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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } - -</style> -<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" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="Lost in the Wilds A Canadian Story" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="lost.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2013-09-04T02:36:09.250390+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43640" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Eleanor Stredder" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2013-09-03" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a7 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</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 --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</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, & 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 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>LOST IN THE WILDS</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43640"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43640</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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