
+
+Maxica was back at the angle of the logs, moving his ear from one to the
+other.  He raised a warning finger, and laid his ear a little closer to
+the storeroom side.  Mr. De Brunier leaned over him and pressed his own
+to the tier above.  Some one had entered the storeroom.
+
+"Anything here?" asked a low voice.
+
+"What's that behind the door?" whispered another in reply.
+
+"A woman's ironing board."
+
+"A woman's what?"
+
+"Never mind what it is if it will slide through the window," interposed
+a third impatiently, and they were gone.
+
+But the watchers without had heard enough to shape their plan.  Maxica
+was ear, Mr. De Brunier was eye, and so they waited for the first faint
+echo of the horse-hoofs in the distance or the tinkle of the
+sledge-bell.
+
+Within the house the merriment ran high.  Bridal healths were drank with
+three times three.  The stamp of the untiring dancers drowned the
+galloping of the ponies.
+
+Aunt Miriam paused a moment, leaning on her bridegroom's arm.  "I am
+dizzy with tiredness," she said.  "I think I have danced with every one.
+I can surely slip away and speak to Caleb now.  What made him fasten his
+door?"
+
+"To keep those travellers out; and now he won't undo it: an old man's
+crotchet, my dear.  I have spoken to him.  He is all right, and his cry
+is, 'Don't disturb me, I must sleep,'" answered Bowkett.  "You'll give
+Batiste his turn? just one more round."
+
+Wilfred was wakened by his Yula's bark beneath the window.  Kusky, who
+was sleeping by the stove, sprang up and answered it, and then crept
+stealthily to Wilfred's feet.
+
+"That dog will wake the master," said some one in the kitchen.
+
+The bedroom door was softly opened, a low whistle and a tempting bone
+lured Kusky away.  Wilfred was afraid to attempt to detain him, not
+venturing to show himself to he knew not whom.  There was a noise at the
+window.  He remembered it was a double one.  It seemed to him somebody
+was trying to force open the outer pane.
+
+A cry of "Thieves! thieves!" was raised in the kitchen.  Wilfred sprang
+upright.  Uncle Caleb wakened with a groan.
+
+"Look to the door.  Guard every window," shouted Bowkett, rushing into
+the room, followed by half-a-dozen of his friends, who had seized their
+guns as they ran.
+
+The outer window was broken.  Through the inner, which was not so
+thickly frozen, Wilfred could see the shadow of a man.  He knew that
+Bowkett was by the side of the bed, but his eyes were fixed on the pane.
+
+At the first smash of the butt end of Vanner's gun, through shutter and
+frame, Mr. De Brunier laid a finger on Maxica's arm.  The Cree, who was
+holding down Yula, suddenly let him go with a growl and a spring.
+Vanner half turned his head, but Yula's teeth were in his collar.  The
+thickness of the hunter's clothing kept the grip from his throat, but he
+was dragged backwards.  Maxica knelt upon him in a moment, with a huge
+stone upraised, ready to dash his brains out if he ventured to utter a
+cry.  Mr. De Brunier stepped out from the shadow and stood before the
+window, waiting in Vanner's stead.  For what? He hardly dared to think.
+The window was raised a finger's breadth, and the muzzle of a hunter's
+gun was pointed at his ear.  He drew a little aside and flattened
+himself against the building.  The gun was fired into the air.
+
+"That is a feint," thought Mr. De Brunier.  "They have not seen us yet.
+When they do, the tug comes. Two against twenty at the very least,
+unless we hear the sledge-bell first.  It is a question of time.  The
+clock is counting life and death for more than one of us.  All hinges on
+my Gaspe.  Thank God, I know he will do his very best.  There is no
+mistrust of Gaspe; and if I fall before he comes, if I meet death in
+endeavouring to rescue this fatherless boy, the God who sees it all, in
+whose hand these lawless hunters are but as grasshoppers, will never
+forget my Gaspe."
+
+The report of Bowkett's gun roused old Caleb's latent fire.
+
+"What is it?" he demanded.  "Are the Indians upon us?  Where is Miriam?"
+
+Wilfred threw the bearskin across his feet over the old man's back.
+
+"I am here!" cried Bowkett, with an ostentatious air of protection.
+"I'll defend the place; but the attack is at this end of the house.
+First of all, I carry you to Miriam and safety at the other."
+
+Bowkett, in the full pride of his strength, lifted up the feeble old man
+as if he were a child and carried him out of the room.
+
+"Wilfred, my boy, keep close to me, keep close," called Uncle Caleb; but
+a strong man's hand seized hold of Wilfred and pulled him back.
+
+"Who are you?" demanded Wilfred, struggling with all his might.  "Let me
+go, I tell you; let me go!"
+
+The door was banged up behind Uncle Caleb and Bowkett.  The room was
+full of men.
+
+Wilfred knew too well the cry of "Thieves" was all humbug--a sham to get
+him away from his uncle.
+
+"Forgill!  Forgill!" he shouted.  "Pete!  Pete! Help me! help me!"
+
+A pillow was tossed in his face.
+
+"Don't cram the little turkey-cock with his own feathers," said a voice
+he was almost glad to recognize, for he could not feel that Mathurin
+would really hurt him.  He kicked against his captor, and getting one
+hand free, he tried to grasp at this possible friend; but the corner of
+the pillow, crushed into his mouth, choked his shouts.  "So it's
+Mathurin's own old babby, is it?" continued the deep, jovial voice.
+"Didn't I tell ye he was uncommon handy with his little fists? But he is
+a regular mammy's darling for all that.  It is Mathurin will put the
+pappoose in its cradle.  Ah! but if it won't lie still, pat it on its
+little head; Batiste can show you how."
+
+In all this nonsense Wilfred comprehended the threat and the caution.
+His frantic struggles were useless.  They only provoked fresh bursts of
+merriment.  Oh, it was hard to know they were useless, and feel the
+impotency of his rage!  He was forced to give in.  They bound him in the
+sheets.
+
+Mathurin was shouting for--
+
+    "A rabbit-skin,
+    To wrap his baby bunting in.
+
+
+They took the rug from the floor and wrapped it round Wilfred.  He was
+laid on the ironing board.
+
+He felt the strong, firm straps that were binding him to it growing
+tighter and tighter.
+
+What were they going to do with him? and where was Mr. De Brunier?
+
+The hunters set him up against the wall, like the pappoose in the wigwam
+of the Blackfoot chief, whilst they opened the window.
+
+Mr. De Brunier stood waiting, his arms uplifted before his face, ready
+to receive the burden they were to let fall.  It was but a little bit of
+face that was ever visible beneath a Canadian fur cap, such as both the
+men were wearing.  Smoked skin was the only clothing which could resist
+the climate, therefore the sleeves of one man's coat were like the
+sleeves of another.  The noisy group in the bedroom, who had been
+drinking healths all night, saw little but the outstretched arms, and
+took no notice.
+
+"Young lambs to sell!" shouted Mathurin, heaving up the board.
+
+"What if he takes to blaring?" said one of the others.
+
+"Let him blare as he likes when once he is outside," retorted a third.
+
+"Lull him off with 'Yankee-doodle,'" laughed another.
+
+"He'll just lie quiet like a little angel, and then nothing will hurt
+him," continued the incorrigible Mathurin, "till we come to--
+
+    "'Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top,
+    When the wind blows the cradle will rock;
+    When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
+    Then down goes cradle, and baby, and all.'"
+
+
+This ridiculous nursery ditty, originated by the sight of the Indian
+pappooses hung so often on the bough of a tree when their mothers are
+busy, read to Wilfred his doom.
+
+Would these men really take him out into the darksome forest, and hang
+him to some giant pine, and leave him there, as Pe-na-Koam was left, to
+die alone of hunger and cold?
+
+It was an awful moment.  The end of the board to which he was bound was
+resting on the window-sill.
+
+"Gently now," said one.
+
+"Steady there," retorted another.
+
+"Now it is going beautifully," cried a third.
+
+"Ready, Vanner, ready," they exclaimed in chorus. Caution and prudence
+had long since gone to the winds with the greater part of them.
+Mathurin alone kept the control.
+
+Mr. De Brunier nodded, and placed himself between the window and the two
+men on the snow in deadly silent wrestle, trusting that his own dark
+shadow might screen them from observation yet a little longer. He saw
+Wilfred's feet appear at the window.  His hand was up to guide the board
+in a moment, acting in concert with the men above.  They slid it easily
+to the ground.
+
+Mr. De Brunier's foot was on a knot in the logs of the wall, and
+stretching upwards he shut the window from the outside.  It was beyond
+his power to fasten it; but a moment or two were gained.  His knife was
+soon hacking at the straps which bound Wilfred to his impromptu cradle.
+They looked in each other's faces; not a word was breathed.  Wilfred's
+hands were freed.  He sat up and drew out his feet from the thick folds
+of the rug.  Mr. De Brunier seized his hand, and they ran, as men run
+for their lives, straight to Forgill's hut.
+
+Diome saw them coming.  He was still leading Vanner's horse.  He wheeled
+it round and covered their retreat, setting it off prancing and
+curvetting between them and the house.
+
+Through the open door of Forgill's hut the fire was glowing like a
+beacon across the snow.  It was the darkest hour of all that brilliant
+night.  The moon was sinking low, the stars were fading; the dawning was
+at hand.
+
+The hut was gained at last.  The door was shut behind the fugitives, and
+instantly barred.  Every atom of furniture the hut contained was piled
+against it, and then they listened for the return of the sledge. Whether
+daylight would increase their danger or diminish it, Mr. De Brunier
+hardly knew.  But with the dreaded daylight came the faint tinkle of a
+distant bell and the jingling of a chain bridle.
+
+The Canadian police in the Dominion of the far North-West are an
+experienced troop of cavalry. Trooper and charger are alike fitted for
+the difficult task of maintaining law and order among the scattered,
+lawless population sprinkling its vast plains and forest wilds.  No
+bronco can outride the splendid war-horse, and the mere sight of his
+scarlet-coated rider produces an effect which we in England little
+imagine.  For he is the representative of the strong and even hand of
+British justice, which makes itself felt wherever it touches, ruling all
+alike with firmness and mercy, exerting a moral force to which even the
+Blackfoot in his moya yields.
+
+Mr. De Brunier pulled down his barricade almost before it was finished,
+for the sledge came shooting down the clearing with the policeman behind
+it.
+
+Wilfred clasped his hands together at the joyful sight.  "They come!
+they come!" he cried.
+
+Out ran Mr. De Brunier, waving his arms in the air to attract attention,
+and direct the policeman to the back of the farm-house, where he had
+left Dick Vanner writhing under Maxica's grasp on the frozen ground.
+
+When the window was so suddenly closed from the outside, the hunters,
+supposing Vanner had shut it, let it alone for a few minutes, until
+wonder prompted Mathurin to open it just a crack for a peep-hole.
+
+At the sight of Vanner held down by his Indian antagonist he threw it to
+its widest.  Gun after gun was raised and pointed at Maxica's head; but
+none of them dared to fire, for the ball would have struck Vanner also.
+Mathurin was leaping out of the window to his assistance, when Yula
+relaxed his hold of Vanner's collar, and sprang at Mathurin, seizing him
+by the leg, and keeping him half in half out of the window, so that no
+one else could get out over him or release him from the inside.
+
+There was a general rush to the porch; but the house-door had been
+locked and barred by Bowkett's orders, and the key was in his pocket.
+
+He did it to prevent any of the Aclands' old servants going out of the
+house to interfere with Vanner.  It was equally successful in keeping in
+the friends who would have gone to his help.
+
+"The key! the key!" roared Batiste.
+
+Another seized on old Pete and shook him because he would not open the
+door.  In vain Pete protested the key was missing.  They were getting
+furious. "The key! the key!" was reiterated in an ever-increasing
+crescendo.
+
+They seized on Pete and shook him again.  They would have the key.
+
+Mathurin's yell for help grew more desperate.  With one hand holding on
+to the window-frame, he could not beat off the dog.  The blows he aimed
+at him with the other were uncertain and feeble.
+
+"Who let the brute out?" demanded Batiste.
+
+He had seen Yula lying by the kitchen fire when he first arrived, and of
+course knew him again. Ah! and the dog had recognized him also, for he
+had saluted him with a low, deep growl.  It had watched its chance.  It
+was paying back old scores.  Batiste knew that well.
+
+Another howl of pain from Mathurin.
+
+The heel of an English boot might have given such a kick under the lock
+that it would have sent the spring back with a jerk; but they were all
+wearing the soft, glove-like moccasin, and knew no more about the
+mechanism of a lock than a baby.  Their life had been passed in the
+open; when they left the saddle for the hut in the winter camp, their
+ideas of door-fastening never rose beyond the latch and the bar.  A
+dozen gun-stocks battered on the door.  It was tough and strong, and
+never stirred.
+
+Pete was searching everywhere for the key.  He would have let them out
+gladly, only too thankful to rid the house of such a noisy crew, and
+leave them to fight the thieves outside; but no key was to be found.
+
+"We always hang it on this nail," he protested, groping about the floor.
+
+Patience could hold out no longer.  There was a shout for Bowkett.
+
+"Don't leave me," Miriam had entreated, when Bowkett brought her brother
+into the dining-room and set him in the arm-chair by the fire; for she
+thought the old man's life would go every moment, and Forgill shared her
+fears.
+
+"There are enough to defend the place," he said, "without me;" and he
+gave all his care to his master.
+
+"The boy!  Wilfred!" gasped Caleb Acland, making vain attempts to return
+to find him.  His sister and Forgill thought he was wandering, and
+trusted in Bowkett's strong arm to hold him back.
+
+How could Bowkett leave his bride?  He was keeping his hands clean.
+There were plenty to do his dirty work.  He himself was to have nothing
+to do with it, according to Vanner's programme.  He would not go.
+
+
+
+
+                             *CHAPTER XVI.*
+
+                           _*IN CONFUSION.*_
+
+
+There was a thundering rap at the dining-room window, and a voice
+Bowkett instantly recognized as Diome's rang out the warning word,--
+
+"The police!  The police are here!"
+
+"Thank God!" exclaimed Miriam; but her bridegroom's cheek grew deadly
+pale, and he rushed into the kitchen, key in hand.  The clamouring group
+around the door divided before him, as Diome hissed his warning through
+the keyhole.
+
+The door flew open.  Bowkett was almost knocked down by his hurrying
+guests.  Each man for his horse.  Some snatched up their guns, some left
+them behind.  Broncos were caught by the mane, by the ear, by the tail.
+Their masters sprang upon their backs.  Each man leaped upon the first
+horse he could lay hold of, saddle or no saddle, bridle or no bridle.
+What did it matter so that they got away? or else, horrors of horrors!
+such an escapade as they had been caught in might get one or other among
+them shut up for a month or two in Garry Jail. They scattered in every
+direction, as chickens scatter at the flutter of the white owl's wing.
+
+Diome put the bridle of Vanner's horse into Bowkett's hand.  "To the
+frontier," he whispered. "You know the shortest road.  We are parting
+company; for I go northwards."
+
+Bowkett looked over his shoulder to where Pete stood staring in the
+doorway.  "Tell your mistress we are starting in pursuit," he shouted,
+loud enough for all to hear, as he sprang on Vanner's horse and galloped
+off, following the course of the wild geese to Yankee land.
+
+Within ten minutes after the first jingling sound from the light shake
+of the trooper's bridle the place was cleared.
+
+"Oh, I did it!" said Gaspe, with his arm round Wilfred's neck.  "I was
+back to a minute, wasn't I, grandfather?"
+
+Mr. De Brunier scarcely waited to watch the break-neck flight.  He was
+off with the sledge-driver to the policeman's assistance.  He beckoned
+to the boys to follow him at a cautious distance, judging it safer than
+leaving them unguarded in Forgill's hut.
+
+The policeman, seeing Yula had already arrested Mathurin, turned to the
+two on the ground.  He knocked the stone out of Maxica's hand, and
+handcuffed Vanner.
+
+Mr. De Brunier was giving his evidence on the spot.  "I was warned there
+would be mischief here before morning.  I sent my messenger for you, and
+watched the house all night.  The Indian and the dog were with me.  I
+saw this fellow attempt to break in at that window.  The dog flew on
+him, dragged him to the ground, and the Indian held him there. That
+other man I denounce as an accomplice indoors, evidently acting in
+concert with him."
+
+Wilfred shook off Gaspe's arm and flew to Yula. "Leave go," he said,
+"leave go."  His hands went round the dog's throat to enforce obedience
+as he whispered, "I am not quite a babby to choke him off like that, am
+I?  Draw your leg up, Mathurin, and run.  You meant to save me--I saw it
+in your face--and I'll save you.  The porch-door stands open, run!"
+
+Mathurin drew up his leg with a groan, but Yula's teeth had gone so
+deeply into the flesh he could scarcely move for pain.  If Mathurin
+could not run, the sledge-driver could.  He was round the house and
+through the porch before Mathurin could reach it. He collared him by the
+kitchen-table, to Pete's amazement.  Forgill burst out of the
+dining-room, ready to identify him as one of their guests, and was
+pushed aside.  The policeman was dragging in his prisoner.
+
+Mr. De Brunier held Wilfred by the arm.  "You should not have done
+that," he was saying.  "Your dog knew what he was about better than you
+did. At any other time to call him off would only have been humane and
+right, but in such circumstances--"
+
+He never finished his sentence.  There was Mathurin cowed and trembling
+at the sight of Yula, who was marching into the porch with his head up
+and his tail wagging in triumph.
+
+Aunt Miriam, aghast and pale, stood in the doorway of the dining-room.
+Mr. De Brunier led her aside for a word of explanation.  "The thieves
+among the guests of her wedding party, incredible!"  She was stunned.
+
+Yula seated himself in front of Mathurin, daring him to move hand or
+foot.
+
+Wilfred was looking round him for the Cree, who was feeling for his bow
+and arrows, thrown somewhere on the ground during his prolonged
+struggle.  When the stone was struck from Maxica's grasp, and he knew
+that Vanner was dragged off helpless, he felt himself in the presence of
+a power that was mightier than his own.  As Wilfred caught up the bow
+and put it in his hand, he said solemnly, "You are safe under the shadow
+of that great white warrior chief, and Maxica is no longer needed; for
+as the horse is as seven to the dog, so is the great white medicine as
+seven to one, therefore the redman shuns his presence, and here we
+part."
+
+"Not yet, not yet," urged Wilfred desperately; but whilst he was
+speaking the Cree was gone.  He had vanished with the morning shadows
+behind the pine trees.
+
+Wilfred stretched out his arms to recall him; but Gaspe, who had
+followed his friend like his shadow, pulled him back.  "It would be but
+poor gratitude for Maxica's gallant rescue to run your head into the
+noose a second time," he said.  "With these hunters lurking about the
+place, we ought to make our way indoors as fast as we can."
+
+The chill of the morning wrapped them round. They were shivering in the
+icy mist, through which the rising sun was struggling.  It was folly to
+linger. Gaspe knew the Indian was afraid to trust himself in the company
+of the policeman.
+
+"Shall I never see him more?" burst out Wilfred mournfully.
+
+"Don't say that," retorted Gaspe.  "He is sure to come again to Hungry
+Hall with the furs from his winter's hunting.  You can meet him then."
+
+"I?  I shall be at school at Garry.  How can I go there?" asked Wilfred.
+
+"At Garry," repeated his consoler, brightening. "Well, from Garry you
+can send him anything you like by the winter packet of letters.  You
+know our postman, the old Indian, who carries them in his dog-sled to
+every one of the Hudson Bay stations.  You can send what you like by him
+to Hungry Hall. Sooner or later it will be sure to reach your dusky
+friend."
+
+"It will be something to let him know I don't forget," sighed Wilfred,
+whose foot was in his uncle's porch, where safety was before him.
+
+There was a sudden stillness about the place.  A kind of paralysis had
+seized upon the household, as it fell under the startling interdict of
+the policeman: "Not a thing on the premises to be touched; not an
+individual to leave them until he gave permission."  This utter
+standstill was more appalling to the farm-servants than the riotous
+confusion which had preceded it.  The dread of what would come next lay
+like a nightmare over master and men.
+
+Wilfred scarcely looked at prisoners or policeman; he made his way to
+his uncle.
+
+"I can finish my prayer this morning, and I will--I will try to do my
+duty.  Tell me what it is?"
+
+"To speak the truth," returned old Caleb solemnly, "without fear or
+prevarication.  No, no! don't tell me beforehand what you are going to
+say, or that fellow in the scarlet coat will assert I have tutored you."
+
+Gaspe began to speak.
+
+"No, no!" continued Uncle Caleb, "you must not talk it over with your
+friend.  Sit down, my boy; think of all that has happened in the night
+quietly and calmly, and God help us to bear the result."
+
+Again he rocked himself backwards and forwards, murmuring under his
+breath, "My poor Miriam!  I have two to think of--my poor, poor Miriam!"
+
+Wilfred's own clear commonsense came to his aid; he looked up brightly.
+The old man's tears were slowly trickling down his furrowed cheeks.
+"Uncle," he urged, "my friends have not only saved me, they have saved
+you all.  They stopped those fellows short, before they had time to do
+their worst.  They will not be punished for what they were going to do,
+but for what they actually did do."
+
+A sudden rush of gratitude came over Wilfred as he recalled his peril.
+His arms went round Gaspe with a clasp that seemed to know no
+unloosening.  A friend is worth all hazards.
+
+His turn soon came.  Aunt Miriam had preceded her nephew.  She had so
+little to tell.  "In the midst of the dancing there was a cry of
+'Thieves!'  The men ran.  Her husband came back to her, bringing her
+invalid brother to the safest part of the house. He stayed to guard
+them, until there arose a second cry, 'The police!'  She supposed the
+thieves made off.  Her husband had started in pursuit."
+
+In pursuit, when there was nothing to pursue; the aggressor was already
+taken.  Aunt Miriam saw the inevitable inference: her husband had fled
+with his guests.  She never looked up.  She could not meet the eyes
+around her, until she was asked if Vanner and Mathurin were among her
+guests.  Her pale cheeks grew paler.
+
+Their own men were stupid and sleepy, and could only stare at each
+other.  All they had had to say confirmed their mistress's statements.
+
+Mr. De Brunier had fetched Wilfred whilst his aunt was speaking.  He
+looked at the men crowding round the table, pushed between the
+sledge-driver and Pete to where his aunt was standing, and squeezed her
+hand.  There was just one look exchanged between them.  Of all the
+startling events in that strange night, it was strangest of all to Aunt
+Miriam to see him there.  The fervency in the pressure she returned set
+Wilfred's heart at ease.  One determination possessed them both--not to
+make a scene.
+
+Aunt Miriam got back into her own room; how, she never knew.  She threw
+herself on her knees beside her bed, and listened; for in that
+wood-built house every word could be heard as plainly as if she had
+remained in the kitchen.  Her grief and shame were hidden, that was all.
+
+Wilfred's clear, straightforward answers made it plain there were no
+thieves in the case.  Her wedding guests had set upon her little
+wanderer in the moment of his return.
+
+Vanner, scowling and sullen, never uttered a single word.
+
+Mathurin protested volubly.  He never meant to let them hurt the boy,
+but some amongst them owed him a grudge, and they were bent on paying it
+off before they parted.
+
+"A base and cowardly trick, by your own showing, to break into an old
+man's room in the dead of the night with a false alarm; not to mention
+your behaviour to the boy.  If this outrage hastens the old gentleman's
+end, you will find yourselves in a very awkward position.  His seizure
+in the night was solely due to the unwarrantable alarm," observed the
+policeman.
+
+Mathurin began to interrupt.  He checked him.
+
+"If you have anything to say for yourself, reserve it for the proper
+time and place; for the present you must step into that sledge and come
+with me at once.--Mr. De Brunier, I shall meet you and your son at Garry
+on the twenty-ninth."
+
+He marched his prisoners through the porch; a sullen silence reigned
+around.  The sledge-bell tinkled, the snow gleamed white as ever in the
+morning sunshine, as Vanner and Mathurin left the farm.
+
+With the air of a mute at a funeral, Forgill bolted the door behind
+them.  Mr. De Brunier walked into the sleeping-room, to examine the
+scene of confusion it presented for himself.
+
+Aunt Miriam came out, leaving the door behind her open, without knowing
+it.  She moved like one in a dream.  "I cannot understand all this," she
+said, "but we must do the thing that is nearest."
+
+She directed Forgill to board up the broken window and to see that the
+house was secure, and took Pete with her to make up a bed for her
+brother in the dining-room.  She laid her hand on Wilfred's shoulder as
+she passed him, but the words died on her lips.
+
+The men obeyed her without reply.  Forgill was afraid to go out of the
+house alone.  As the cowman followed him, he patted Yula's head,
+observing, "After all that's said and done, it was this here dog which
+caught 'em.  I reckon he's worth his weight in gold, wherever he comes
+from, that I do."
+
+Yula shook off the stranger's caress as if it were an impertinent
+freedom.  His eye was fixed on two small moccasined feet peeping out
+from under Aunt Miriam's bed.
+
+There was a spring, but Wilfred's hand was in his collar.
+
+"I know I had better stop him," he whispered, looking up at Gaspe, as he
+thought of Mr. De Brunier's reproof.
+
+"Right enough now," cried Gaspe.  "Wilfred, it is a girl."
+
+He ran to the bed and handed out Bowkett's young sister, Anastasia.  Her
+dress was of the universal smoked skin, but its gay embroidery of beads
+and the white ribbons which adorned it spoke of the recent bridal.  Her
+black hair fell in one long, heavy braid to her waist.
+
+"Oh, you uncomplimentary creatures!" she exclaimed, "not one of you
+remembered my existence; but I'll forgive you two"--extending a hand to
+each--"because you did not know of it.  I crawled in here at the first
+alarm, and here I have lain trembling, and nobody missed me.  But, I
+declare, you men folk have been going on awful.  You will be the death
+of us all some of these days.  I could have knocked your heads together
+until I had knocked some sense into you.  Put your pappoose in its
+cradle, indeed!  I wish you were all pappooses; I would soon let you
+know what I think of upsetting a poor old man like that."
+
+The indignant young beauty shook the dust from her embroidery, and
+twirled her white ribbons into their places as she spoke.
+
+"Spoiling all the fun," she added.
+
+"Now don't perform upon us, Miss Bowkett," put in Gaspe.  "We are not
+the representatives of last night's rowdyism.  My poor friend here is
+chief sufferer from it.  Only he had a four-footed friend, and a
+dark-skinned friend, and two others at the back of them of a very
+ordinary type, but still friends with hands and feet.  So the tables
+were turned, and the two real representatives are gone up for their
+exam."
+
+"I daren't be the first to tell a tale like this in the hunters' camp.
+Besides," she demanded, "who is to take me there?  This is what the day
+after brings," she pouted, passing the boys as she went into the
+kitchen. The guns which the hunters had left behind them had been
+carefully unloaded by the policeman and Mr. De Brunier, and were piled
+together in one corner, waiting for their owners to reclaim them. Every
+one knew the hunters could not live without their trading guns; they
+must come back to fetch them.  Anastasia, too, was aware she had only to
+wait for the first who should put in an appearance to escort her home.
+Little was said, for Aunt Miriam knew Anastasia's departure from
+Acland's Hut would be Hugh Bowkett's recall.
+
+When Mr. De Brunier understood this, his anxiety on Wilfred's account
+was redoubled.
+
+But when Uncle Caleb revived enough for conversation, he spoke of the
+little business to be settled between them, and asked for Mr. De
+Brunier.
+
+"I have thought it all through," he said.  "In the face of the Cree's
+warning, and all that happened under this roof, I can never leave my
+nephew and Hugh Bowkett to live together beneath it.  As soon as he
+hears from his sister how matters stand here, and finds sentence has
+been passed on Vanner and Mathurin, he may come back at any hour.  I
+want to leave my nephew to your care; a better friend he could not
+have."
+
+"As he has had it already, he shall always have it, as if he were next
+to Gaspe, I promise you," was the ready answer.
+
+"I want a little more than that," Uncle Caleb continued.  "I want you to
+take him away at once, and send him back to school.  You spoke of buying
+land; buy half of mine.  That will be Wilfred's portion. Invest the
+money in the Hudson Bay Company, where Bowkett can never touch it, and I
+shall feel my boy is safe.  As for Miriam, she will still have a good
+home and a good farm; and the temptation out of his reach, Bowkett may
+settle down."
+
+"I have no faith in bribery for making a man better.  It wants the
+change here, and that is God's work, not man's," returned Mr. De
+Brunier, tapping his own breast.
+
+Caleb Acland had but one more charge: "Let nobody tell poor Miriam the
+worst."  But she knew enough without the telling.
+
+When Wilfred found he was to return to Garry with his friends the next
+day his arms went round his dogs, and a look of mute appeal wandered
+from Mr. De Brunier to Aunt Miriam.
+
+"Had not I better take back Kusky?" suggested Gaspe.  "And could not we
+have Yula too?"
+
+"Yula!" repeated Aunt Miriam.  "It is I who must take care of Yula.  He
+shall never want a bone whilst I have one.  I shall feed him, Wilfred,
+with my own hands till you come back to claim him."
+
+
+
+
+                                THE END.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST IN THE WILDS ***
+
+
+
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