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diff --git a/43640.txt b/43640.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c2981d5..0000000 --- a/43640.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6269 +0,0 @@ - LOST IN THE WILDS - - - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - - -Title: Lost in the Wilds - A Canadian Story -Author: Eleanor Stredder -Release Date: September 03, 2013 [EBook #43640] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST IN THE WILDS *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover] - - - - -[Illustration: It was an awful moment.] - - - - - LOST IN THE WILDS - - A CANADIAN STORY - - - BY ELEANOR STREDDER - - - - LONDON, EDINBURGH, - DUBLIN, & NEW YORK - THOMAS NELSON - AND SONS - 1893 - - - - - *CONTENTS.* - - I. _In Acland's Hut_ - II. _Hunting the Buffalo_ - III. _The First Snowstorm_ - IV. _Maxica, the Cree Indian_ - V. _In the Birch-bark Hut_ - VI. _Searching for a Supper_ - VII. _Following the Blackfeet_ - VIII. _The Shop in the Wilderness_ - IX. _New Friends_ - X. _The Dog-sled_ - XI. _The Hunters' Camp_ - XII. _Maxica's Warning_ - XIII. _Just in Time_ - XIV. _Wedding Guests_ - XV. _To the Rescue_ - XVI. _In Confusion_ - - - - - *LOST IN THE WILDS.* - - - - *CHAPTER I.* - - _*IN ACLAND'S HUT.*_ - - -The October sun was setting over a wild, wide waste of waving grass, -growing dry and yellow in the autumn winds. The scarlet hips gleamed -between the whitening blades wherever the pale pink roses of summer had -shed their fragrant leaves. - -But now the brief Indian summer was drawing to its close, and winter was -coming down upon that vast Canadian plain with rapid strides. The -wailing cry of the wild geese rang through the gathering stillness. - -The driver of a rough Red River cart slapped the boy by his side upon -the shoulder, and bade him look aloft at the swiftly-moving cloud of -chattering beaks and waving wings. - -For a moment or two the twilight sky was darkened, and the air was -filled with the restless beat of countless pinions. The flight of the -wild geese to the warmer south told the same story, of approaching snow, -to the bluff carter. He muttered something about finding the cows which -his young companion did not understand. The boy's eyes had travelled -from the winged files of retreating geese to the vast expanse of sky and -plain. The west was all aglow with myriad tints of gold and saffron and -green, reflected back from many a gleaming lakelet and curving river, -which shone like jewels on the broad breast of the grassy ocean. Where -the dim sky-line faded into darkness the Touchwood Hills cast a -blackness of shadow on the numerous thickets which fringed their -sheltering slopes. Onward stole the darkness, while the prairie fires -shot up in wavy lines, like giant fireworks. - -Between the fire-flash and the dying sun the boy's quick eye was aware -of the long winding course of the great trail to the north. It was a -comfort to perceive it in the midst of such utter loneliness; for if men -had come and gone, they had left no other record behind them. He seemed -to feel the stillness of an unbroken solitude, and to hear the silence -that was brooding over lake and thicket, hill and waste alike. - -He turned to his companion. "Forgill," he asked, in a low venturing -tone, "can you find your way in the dark?" - -He was answered by a low, short laugh, too expressive of contempt to -suffer him to repeat his question. - -One broad flash of crimson light yet lingered along the western sky, and -the evening star gleamed out upon the shadowy earth, which the night was -hugging to itself closer and closer every moment. - -Still the cart rumbled on. It was wending now by the banks of a -nameless river, where the pale, faint star-shine reflected in its watery -depths gave back dim visions of inverted trees in wavering, uncertain -lines. - -"How far are we now from Acland's Hut?" asked the boy, disguising his -impatience to reach their journey's end in careless tones. - -"Acland's Hut," repeated the driver; "why, it is close at hand." - -The horse confirmed this welcome piece of intelligence by a joyous neigh -to his companion, who was following in the rear. A Canadian always -travels with two horses, which he drives by turns. The horses -themselves enter into the arrangement so well that there is no trouble -about it. The loose horse follows his master like a dog, and trots up -when the cart comes to a standstill, to take the collar warm from his -companion's shoulders. - -But for once the loose pony had galloped past them in the darkness, and -was already whinnying at the well-known gate of Acland's Hut. - -The driver put his hand to his mouth and gave a shout, which seemed to -echo far and wide over the silent prairie. It was answered by a chorus -of barking from the many dogs about the farm. A lantern gleamed through -the darkness, and friendly voices shouted in reply. Another bend in the -river brought them face to face with the rough, white gate of Acland's -Hut. Behind lay the low farm-house, with its log-built walls and roof -of clay. Already the door stood wide, and the cheerful blaze from the -pine-logs burning on the ample hearth within told of the hospitable -welcome awaiting the travellers. - -An unseen hand undid the creaking gate, and a gruff voice from the -darkness exchanged a hearty "All right" with Forgill. The lantern -seemed to dance before the horse's head, as he drew up beneath the -solitary tree which had been left for a hen-roost in the centre of the -enclosure. - -Forgill jumped down. He gave a helping hand to his boy companion, -observing, "There is your aunt watching for you at the open door. Go -and make friends; you won't be strangers long." - -"Have you got the child, Forgill?" asked an anxious woman's voice. - -An old Frenchman, who fulfilled the double office of man and maid at -Acland's Hut, walked up to the cart and held out his arms to receive the -expected visitor. - -Down leaped the boy, altogether disdaining the over-attention of the -farming man. Then he heard Forgill whisper, "It isn't the little girl -she expected, it is this here boy; but I have brought him all the same." - -This piece of intelligence was received with a low chuckle, and all -three of the men became suddenly intent upon the buckles of the harness, -leaving aunt and nephew to rectify the little mistake which had clearly -arisen--not that they had anything to do with it. - -"Come in," said the aunt in kindly tones, scarcely knowing whether it -was a boy or a girl that she was welcoming. But when the rough -deer-skin in which Forgill had enveloped his charge as the night drew on -was thrown aside, the look which spread over her face was akin to -consternation, as she asked his name and heard the prompt reply, -"Wilfred Acland; and are you my own Aunt Miriam? How is my uncle?" But -question was exchanged for question with exceeding rapidity. Then -remembering the boy's long journey, Aunt Miriam drew a three-legged -stool in front of the blazing fire, and bade him be seated. - -The owner of Acland's Hut was an aged man, the eldest of a large family, -while Wilfred's father was the youngest. They had been separated from -each other in early life; the brotherly tie between them was loosely -knitted. Intervals of several years' duration occurred in their -correspondence, and many a kindly-worded epistle failed to reach its -destination; for the adventurous daring of the elder brother led him -again and again to sell his holding, and push his way still farther -west. He loved the ring of the woodman's axe, the felling and the -clearing. He grew rich from the abundant yield of the virgin soil, and -his ever-increasing droves of cattle grew fat and fine in the grassy sea -which surrounded his homestead. All went well until his life of arduous -toil brought on an attack of rheumatic fever, which had left him a -bedridden old man. Everything now depended upon the energy of his sole -surviving sister, who had shared his fortunes. - -Aunt Miriam retained a more affectionate remembrance of Wilfred's -father, who had been her playmate. When the letter arrived announcing -his death she was plunged in despondency. The letter had been sent from -place to place, and was nine months after date before it reached -Acland's Hut, on the verge of the lonely prairie between the Qu'appelle -and South Saskatchewan rivers. The letter was written by a Mr. Cromer, -who promised to take care of the child the late Mr. Acland had left, -until he heard from the uncle he was addressing. - -The brother and sister at Acland's Hut at once started the most capable -man on their farm to purchase their winter stores and fetch the orphan -child. Aunt Miriam looked back to the old letters to ascertain its age. -In one of them the father rejoiced over the birth of a son; in another -he spoke of a little daughter, named after herself; a third, which -lamented the death of his wife, told also of the loss of a child--which, -it did not say. Aunt Miriam, with a natural partiality for her -namesake, decided, as she re-read the brief letter, that it must be the -girl who was living; for it was then a baby, and every one would have -called it "the baby." By using the word "child," the poor father must -have referred to the eldest, the boy. - -"Ah! very likely," answered her brother, who had no secret preference to -bias his expectations. So the conjecture came to be regarded as a -certainty, until Wilfred shook off the deer-skin and stood before his -aunt, a strong hearty boy of thirteen summers, awkwardly shy, and -alarmingly hungry. - -But her welcome was not the less kindly, as she heaped his plate again -and again. Wilfred was soon nodding over his supper in the very front -of the blazing fire, basking in its genial warmth. But the delightful -sense of comfort and enjoyment was rather shaken when he heard his aunt -speaking in the inner room. - -"Forgill has come back, Caleb; and after all it is the boy." - -"The boy, God bless him! I only wish he were more of a man, to take my -place," answered the dreamy voice of her sick brother, just rousing from -his slumbers. - -"Oh, but I am so disappointed!" retorted Aunt Miriam. "I had been -looking forward to a dear little niece to cheer me through the winter. -I felt so sure--" - -"Now, now!" laughed the old man, "that is just where it is. If once you -get an idea in your head, there it wedges to the exclusion of everything -else. You like your own way, Miriam, but you cannot turn your wishes -into a coach and six to override everything. You cannot turn him into a -girl." - -Wilfred burst out laughing, as he felt himself very unpromising material -for the desired metamorphosis. - -"How shall I keep him out of mischief when we are all shut in with the -snow?" groaned Aunt Miriam. - -"Let me look at him," said her brother, growing excited. - -When Wilfred stood by the bedside, his uncle took the boy's warm hands -in both his own and looked earnestly in his bright open face. - -"He will do," murmured the old man, sinking back amongst his pillows. -"There, be a good lad; mind what your aunt says to you, and make -yourself at home." - -While he was speaking all the light there was in the shadowy room shone -full on Wilfred. - -"He is like his father," observed Aunt Miriam. - -"You need not tell me that," answered Caleb Acland, turning away his -face. - -"Could we ever keep him out of mischief?" she sighed. - -Wilfred's merry laugh jarred on their ears. They forgot the lapse of -time since his father's death, and wondered to find him so cheerful. -Aunt and nephew were decidedly out of time, and out of time means out of -tune, as Wilfred dimly felt, without divining the reason. - -Morning showed him his new home in its brightest aspect. He was up -early and out with Forgill and the dogs, busy in the long row of -cattle-sheds which sheltered one end of the farm-house, whilst a -well-planted orchard screened the other. - -Wilfred was rejoicing in the clear air, the joyous sunshine, and the -wonderful sense of freedom which seemed to pervade the place. The wind -was whispering through the belt of firs at the back of the clearing -where Forgill had built his hut, as he made his way through the long, -tawny grass to gather the purple vetches and tall star-like asters, -still to be found by the banks of the reed-fringed pool where Forgill -was watering the horses. - -Wilfred was intent upon propitiating his aunt, when he returned to the -house with his autumn bouquet, and a large basket of eggs which Forgill -had intrusted to his care. - -Wilfred rushed into the kitchen, elate with his morning ramble, and -quite regardless of the long trail of muddy footsteps with which he was -soiling the freshly-cleaned floor. - -"Look!" cried Aunt Miriam; but she spoke to deaf ears, for Wilfred's -attention was suddenly absorbed by the appearance of a stranger at the -gate. His horse and gun proclaimed him an early visitor. His jaunty -air and the glittering beads and many tassels which adorned his -riding-boots made Wilfred wonder who he was. He set his basket on the -ground, and was darting off again to open the gate, when Aunt Miriam, -finding her remonstrances vain, leaned across the table on which she was -arranging the family breakfast and caught him by the arm. Wilfred was -going so fast that the sudden stoppage upset his equilibrium; down he -went, smash into the basket of eggs. Out flew one-half in a frantic -dance, while the mangled remains of the other streamed across the floor. - -"Oh! the eggs, the eggs!" exclaimed Wilfred. - -Aunt Miriam, who was on the other side of the table when he came in, had -not noticed the basket he was carrying. She held up her hands in -dismay, exclaiming, "I am afraid, Wilfred, you are one of the most -aggravating boys that ever walked this earth." - -For the frost was coming, and eggs were growing scarce. - -"And so, auntie, since you can't transform me, you have abased me -utterly. I humbly beg your pardon from the very dust, and lay my poor -bruised offering at your indignant feet. I thought the coach and six -was coming over me, I did indeed!" exclaimed Wilfred. - -"Get up" reiterated Aunt Miriam angrily, her vexation heightened by the -burst of laughter which greeted her ears from the open door, where the -stranger now stood shaking with merriment at the ridiculous scene. - -"Yes, off with you, you young beggar!" he repeated, stepping aside -good-naturedly to let Wilfred pass. For what could a fellow do but go in -such disastrous circumstances? - -"It is not to be expected that the missis will put up with this sort of -game," remarked Petre Fleurie, as he passed him. - -Wilfred began to think it better to forego his breakfast than face his -indignant aunt. What did she care for the handful of weeds? The mud he -had gone through to get them had caused all the mischief. Everywhere -else the ground was dry and crisp with the morning frost. "What an -unlucky dog I am!" thought Wilfred dolefully. "Haven't I made a bad -beginning, and I never meant to." He crept under the orchard railing to -hide himself in his repentance and keep out of everybody's way. - -But it was not the weather for standing still, and he longed for -something to do. He took to running in and out amongst the now almost -leafless fruit-trees to keep himself warm. - -Forgill, who was at work in the court putting the meat-stage in order, -looked down into the orchard from the top of the ladder on which he was -mounted, and called to Wilfred to come and help him. - -It was a very busy time on the farm. Marley, the other labourer, who -was Forgill's chum in the little hut in the corner, was away in the -prairie looking up the cows, which had been turned loose in the early -summer to get their own living, and must now be brought in and -comfortably housed for the winter. Forgill had been away nearly a -fortnight. Hands were short on the farm now the poor old master was -laid aside. There was land to be sold all round them; but at present it -was unoccupied, and the nearest settler was dozens of miles away. Their -only neighbours were the roving hunters, who had no settled home, but -wandered about like gipsies, living entirely by the chase and selling -furs. They were partly descended from the old French settlers, and -partly Indians. They were a careless, light-hearted, dashing set of -fellows, who made plenty of money when skins were dear, and spent it -almost as fast as it came. Uncle Caleb thought it prudent to keep on -friendly terms with these roving neighbours, who were always ready to -give him occasional help, as they were always well paid for it. - -"There is one of these hunter fellows here now," said Forgill. "The -missis is arranging with him to help me to get in the supply of meat for -the winter." - -The stage at which Forgill was hammering resembled the framework of a -very high, long, narrow table, with four tall fir poles for its legs. -Here the meat was to be laid, high up above the reach of the many -animals, wild and tame. It would soon be frozen through and through as -hard as a stone, and keep quite good until the spring thaws set in. - -Wilfred was quickly on the top of the stage, enjoying the prospect, for -the atmosphere in Canada is so clear that the eye can distinguish -objects a very long way off. He had plenty of amusement watching the -great buzzards and hawks, which are never long out of sight. He had -entered a region where birds abounded. There were cries in the air -above and the drumming note of the prairie-hen in the grass below. There -were gray clouds of huge white pelicans flapping heavily along, and -faster-flying strings of small white birds, looking like rows of pearls -waving in the morning air. A moving band, also of snowy white, crossing -the blue water of a distant lakelet, puzzled him a while, until it rose -with a flutter and scream, and proved itself another flock of northern -geese on wing for the south, just pausing on its way to drink. - -Presently Wilfred was aware that Petre was at the foot of the ladder -talking earnestly to Forgill. An unpleasant tingling in his cheek told -the subject of their conversation. He turned his back towards them, not -choosing to hear the remarks they might be making upon his escapade of -the morning, until old Petre--or Pete as he was usually called, for -somehow the "r" slipped out of his name on the English lips around -him--raised his voice, protesting, "You and I know well how the black -mud by the reed pool sticks like glue. Now, I say, put him on the -little brown pony, and take him with you." - -"Follow the hunt!" cried Wilfred, overjoyed. "Oh, may I, Forgill?" - - - - - *CHAPTER II.* - - _*HUNTING THE BUFFALO.*_ - - -The cloudy morning ended in a brilliant noon. Wilfred was in ecstasies -when he found himself mounted on the sagacious Brownie, who had followed -them like a dog on the preceding evening. - -Aunt Miriam had consented to Pete's proposal with a thankfulness which -led the hunter, Hugh Bowkett, to remark, as Wilfred trotted beside him, -"Come, you young scamp! so you are altogether beyond petticoat -government, are you?" - -"That is not true," retorted Wilfred, "for I was never out of her -Majesty's dominion for a single hour in my life." - -It was a chance hit, for Bowkett had been over the frontier more than -once, wintering among the Yankee roughs on the other side of the border, -a proceeding which is synonymous in the North-West Dominion with -"getting out of the way." - -Bowkett was a handsome fellow, and a first-rate shot, who could -accomplish the difficult task of hunting the long-eared, cunning -moose-deer as well as a born Red Indian. Wilfred looked up at him with -secret admiration. Not so Forgill, who owned to Pete there was no -dependence on these half-and-half characters. But without Bowkett's -help there would be no meat for the winter; and since the master had -decided the boy was to go with them, there was nothing more to be said. - -Aunt Miriam came to the gate, in her hood and cloak, to see them depart. - -"Good-bye! good-bye, auntie!" shouted Wilfred. "I am awfully sorry about -those eggs." - -"Ah, you rogue! do you think I am going to believe you?" She laughed, -shaking a warning finger at him; and so they parted, little dreaming of -all that would happen before they met again. - -Wilfred was equipped in an old, smoked deer-skin coat of his uncle's, -and a fur cap with a flap falling like a cape on his neck, and -ear-pieces which met under his chin. He was a tall boy of his age, and -his uncle was a little, wiry man. The coat was not very much too long -for him. It wrapped over famously in front, and was belted round the -waist. Pete had filled the pockets with a good supply of biscuit, and -one or two potatoes, which he thought Wilfred could roast for his supper -in the ashes of the campfire. For the hunting-party expected to camp -out in the open for a night or two, as the buffaloes they were in quest -of were further to seek and harder to find every season. - -Forgill had stuck a hunting-knife in Wilfred's belt, to console him for -the want of a gun. The boy would have liked to carry a gun like the -others, but on that point there was a resolute "No" all round. - -As they left the belt of pine trees, and struck out into the vast, -trackless sea of grass, Wilfred looked back to the light blue column of -smoke from the farm-house chimney, and wistfully watched it curling -upwards in the clear atmosphere, with a dash of regret that he had not -yet made friends with his uncle, or recovered his place in Aunt Miriam's -good graces. But it scarcely took off the edge of his delight. - -Forgill was in the cart, which he hoped to bring back loaded with game. -At the corner of the first bluff, as the hills in Canada are usually -called, they encountered Bowkett's man with a string of horses, one of -which he rode. There was a joyous blaze of sunshine glinting through -the broad fringes of white pines which marked the course of the river, -making redder the red stems of the Norwegians which sprang up here and -there in vivid contrast. A light canoe of tawny birch-bark, with its -painted prow, was threading a narrow passage by the side of a tiny eyot -or islet, where the pine boughs seemed to meet high overhead. The -hunters exchanged a shout of recognition with its skilful rower, ere a -stately heron, with grand crimson eye and leaden wings, came slowly -flapping down the stream intent on fishing. Then the little party wound -their way by ripple-worn rocks, covered with mosses and lichens. At -last, on one of the few bare spots on a distant hillside, some dark -moving specks became visible. The hunt began in earnest. Away went the -horsemen over the wide, open plain. Wilfred and the cart following more -slowly, yet near enough to watch the change to the stealthy approach and -the cautious outlook over the hill-top, where the hunter's practised eye -had detected the buffalo. - -"Keep close by me," said Forgill to his young companion, as they wound -their way upwards, and reached the brow of the hill just in time to -watch the wild charge upon the herd, which scattered in desperate -flight, until the hindmost turned to bay upon his reckless pursuers, his -shaggy head thrown up as he stood for a moment at gaze. With a whoop -and a cheer, in which Wilfred could not help joining, Bowkett again gave -chase, followed by his man Diome. A snap shot rattled through the air. -Forgill drew the cart aside to the safer shelter of a wooded copse, out -of the line of the hunters. He knew the infuriated buffalo would -shortly turn on his pursuers. The loose horses were racing after their -companions, and Brownie was quivering with excitement. - -"Hold hard!" cried Forgill, who saw the boy was longing to give the pony -its head and follow suit. "Quiet, my lad," he continued. "None of us -are up to that sort of work. It takes your breath to look at them." - -The buffalo was wheeling round. Huge and unwieldy as the beast -appeared, it changed its front with the rapidity of lightning. Then -Bowkett backed his horse and fled. On the proud beast thundered, with -lowered eyes flashing furiously under its shaggy brows. A bullet from -Diome's gun struck him on the forehead. He only shook his haughty head -and bellowed till the prairie rang; but his pace slackened as the -answering cries of the retreating herd seemed to call him back. He was -within a yard of Bowkett's horse, when round he swung as swiftly and -suddenly as he had advanced. Wilfred stood up in his stirrups to watch -him galloping after his companions, through a gap in a broken bluff at -no great distance. Away went Bowkett and Diome, urging on their horses -with shout and spur. - -"Halt a bit," said Forgill, restraining Wilfred and his pony, until they -saw the two hunters slowly returning over the intervening ridge with -panting horses. They greeted the approach of the cart with a hurrah of -success, proposing, as they drew nearer, to halt for dinner in the -shelter of the gap through which the buffalo had taken its way. - -Wilfred was soon busy with Diome gathering the dry branches last night's -wind had broken to make a fire, whilst Bowkett and Forgill went forward -with the cart to look for the fallen quarry. - -It was the boy's first lesson in camping out, and he enjoyed it -immensely, taking his turn at the frying-pan with such success that -Diome proposed to hand it over to his exclusive use for the rest of -their expedition. - -It was hard work to keep the impudent blue jays, with which the prairie -abounded, from darting at the savoury fry, and pecking out the very -middle of the steak, despite the near neighbourhood of smoke and flame, -which threatened to singe their wings in the mad attempt. - -But in spite of the thievish birds, dinner was eaten and appreciated in -the midst of so much laughter and chaff that even Forgill unbent. - -But a long day's work was yet before them, spurring over the sand-ridges -and through the rustling grass. They had almost reached one of the -westward jutting spurs of the Touchwood Hills, when the sun went down. -As it neared the earth and sank amidst the glorious hues of emerald and -gold, the dark horizon line became visible for a few brief instants -across its blood-red face; but so distant did it seem, so very far away, -the whole scene became dreamlike from its immensity. - -"We've done, my lads!" shouted Bowkett; "we have about ended as glorious -a day's sport as ever I had." - -"Not yet," retorted Diome. "Just listen." There was a trampling, -snorting sound as of many cattle on the brink of a lakelet sheltering at -the foot of the neighbouring hills. - -Were they not in the midst of what the early Canadian settlers used to -call the Land of the Wild Cows? Those sounds proceeded from another -herd coming down for its evening drink. On they crept with stealthy -steps through bush and bulrush to get a nearer view in the bewildering -shadows, which were growing darker and darker every moment. - -"Stop! stop!" cried Forgill, hurrying forward, as the light yet -lingering on the lake showed the familiar faces of his master's cows -stooping down to reach the pale blue water at their feet. Yes, there -they were, the truant herd Marley was endeavouring in vain to find. - -Many a horned head was lifted at the sound of Forgill's well-known call. -Away he went into the midst of the group, pointing out the great "A" he -had branded deep in the thick hair on the left shoulder before he had -turned them loose. - -What was now to be done? - -"Drive them home," said the careful Forgill, afraid of losing them -again. But Bowkett was not willing to return. - -Meanwhile Diome and Wilfred were busy preparing for the night at the -spot where they had halted, when the presence of the herd was first -perceived. They had brought the horses down to the lake to water at a -sufficient distance from the cows not to disturb them. But one or two -of the wanderers began to "moo," as if they partially recognized their -former companions. - -"They will follow me and the horses," pursued Forgill, who knew he could -guide his way across the trackless prairie by the aid of the stars. - -"If you come upon Marley," he said, "he can take my place in the cart, -for he has most likely found the trail of the cows by this time; or if I -cross his path, I shall leave him to drive home the herd and return. You -will see one of us before morning." - -"As you like," replied Bowkett, who knew he could do without either man -provided he kept the cart. "You will probably see us back at the gate of -Acland's Hut by to-morrow night; and if we do not bring you game enough, -we must plan a second expedition when you have more leisure." - -So it was settled between them. - -Forgill hurried back to the camping place to get his supper before he -started. Bowkett lingered behind, surveying the goodly herd, whilst -vague schemes for combining the twofold advantages of hunter and farmer -floated through his mind. - -When he rejoined his companions he found them seated round a blazing -fire, enjoying the boiling kettle of tea, the fried steak, and biscuit -which composed their supper. The saddles were hung up on the branches -of the nearest tree, and the skins and blankets which were to make their -bed were already spread upon the pine brush which strewed the ground. - -"Now, young 'un," said Forgill solemnly, "strikes me I had better keep -you alongside anyhow." - -"No, no," retorted Diome. "The poor little fellow has been in the -saddle all day, and he is dead asleep already; leave him under his -blankets. He'll be right enough; must learn to rough it sooner or -later." - -Forgill, who had to be his own tailor and washer-woman, was lamenting -over a rent in his sleeve, which he was endeavouring to stitch up. For -a housewife, with its store of needles and thread, was never absent from -his pocket. - -His awkward attempts awakened the mirth of his companions. - -"What, poor old boy! haven't you got a wife at home to do the stitching -for you?" asked Diome. - -"When you have passed the last oak which grows on this side the Red -River, are there a dozen English women in a thousand miles?" asked -Forgill; and then he added, "The few there are are mostly real ladies, -the wives of district governors and chief factors. A fellow must make -up his mind to do for himself and rub through as he can." - -"Unless he follows my father's example," put in Bowkett, "and chooses -himself a faithful drudge from an Indian wigwam. He would want no other -tailor or washerwoman, for there are no such diligent workers in the -world. Look at that," he continued, pointing to his beautifully -embroidered leggings, the work of his Indian relations. - -"Pay a visit to our hunters' winter camp," added Diome, "and we will -show you what an old squaw can do to make home comfortable." - -There was this difference between the men: Diome who had been left by -his French father to be brought up by his Indian mother, resembled her -in many things; whilst Bowkett, whose father was English, despised his -Indian mother, and tried to make himself more and more of an Englishman. -This led him to cultivate the acquaintance with the Aclands. - -"I am going to send your mistress a present," he said, "of a mantle -woven of wild dogs' hair. It belonged to the daughter of an Indian -chief from the Rocky Mountains. It has a fringe a foot deep, and is -covered all over with embroidery. You will see then what a squaw can -do." - -Forgill did not seem over-pleased at this information. - -"Are you talking of my Aunt Miriam?" asked Wilfred, opening his sleepy -eyes. - -"So you are thinking about her," returned Forgill. "That's right, my -lad; for your aunt and uncle at Acland's Hut are the only kith and kin -you have left, and they are quite ready to make much of you, and you -can't make too much of them." - -"You have overshot the mark there," laughed Bowkett; "rather think the -missis was glad to be rid of the young plague on any terms." - -Diome pulled the blankets over Wilfred's head, and wished him a _bonne -nuit_ (good night). - -When the boy roused up at last Forgill had long since departed, and -Diome, who had been the first to awaken, was vigorously clapping his -hands to warm them, and was shouting, "_Leve! leve! leve!_" to his -sleepy companions. - -"Get up," interpreted Bowkett, who saw that Wilfred did not understand -his companion's provincial French. Then suiting the action to the word, -he crawled out from between the shafts of the cart, where he had passed -the night, tossed off his blankets and gave himself a shake, dressing -being no part of the morning performances during camping out in the -Canadian wilds, as every one puts on all the clothing he has at going to -bed, to keep himself warm through the night. - -The fire was reduced to a smouldering ash-heap, and every leaf and twig -around was sparkling with hoar-frost, for the frost had deepened in the -night, and joints were stiff and limbs were aching. A run for a mile -was Bowkett's remedy, and a look round for the horses, which had been -turned loose, Canadian fashion, to get their supper where they could -find it. - -The first red beams of the rising sun were tinging the glassy surface of -the lake when Bowkett came upon the scattered quadrupeds, and drove -them, with Wilfred's assistance, down to its blue waters for their -morning drink. - -Diome's shouts recalled them to their own breakfast. He was a man of -many tongues, invariably scolding in French--especially the horses and -dogs, who heeded it, he asserted, better than any other language except -Esquimau--explaining in English, and coming out with the Indian "Caween" -when discourse required an animated "no." "Caween," he reiterated now, -as Bowkett asked, "Are we to dawdle about all day for these English -cow-keepers?" For neither Forgill nor Marley had yet put in an -appearance. - -The breakfast was not hurried over. The fire was built up bigger than -ever before they left, that its blackened remains might mark their -camping place for days, if the farming men came after them. - -Wilfred, who had buckled the saddle on Brownie, received a riding -lesson, and then they started, Diome driving the cart. Wilfred kept -beside him at first, but growing bolder as his spirits rose, he trotted -onward to exchange a word with Bowkett. - -The sharp, frosty night seemed likely to be followed by a day of bright -and mellow sunshine. The exhilarating morning breeze banished all -thoughts of fear and care from the light-hearted trio; and when the tall -white stems of the pines appeared to tremble in the mid-day mirage, -Wilfred scampered hither and thither, as merry as the little gopher, or -ground squirrel, that was gambolling across his path. But no large game -had yet been sighted. Then all unexpectedly a solitary buffalo stalked -majestically across what was now the entrance to a valley, but what -would become the bed of a rushing river when the ice was melting in the -early spring. - -Bowkett paused, looked to his rifle and saddle-girths, waved his arm to -Wilfred to fall back, and with a shout that made the boy's heart leap -dashed after it. Wilfred urged his Brownie up the bank, where he -thought he could safely watch the chase and enjoy a repetition of the -exciting scenes of yesterday. - -Finding itself pursued, the buffalo doubled. On it came, tearing up the -ground in its course, and seeming to shake the quivering trees with its -mighty bellow. Brownie plunged and reared, and Wilfred was flung -backwards, a senseless heap at the foot of the steep bank. - - - - - *CHAPTER III.* - - _*THE FIRST SNOWSTORM.*_ - - -IN the midst of the danger and excitement of the chase, Bowkett had not -a thought to spare for Wilfred. He and Diome were far too busy to even -wonder what had become of him. It was not until their work was done, -and the proverbial hunger of the hunter urged them to prepare for -dinner, that the question arose. - -"Where on earth is that young scoundrel of a boy? Has he fallen back so -far that it will take him all day to recover ground?" asked Bowkett. - -"And if it is so," remarked Diome, "he has only to give that cunning -little brute its head. It is safe to follow the track of the -cart-wheel, and bring him in for the glorious teasing that is waiting to -sugar his tea." - -"Rare seasoning for the frying-pan," retorted Bowkett, as he lit his -pipe, and proposed to halt a bit longer until the truant turned up. - -"Maybe," suggested Diome, "if May bees fly in October, that moose-eared -pony [the long ears of the moose detect the faintest sound at an -inconceivable distance] has been more than a match for his raw -equestrianism. It has heard the jog-trot of that solemn and sober -cowherd, and galloped him off to join his old companions. What will -become of the scattered flock?" - -"Without a leader," put in Bowkett. "I have a great mind to bid for the -office." - -"Oh, oh!" laughed Diome. "I have something of the keen scent of my -Indian grandfather; I began to sniff the wind when that mantle was -talked about last night. Now then, are we going to track back to find -this boy?" - -"I do not know where you propose to look for him, but I can tell you -where you will find him--munching cakes on his auntie's lap. We may as -well save time by looking in the likeliest place first," retorted -Bowkett. - -The bivouac over, they returned to Acland's Hut with their well-laden -cart, and Wilfred was left behind them, no one knew where. The hunters' -careless conclusions were roughly shaken, when they saw a riderless pony -trotting leisurely after them to the well-known door. Old Pete came out -and caught it by the bridle. An ever-rising wave of consternation was -spreading. No one as yet had put it into words, until Forgill emerged -from the cattle-sheds with a sack on his shoulder, exclaiming, "Where's -the boy?" - -"With you, is not he? He did not say much to us; either he or his pony -started off to follow you. He was an unruly one, you know," replied -Bowkett. Forgill's only answer was a hoarse shout to Marley, who had -returned from his wanderings earlier in the day, to come with torches. -Diome joined them in the search. - -Bowkett stepped into the house to allay Aunt Miriam's fears with his -regret the boy had somehow given them the slip, but Forgill and Diome -had gone back for him. - -An abundant and what seemed to them a luxuriant supper had been provided -for the hunting party. Whilst Bowkett sat down to enjoy it to his -heart's content, Aunt Miriam wandered restlessly from room to room, -cautiously breaking the ill news to her brother, by telling him only -half the hunting party had yet turned up. Pete was watching for the -stragglers. - -He roused himself up to ask her who was missing. - -But her guarded reply reassured him, and he settled back to sleep. Such -mishaps were of every-day occurrence. - -"A cold night for camping out," he murmured. "You will see them with the -daylight." - -But the chilly hour which precedes the dawn brought with it a heavy fall -of snow. - -Aunt Miriam's heart sank like lead, for she knew that every track would -be obliterated now. Bowkett still laughed away her fears. Find the boy -they would, benumbed perhaps at the foot of a tree, or huddled up in -some sheltering hollow. - -Then Aunt Miriam asked Bowkett if he would earn her everlasting -gratitude, by taking the dogs and Pete, with skins and blankets-- - -"And bringing the truant home," responded Bowkett boastfully. - -The farm-house, with its double doors and windows, its glowing stoves in -every room, was as warm and cozy within as the night without was -cheerless and cold. Bowkett, who had been enjoying his taste of true -English comfort, felt its allurements enhanced by the force of the -contrast. Aunt Miriam barred the door behind him with a great deal of -unearned gratitude in her heart. Her confidence in Forgill was shaken. -He ought not to have brought home the cows and left her nephew behind. -Yet the herd was so valuable, and he felt himself responsible to his -master for their well-being. She did not blame Forgill; she blamed -herself for letting Wilfred go with him. She leaned upon the hunter's -assurances, for she knew that his resource and daring, and his knowledge -of the country, were far greater than that possessed by either of the -farming men. - -The storm which had burst at daybreak had shrouded all around in a dense -white sheet of driving snowflakes. Even objects close at hand showed -dim and indistinct in the gray snow-light. On the search-party went, -groping their way through little clumps of stunted bushes, which -frequently deceived them by a fancied resemblance to a boyish figure, -now throwing up its arms to call attention, now huddled in a darkling -heap. Their shouts received no answer: that went for little. The boy -must long ago have succumbed to such a night without fire or shelter -They felt among the bushes. The wet mass of snow struck icily cold on -hands and faces. A bitter, biting wind swept down the river from the -north-east, breaking the tall pine branches and uprooting many a -sapling. The two search-parties found each other that was all. Such -weather in itself makes many a man feel savage-tempered and sullen. If -they spoke at all, it was to blame one another. - -While thus they wandered to and fro over the hunting-ground of -yesterday, where was the boy they failed to meet? Where was Wilfred? -Fortunately for him the grass grew thick and tall at the bottom of the -bank down which he had fallen. Lost to view amid the waving yellow -tufts which had sprung up to giant size in the bed of the dried-up -stream, he lay for some time in utter unconsciousness; whilst the -frightened pony, finding itself free, galloped madly away over the sandy -ridges they had been crossing earlier in the morning. - -By slow degrees sight and sound returned to the luckless boy. He was -bruised and shaken, and one ankle which he had bent under him made him -cry out with pain when he tried to rise. At last he drew himself into a -sitting posture and looked around. Recollections came back confusedly at -first. As his ideas grew clearer, he began to realize what had -happened. Overhead the sky was gloomy and dark. A stormy wind swept the -whitened grass around him into billowy waves. Wilfred's first thought -was to shout to his companions; but his voice was weak and faint, and a -longing for a little water overcame him. - -Finding himself unable to walk, he dropped down again in the grassy nest -which he had formed for himself, and tried to think. The weight of his -fall had crushed the grass beneath him into the soft clayey mud at the -bottom of the valley. But the pain in his ankle predominated over every -other consideration. His first attempt to help himself was to take the -knife out of his belt and cut down some of the grass within reach, and -make a softer bed on which to rest it. His limbs were stiffening with -the cold, and whilst he had still feeling enough in his fingers to undo -his boot, he determined to try to bind up his ankle. Whilst he held it -pressed between both his hands it seemed easier. - -But Wilfred knew he must not sit there waiting for Forgill, who, he felt -sure, would come and look for him if he had rejoined the hunting party: -if--there were so many _ifs_ clinging to every thought Wilfred grew -desperate. He grasped a great handful of the sticky clay and pressed it -round his ankle in a stiff, firm band. There was a change in the -atmosphere. In the morning that clay would have been hard and crisp -with the frost, now it was yielding in his hand; surely the snow was -coming. Boy as he was, he knew what that would do for him--he should be -buried beneath it in the hole in which he lay. It roused him to the -uttermost. Deep down in Wilfred's nature there was a vein of that cool -daring which the great Napoleon called "two o'clock in the morning -courage"--a feeling which rises highest in the face of danger, borrowing -little from its surroundings, and holding only to its own. - -"If," repeated Wilfred, as his thoughts ran on--"if they could not find -me, and that is likely enough, am I going to lie here and die?" - -He looked up straight into the leaden sky. "There is nothing between us -and God's heaven," he thought. "It is we who see such a little way. He -can send me help. It may be coming for what I know, one way or another. -What is the use of sitting here thinking? Has Bowkett missed me? Will -he turn back to look me up? Will Forgill come? If I fall asleep down -in this grass, how could they see me? Any way, I must get out of this -hole." He tore the lining out of his cap and knotted it round his -ankle, to keep the clay in place; but to put his boot on again was an -impossibility. Even he knew his toes would freeze before morning if he -left them uncovered. He took his knife and cut off the fur edge down -the front of the old skin coat, and wound his foot up in it as fast as -he could. Then, dragging his boot along with him, he tried hard to -crawl up the bank; but it was too steep for him, and he slipped back -again, hurting himself a little more at every slide. - -This, he told himself, was most unnecessary, as he was sore enough and -stiff enough before. Another bad beginning. What was the use of -stopping short at a bad beginning? He thought of Bruce and his spider. -He had not tried seven times yet. - -Wilfred's next attempt was to crawl towards the entrance of the -valley--this was easier work. Then he remembered the biscuit in his -pocket. It was not all gone yet. He drew himself up and began to eat -it gladly enough, for he had had nothing since his breakfast. The -biscuit was very hard, and he crunched it, making all the noise he -could. It seemed a relief to make any sort of sound in that awful -stillness. - -He was growing almost cheery as he ate. "If I can only find the -cart-track," he thought; "and I must be near it. Diome was behind us -when I was thrown; he must have driven past the end of this valley. If -I could only climb a tree, I might see where the grass was crushed by -the cart-wheel." - -But this was just what Wilfred could not do. The last piece of biscuit -was in his hand, when a dog leaped out of the bushes on the bank above -him and flew at it. Wilfred seized his boot to defend himself; but that -was hopeless work, crawling on the ground. It was a better thought to -fling the biscuit to the dog, for if he enraged it--ah! it might tear -him to pieces. It caught the welcome boon in its teeth, and devoured -it, pawing the ground impatiently for more. Wilfred had but one potato -left. He began to cut it in slices and toss them to the dog. A bright -thought had struck him: this dog might have a master near. No doubt -about that; and if he were only a wild Red Indian, he was yet a man. -Full of this idea, Wilfred emptied out his pockets to see if a corner of -biscuit was left at the bottom. There were plenty of crumbs. He forgot -his own hunger, and held out his hand to the dog. It was evidently -starving. It sat down before him, wagging its bushy tail and moving its -jaws beseechingly, in a mute appeal for food. Wilfred drew himself a -little nearer, talking and coaxing. One sweep of the big tongue and the -pile of crumbs had vanished. - -There was a sound--a crashing, falling sound--in the distance. How they -both listened! Off rushed the furry stranger. - -"It is my chance," thought Wilfred, "my only chance." - -He picked up the half-eaten potato and scrambled after the dog, quite -forgetting his pain in his desperation. A vociferous barking in the -distance urged him on. - -It was not Bowkett, by the strange dog; but another hunting party might -be near. The noise he had heard was the fall of some big game. Hope -rose high; but he soon found himself obliged to rest, and then he -shouted with all his might. He was making his way up the valley now. -He saw before him a clump of willows, whose drooping boughs must have -lapped the stream. His boot was too precious to be left behind; he -slung it to his belt, and then crawled on. One more effort. He had -caught the nearest bough, and, by its help, he drew himself upright. Oh -the pain in the poor foot when he let it touch the ground! it made him -cry out again and again. Still he persisted in his purpose. He grasped -a stronger stem arching higher overhead, and swung himself clear from -the ground. The pliant willow swayed hither and thither in the stormy -blast. Wilfred almost lost his hold. The evening shadows were gathering -fast. The dead leaves swept down upon him with every gust. The wind -wailed and sighed amongst the tall white grass and the bulrushes at his -feet. It was impossible to resist a feeling of utter desolation. - -Wilfred shut his eyes upon the dreary scene. The snatch of prayer on -his lips brought back the bold spirit of an hour ago. He rested the -poor injured ankle on his other foot, and drew himself up, hand over -hand, higher and higher, to the topmost bough, and there he clung, until -a stronger blast than ever flung him backwards towards the bank. He -felt the bough giving way beneath his weight, and, with a desperate -spring, clutched at the stunted bushes which had scratched his cheek -when for one moment, in the toss of the gale, he had touched the hard, -firm, stony ridge. Another moment, and Wilfred found himself, gasping -and breathless, on the higher ground. An uprooted tree came down with a -shock of thunder, shaking the earth beneath him, loosening the -water-washed stones, and crashing among the decaying branches of its -fellow pines. - -At last the whirl of dust and stones subsided, and the barking of the -dog made itself heard once more above the roar of the gale. Trembling -at his hair-breadth escape, Wilfred cleared the dust from his eyes and -looked about him. A dark form was lying upon the shelving ground. He -could just distinguish the outstretched limbs and branching antlers of a -wild moose-deer. - -Whoever the hunter might be he would seek his quarry. Wilfred felt -himself saved. The tears swam before his eyes. He was looking upward -in the intensity of his thankfulness. He did not see the arrow -quivering still in the dead deer's flank, or he would have known that it -could only have flown from some Indian bow. - -He had nothing to do but to wait, to wait and shout. A warm touch on the -tip of his ear made him look round; the dog had returned to him. It, -too, had been struck--a similar arrow was sticking in the back of its -neck. It twisted its head round as far as it was possible, vainly -trying to reach it, and then looked at Wilfred with a mute, appealing -glance there was no mistaking. The boy sat up, laid one hand on the -dog's back, and grasped the arrow with the other. He tugged at it with -all his might; the point was deep in the flesh. But it came out at -last, followed by a gush of blood. - -"Stand still, good dog. There, quiet, quiet!" cried Wilfred quickly, as -he tore a bit of fur off his cap and plugged the hole. - -The poor wounded fellow seemed to understand all about it. He only -turned his head and licked the little bit of Wilfred's face that was -just visible under his overwhelming cap. A doggie's gratitude is never -wanting. - -"Don't, you stupid," said Wilfred. "How am I to see what I am about if -you keep washing me between my eyes? There! just what I expected, it is -out again. Now, steady." - -Another try, and the plug was in again, firmer than before. - -"There, there! lie down, and let me hold it a bit," continued Wilfred, -carefully considering his shaggy acquaintance. - -He was a big, handsome fellow, with clean, strong legs and a hairy coat, -which hung about his keen, bright eyes and almost concealed them. But -the fur was worn and chafed around his neck and across his back, leaving -no doubt in Wilfred's mind as to what he was. - -"You have been driven in a sledge, old boy," he said, as he continued to -fondle him. "You've worn harness until it has torn your coat and made -it shabbier than mine. You are no hunter's dog, as I hoped. I expect -you have been overdriven, lashed along until you dropped down in the -traces; and then your hard-hearted driver undid your harness, and left -you to live or die. Oh! I know their cruel ways. How long have you -been wandering? It isn't in nature that I shouldn't feel for you, for I -am afraid, old fellow, I am in for such another 'do.'" - -Wilfred was not talking to deaf ears. The dog lay down beside him, and -stretched its long paws across his knee, looking up in his face, as if a -word of kindness were something so new, so unimagined, so utterly -incomprehensible. Was it the first he had ever heard? - -No sunset glory brightened the dreary scene. All around them was an -ever-deepening gloom. Wilfred renewed his shouts at intervals, and the -dog barked as if in answer. Then followed a long silent pause, when -Wilfred listened as if his whole soul were in his ears. Was there the -faintest echo of a sound? Who could distinguish in the teeth of the -gale, still tearing away the yellow leaves from the storm-tossed -branches, and scaring the wild fowl from marsh and lakelet? Who could -tell? And yet there was a shadow thrown across the white pine stem. - -Another desperate shout. Wilfred's heart was in his mouth as he strove -to make himself heard above the roar of the wind. On came the stately -figure of a wild Cree chief. His bow was in his hand, but he was -glancing upwards at the stormy sky. His stealthy movements and his -light and noiseless tread had been unheard, even by the dog. - -The Indian was wearing the usual dress of the Cree--a coat of skin with -a scarlet belt, and, as the night was cold, his raven elf-locks were -covered with a little cap his squaw had manufactured from a rat-skin. -His blue cloth leggings and beautiful embroidered moccasins were not so -conspicuous in the fading light. Wilfred could but notice the -fingerless deer-skin mittens covering the hand which grasped his bow. -His knife and axe were stuck in his belt, from which his well-filled -quiver hung. - -Wilfred tumbled himself on to one knee, and holding out the arrow he had -extracted from the dog, he pointed to the dead game on the bank. - -Wilfred was more truly afraid of the wild-looking creature before him -than he would have been of the living moose. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV.* - - _*MAXICA, THE CREE INDIAN.*_ - - -Wilfred thought his fears were only too well-founded when he saw the -Indian lay an arrow on his bow-string and point it towards him. He had -heard that Indians shoot high. Down he flung himself flat on his face, -exclaiming, "Spare me! spare me! I'm nothing but a boy." - -The dog growled savagely beside him. - -Despite the crash of the storm the Indian's quick ear had detected the -sound of a human voice, and his hand was stayed. He seemed groping -about him, as if to find the speaker. - -"I am here," shouted Wilfred, "and there is the moose your arrow has -brought down." - -The Indian pointed to his own swarthy face, saying with a grave dignity, -"The day has gone from me. I know it no longer. In the dim, dim -twilight which comes before the night I perceive the movement, but I no -longer see the game. Yet I shoot, for the blind man must eat." - -Wilfred turned upon his side, immensely comforted to hear himself -answered in such intelligent English. He crawled a little nearer to the -wild red man, and surveyed him earnestly as he tried to explain the -disaster which had left him helpless in so desolate a spot. He knew he -was in the hunting-grounds of the Crees, one of the most friendly of the -Indian tribes. His being there gave no offence to the blind archer, for -the Indians hold the earth is free to all. - -The chief was wholly intent upon securing the moose Wilfred had told him -his arrow had brought down. - -"I have missed the running stream," he went on. "I felt the willow -leaves, but the bed by which they are growing is a grassy slope." - -"How could you know it?" asked Wilfred, in astonishment. - -The Indian picked up a stone and threw it over the bank. "Listen," he -said; "no splash, no gurgle, no water there." He stumbled against the -fallen deer, and stooping down, felt it all over with evident rejoicing. - -He had been medicine man and interpreter for his tribe before the -blindness to which the Indians are so subject had overwhelmed him. It -arises from the long Canadian winter, the dazzling whiteness of the -frozen snow, over which they roam for three parts of the year, which -they only exchange for the choking smoke that usually fills their -chimneyless wig-wams. - -The Cree was thinking now how best to secure his prize. He carefully -gathered together the dry branches the storm was breaking and tearing -away in every direction, and carefully covered it over. Then he took -his axe from his belt and cut a gash in the bark of the nearest tree to -mark the spot. - -Wilfred sat watching every movement with a nervous excitement, which -helped to keep his blood from freezing and his heart from failing. - -The dog was walking cautiously round and round whilst this work was -going forward. - -The Cree turned to Wilfred. - -"You are a boy of the Moka-manas?" (big knives, an Indian name for the -white men). - -"Yes," answered Wilfred. - -When the _cache_, as the Canadians call such a place as the Indian was -making, was finished, the darkness of night had fallen. Poor Wilfred -sat clapping his hands, rubbing his knees, and hugging the dog to keep -himself from freezing altogether. He could scarcely tell what his -companion was about, but he heard the breaking of sticks and a steady -sound of chopping and clearing. Suddenly a bright flame shot up in the -murky midnight, and Wilfred saw before him a well-built pyramid of logs -and branches, through which the fire was leaping and running until the -whole mass became one steady blaze. Around the glowing heap the Indian -had cleared away the thick carpet of pine brush and rubbish, banking it -up in a circle as a defence from the cutting wind. - -He invited Wilfred to join him, as he seated himself in front of the -glowing fire, wrapped his bearskin round him, and lit his pipe. - -The whole scene around them was changed as if by magic. The freezing -chill, the unutterable loneliness had vanished. The ruddy light of the -fire played and flickered among the shadowy trees, casting bright -reflections of distorted forms along the whitening ground, and lighting -up the cloudy sky with a radiance that must have been visible for miles. -Wilfred was not slow in making his way into the charmed circle. He got -over the ground like a worm, wriggling himself along until his feet were -over the bank, and down he dropped in front of the glorious fire. He -coiled himself round with a sense of exquisite enjoyment, stretching his -stiffened limbs and spreading his hands to the glowing warmth, and -altogether behaving in as senseless a fashion as the big doggie himself. -He had waited for no invitation, bounding up to Wilfred in extravagant -delight, and now lay rolling over and over before the fire, giving -sharp, short barks of delight at the unexpected pleasure. - -It was bliss, it was ecstasy, it was paradise, that sudden change from -the bleak, dark, shivering night to the invigorating warmth and the -cheery glow. - -The Cree sat back in dreamy silence, sending great whiffs of smoke from -the carved red-stone bowl of his long pipe, and watching the dog and the -boy at play. Their presence in noways detracted from his Indian comfort, -for the puppy and the pappoose are the Cree's delight by his wigwam -fire. - -Hunger and thirst were almost forgotten, until Wilfred remembered his -potato, and began to busy himself with roasting it in the ashes. But -the dog, mistaking his purpose, and considering it a most inappropriate -gift to the fire, rolled it out again before it was half roasted, and -munched it up with great gusto. - -"There's a shame! you bad old greedy boy," exclaimed Wilfred, when he -found out what the dog was eating. "Well," he philosophised, determined -to make the best of what could not now be helped, "I had a breakfast, -and you--why, you look as if you had had neither breakfast, dinner, nor -supper for many a long day. How have you existed?" - -But this question was answered before the night was out. The potato was -hot, and the impatient dog burned his lips. After sundry shakings and -rubbings of his nose in the earth, the sagacious old fellow jumped up -the bank and ran off. When he returned, his tongue touched damp and -cool, and there were great drops of water hanging in his hair. Up -sprang the thirsty Wilfred to search for the spring. The Cree was -nodding; but the boy had no fear of losing himself, with that glorious -fire-shine shedding its radiance far and wide through the lonely night. -He called the dog to follow him, and groped along the edge of the -dried-up watercourse, sometimes on all fours, sometimes trying to take a -step. Painful as it was, he was satisfied his foot was none the worse -for a little movement. His effort was rewarded. He caught the echo of a -trickling sound from a corner of rock jutting out of the stunted bushes. -The dog, which seemed now to guess the object of his search, led him up -to a breakage in the lichen-covered stone, through which a bubbling -spring dashed its warm spray into their faces. Yes, it was warm; and -when Wilfred stooped to catch the longed-for water in his hands, it was -warm to his lips, with a strong disagreeable taste. No matter, it was -water; it was life. It was more than simple water; he had lighted on a -sulphur spring. Wilfred drank eagerly as he felt its tonic effects -fortifying him against the benumbing cold. For the wind seemed cutting -the skin from his face, and the snowflakes driving before the blast were -changing the dog from black to white. - -Much elated with his discovery, Wilfred returned to the fire, where the -Cree still sat in statue-like repose. - -"He is fast asleep," thought Wilfred, as he got down again as -noiselessly as he could; but the Indian's sleep was like the sleep of -the wild animal. Hearing was scarcely closed. He opened one eye, -comprehended that it was Wilfred returning, and shut it, undisturbed by -the whirling snow. Wilfred set up two great pieces of bark like a -penthouse over his head, and coaxed the dog to nestle by his side. -Sucking the tip of his beaver-skin gloves to still the craving for his -supper, he too fell asleep, to awake shivering in the gray of the dawn -to a changing world. Everywhere around him there was one vast dazzling -whirl of driving sleet and dancing snow. The fire had become a -smouldering pile, emitting a fitful visionary glow. On every side dim -uncertain shapes loomed through the whitened atmosphere. A scene so -weird and wild struck a chill to his heart. The dog moved by Wilfred's -side, and threw off something of the damp, cold weight that was -oppressing him. He sat upright. - -Maxica, or Crow's Foot--for that was the Cree's name--was groping round -and round the circle, pulling out pieces of dead wood from under the -snow to replenish the dying fire. But he only succeeded in making it -hiss and crackle and send up volumes of choking smoke, instead of the -cheery flames of last night. - -Between the dark, suffocating cloud which hovered over the fire and the -white whirling maze beyond it, Maxica, with his failing sight, was -completely bewildered. All tracks were long since buried and lost. It -was equally impossible to find the footprints of Wilfred's hunting -party, or to follow his own trail back to the birch-bark canoe which had -been his home during the brief, bright summer. He folded his arms in -hopeless, stony despair. - -"We are in for a two days' snow," he said; "if the fire fails us and -refuses to burn, we are as good as lost." - -The dog leaped out of the sunken circle, half-strangled with the smoke, -and Wilfred was coughing. One thought possessed them both, to get back -to the water. Snow or no snow, the dog would find it. The Cree yielded -to Wilfred's entreaty not to part company. - -"I'll be eyes for both," urged the boy, "if you will only hold my hand." - -Maxica replied by catching him round the waist and carrying him under -one arm. They were soon at the spring. It was gushing and bubbling -through the snow which surrounded it, hot and stinging as before. The -dog was lapping at the little rill ere it lost itself in the -all-shrouding snow. - -In another minute Wilfred and the Cree were bending down beside it. -Wilfred was guiding the rough, red hand to the right spot; and as Maxica -drank, he snatched a drop for himself. - -To linger beside it seemed to Wilfred their wisest course, but Maxica -knew the snow was falling so thick and fast they should soon be buried -beneath it. The dog, however, did not share in their perplexity. -Perhaps, like Maxica, he knew they must keep moving, for he dashed -through the pathless waste, barking loudly to Wilfred to follow. - -The snow was now a foot deep, at least, on the highest ground, and -Wilfred could no longer make his way through it. Maxica had to lift him -out of it again and again. At last he took him on his back, and from -this unwonted elevation Wilfred commanded a better outlook. The dog was -some way in advance, making short bounds across the snow and leaving a -succession of holes behind him. He at least appeared to know where he -was going, for he kept as straight a course as if he were following some -beaten path. - -But Maxica knew well no such path existed. Every now and then they -paused at one of the holes their pioneer had made, to recover breath. - -"How long will this go on?" thought Wilfred. "If Maxica tires and lays -me down my fate is sealed." - -He began to long for another draught of the warm, sulphurous water. But -the faint hope they both entertained, that the dog might be leading them -to some camping spot of hunter or Indian, made them afraid to turn back. - -It was past the middle of the day when Wilfred perceived a round dark -spot rising out of the snow, towards which the dog was hurrying. The -snow beat full in their faces, but with the eddying gusts which almost -swept them off their feet the Cree's keen sense of smell detected a -whiff of smoke. This urged him on. Another and a surer sign of help at -hand--the dog had vanished. Yet Maxica was sure he could hear him -barking wildly in the distance. But Wilfred could no longer distinguish -the round dark spot towards which they had been hastening. Maxica stood -still in calm and proud despair. It was as impossible now to go, back -to the _cache_ of game and the sulphur spring as it was to force his way -onward. They had reached a snow-drift. The soft yielding wall of white -through which he was striding grew higher and higher. - -In vain did Wilfred's eyes wander from one side to the other. As far as -he could see the snow lay round them, one wide, white, level sheet, in -which the Cree was standing elbow-deep. Were they, indeed, beyond the -reach of human aid? - -Wilfred was silent, hushed; but it was the hush of secret prayer. - -Suddenly Maxica exclaimed, "Can the Good Spirit the white men talk of, -can he hear us? Will he show us the path?" - -Such a question from such wild lips, at such an hour, how strangely it -struck on Wilfred's ear. He had scarcely voice enough left to make -himself heard, for the storm was raging round them more fiercely than -ever. - -"I was thinking of him, Maxica. While we are yet speaking, will he -hear?" - -Wilfred's words were cut short, for Maxica had caught his foot against -something buried in the snow, and stumbled. Wilfred was thrown forward. -The ground seemed giving way beneath him. He was tumbled through the -roof of the little birch-bark hut, which they had been wandering round -and round without knowing it. Wilfred was only aware of a faint glimmer -of light through a column of curling, blinding smoke. He thought he -must be descending a chimney, but his outstretched hands were already -touching the ground, and he wondered more and more where he could have -alighted. Not so Maxica. He had grasped the firm pole supporting the -fragile birch-bark walls, through which Wilfred had forced his way. One -touch was sufficient to convince him they had groped their way to an -Indian hut. The column of smoke rushing through the hole Wilfred had -made in his most lucky tumble told the Cree of warmth and shelter -within. - -There was a scream from a feeble woman's voice, but the exclamation was -in the rich, musical dialect of the Blackfeet, the hereditary enemies of -his tribe. In the blind warrior's mind it was a better thing to hide -himself beneath the snow and freeze to death, than submit to the -scalping-knife of a hated foe. - -Out popped Wilfred's head to assure him there was only a poor old woman -inside, but she had got a fire. - -The latter half of his confidences had been already made plain by the -dense smoke, which was producing such a state of strangulation Wilfred -could say no more. - -But the hut was clearing; Maxica once more grasped the nearest pole, and -swung himself down. - -A few words with the terrified squaw were enough for the Cree, who knew -so well the habits of their wandering race. The poor old creature had -probably journeyed many hundreds of miles, roaming over their wide -hunting-grounds, until she had sunk by the way, too exhausted to proceed -any further. Then her people had built her this little hut, lit a fire -in the hastily-piled circle of stones in the middle of it, heaped up the -dry wood on one side to feed it, placed food and water on the other, and -left her lying on her blankets to die alone. It was the custom of the -wild, wandering tribes. She had accepted her fate with Indian -resignation, simply saying that her hour had come. But the rest she so -much needed had restored her failing powers, and whilst her stock of -food lasted she was getting better. They had found her gathering -together the last handful of sticks to make up the fire once more, and -then she would lie down before it and starve. Every Indian knows what -starvation means, and few can bear it as well. Living as they do -entirely by the chase, the feast which follows the successful hunt is -too often succeeded by a lengthy fast. Her shaking hands were gathering -up the lumps of snow which had come down on the pieces of the broken -roof, to fill her empty kettle. - -Wilfred picked up the bits of bark to which it had been sticking, and -threw them on the fire. - -"My bow and quiver for a few old shreds of beaver-skin, and we are -saved," groaned the Cree, who knew that all his garments were made from -the deer. He felt the hem of the old squaw's tattered robe, but beaver -there was none. - -"What do you want it for, Maxica?" asked Wilfred, as he pulled off his -gloves and offered them to him. "There is nothing about me that I would -not give you, and be only too delighted to have got it to give, when I -think how you carried me through the snowdrift. These are new -beaver-skin; take them, Maxica." - -A smile lit up the chief's dark face as he carefully felt the proffered -gloves, and to make assurance doubly sure added taste to touch. Then he -began to tear them into shreds, which he directed Wilfred to drop into -the melting snow in the kettle, explaining to him as well as he could -that there was an oiliness in the beaver-skin which never quite dried -out of it, and would boil down into a sort of soup. - -"A kind of coarse isinglass, I should say," put in Wilfred. But the -Cree knew nothing of isinglass and its nourishing qualities; yet he knew -the good of the beaver-skin when other food had failed. It was a -wonderful discovery to Wilfred, to think his gloves could provide them -all with a dinner; but they required some long hours' boiling, and the -fire was dying down again for want of fuel. Maxica ventured out to -search for driftwood under the snow. He carefully drew out a pole from -the structure of the hut, and using it as an alpenstock, swung himself -out of the hollow in which the hut had been built for shelter, and where -the snow had accumulated to such a depth that it was completely buried. - -Whilst he was gone Wilfred and the squaw were beside the fire, sitting -on the ground face to face, regarding each other attentively. - - - - - *CHAPTER V.* - - _*IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT.*_ - - -The squaw was a very ugly woman; starvation and old age combined had -made her perfectly hideous. As Wilfred sat in silence watching the -simmering kettle, he thought she was the ugliest creature he had ever -seen. Her complexion was a dark red-brown. Her glittering black eyes -seemed to glare on him in the darkness of the hut like a cat's. Her -shrivelled lips showed a row of formidably long teeth, which made -Wilfred think of Little Red Ridinghood's grandmother, and he hoped she -would not pounce on him and devour him before Maxica returned. - -He wronged her shamefully, for she had been watching his limping -movements with genuine pity. What did it matter that her gown was scant -and short, or that her leggings, which had once been of bright-coloured -cloth, curiously worked with beads, were reduced by time to a sort of -no-colour and the tracery upon them to a dirty line? They hid a good, -kind heart. - -She loosened the English handkerchief tied over her head, and the long, -raven locks, now streaked with white, fell over her shoulders. - -She was a wild-looking being, but her awakening glance of alertness need -not have alarmed Wilfred, for she was only intent upon dipping him a cup -of water from the steaming kettle. She was careful to taste it and cool -it with a little of the snow still driving through the hole in the roof, -until she made it the right degree of heat that was safest for Wilfred -in his starving, freezing condition. - -"What would Aunt Miriam think if she could see me now?" mused the boy, -as he fixed his eyes on the dying embers and turned away from the -steaming cup he longed to snatch at. - -Yet when the squaw held it towards him, he put it back with a smile, -resolutely repeating "After you," for was she not a woman? - -He made her drink. A little greasy water, oh! how nice! Then he -refilled the cup and took his share. - -The tottering creature smoothed the blanket from which she had risen on -Wilfred's summary entrance, and motioned to him to lie down. - -"It will be all glove with us now," laughed Wilfred to himself--"hand -and glove with the Red Indians. If any one whispered that in uncle's -ear, wouldn't he think me a queer fish! But I owe my life to Maxica, -and I know it." - -He threw himself down on the blanket, glad indeed of the rest for his -swollen ankle. From this lowly bed he fell to contemplating his -temporary refuge. It looked so very temporary, especially the side from -which Maxica had abstracted his alpenstock, Wilfred began to fear the -next disaster would be its downfall. He was dozing, when a sudden noise -made him start up, in the full belief the catastrophe he had dreaded had -arrived; but it was only Maxica dropping the firewood he had with -difficulty collected through the hole in the roof. - -He called out to Wilfred that he had discovered his atim digging in the -snow at some distance. - -What his atim might prove to be Wilfred could not imagine. He was -choosing a stick from the heap of firewood. Balancing himself on one -foot, he popped his head through the hole to reconnoitre. He fancied he -too could see a moving speck in the distance. - -"The dog!" he cried joyfully, giving a long, shrill whistle that brought -it bounding over the crisping snow towards him with a ptarmigan in its -mouth. - -After much coaxing, Wilfred induced the dog to lay the bird down, to lap -the melting snow which was filling the hollows in the floor with little -puddles. - -The squaw pounced upon the bird as a welcome addition to the beaver-skin -soup. Where had the dog found it? He had not killed it, that was -clear, for it was frozen hard. Yet it had not been frozen to death. The -quick Indian perception of the squaw pointed to the bite on its breast. -It was not the tooth of a dog, but the sharp beak of some bird of prey -which had killed it. The atim had found the _cache_ of a great white -owl; a provident bird, which, when once its hunger is satisfied, stores -the remainder of its prey in some handy crevice. - -The snow had ceased to fall. The moon was rising. The thick white -carpet which covered all around was hardening under the touch of the -coming frost. - -Another cup from the half-made soup, and Maxica proposed to start with -Wilfred to search for the supposed store. The dog was no longer hungry. -It had stretched itself on the ground at Wilfred's feet for a -comfortable slumber. - -An Indian never stops for pain or illness. With the grasp of death upon -him, he will follow the war-path or the hunting track, so that Maxica -paid no regard to Wilfred's swollen foot. If the boy could not walk, -his shoulder was ready, but go he must; the atim would lead his own -master to the spot, but it would never show it to a stranger. - -Wilfred glanced up quickly, and then looked down with a nod to himself. -It would not do to make much of his hurt in such company. Well, he had -added a word to his limited stock of Indian. "Atim" was Cree for dog, -that at least was clear; and they had added the atim to his slender -possessions. They thought the dog was his own, and why should not he -adopt him? They were both lost, they might as well be chums. - -This conclusion arrived at, Wilfred caught up the wing of the ptarmigan, -and showing it to the dog did his best to incite him to find another. -He caught sight of a long strip of moose-skin which had evidently tied -up the squaw's blanket on her journey. He persuaded her to lend it to -him, making more use of signs than of words. - -"Ugh! ugh!" she replied, and her "yes" was as intelligible to Wilfred as -Diome's "caween." He soon found that "yes" and "no" alone can go a good -way in making our wants understood by any one as naturally quick and -observant as an Indian. - -The squaw saw what Wilfred was trying to do, and helped him, feeble as -she was, to make a sling for his foot. With the stick in his hand, when -this was accomplished, he managed to hobble after Maxica and the dog. - -The Cree went first, treading down a path, and partially clearing the -way before him with his pole. But a disappointment awaited them. The -dog led them intelligently enough to the very spot where it had -unquestionably found a most abundant dinner, by the bones and feathers -still sticking in the snow. Maxica, guided by his long experience, felt -about him until he found two rats, still wedged in a hole in a decaying -tree which had gone down before the gale. But he would not take them, -for fear the owl might abandon her reserve. - -"The otowuck-oho," said Maxica, mimicking the cry of the formidable -bird, "will fill it again before the dawn. Wait and watch. Maxica have -the otowuck himself. See!" - -With all the skill of the Indian at constructing traps, he began his -work, intending to catch the feathered Nimrod by one leg the next time -it visited its larder, when all in a moment an alarm was sounded--a cry -that rent the air, so hoarse, so hollow, and so solemn Wilfred clung to -his guide in the chill of fear. It was a call that might have roused to -action a whole garrison of soldiers. The Indian drew back. Again that -dread "Waugh O!" rang out, and then the breathless silence which -followed was broken by half-suppressed screams, as of some one -suffocating in the throttling grasp of an enemy. - -The dog, with his tail between his legs, crouched cowering at their -feet. - -"The Blackfeet are upon us," whispered the Cree, with his hand on his -bow, when a moving shadow became visible above the distant pine trees. - -The Cree breathed freely, and drew aside his half-made trap, abandoned -at the first word that broke from Wilfred's lips: "It is not human; it -is coming through the air." - -"It is the otowuck itself," answered Maxica. "Be off, or it will have -our eyes out if it finds us near its roost." - -He was looking round him for some place of concealment. On came the -dreaded creature, sailing in rapid silence towards its favourite haunt, -gliding with outstretched pinions over the glistening snow, its great -round eyes flashing like stars, or gleams of angry lightning, as it -swept the whitened earth, shooting downwards to strike at some furry -prey, then rising as suddenly in the clear, calm night, until it floated -like a fleecy cloud above their heads, as ready to swoop upon the -sparrow nestling on its tiny twig as upon the wild turkey-hen roosting -among the stunted bushes. - -Maxica trembled for the dog, for he knew the special hatred with which -it regarded dogs. If it recognized the thief at its hoard, its doom was -sealed. - -Maxica pushed his alpenstock into an empty badger hole big enough for -the boy and dog to creep into. Then, as the owl drew near, he sent an -arrow whizzing through the air. It was aimed at the big white breast, -but the unerring precision of other days was over. It struck the -feathery wing. The bird soared aloft unharmed, and the archer, -crouching in the snow, barely escaped its vengeance. Down it pounced, -striking its talons in his shoulder, as he turned his back towards it to -protect his face. Wilfred sprang out of the friendly burrow, snatched -the pole from Maxica's hand, and beat off the owl; and the dog, unable -to rush past Wilfred, barked furiously. The onslaught and the noise -were at least distasteful. Hissing fiercely, with the horn-like feathers -above its glaring eyes erect and bristling, the bird spread its gigantic -wings, wheeling slowly and gracefully above their ambush; for Wilfred -had retreated as quickly as he had emerged, and Maxica lay on his face -as still as death. More attractive game presented itself. A hawk flew -past. What hawk could resist the pleasure of a passing pounce? Away -went the two, chasing and fighting, across the snowy waste. - -[Illustration: Wilfred sprang and beat off the owl.] - -When the owl was out of sight, the Cree rose to his feet to complete the -snare. Wilfred crept out of his burrow, to find his fingers as hard and -white and useless as if they had turned to stone. He had kept his -gloveless hands well cuddled up in the long sleeves of his coat during -the walk, but their exposure to the cold when he struck at the owl had -changed them to a lump of ice. - -Maxica heard the exclamation, "Oh, my hands! my hands!" and seizing a -great lump of snow began to rub them vigorously. - -The return to the hut was easier than the outgoing, for the snow was -harder. The pain in Wilfred's fingers was turning him sick and faint as -they reached the hut a little past midnight. - -The gloves were reduced to jelly, but the state of Wilfred's hands -troubled the old squaw. She had had her supper from the beaver-skin -soup, but was quite ready, Indian fashion, to begin again. - -The three seated themselves on the floor, and the cup was passed from -one to the other, until the whole of the soup was drank. - -The walk had been fruitless, as Wilfred said. They had returned with -nothing but the key of the big owl's larder, which, after such an -encounter, it would probably desert. - -The Cree lit his pipe, the squaw lay down to sleep, and Wilfred talked -to his dog. - -"Do you understand our bargain, old fellow?" he asked. "You and I are -going to chum together. Now it is clear I must give you a name. Let us -see which you will like best." - -Wilfred ran through a somewhat lengthy list, for nowhere but in Canada -are dogs accommodated with such an endless variety. There are names in -constant use from every Indian dialect, but of the Atims and the -Chistlis the big, old fellow took no heed. He sat up before his new -master, looking very sagacious, as if he quite entered into the -important business of choosing a name. But clearly Indian would not do. -even Mist-atim, which Wilfred could now interpret as "big dog,"--a name -the Cree usually bestows upon his horse,--was heard with a contemptuous -"Ach!" Chistli, "seven dogs" in the Sircie dialect, which appeared to -Wilfred highly complimentary to his furry friend, met with no -recognition. Then he went over the Spankers and Ponys and Boxers, to -which the numerous hauling dogs so often responded. No better success. -The pricked ears were more erect than ever. The head was turned away in -positive indifference. - -"Are you a Frenchman?" asked Wilfred, going over all the old French -names he could remember. Diome thought the dogs had a special partiality -for French. It would not do, however. This particular dog might hate -it. There were Yankee names in plenty from over the border, and uncouth -sounding Esquimau from the far north. - -Wilfred began to question if his dog had ever had a name, when Yula -caught his ear, and "Yula chummie" brought the big shaggy head rubbing -on Wilfred's knee. Few dogs are honoured with the choice of their own -name, but it answered, and "Yula chummie" was adhered to by boy and dog. - -This weighty matter settled, Wilfred was startled to see Maxica rouse -himself up with a shake, and look to the man-hole, as the Cree called -their place of exit. He was going. Wilfred sprang up in alarm. - -"Don't leave me!" he entreated. "How shall I ever find my way home -without you?" - -It might be four o'clock, for the east was not yet gray, and the morning -stars shone brightly on the glistening snow. Maxica paused, regarding -earth and sky attentively, until he had ascertained the way of the wind. -It was still blowing from the north-east. More snow was surely coming. -His care was for his canoe, which he had left in safe mooring by the -river bank. No one but an Indian could have hoped, in his forlorn -condition, to have recovered the lost path to the running stream. His -one idea was to grope about until he did find it, with the wonderful -persistency of his race. The Indian rarely fails in anything he sets -his mind to accomplish. But to take the lame boy with him was out of -the question. He might have many miles to traverse before he reached -the spot. He tried to explain to Wilfred that he must now pack up his -canoe for the winter. He was going to turn it keel upwards, among the -branches of some strong tree, and cover it with boughs, until the spring -of the leaf came round again. - -"Will it be safe?" asked Wilfred. - -"Safe! perfectly." - -Maxica's own particular mark was on boat and paddle. No Indian, no -hunter would touch it. Who else was there in that wide, lone land? As -for Wilfred, his own people would come and look for him, now the storm -was over. - -"I am not so sure of that," said the poor boy sadly, remembering -Bowkett's words.--"My aunt Miriam did not take to me. She may not -trouble herself about me. How could I be so stupid as to set her -against me," he was thinking, "all for nothing?" - -"Then," urged Maxica, "stay here with the Far-off-Dawn"--for that was -the old squaw's name. In his Indian tongue he called her Pe-na-Koam. -"Will not the Good Spirit take care of you? Did not he guide us out of -the snowdrift?" - -Wilfred was silenced. "I never did think much of myself," he said at -last, "but I believe I grow worse and worse. How is it that I know and -don't know--that I cannot realize this love that never will forsake; -always more ready to hear than we to ask? If I could but feel it true, -all true for me, I should not be afraid." - -Under that longing the trust was growing stronger and stronger in his -heart. - -"I shall come again for the moose," said Maxica, as he shook the red and -aching fingers which just peeped out from Wilfred's long sleeve; and so -he left him. - -The boy watched the Indian's lithe figure striding across the snow, -until he could see him no longer. Then a cold, dreary feeling crept over -him. Was he abandoned by all the world--forgotten--disliked? Did nobody -care for him? He tucked his hands into the warm fur which folded over -his breast, and tried to throw off the fear. The tears gushed from his -eyes. Well, there was nobody to see. - -He had forgotten Yula. Those unwonted raindrops had brought him, -wondering and troubled, to Wilfred's side. A big head was poking its -way under his arm, and two strong paws were brushing at his knee. Yula -was saying, "Don't, don't cry," in every variety of doggie language. -Never had he been so loving, so comforting, so warm to hug, so quick to -understand. He was doing his best to melt the heavy heart's lead that -was weighing poor Wilfred down. - -He built up the fire, and knelt before it, with Yula's head on his -shoulder; for the cold grew sharper in the gray of the dawn. The squaw, -now the pangs of hunger were so far appeased, was sleeping heavily. But -there was no sleep for Wilfred. As the daylight grew stronger he went -again to his look-out. His thoughts were turning to Forgill. He had -seen so much more of Forgill than of any one else at his uncle's, and he -had been so careful over him on the journey. It was wrong to think they -would all forget him. He would trust and hope. - -He filled the kettle with fresh snow, and put it on to boil. - -The sun was streaming through the hole in the roof when the squaw awoke, -like another creature, but not in the least surprised to find Maxica had -departed. She seemed thankful to see the fire still burning, and poured -out her gratitude to Wilfred. Her smiles and gestures gave the meaning -of the words he did not understand. - -Then he asked himself, "What would have become of her if he too had gone -away with Maxica?" - -She looked pityingly at Wilfred's unfortunate fingers as he offered her -a cup of hot water, their sole breakfast. But they could not live on -hot water. Where was the daily bread to come from for them both? -Pe-na-Koam was making signs. Could Wilfred set a trap? Alas! he knew -nothing of the Indian traps and snares. He sent out Yula to forage for -himself, hoping he might bring them back a bird, as he had done the -night before. Wilfred lingered by the hole in the roof, watching him -dashing through the snow, and casting many a wistful glance to the -far-away south, almost expecting to see Forgill's fur cap and broad -capote advancing towards him; for help would surely come. But there are -the slow, still hours, as well as the sudden bursts of storm and -sunshine. All have their share in the making of a brave and constant -spirit. God's time is not our time, as Wilfred had yet to learn. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI.* - - _*SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER.*_ - - -Pe-na-Koam insisted upon examining Wilfred's hands and feet, and tending -to them after her native fashion. She would not suffer him to leave the -hut, but ventured out herself, for the storm was followed by a day of -glorious sunshine. She returned with her lap full of a peculiar kind of -moss, which she had scraped from under the snow. In her hand she -carried a bunch of fine brown fibres. - -"Wattape!" she exclaimed, holding them up before him, with such evident -pleasure he thought it was something to eat; but no, the moss went into -the kettle to boil for dinner, but the wattape was laid carefully aside. - -The squaw had been used to toil from morning to night, doing all the -work of her little world, whilst her warrior, when under shelter, slept -or smoked by the fire. She expected no help from Wilfred within the -hut, but she wanted to incite him to go and hunt. She took a -sharp-pointed stick and drew a bow and arrow on the floor. Then she -made sundry figures. which he took for traps; but he could only shake -his head. He was thinking of a visit to the owl's tree. But when they -had eaten the moss, Pe-na-Koam drew out a piece of skin from under her -blanket, and spreading it on the floor laid her fingers beseechingly on -his hunting-knife. With this she cut him out a pair of gloves, -fingerless it is true, shaped like a baby's first glove, but oh! so -warm. Wilfred now discovered the use of the wattape, as she drew out -one long thread after another, and began to sew the gloves together with -it, pricking the holes through which she passed it with a quill she -produced from some part of her dress. - -Wilfred took up the brown tangle and examined it closely. It had been -torn from the fine fibrous root of the pine. He stood still to watch -her, wondering whether there was anything he could do. He took the -stick she had used and drew the rough figure of a man fishing on the -earthen floor. He felt sure they must be near some stream or lakelet. -The Indians would never have left her beyond the reach of water. The -wrinkled face lit up with hopeful smiles. Away she worked more -diligently than ever. - -Wilfred built up the fire to give her a better blaze. They had wood -enough to last them through to-morrow. Before it was all burnt up he -must try to get in some more. The use was returning to his hands. He -took up some of the soft mud, made by the melting of the snow on the -earthen floor, and tried to stop up the cracks in the bark which formed -the walls of the hut. - -They both worked on in silence, hour after hour, as if there were not a -moment to lose. At last the gloves were finished. The Far-off-Dawn -considered her blanket, and decided a piece might be spared off every -corner. Out of these she cut a pair of socks. The Indians themselves -often wear three or four pairs of such blanket socks at once in the very -coldest of the weather. But Wilfred could find nothing in the hut out -of which to make a fishing line. The only thing he could do was to pay -a visit to the white owl's larder. He was afraid to touch Maxica's -trap. He did not think he could manage it. Poor boy, his spirit was -failing him for want of food. Yet he determined to go and see if there -was anything to be found. Wilfred got up with an air of resolution, and -began to arrange the sling for his foot. But the Far-off-Dawn soon made -him understand he must not go without his socks, which she was hurrying -to finish. - -"I believe I am changing into a snail," thought Wilfred; "I do nothing -but crawl about. Yet twenty slips brought the snail to the top of his -wall. Twenty slips and twenty climbs--that is something to think of." - -The moon was rising. The owl would leave her haunt to seek for prey. - -"Now it strikes me," exclaimed Wilfred, "why she always perches on a -leafless tree. Her blinking eyes are dazzled by the flicker of the -leaves: but they are nearly gone now, she will have a good choice. She -may not go far a-field, if she does forsake her last night's roost." -This reflection was wondrously consolatory. - -The squaw had kept her kettle filled with melting snow all day, so that -they could both have a cup of hot water whenever they liked. The -Far-off-Dawn was as anxious to equip him for his foraging expedition as -he was to take it. The socks were finished; she had worked hard, and -Wilfred knew it. He began to think there was something encouraging in -her very name--the Far-off-Dawn. Was it not what they were waiting for? -It was an earnest that their night would end. - -She made him put both the blanket socks on the swollen foot, and then -persuaded him to exchange his boots for her moccasins, which were a much -better protection against the snow. The strip of fur, no longer needed -to protect his toes, was wound round and round his wrists. - -Then the squaw folded her blanket over his shoulder, and started him, -pointing out as well as she could the streamlet and the pool which had -supplied her with water when she was strong enough to fetch it. - -Both knew their lives depended upon his success. Yula was by his side. -Wilfred turned back with a great piece of bark, to cover up the hole in -the roof of the hut to keep the squaw warm. She had wrapped the skin -over her feet and was lying before the fire, trying to sleep in her dumb -despair. She had discovered there was no line and hook forthcoming from -any one of his many pockets. How then could he catch the fish with -which she knew the Canadian waters everywhere abounded? - -Pe-na-Koam had pointed out the place of the pool so earnestly that -Wilfred thought, "I will go there first; perhaps it was there she found -the moss." - -The northern lights were flashing overhead, shooting long lines of -roseate glory towards the zenith, as if some unseen angel's hand were -stringing heaven's own harp. But the full chord which flowed beneath -its touch was light instead of music. - -Wilfred stood silent, rapt in admiring wonder, as he gazed upon those -glowing splendours, forgetting everything beside. Yula recalled him to -the work in hand. He hobbled on as fast as he could. He was drawing -near the pool, for tall rushes bent and shivered above the all-covering -snow, and pines and willows rocked in the night wind overhead. Another -wary step, and the pool lay stretched before him like a silver shield. - -A colony of beavers had made their home in this quiet spot, building -their mounds of earth like a dam across the water. But the busy workers -were all settling within doors to their winter sleep--drawbridges drawn -up, and gates barred against intruders. "You are wiseheads," thought -Wilfred, "and I almost wish I could do the same--work all summer like -bees, and sleep all winter like dormice; but then the winter is so -long." - -"Would not it be a grand thing to take home a beaver, Yula?" he -exclaimed, suddenly remembering his gloves in their late reduced -condition, and longing for another cup of the unpalatable soup; for the -keen air sharpened the keener appetite, until he felt as if he could -have eaten the said gloves, boiled or unboiled. - -But how to get at the clever sleepers under their well-built dome was -the difficulty, almost the impossibility. - -"Yula, it can't be done--that is by you and me, old boy," he sighed. -"We have not got their house-door key for certain. We shall have to put -up with the moss, and think ourselves lucky if we find it." - -The edge of the pool was already fringed with ice, and many a shallow -basin where it had overflowed its banks was already frozen over. -Wilfred was brushing away the crisp snow in his search for moss, when he -caught sight of a big white fish, made prisoner by the ice in an awkward -corner, where the rising flood had one day scooped a tiny reservoir. -Making Yula sit down in peace and quietness, and remember manners, he -set to work. He soon broke the ice with a blow from the handle of his -knife, and took out the fish. As he expected, the hungry dog stood -ready to devour it; but Wilfred, suspecting his intention, tied it up in -the blanket, and swung it over his shoulder. Fortune did not favour him -with such another find, although he searched about the edge of the lake -until it grew so slippery he was afraid of falling in. He had now to -retrace his steps, following the marks in the snow back to the hut. - -The joy of Pe-na-Koam was unbounded when he untied the blanket and slid -the fish into her hands. - -The prospect of the hot supper it would provide for them nerved Wilfred -to go a little further and try to reach the big owl's roost, for fear -another snow should bury the path Maxica had made to it. Once lost he -might never find it again. The owl was still their most trusty friend -and most formidable foe. Thanks to the kindly labours of Maxica's pole, -Wilfred could trudge along much faster now; but before he reached the -hollow tree, strange noises broke the all-pervading stillness. There -was a barking of dogs in the distance, to which Yula replied with all -the energy in his nature. There was a tramping as of many feet, and of -horses, coming nearer and nearer with a lumbering thud on the ground, -deadened and muffled by the snow, but far too plain not to attract all -Wilfred's attention. - -There was a confusion of sounds, as of a concourse of people; too many -for a party of hunters, unless the winter camp of which Diome had spoken -was assembling. Oh joy! if this could be. Wilfred was working himself -into a state of excitement scarcely less than Yula's. - -He hurried on to the roosting-tree, for it carried him nearer still to -the trampling and the hum. - -What could it mean? Yula was before him, paws up, climbing the old dead -trunk, bent still lower by the recent storm. A snatch, and he had -something out of that hole in the riven bark. Wilfred scrambled on, for -fear his dog should forestall him. The night was clear around him, he -saw the aurora flashes come and go. Yula had lain down at the foot of -the tree, devouring his prize. Wilfred's hand, fumbling in its -fingerless gloves, at last found the welcome hole. It was full once -more. Soft feathers and furs: a gopher--the small ground -squirrel--crammed against some little snow-birds. - -Wilfred gave the squirrel to his dog, for he had many fears the squaw -would be unwilling to give him anything but water in their dearth of -food. The snow-birds he transferred to his pocket, looking nervously -round as he did so; but there was no owl in sight. The white breasts of -the snow-birds were round and plump; but they were little things, not -much bigger than sparrows, and remembering Maxica's caution, he dare not -take them all. - -His hand went lower: a few mice--he could leave them behind him without -any reluctance. But stop, he had not got to the bottom yet. Better -than ever: he had felt the webbed feet of a wild duck. Mrs. Owl was -nearly forgiven the awful scare of the preceding night. Growing bolder -in his elation, Wilfred seated himself on the roots of the tree, from -which Yula's ascent had cleared the snow. He began to prepare his game, -putting back the skin and feathers to conceal his depredations from the -savage tenant, lest she should change her domicile altogether. - -"I hope she can't count," said Wilfred, who knew not how to leave the -spot without ascertaining the cause of the sounds, which kept him -vibrating between hope and fear. - -Suddenly Yula sprang forward with a bound and rushed over the -snow-covered waste with frantic fury. - -"The Blackfeet! the Blackfeet!" gasped Wilfred, dropping like lightning -into the badger hole where Maxica had hidden him from the owl's -vengeance. A singular cavalcade came in sight: forty or fifty Indian -warriors, armed with their bows and guns and scalping-knives, the chiefs -with their eagles' feathers nodding as they marched. Behind them -trotted a still greater number of ponies, on which their squaws were -riding man fashion, each with her pappoose or baby tucked up as warm as -it could be in its deer-skin, and strapped safely to its wooden cradle, -which its mother carried on her back. - -Every pony was dragging after it what the Indians call a travoy--that -is, two fir poles, the thin ends of which are harnessed to the pony's -shoulders, while the butt ends drag on the ground; another piece of wood -is fastened across them, making a sort of truck, on which the skins and -household goods are piled. The bigger children were seated on the top of -many a well-laden travoy, so that the squaws came on but slowly. - -Wilfred was right in his conjecture: they were the Blackfeet Maxica -feared to encounter, coming up to trade with the nearest Hudson Bay -Company's fort. They were bringing piles of furs and robes of skin, and -bags of pemmican, to exchange for shot and blankets, sugar and tea, -beads, and such other things as Indians desire to possess. They always -came up in large parties, because they were crossing the hunting-grounds -of their enemies the Crees. They had a numerous following of dogs, and -many a family of squalling puppies, on the children's laps. - -The grave, stern, savage aspect of the men, the ugly, anxious, careworn -faces of the toiling women, filled Wilfred with alarm. Maxica in his -semi-blindness might well fear to be the one against so many. Wilfred -dared not even call back Yula, for fear of attracting their attention. -They were passing on to encamp by the pool he had just quitted. -Friendly or unfriendly, Yula was barking and snarling in the midst of -the new-comers. - -"Was his Yula, his Yula chummie, going to leave him?" asked Wilfred in -his dismay. "What if he had belonged originally to this roving tribe, -and they should take him away!" This thought cut deeper into Wilfred's -heart than anything else at that moment. He crept out of his badger -hole, and crawled along the ditch-like path, afraid to show his head -above the snow, and still more afraid to remain where he was, for fear -of the owl's return. - -He kept up a hope that Yula might come back of his own accord. He was -soon at the birch-bark hut, but no Yula had turned up. - -He tumbled in, breathless and panting. Pe-na-Koam was sure he had been -frightened, but thought only of the owl. She had run a stick through -the tail of the fish, and was broiling it in the front of the fire. The -cheery light flickered and danced along the misshapen walls, which -seemed to lean more and more each day from the pressure of the snow -outside them. - -"The blessed snow!" exclaimed Wilfred. "It hides us so completely no -one can see there is a hut at all, unless the smoke betrays us." - -How was he to make the squaw understand the dreaded Blackfeet were here? -He snatched up their drawing stick, as he called it, and began to sketch -in a rough and rapid fashion the moving Indian camp which he had seen. -A man with a bow in his hand, with a succession of strokes behind him to -denote his following, and a horse's head with the poles of the travoy, -were quite sufficient to enlighten the aged woman. She grasped -Wilfred's hand and shook it. Then she raised her other arm, as if to -strike, and looked inquiringly in his face. Friend or foe? That was -the all-important question neither could answer. - -Before he returned his moccasins to their rightful owner, Wilfred limped -out of the hut and hung up the contents of his blanket game-bag in the -nearest pine. They were already frozen. - -Not knowing what might happen if their refuge were discovered, they -seated themselves before the fire to enjoy the supper Wilfred had -secured. The fish was nearly the size of a salmon trout. The squaw -removed the sticks from which it depended a little further from the -scorch of the fire, and fell to--pulling off the fish in flakes from one -side of the backbone, and signing to Wilfred to help himself in similar -fashion from the other. - -"Fingers were made before forks," thought the boy, his hunger overcoming -all reluctance to satisfy it in such a heathenish way. But the old -squaw's brow was clouded and her thoughts were troubled. She was -trembling for Wilfred's safety. - -She knew by the number of dashes on the floor the party was large--a -band of her own people; no other tribe journeyed as they did, moving the -whole camp at once. Other camps dispersed, not more than a dozen -families keeping together. - -If they took the boy for a Cree or the friend of a Cree, they would -count him an enemy. Before the fish had vanished her plan was made. - -She brought Wilfred his boots, and took back her moccasins. As the boy -pulled off the soft skin sock, which drew to the shape of his foot -without any pressure that could hurt his sprain, feeling far more like a -glove than a shoe, he wondered at the skill which had made it. He held -it to the fire to examine the beautiful silk embroidery on the legging -attached to it. His respect for his companion was considerably -increased. It was difficult to believe that beads and dyed porcupine -quills and bright-coloured skeins of silk had been the delight of her -life. But just now she was intent upon getting possession of his -hunting-knife. With this she began to cut up the firewood into chips -and shavings. Wilfred thought he should be the best at that sort of -work, and went to her help, not knowing what she intended to do with it. - -In her nervous haste she seemed at first glad of his assistance. Then -she pulled the wood out of his hand, stuck the knife in his belt, and -implored him by gestures to sit down in a hole in the floor close -against the wall, talking to him rapidly in her soft Indian tongue, as -if she were entreating him to be patient. - -Wilfred thought this was a queer kind of game, which he did not half -like, and had a good mind to turn crusty. But the tears came into her -aged eyes. She clasped her hands imploringly, kissed him on both cheeks, -as if to assure him of her good intentions, looked to the door, and laid -a finger on his lips impressively. In the midst of this pantomime it -struck Wilfred suddenly "she wants to hide me." Soon the billet stack -was built over him with careful skill, and the chips and shavings flung -on the top. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII.* - - _*FOLLOWING THE BLACKFEET.*_ - - -There was many a little loophole in Wilfred's hiding-place through which -he could take a peep unseen. The squaw had let the fire die down to a -smouldering heap, and this she had carefully covered over with bark, so -that there was neither spark nor flame to shine through the broken roof. -The hut was unusually clear of smoke, and all was still. - -Wilfred was soon nodding dangerously behind his billet-stack, forgetting -in his drowsy musings the instability of his surroundings. The squaw -rose up from the floor, and replaced the knot of wood he had sent -rolling. He dreamed of Yula's bark in the distance, and wakened to find -the noise a reality, but not the bark. It was not his Yula wanting to -be let in, as he imagined, but a confused medley of sounds suggestive of -the putting up of tent poles. There was the ring of the hatchet among -the trees, the crash of the breaking boughs, the thud of the falling -trunk. Even Wilfred could not entertain a doubt that the Blackfeet were -encamping for the night alarmingly near their buried hut. In silence -and darkness was their only safeguard. It was all for the best Yula had -run away, his uneasy growls would have betrayed them. - -Midnight came and passed; the sounds of work had ceased, but the -galloping of the ponies, released from the travoys, the scraping of -their hoofs seeking a supper beneath the snow, kept Wilfred on the rack. -The echo of the ponies' feet seemed at times so near he quite expected -to see a horse's head looking down through the hole, or, worse still, -some unwary kick might demolish their fragile roof altogether. - -With the gray of the dawn the snow began again to fall. Was ever snow -more welcome? The heavy flakes beat back the feeble column of smoke, -and hissed on the smouldering wood, as they found ready entrance through -the parting in the bark which did duty for a chimney. No matter, it was -filling up the path which Maxica had made and obliterating every -footprint around the hut. It seemed to Wilfred that the great feathery -flakes were covering all above them, like a sheltering wing. - -The tell-tale duck, the little snow-birds he had hung on the pine branch -would all be hidden now. Not a chink was left in the bark through which -the gray snow-light of the wintry morning could penetrate. - -In spite of their anxiety, both the anxious watchers had fallen asleep. -The squaw was the first to rouse. Wilfred's temporary trap-door refused -to move when, finding all was still around them, she had tried to push -it aside; for the hut was stifling, and she wanted snow to refill the -kettle. - -The fire was out, and the snow which had extinguished it was already -stiffening. She took a half-burnt brand from the hearth, and, mounting -the stones which surrounded the fireplace, opened the smoke-vent; for -there the snow had not had time to harden, although the frost was -setting in with the daylight. To get out of their hut in another hour -might be impossible. With last night's supper, a spark of her former -energy had returned. A piece of the smoke-dried bark gave way and -precipitated an avalanche of snow into the tiny hut. - -Wilfred wakened with a start. The daylight was streaming down upon him, -and the squaw was gone. What could have happened while he slept? How he -blamed himself for going to sleep at all. But then he could not live -without it. As he wondered and waited and reasoned with himself thus, -there was still the faint hope the squaw might return. Anyhow, Wilfred -thought it was the wisest thing he could do to remain concealed where -she had left him. If the Indians camping by the pool were her own -people, they might befriend him too. Possibly she had gone over to -their camp to ask for aid. - -How long he waited he could not tell--it seemed an age--when he heard -the joyful sound of Yula's bark. Down leaped the dog into the very midst -of the fireplace, scattering the ashes, and bringing with him another -avalanche of snow. But his exuberant joy was turned to desperation when -he could not find his Wilfred. He was rushing round and round, scenting -the ground where Wilfred had sat. Up went his head high in the air, as -he gave vent to his feelings in a perfect yowl of despair. - -"Yula! Yula!" called Wilfred softly. The dog turned round and tore at -the billet-stack. Wilfred's defence was levelled in a moment; the wood -went rolling in every direction, and Yula mounted the breach in triumph, -digging out his master from the debris as a dog might dig out a fox. He -would have him out, he would not give up. He tugged at Wilfred's arms, -he butted his head under his knees; there was no resisting his -impetuosity, he made him stand upright. When, as Yula evidently -believed, he had set his master free, he bounded round him in an ecstasy -of delight. - -"You've done it, old boy," said Wilfred. "You've got me out of hiding; -and neither you nor I can pile the wood over me again, so now, whatever -comes, we must face it together." - -He clasped his arms round the thick tangle of hair that almost hid the -two bright eyes, so full of love, that were gazing at him. - -Wilfred could not help kissing the dear old blunderer, as he called him. -"And now, Yula," he went on, "since you will have it so, we'll look -about us." - -Wilfred's foot was a good deal better. He could put his boot on for the -first time. He mounted the stones which the squaw had piled, and -listened. Yes, there were voices and laughter mingling with the -neighing of the ponies and the lumbering sounds of the travoys. The -camp was moving on. The "Far-off-Dawn" was further off than ever from -him. He had no longer a doubt the squaw had gone with her people. - -She had left him her kettle and the piece of skin. To an Indian woman -her blanket is hood and cloak and muff all in one. She never goes out -of doors without it. - -Wilfred smoothed the gloves she had made him and pulled up the blanket -socks. Oh, she had been good to him! He thought he understood it all -now--that farewell kiss, and the desire to hide him until the fierce -warriors of her tribe had passed on. He wrapped the skin over his -shoulders, slung the kettle on his arm, chose out a good strong staff to -lean on, and held himself ready for the chapter of accidents, whatever -they might be. - -No one came near him. The sounds grew fainter and fainter. The -silence, the awful stillness, was creeping all around him once again. -It became unbearable--the dread, the disappointment, the suspense. -Wilfred climbed out of the hut and swung himself into the branches of -the nearest pine. The duck and the snow-birds were frozen as hard as -stones. But the fire was out long ago. Wilfred had no matches, no -means of lighting it up again. He put back the game; even Yula could -not eat it in that state. He swung himself higher up in the tree, just -in time to catch sight of the vanishing train, winding its way along the -vast snow-covered waste. He watched it fading to a moving line. What -was it leaving behind? A lost boy. If Wilfred passed the night in the -tree he would be frozen to death. If he crept back into the tumble-down -hut he might be buried beneath another snow. If he went down to the -pool he might find the ashes of the Indians' camp-fires still glowing. -If they had left a fire behind them he must see the smoke--the -snow-soaked branches were sure to smoke. The sleet was driving in his -face, but he looked in vain for the dusky curling wreath that must have -been visible at so short a distance. - -Was all hope gone? His head grew dizzy. There were no words on his -lips, and the bitter cry in his heart died mute. Then he seemed to hear -again his mother's voice reading to him, as she used to read in far-off -days by the evening fire: "I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. Be -strong, and of a good courage. Be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed. -For the Lord thy God is with thee, whithersoever thou goest." - -The Indian train was out of sight, but the trampling of those fifty -ponies, dragging the heavily-laden travoys, had left a beaten track--a -path so broad he could not lose it--and he knew that it would bring him -to some white man's home. - -Wilfred sprang down from the tree, decided, resolute. Better to try and -find this shop in the wilderness than linger there and die. The snow -beneath the tree was crisp and hard. Yula bounded on before him, eager -to follow where the Blackfeet dogs had passed. They were soon upon the -road, trudging steadily onward. - -The dog had evidently shared the strangers' breakfast; he was neither -hungry nor thirsty. Not so his poor little master, who was feeling very -faint for want of a dinner, when he saw a bit of pemmican on the ground, -dropped no doubt by one of the Indian children. - -Wilfred snatched it up and began to eat. Pemmican is the Indians' -favourite food. It is made of meat cut in slices and dried. It is then -pounded between two smooth stones, and put in a bag of buffalo-skin. -Melted fat is poured over it, to make it keep. To the best kinds of -pemmican berries and sugar are added. It forms the most solid food a -man can have. There are different ways of cooking it, but travellers, or -voyageurs, as they are usually called in Canada, eat it raw. It was a -piece of raw pemmican Wilfred had picked up. Hunger lent it the flavour -it might have lacked at any other time. - -With this for a late dinner, and a rest on a fallen tree, he felt -himself once more, and started off again with renewed vigour. The sleet -was increasing with the coming dusk. On he toiled, growing whiter and -whiter, until his snow-covered figure was scarcely distinguishable from -the frozen ground. Yula was powdered from head to foot; moreover, poor -dog, he was obliged to stop every now and then to bite off the little -icicles which were forming between his toes. - -Fortunately for the weary travellers the sky began to clear when the -moon arose. Before them stood dark ranks of solemn, stately pines, with -here and there a poplar thicket rising black and bare from the sparkling -ground. Their charred and shrivelled branches showed the work of the -recent prairie fires, which had only been extinguished by the snowstorm. - -Wilfred whistled Yula closer and closer to his side, as the forest -echoes wakened to the moose-call and the wolf-howl. On, on they walked -through the dusky shadows cast by the giant pines, until the strange -meteors of the north lit up the icy night, flitting across the starry -sky in such swift succession the Indians call it the dance of the dead -spirits. - -In a scene so weird and wild the boldest heart might quail. Wilfred -felt his courage dwindling with every step, when Yula sprang forward -with a bark that roused a sleeping herd, and Wilfred found himself in -the midst of the Indian ponies, snorting and kicking at the disturber of -their peace. The difficulty of getting Yula out again, without losing -the track or rousing the camp, which they must now be approaching, -engrossed Wilfred, and taxed his powers to their uttermost. He could -see the gleam of their many watch-fires, and guided his course more -warily. Imposing silence on Yula by every device he could imagine, he -left the beaten track which would have taken him into the midst of the -dreaded Blackfeet, and slanted further and further into the forest -gloom, but not so far as to lose the glow of the Indians' fires. In the -first faint gray of the wintry dawn he heard the rushing of a mighty -fall, and found concealment in a wide expanse of frozen reeds and -stunted willows. - -Yula had been brought to order. A tired dog is far more manageable. He -lay down at his master's feet, whilst Wilfred watched and listened. He -was wide of the Blackfeet camp, yet not at such a distance as to be -unable to distinguish the sounds of awakening life within it from the -roar of the waterfall. To his right the ground was rising. He scarcely -felt himself safe so near the Blackfeet, and determined to push on to -the higher ground, where he would have a better chance of seeing what -they were about. If they moved on, he could go back to their -camping-place and gather the crumbs they might have let fall, and boil -himself some water before their fires were extinguished, and then follow -in their wake as before. - -He began to climb the hill with difficulty, when he was aware of a thin, -blue column of light smoke curling upwards in the morning air. It was -not from the Indian camp. Had he nearly reached his goal? The light was -steadily increasing, and he could clearly see on the height before him -three or four tall pines, which had been stripped of their branches by -the voyageur's axe, and left to mark a landing-place. These lop-sticks, -as the Canadians call them, were a welcome sight. He reached them at -last, and gained the view he had been longing to obtain. At his feet -rolled the majestic river, plunging in one broad, white sheet over a -hidden precipice. - -In the still uncertain light of the early dawn the cataract seemed twice -its actual size. The jagged tops of the pine trees on the other side of -the river rose against the pale green of coming day. Close above the -falls the bright star of the morning gleamed like a diamond on the rim -of the descending flood; at its foot the silvery spray sprang high into -the air, covering the gloomy pines which had reared their dark branches -in many a crack and cleft with glittering spangles. - -Nestling at the foot of the crag on which Wilfred stood was the -well-built stockade of the trading-fort. The faint blue line of smoke -which he had perceived was issuing from the chimney of the trader's -house, but the inmates were not yet astir. - -He brushed the tears from his eyes, but they were mingled tears of joy -and thankfulness and exhaustion. As he was watching, a party of Indians -stole out from their camp, and posted themselves among the frozen reeds -which he had so recently vacated. - -The chief, with a few of the Blackfeet, followed by three or four squaws -laden with skins, advanced to the front of the stockade, where they -halted. The chief was waving in his hand a little flag, to show that he -had come to trade. After a while the sounds of life and movement began -within the fort. The little group outside was steadily increasing in -numbers. Some more of the Blackfeet warriors had loaded their horses and -their wives, and were coming up behind their chief, with their heavy -bags of pemmican hanging like panniers across the backs of the horses, -whilst the poor women toiled after them with the piles of skins and -leather. - -All was bustle and activity inside the trader's walls. Wilfred guessed -they were making all sorts of prudent preparations before they ventured -to receive so large a party. He was thinking of the men in ambush among -the reeds, and he longed to give some warning to the Hudson Bay officer, -who could have no idea of the numbers lurking round his gate. - -But how was this to be done in time? There was but one entrance to the -fort. He was afraid to descend his hill and knock for admittance, under -the lynx-like eyes of the Blackfoot chief, who was growing impatient, -and was making fresh signs to attract the trader's attention. - -At last there was a creaking sound from the fort. Bolts and bars were -withdrawn, and the gate was slowly opened. Out came the Hudson Bay -officer, carefully shutting it behind him. He was a tall, white-haired -man, with an air of command about him, and the easy grace of a gentleman -in every action. He surveyed his wild visitors for a moment or two, and -then advanced to meet them with a smile of welcome. The chief came a -step or two forward, shook hands with the white man, and began to make a -speech. A few of his companions followed his example. - -"Now," thought Wilfred, "while all this talking and speechifying is -abroad, I may get a chance to reach the fort unobserved." - -He slid down the steep hill, with Yula after him, crept along the back -of the stockade, and round the end farthest from the reeds. In another -moment he was at the gate. A gentle tap with his hand was all he dared -to give. It met with no answer. He repeated it a little louder. Yula -barked. The gate was opened just a crack, and a boy about his own age -peeped out. - -"Let me in," said Wilfred desperately. "I have something to tell you." - -The crack was widened. Wilfred slipped in and Yula followed. The gate -was shut and barred behind them. - -"Well?" asked the boyish porter. - -"There are dozens of Blackfeet Indians hiding among the frozen reeds. I -saw them stealing down from their camp before it was light. I am afraid -they mean mischief," said Wilfred, lowering his voice. - -"We need to be careful," returned the other, glancing round at their -many defences; "but who are you?" - -"I belong to some settlers across the prairie. I have lost my way. I -have been wandering about all night, following the trail of the -Blackfeet. That is how I came to know and see what they were doing," -replied Wilfred. - -"They always come up in numbers," answered the stranger thoughtfully, -"ready for a brush with the Crees. They seem friendly to us." - -As the boy spoke he slipped aside a little shutter in the gate, and -peeped through a tiny grill. - -In the middle of the enclosure there was a wooden house painted white. -Three or four iron funnels stuck out of the roof instead of chimneys, -giving it a very odd appearance. There were a few more huts and sheds. -But Wilfred's attention was called off from these surroundings, for a -whole family of dogs had rushed out upon Yula, with a chorus of barking -that deafened every other sound. For Yula had marched straight to the -back door of the house, where food was to be had, and was shaking it and -whining to be let in. - -The young stranger Gaspe took a bit of paper and a pencil out of his -pocket and wrote hastily: "There are lots more of the Blackfeet hiding -amongst the reeds. What does that mean?" - -"Louison!" he cried to a man at work in one of the sheds, "go outside -and give this to grandfather." - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII.* - - _*THE SHOP IN THE WILDERNESS.*_ - - -As soon as Gaspe had despatched his messenger he turned to Wilfred, -observing, in tones of grateful satisfaction, "I am so glad we know in -time." - -"Is that your grandfather?" asked Wilfred. - -Gaspe nodded. "Come and look at him." - -The two boys were soon watching earnestly through the grating, their -faces almost touching. Gaspe's arm was over Wilfred's shoulder, as they -drew closer and closer to each other. - -Gaspe's grandfather took the slip of paper from his man, glanced at it, -and crushed it in his hand. The chief was hastily heaping a mass of -buffalo robes and skins and bags of pemmican upon one of the horses, a -gift for the white man, horse and all. This was to show his big heart. - -"Do you hear what he is saying?" whispered Gaspe, who understood the -Indians much better than Wilfred did. "Listen!" - -"Are there any Crees here? Crees have no manners. Crees are like dogs, -always ready to bite if you turn your head away; but the Blackfeet have -large hearts, and love hospitality." - -"After all, those men in the reeds may only be on the watch for fear of -a surprise from the Crees," continued Gaspe. - -"Will there be a fight?" asked Wilfred breathlessly. - -"No, I think not," answered Gaspe. "The Crees have lived amongst us -whites so long they have given up the war-path. But," he added -confidentially, "I have locked our old Indian in the kitchen, for if -they caught sight of him they might say we were friends of the Crees, -and set on us." - -One door in the white-painted house was standing open. It led into a -large and almost empty room. Just inside it a number of articles were -piled on the floor--a gun, blankets, scarlet cloth, and a -brightly-painted canister of tea. Louison came back to fetch them, for -a return present, with which the chief seemed highly delighted. - -"We see but little of you white men," he said; "and our young men do not -always know how to behave. But if you would come amongst us more, we -chiefs would restrain them." - -"He would have hard work," laughed Wilfred, little thinking how soon his -words were to be verified. The Blackfeet standing round their chief, -with their piles of skins, were so obviously getting excited, and -impatient to begin the real trading, the chief must have felt even he -could not hold them back much longer. But he was earnest in his -exhortation to them not to give way to violence or rough behaviour. - -Gaspe's grandfather was silently noting every face, without appearing to -do so; and mindful of the warning he had received, he led the way to his -gate, which he invited them to enter, observing, "My places are but -small, friends. All shall come in by turns, but only a few at a time." - -Gaspe drew back the bar and threw the gate wide. In walked the stately -chief, with one or two of his followers who had taken part in the -speech-making. The excited crowd at the back of them pushed their way -in, as if they feared the gate might be shut in their faces. - -Gaspe remonstrated, assuring them there was no hurry, all should have -their turn. - -The chief waved them back, and the last of the group contented -themselves with standing in the gateway itself, to prevent it being shut -against them. - -Gaspe gave up the vain attempt to close it, and resumed his post. - -"I am here on the watch," he whispered to Wilfred; "but you are cold and -hungry. Go with grandfather into the shop." - -"I would rather stay with you," answered Wilfred. "I am getting used to -being hungry." - -Gaspe answered this by pushing into his hand a big hunch of bread and -butter, which he had brought with him from his hurried breakfast. - -Meanwhile Gaspe's grandfather had entered the house, taking with him the -Blackfoot chief. He invited the others to enter and seat themselves on -the floor of the empty room into which Wilfred had already had a peep. -He unlocked an inner door, opening into a passage, which divided the -great waiting-room from the small shop beyond. This had been carefully -prepared for the reception of their wild customers. Only a few of his -goods were left upon the shelves, which were arranged with much -ingenuity, and seemed to display a great variety of wares, all of them -attractive in Indian eyes. The bright-coloured cloths, cut in short -lengths, were folded in fantastic heaps; the blankets were hung in -graceful festoons. Beads scattered lightly on trays glittered behind -the counter, on which the empty scales were lightly swaying up and down, -like miniature swinging-boats. - -A high lattice protected the front of the counter. Gaspe's grandfather -established himself behind it. Louison took his place as door-keeper. -The chief and two of his particular friends were the first to be -admitted. Louison locked the door to keep out the others. It was the -only way to preserve order. The wild, fierce strangers from the -snow-covered plain and the darksome forest drew at once to the stove--a -great iron box in the middle of the shop, with its huge black funnel -rising through the ceiling. Warmth without smoke was a luxury unknown in -the wigwam. - -The Indians walked slowly round the shop, examining and considering the -contents of the shelves, until their choice was made. - -One of the three walked up to the counter and handed his pile of skins -to the trader, Mr. De Brunier, through a little door in the lattice, -pointing to some bright scarlet cloth and a couple of blankets. The -chief was examining the guns. All three wanted shot, and the others -inquired earnestly for the Indians' special delight, "tea and suga'." -But when they saw the canister opened, and the tea poured into the -scale, there was a grunt of dissatisfaction all round. - -"What for?" demanded the chief. "Why put tea one side that swing and -little bit of iron the other? Who wants little bit of iron? We don't -know what that medicine is." - -The Indians call everything medicine that seems to them learned and -wise. - -Mr. De Brunier tried to explain the use of his scales, and took up his -steelyard to see if it would find more favour. - -"Be fair," pursued the chief; "make one side as big as the other. Try -bag of pemmican against your blankets and tea, then when the thing stops -swinging you take pemmican, we blankets and tea--that fair!" - -His companions echoed their chief's sentiments. - -"As you like," smiled the trader. "We only want to make a fair -exchange." - -So the heavy bag of pemmican was put in the place of the weight, and a -nice heap of tea was poured upon the blanket to make the balance true. -The Indians were delighted. - -"Now," continued Mr. De Brunier, "we must weigh the shot and the gun -against your skins, according to your plan." - -But when the red men saw their beautiful marten and otter and fisher -skins piling higher and higher, and the heavy bag of shot still refusing -to rise, a grave doubt as to the correctness of their own view of the -matter arose in the Indians' minds. The first served took up his -scarlet cloth and blanket and went out quickly, whilst the others -deliberated. - -The trader waited with good-humoured patience and a quiet gleam of -amusement in the corner of his eye, when they told him at last to do it -his own way, for the steel swing was a great medicine warriors could not -understand. It was plain it could only be worked by some great medicine -man like himself. - -This decision had been reached so slowly, the impatience of the crowd in -the waiting-room was at spirit-boil. - -The brave who had come back satisfied was exhibiting his blankets and -his scarlet cloth, which had to be felt and looked at by all in turn. - -"Were there many more inside?" they asked eagerly. - -He shook his head. - -A belief that the good things would all be gone before the rest of the -Indians could get their turn spread among the excited crowd like -wild-fire. - -Gaspe still held to his watch by the gate, with Wilfred beside him. - -There was plenty of laughing and talking among the party of resolute men -who kept it open; they seemed full of fun, and were joking each other in -the highest spirits. Gaspe's eyes turned again and again to the frozen -reeds, but all was quiet. - -Wilfred was earnestly watching for a chance to ask the mirthful -Blackfeet if an old squaw, the Far-off-Dawn, had joined their camp. He -could not make them understand him, but Gaspe repeated the question. - -At that moment one of the fiercest-looking of the younger warriors -rushed out of the waiting-room in a state of intense excitement. He -beckoned to his companions at the gate, exclaiming, "If we don't help -ourselves there will be nothing left for you and me." - -"We know who will see fair play," retorted the young chief, who was -answering Gaspe. - -A whoop rang through the frosty air, and the still stiff reeds seemed -suddenly alive with dusky faces. The crush round the inner door in the -waiting-room became intense. - -"Help me," whispered Gaspe, seizing Wilfred's arm and dragging him after -him through the sheds to the back of the house. He took out a key and -unlocked a side door. There was a second before him, with the keyhole -at the reverse hand. It admitted them into a darkened room, for the -windows were closely shuttered; but Gaspe knew his ground, and was not -at a moment's loss. - -The double doors were locked and bolted in double quick time behind -them. Then Gaspe lifted up a heavy iron bar and banged it into its -socket. Noise did not matter. The clamour in the waiting-room drowned -every other sound. - -"They will clear the shop," he said, "but we must stop them getting into -the storeroom. Come along." - -Wilfred was feeling the way. He stumbled over a chair; his hand felt a -table. He guessed he was in the family sitting-room. Gaspe put his -mouth to the keyhole of an inner door. - -"Chirag!" he shouted to their Indian servant, "barricade." - -The noises which succeeded showed that his command was being obeyed in -that direction. - -Gaspe was already in the storeroom, endeavouring to push a heavy box of -nails before the other door leading into the shop. Wilfred was beside -him in a moment. He had not much pushing power left in him after his -night of wandering. - -"Perhaps I can push a pound," he thought, laying his hands by Gaspe's. - -"Now, steady! both together we shall do it," they said, and with one -hard strain the box was driven along the floor. - -"That is something," cried Gaspe, heaving up a bag of ironmongery to put -on the top of it. And he looked round for something else sufficiently -ponderous to complete his barricade. - -"What is this?" asked Wilfred, tugging at a chest of tools. - -Meanwhile a dozen hatchets' heads were hammering at the door from the -waiting-room where Louison was stationed. The crack of the wood giving -way beneath their blows inspired Gaspe with redoubled energy. The chest -was hoisted upon the box. He surveyed his barricade with satisfaction. -But their work was not yet done. He dragged forward a set of steps, and -running up to the top, threw open a trap-door in the ceiling. A ray of -light streamed down into the room, showing Wilfred, very white and -exhausted, leaning against the pile they had erected. - -Gaspe sprang to the ground, rushed back into the sitting-room, and began -to rummage in the cupboard. - -"Here is grandfather's essence of peppermint and the sugar-basin and -lots of biscuits!" he exclaimed. "You are faint, you have had no -breakfast yet. I am forgetting. Here." - -Wilfred's benumbed fingers felt in the sugar for a good-sized lump. -Gaspe poured his peppermint drops upon it with a free hand. The -warming, reviving dose brought back the colour to Wilfred's pale lips. - -"Feel better?" asked his energetic companion, running up the steps with -a roll of cloth on his shoulder, which he deposited safely in the loft -above, inviting Wilfred to follow. The place was warm, for the iron -chimneys ran through it, like so many black columns. Wilfred was ready -to embrace the nearest. - -Gaspe caught his arm. "You are too much of a human icicle for that," he -cried. "I'll bring up the blankets next. Roll yourself up in them and -get warm gradually, or you will be worse than ever. You must take care -of yourself, for I dare not stop. It is always a bit dangerous when the -Indians come up in such numbers to a little station like this. There is -nobody but grandfather and me and our two men about the place, and what -are four against a hundred? But all know what to do. Chirag watches -inside the house, I outside, and Louison keeps the shop door. That is -the most dangerous post, because of the crush to get in." - -A crash and a thud in the room below verified his words. - -"There! down it goes," he exclaimed, as a peal of laughter from many -voices followed the rush of the crowd from one room to the other. - -"They will be in here next," he added, springing down the steps for -another load. Wilfred tried to shake off the strange sensations which -oppressed him, and took it from him. Another and another followed -quickly, until the boys had removed the greater part of the most -valuable of the stores into the roof. The guns and the heavy bags of -shot had all been carried up in the early morning, before the gate of -the fort was opened. - -And now the hammering began at the storeroom door, amid peals of -uproarious laughter. - -Gaspe tore up the steps with another heavy roll of bright blue cloth. - -"We can do no more," he said, pausing for breath. "Now we will shut -ourselves in here." - -"We will have these up first," returned Wilfred, seizing hold of the top -of the steps, and trying to drag them through the trap-door. - -"Right!" ejaculated Gaspe. "If we had left them standing in the middle -of the storeroom, it would have been inviting the Blackfeet to follow -us." - -They let down the trap-door as noiselessly as they could, and drew the -heavy bolt at the very moment the door below was broken open and the -triumphant crowd rushed wildly in, banging down their bags of pemmican -on the floor, and seizing the first thing which came to hand in return. - -Louison had been knocked down in the first rush from the waiting-room, -and was leaning against the wall, having narrowly escaped being trampled -to death. "All right!" he shouted to his master, who had jumped up on -his counter to see if his agile servitor had regained his feet. It was -wild work, but Mr. De Brunier took it all in good part, flinging his -blankets right and left wherever he saw an eager hand outstretched to -receive them. He knew that it was far better to give before they had -time to take, and so keep up a semblance of trade. Many a beautiful -skin and buffalo-robe was tossed across the counter in return. The -heterogeneous pile was growing higher and higher beside him, and in the -confusion it was hard to tell how much was intended for purchase, how -much for pillage. - -The chief, the Great Swan, as his people called him, still stood by the -scales, determined to see if the great medicine worked fairly for all -his people. - -Mr. De Brunier called to him by his Indian name: "Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu, -do you not hear what I am saying? Your young men are too rough. -Restrain them. You say you can. How am I to weigh and measure to each -his right portion in such a rout?" - -"Give them all something and they will be content," shouted the chief, -trying his best to restore order. - -Dozens of gaudy cotton handkerchiefs went flying over the black heads, -scrambling with each other to get possession of them. Spoonfuls of -beads were received with chuckles of delight by the nearest ranks; hut -the Indians outside the crowd were growing hot and angry. Turns had -been long since disregarded. It was catch as catch can. They broke down -the lattice, and helped themselves from the shelves behind the counter. -These were soon cleared. A party of strong young fellows, laughing as -if it were the best fun in the world, leaped clear over the counter, and -began to chop at the storeroom door with their hatchets. With a -dexterous hand Mr. De Brunier flung his bright silks in their faces. -The dancing skeins were quickly caught up. But the work of demolition -went forward. The panels were reduced to matchwood. Three glittering -hatchets swung high over the men's heads, came down upon the still -resisting framework, and smashed it. The mirthful crowd dashed in. - -The shop was already cleared. Mr. De Brunier would have gone into his -storeroom with them if he could, but a dozen guns were pointed in his -face. It was mere menace, no one attempted to fire. But the chief -thought it was going too far. He backed to the waiting-room. Mr. De -Brunier seized his empty tea-canister, and offered it to him as a -parting gift, saying in most emphatic tones, "This is not our way of -doing business. Some of these men have got too much, and some too -little. It is not my fault. I must deal now with the tribe. Let them -all lay down on the floor the rest of the skins and bags they have -brought, and take away all I have to give in exchange, and you must -divide when you get back to your camp, to every man his right share." - -Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu rushed off with his canister under his arm; not -into the storeroom, where the dismayed trader hoped his presence might -have proved a restraint, but straight through the waiting-room with a -mad dash into the court, and through the gate, where he halted to give a -thunderous shout of "Crees! Crees!" The magic words brought out his -followers pell-mell. A second shout, a wilder alarm, made the tribe -rally round their chief, in the full belief the Crees had surprised -their camp in their hateful dog-like fashion, taking their bite at the -women and children when the warriors' heads were turned. - -But the unmannerly foe was nowhere in sight. - -"Over the hill!" shouted their Great Wild Swan, the man of twenty -fights. - -Meanwhile the gate of the little fort was securely barred against all -intruders. The waiting squaws meekly turned their horses' heads, and -followed their deluded lords, picking up the beads and nails which had -been dropped in their headlong haste. - -"Woe to Maxica," thought Wilfred, "if he should happen to be returning -for his moose!" - -The wild war-whoop died away in the distance, only the roar of the -cataract broke the stillness of the snow-laden air. - -De Brunier walked back into his house, to count up the gain and loss, -and see how much reckless mischief that morning's work had brought him. - - - - - *CHAPTER IX.* - - _*NEW FRIENDS.*_ - - -"We shall always be friends," said Gaspe, looking into Wilfred's face, -as they stood side by side against the chimney in the loft, emptying the -biscuit-canister between them. - -Wilfred answered with a sunny smile. The sounds below suddenly changed -their character. The general stampede to the gate was beginning. - -The boys flew to the window. It was a double one, very small and -thickly frozen. They could not see the least thing through its -glittering panes. - -They could scarcely believe their ears, but the sudden silence which -succeeded convinced Gaspe their rough visitors had beaten a hasty -retreat. - -"Anyhow we will wait a bit, and make sure before we go down," they -decided. - -But De Brunier's first care was for his grandson, and he was missing. - -"Gaspard!" he shouted, and his call was echoed by Louison and Chirag. - -"Here, grandfather; I am here, I am coming," answered the boy, gently -raising the trap-door and peeping down at the dismantled storeroom. A -great bag of goose-feathers, which had been hoarded by some thrifty -squaw, had been torn open, and the down was flying in every direction. - -There was a groan from Mr. De Brunier. All his most valuable stores had -vanished. - -"Not quite so bad as that, grandfather," cried Gaspe brightly. - -The trader stepped up on to the remains of the barricade the boys had -erected, and popped his head through the open trap-door. - -"Well done, Gaspard!" he exclaimed. - -"This other boy helped me," was the instantaneous reply. - -The other boy came out from the midst of the blanket heap, feeling more -dead than alive, and expecting every moment some one would say to him, -"Now go," and he had nowhere to go. - -Mr. De Brunier looked at him in amazement. A solitary boy in these lone -wastes! Had he dropped from the skies? - -"Come down, my little lad, and tell me who you are," he said kindly; but -without waiting for a reply he walked on through the broken door to -survey the devastation beyond. - -"I have grown gray in the service of the Company, and never had a more -provoking disaster," he lamented, as he began to count the tumbled heap -of valuable furs blocking his pathway. - -Louison, looking pale and feeling dizzy from his recent knock over, was -collecting the bags of pemmican. Chirag, released from his imprisonment, -was opening window shutters and replenishing the burnt-out fires. Gaspe -dropped down from the roof, without waiting to replace the steps, and -went to his grandfather's assistance, leaving Wilfred to have a good -sleep in the blanket heap. - -The poor boy was so worn out he slept heavily. When he roused himself at -last, the October day was drawing to its close, and Gaspe was laughing -beside him. - -"Have not you had sleep enough?" he asked. "Would not dinner be an -improvement?" - -Wilfred wakened from his dreams of Acland's Hut. Aunt Miriam and -Pe-na-Koam had got strangely jumbled together; but up he jumped to grasp -his new friend's warm, young hand, and wondered what had happened. He -felt as if he had been tossing like a ball from one strange scene to -another. When he found himself sitting on a real chair, and not on the -hard ground, the transition was so great it seemed like another dream. - -The room was low, no carpet on the floor, only a few chairs ranged round -the stove in the centre; but a real dinner, hot and smoking, was spread -on the unpainted deal table. - -Mr. De Brunier, with one arm thrown over the back of his chair, was -smoking, to recall his lost serenity. An account-book lay beside his -unfinished dinner. Sometimes his eye wandered over its long rows of -figures, and then for a while he seemed absorbed in mental calculation. - -He glanced at Wilfred's thin hands and pinched cheeks. - -"Let the boy eat," he said to Gaspe. - -As the roast goose vanished from Wilfred's plate the smile returned to -his lips and the mirth to his heart. He outdid the hungry hunter of -proverbial fame. The pause came at last; he could not quite keep on -eating all night, Indian fashion. He really declined the sixth helping -Gaspe was pressing upon him. - -"No, thanks; I have had a Benjamin's portion--five times as much as you -have had--and I am dreadfully obliged to you," said Wilfred, with a bow -to Mr. De Brunier; "but there is Yula, that is my dog. May he have -these bones?" - -"He has had something more than bones already; Chirag fed him when he -fed my puppies," put in Gaspe. - -"Puppies," repeated Mr. De Brunier. "Dogs, I say." - -"Not yet, grandfather," remonstrated the happy Gaspe. "You said they -would not be really dogs, ready for work, until they were a year old, -and it wants a full week." - -"Please, sir," interrupted Wilfred abruptly, "can you tell me how I can -get home?" - -"Where is your home?" asked Mr. De Brunier. - -"With my uncle, at Acland's Hut," answered Wilfred promptly. - -"Acland's Hut," repeated Mr. De Brunier, looking across at Gaspe for -elucidation. They did not know such a place existed. - -"It is miles away from here," added Wilfred sorrowfully. "I went out -hunting--" - -"You--a small boy like you--to go hunting alone!" exclaimed Mr. De -Brunier. - -"Please, sir, I mean I rode on a pony by the cart which was to bring -back the game," explained poor Wilfred, growing very rueful, as all hope -of getting home again seemed to recede further and further from him. -"The pony threw me," he added, "and when I came to myself the men were -gone." - -"Have you no father?" whispered Gaspe. - -"My father died a year ago, and I was left at school at Garry," Wilfred -went on. - -"Fort Garry!" exclaimed Mr. De Brunier, brightening. "If this had -happened a few weeks earlier, I could easily have sent you back to Garry -in one of the Company's boats. They are always rowing up and down the -river during the busy summer months, but they have just stopped for the -winter With this Blackfoot camp so near us, I dare not unbar my gate -again to-night, so make yourself contented. In the morning we will see -what can be done." - -"Nothing!" thought Wilfred, as he gathered the goose-bones together for -Yula's benefit. "If you do not know where Acland's Hut is, and I cannot -tell you, night or morning what difference can it make?" - -He studied the table-cloth, thinking hard. "Bowkett and Diome had -talked of going to a hunters' camp. Where was that?" - -"Ask Louison," said Mr. De Brunier, in reply to his inquiry. - -Gaspe ran out to put the question. - -Louison was a hunter's son. He had wintered in the camp himself when he -was a boy. The hunters gathered there in November. Parties would soon -be calling at the fort, to sell their skins by the way. Wilfred could go -on with one of them, no doubt, and then Bowkett could take him home. - -Wilfred's heart grew lighter. It was a roundabout-road, but he felt as -if getting back to Bowkett was next to getting home. - -"How glad your uncle will be to see you!" cried Gaspe radiantly, -picturing the bright home-coming in the warmth of his own sympathy. - -"Oh, don't!" said Wilfred; "please, don't. It won't be like that; not a -bit. Nobody wants me. Aunt wanted my little sister, not me. You don't -understand; I am such a bother to her." - -Gaspe was silenced, but his hand clasped Wilfred's a little closer. All -the chivalrous feelings of the knightly De Bruniers were rousing in his -breast for the strange boy who had brought them the timely warning. For -some of the best and noblest blood of old France was flowing in his -veins. A De Brunier had come out with the early French settlers, the -first explorers, the first voyageurs along the mighty Canadian rivers. -A De Brunier had fought against Wolfe on the Heights of Abraham, in the -front ranks of that gallant band who faithfully upheld their nation's -honour, loyal to the last to the shameless France, which despised, -neglected, and abandoned them--men whose high sense of duty never -swerved in the hour of trial, when they were given over into the hands -of their enemy. Who cared what happened in that far-off corner of the -world? It was not worth troubling about. So the France of that day -reasoned when she flung them from her. - -It was of those dark hours Gaspe loved to make his grandfather talk, and -he was thinking that nothing would divert Wilfred from his troubled -thoughts like one of grandfather's stories. The night drew on. The snow -was falling thicker and denser than before. Mr. De Brunier turned his -chair to the stove, afraid to go to bed with the Blackfoot camp within -half-a-mile of his wooden walls. - -"They might," he said, "have a fancy to give us a midnight scare, to see -what more they could get." - -The boys begged hard to remain. The fire, shut in its iron box, was -burning at its best, emitting a dull red glow, even through its prison -walls. Gaspe refilled his grandfather's pipe. - -"Wilfred," he remarked gently, "has a home that is no home, and he -thinks we cannot understand the ups and downs of life, or what it is to -be pushed to the wall." - -Gaspe had touched the right spring. The veteran trader smiled. "Not -know, my lad, what it is to be pushed to the wall, when I have been a -servant for fifty years in the very house where my grandfather was -master, before the golden lilies on our snow-white banner were torn down -to make room for your Union Jack! Why am I telling you this to-night? -Just to show you, when all seems lost in the present, there is the -future beyond, and no one can tell what that may hold. The pearl lies -hidden under the stormiest waters. Do you know old Cumberland House? A -De Brunier built it, the first trading-fort in the Saskatchewan. It was -lost to us when the cold-hearted Bourbon flung us like a bone to the -English mastiff. Our homes were ours no longer. Our lives were in our -hands, but our honour no one but ourselves could throw away. What did -we do? What could we do? What all can do--our duty to the last. We -braved our trouble; and when all seemed lost, help came. Who was it felt -for us? The men who had torn from us our colours and entered our gates -by force. Under the British flag our homes were given back, our rights -assured. Our Canadian Quebec remains unaltered, a transplant from the -old France of the Bourbons. In the long years that have followed the -harvest has been reaped on both sides. Now, my boy, don't break your -heart with thinking, If there had been anybody to care for me, I should -not have been left senseless in a snow-covered wilderness; but rouse -your manhood and face your trouble, for in God's providence it may be -more than made up to you. Here you can stay until some opportunity -occurs to send you to this hunters' camp. You are sure it will be your -best way to get home again?" - -"Yes," answered Wilfred decidedly. "I shall find Bowkett there, and I -am sure he will take me back to Acland's Hut. But please, sir, I did -not mean aunt and uncle were unkind; but I had been there such a little -while, and somehow I was always wrong; and then I know I teased." - -The cloud was gathering over him again. - -"If--" he sighed. - -"Don't dwell on the _ifs_, my boy; talk of what has been. That will -teach you best what may be," inter posed Mr. De Brunier. - -Gaspe saw the look of pain in Wilfred's eyes, although he did not say -again, "Please don't talk about it," for he was afraid Mr. De Brunier -would not call that facing his trouble. - -Gaspe came to the rescue. "But, grandfather, you have not told us what -the harvest was that Canada reaped," he put in. - -"Cannot you see it for yourself, Gaspard?" said Mr. De Brunier. "When -French and English, conquered and conqueror, settled down side by side, -it was their respect for each other, their careful consideration for -each other's rights and wrongs, that taught their children and their -children's children the great lesson how to live and let live. No other -nation in the world has learned as we have done. It is this that makes -our Canada a land of refuge for the down-trodden slave. And we, the -French in Canada, what have we reaped?" he went on, shaking the ashes -from his pipe, and looking at the two boys before him, French and -English; but the old lines were fading, and uniting in the broader name -of Canadian. "Yes," he repeated, "what did we find at the bottom of our -bitter cup? Peace, security, and freedom, whilst the streets of Paris -ran red with Frenchmen's blood. The last De Brunier in France was -dragged from his ancestral home to the steps of the guillotine by -Frenchmen's hands, and the old chateau in Brittany is left a moss-grown -ruin. When my father saw the hereditary foe of his country walk into -Cumberland House to turn him out, they met with a bonjour [good day]; -and when they parted this was the final word: 'You are a young man, -Monsieur De Brunier, but your knowledge of the country and your -influence with the Indians can render us valuable assistance. If at any -time you choose to take office in your old locale, you will find that -faithful service will be handsomely requited.' We kept our honour and -laid down our pride. Content. Your British Queen has no more loyal -subjects in all her vast dominions than her old French Canadians." - -There was a mist before Wilfred's eyes, and his voice was low and husky. -He only whispered, "I shall not forget, I never can forget to-night." - -The small hours of the morning were numbered before Gaspe opened the -door of his little sleeping room, which Wilfred was to share. It was -not much bigger than a closet. The bed seemed to fill it. - -There was just room for Gaspe's chest of clothes and an array of pegs. -But to Wilfred it seemed a palace, in its cozy warmth. It made him -think of Pe-na-Koam. He hoped she was as comfortable in the Blackfoot -camp. - -Gaspe was growing sleepy. One arm was round Wilfred's neck; he roused -himself to answer, "Did not you hear what the warrior with the scalps at -his belt told me? She came into their camp, and they gave her food as -long as she could eat it. She was too old to travel, and they left her -asleep by their camp-fires." - -Up sprang Wilfred. "Whatever shall I do? I have brought away her -kettle; I thought she had gone to her own people, and left it behind her -for me." - -"Do!" repeated Gaspe, laughing. "Why, go to sleep old fellow; what else -can we do at four o'clock in the morning? If we don't make haste about -it, we shall have no night at all." - -Gaspe was quick to follow his own advice. But the "no night" was -Wilfred's portion. There was no rest for him for thinking of -Pe-na-Koam. How was she to get her breakfast? The Blackfeet might have -given her food, but how could she boil a drop of water without her -kettle? - -At the first movement in the house he slipped out of bed and dressed -himself. The fire had burned low in the great stove in the -sitting-room, but when he softly opened the door of their closet it -struck fairly warm. The noise he had heard was Louison coming in with a -great basket of wood to build it up. - -"A fire in prison is a dull affair by daylight," remarked Wilfred. "I -think I shall go for a walk--a long walk." - -"Mr. De Brunier will have something to say about that after last night's -blizzard," returned Louison. - -"Then please tell him it is my duty to go, for I am afraid an old Indian -woman, who was very kind to me, was out in last night's snow, and I must -go and look for her. Will you just undo that door and let me out?" - -"Not quite so fast; I have two minds about that," answered Louison. -"Better wait for Mr. De Brunier. I know I shall be wrong if I let you go -off like this." - -"How can you be wrong?" retorted Wilfred. "I came to this place to warn -you all there was a party of Blackfeet hidden in the reeds. Well, if I -had waited, what good would it have been to you? Now I find the old -squaw who made me these gloves was out in last night's snow, and I must -go and look for her, and go directly." - -"But a boy like you will never find her," laughed Louison. - -"I'll try it," said Wilfred doggedly. - -"Was she a Blackfoot?" - -"Yes." - -"Then she is safe enough in camp, depend upon it," returned Louison. - -"No, she was left behind," persisted Wilfred. - -"Then come with me," said Louison, by no means sorry to have found a -friendly reason for approaching the Blackfeet camp. "I have a little -bit of scout business in hand, just to find out whether these wild -fellows are moving on, or whether they mean waiting about to pay us -another visit." - -Chirag was clearing away the snow in the enclosure outside. Wilfred -found the kettle and the skin just where he had laid them down, inside -the first shed. He called up Yula, and started by Louison's side. Chirag -was waiting to bar the gate behind them. - -"Beautiful morning," said the Canadians, vigorously rubbing their noses -to keep them from freezing, and violently clapping their mittened hands -together. The snow lay white and level, over hill and marsh, one -sparkling sheet of silvery sheen. The edging of ice was broadening -along the river, and the roar of the falls came with a thunderous boom -through the all-pervading stillness around them. - -The snow was already hard, as the two ran briskly forward, with Yula -careering and bounding in extravagant delight. - -Wilfred looked back to the little fort, with its stout wooden walls, -twice the height of a man, hiding the low white house with its roof of -bark, hiding everything within but the rough lookout and the tall -flag-staff, for - - "Ever above the topmost roof the banner of England blew." - - -Wilfred was picturing the feelings with which the De Bruniers had worked -on beneath it, giving the same faithful service to their foreign masters -that they had to the country which had cast them off. - -"It is a dirty old rag," said Louison; "gone all to ribbons in last -night's gale. But it is good enough for a little place like this--we -call it Hungry Hall. We don't keep it open all the year round. Just -now, in October, the Indians and the hunters are bringing in the produce -of their summer's hunting. We shall shut up soon, and open later again -for the winter trade." - -"A dirty old rag!" repeated Wilfred. "Yes, but I am prouder of it than -ever, for it means protection and safety wherever it floats. Boy as I -am, I can see that." - -"Can you see something else," asked Louison--"the crossing poles of the -first wigwam? We are at the camp." - - - - - *CHAPTER X.* - - _*THE DOG-SLED.*_ - - -A cloud of smoke from its many wigwam fires overhung the Indian camp as -Louison and Wilfred drew near. The hunter's son, with his quick ear, -stole cautiously through the belt of pine trees which sheltered it from -the north wind, listening for any sounds of awakening life. Yesterday's -adventure had no doubt been followed by a prolonged feast, and men and -dogs were still sleeping. A few squaws, upon whom the hard work of the -Indian world all devolves, were already astir. Louison thought they -were gathering firewood outside the camp. This was well. Louison hung -round about the outskirts, watching their proceedings, until he saw one -woman behind a wigwam gathering snow to fill her kettle. Her pappoose -in its wooden cradle was strapped to her back; but she had seen or heard -them, for she paused in her occupation and looked up wondering. - -Louison stepped forward. - -"Now for your questions, my boy," he said to Wilfred, "and I will play -interpreter." - -"Is there an old squaw in your camp named the Far-off-Dawn?" - -Wilfred needed no interpreter to explain the "caween" given in reply. - -"Tell her, Louison," he hurried on, "she was with me the night before -last. I thought she left me to follow this trail. If she has not -reached this camp, she must be lost in the snow." - -"Will not some of your people go and look for her," added Louison, on -his own account, "before you move on?" - -"What is the use?" she asked. "Death will have got her by this time. -She came to the camp; she was too old to travel. If she is alive, she -may overtake us again. We shall not move on until another sunrising, to -rest the horses." - -"Then I shall go and look for her," said Wilfred resolutely. - -"Not you," retorted Louison; "wait a bit." He put his hand in his -pockets. They had been well filled with tea and tobacco, in readiness -for any emergency. "Is not there anybody in the camp who will go and -look for her?" - -Louison was asking his questions for the sake of the information he -elicited, but Wilfred caught at the idea in earnest. "Go and see," -urged Louison, offering her a handful of his tea. - -"The!" she repeated. The magic word did wonders. Louison knew if one of -the men were willing to leave the camp to look for Pe-na-Koam, no -further mischief was intended. But if they were anticipating a -repetition of "the high old time" they had enjoyed yesterday, not one of -them could be induced to forego their portion in so congenial a lark, -for in their eyes it was nothing more. - -The squaw took the tea in both her hands, gladly leaving her kettle in -the snow, as she led the way into the camp. - -Wilfred, who had only seen the poor little canvas tents of the Crees, -looked round him in astonishment. In the centre stood the lodge or moya -of the chief--a wigwam built in true old Indian style, fourteen feet -high at the least. Twelve strong poles were stuck in the ground, round -a circle fifteen feet across. They were tied together at the top, and -the outside was covered with buffalo-skins, painted black and red in all -sorts of figures. Eagles seemed perching on the heads of deers, and -serpents twisted and coiled beneath the feet of buffaloes. The other -wigwams built around it were in the same style, on a smaller scale, all -brown with smoke. - -A goodly array of spears, bows, and shields adorned the outside of the -moya; above them the much-coveted rifles were ranged with exceeding -pride. The ground between the moya and the tents was littered with -chips and bones, among which the dogs were busy. A few children were -pelting each other with the snow, or trying to shoot at the busy jays -with a baby of a bow and arrows to match. - -Louison pushed aside the fur which hung over the entrance to the -moya--the man-hole--and stepped inside. A beautiful fire was burning in -the middle of the tent. The floor was strewed with pine brush, and -skins were hung round the inside wall, like a dado. They fitted very -closely to the ground, so as to keep out all draught. The rabbits and -swans, the buzzards and squirrels painted on this dado were so lifelike, -Wilfred thought it must be as good as a picture-book to the dear little -pappoose, strapped to its flat board cradle, and set upright against the -wall whilst mother was busy. The sleeping-places were divided by -wicker-screens, and seemed furnished with plenty of blankets and skins. -One or two of them were still occupied; but Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu lay on -a bear-skin by the fire, with his numerous pipes arranged beside him. -The squaw explained the errand of their early visitors: a woman was lost -in the snow, would the chief send one of his people to find her? - -The Great Swan looked over his shoulder and said something. A young man -rose up from one of the sleeping-places. - -Both were asking, "What was the good?" - -"She is one of your own people," urged Louison. "We came to tell you." - -This was not what Wilfred had said, and it was not all he wanted, but he -was forced to trust it to Louison, although he was uneasy. - -He could see plainly enough an Indian would be far more likely to find -her than himself, but would they? Would any of them go? - -Louison offered a taste of his tobacco to the old chief and the young, -by way of good-fellowship. - -"They will never do it for that," thought Wilfred growing desperate -again. He had but one thing about him he could offer as an inducement, -and that was his knife. He hesitated a moment. He thought of -Pe-na-Koam dying in the snow, and held it out to the young chieftain. - -The dusky fingers gripped the handle. - -"Will you take care of her and bring her here, or give her food and -build up her hut?" asked Wilfred, making his meaning as plain as he -could, by the help of nods and looks and signs. - -The young chief was outside the man-hole in another moment. He slung -his quiver to his belt and took down his bow, flung a stout blanket over -his shoulder, and shouted to his squaw to catch a bronco, the usual name -for the Canadian horse. The kettle was in his hand. - -"Can we trust him?" asked Wilfred, as he left the camp by Louison's -side. - -"Trust him! yes," answered his companion. "Young Sapoo is one of those -Indians who never break faith. His word once given, he will keep it to -the death." - -"Then I have only to pray that he may be in time," said Wilfred gravely, -as he stood still to watch the wild red man galloping back to the -beavers' lakelet. - -"Oh, he will be in time," returned Louison cheerily. "All their wigwam -poles would be left standing, and plenty of pine brush and firewood -strewing about. She is sure to have found some shelter before the -heaviest fall of snow; that did not come until it was nearly morning." - -Gaspe had climbed the lookout to watch for their return. - -"Wilfred, _mon cher_," he exclaimed, "you must have a perfect penchant -for running away. How could you give us the slip in such a shabby -fashion? I could not believe Chirag. If the bears were not all dropping -off into their winter sleep, I should have thought some hungry bruin had -breakfasted upon you." - -Gaspe's grandfather had turned carpenter, and was already at work -mending his broken doors. Not being a very experienced workman, his -planking and his panelling did not square. Wood was plentiful, and more -than one piece was thrown aside as a misfit. Both the boys were eager -to assist in the work of restoration. A broken shelf was mended between -them--in first-rate workmanly style, as Wilfred really thought. "We -have done that well," they agreed; and when Mr. De Brunier--who was -still chipping at his refractory panel--added a note of commendation to -their labours, Gaspe's spirits ran up to the very top of the mental -thermometer. - -To recover his balance--for Wilfred unceremoniously declared he was off -his head--Gaspe fell into a musing fit. He wakened up, exclaiming,-- - -"I'm flying high!" - -"Then mind you don't fall," retorted Mr. De Brunier, who himself was -cogitating somewhat darkly over Louison's intelligence. "There will be -no peace for me," he said, "no security, whilst these Blackfeet are in -the neighbourhood. 'Wait for another sun-rising'--that means another -forty-eight hours of incessant vigilance for me. It was want of -confidence did it all. I should teach them to trust me in time, but it -cannot be done in a day." - -As he moved on, lamenting over the scene of destruction, Gaspe laid a -hand on Wilfred's arm. "How are you going to keep pace with the hunters -with that lame foot?" he demanded. - -"As the tortoise did with the hare," laughed Wilfred. "Get myself left -behind often enough, I don't doubt that." - -"But I doubt if you will ever get to your home _a la tortoise_," -rejoined Gaspe. "No, walking will never do for you. I am thinking of -making you a sled." - -"A sledge!" repeated Wilfred in surprise. - -"Oh, we drop the 'ge' you add to it in your English dictionaries," -retorted Gaspe. "We only say sled out here. There will be plenty of -board when grandfather has done his mending. We may have what we want, -I'm sure. Your dog is a trained hauler, and why shouldn't we teach my -biggest pup to draw with him? They would drag you after the hunters in -fine style. We can do it all, even to their jingling bells." - -Wilfred, who had been accustomed to the light and graceful carioles and -sledges used in the Canadian towns, thought it was flying a bit too -high. But Gaspe, up in all the rough-and-ready contrivances of the -backwoods, knew what he was about. Louison and Chirag had to be -consulted. - -When all the defences were put in order--bolts, bars, and padlocks -doubled and trebled, and a rough but very ponderous double door added to -the storeroom--Mr. De Brunier began to speak of rest. - -"The night cometh in which no man can work," he quoted, as if in -justification of the necessary stoppage. - -The hammer was laid down, and he sank back in his hard chair, as if he -were almost ashamed to indulge in his one solace, the well-filled pipe -Gaspe was placing so coaxingly in his fingers. A few sedative whiffs -were enjoyed in silence; but before the boys were sent off to bed, Gaspe -had secured the reversion of all the wooden remains of the carpentering -bout, and as many nails as might be reasonably required. - -"Now," said Gaspe, as he tucked himself up by Wilfred's side, and pulled -the coverings well over head and ears, "I'll show you what I can do." - -Three days passed quickly by. On the morning of the fourth Louison -walked in with a long face. The new horse, the gift of the Blackfoot -chief, had vanished in the night. The camp had moved on, nothing but -the long poles of the wigwams were left standing. - -The loss of a horse is such an everyday occurrence in Canada, where -horses are so often left to take care of themselves, it was by no means -clear that Oma-ka-pee-mulkee-yeu had resumed his gift, but it was highly -probable. - -Notwithstanding, the Company had not been losers by the riotous -marketing, for the furs the Blackfeet had brought in were splendid. - -"Yes, we were all on our guard--thanks to you, my little man--or it -might have ended in the demolition of the fort," remarked Mr. De -Brunier. "Now, if there is anything you want for your journey, tell me, -and you shall have it." - -"Yes, grandfather," interposed Gaspe. "He must have a blanket to sleep -in, and there is the harness for the dogs, and a lot of things." - -Wilfred grew hot. "Please, sir, thanks; but I don't think I want much. -Most of all, perhaps, something to eat." - -Mr. De Brunier recommended a good hunch of pemmican, to cut and come -again. The hunters would let him mess with them if he brought his own -pemmican and a handful of tea to throw into their boiling kettle. The -hunters' camp was about sixty miles from Hungry Hall. They would be two -or three days on the road. - -More than one party of hunters had called at the fort already, wanting -powder and ball, matches, and a knife; and when the lynx and marten and -wolf skins which they brought were told up, and the few necessaries they -required were provided, the gay, careless, improvident fellows would -invest in a tasselled cap bright with glittering beads. - -The longer Wilfred stayed at the fort, the more Mr. De Brunier hesitated -about letting the boy start for so long a journey with no better -protection. Gaspard never failed to paint the danger and magnify the -difficulties of the undertaking, wishing to keep his new friend a little -longer. But Wilfred was steady to his purpose. He saw no other chance -of getting back to his home. He did not say much when Mr. De Brunier -and Gaspe were weighing chances and probabilities, hoping some -travelling party from the north might stop by the way at Hungry Hall and -take him on with them. Such things did happen occasionally. - -But Wilfred had a vivid recollection of his cross-country journey with -Forgill. He could not see that he should be sure of getting home if he -accepted Mr. De Brunier's offer and stayed until the river was frozen -and then went down with him to their mid-winter station, trusting to a -seat in some of the Company's carts or the Company's sledges to their -next destination. - -Then there would be waiting and trusting again to be sent on another -stage, and another, and another, until he would at last find himself at -Fort Garry. "Then," he asked, "what was he to do? If his uncle and aunt -knew that he was there, they might send Forgill again to fetch him. But -if letters reached Acland's Hut so uncertainly, how was he to let them -know?" - -As Wilfred worked the matter out thus in his own mind, he received every -proposition of Mr. De Brunier's with, "Please, sir, I'd rather go to -Bowkett. He lost me. He will be sure to take me straight home." - -"The boy knew his own mind so thoroughly," Mr. De Brunier told Gaspard -at last, "they must let him have his own way." - -The sled was finished. It was a simple affair--two thin boards about -four feet long nailed together edgeways, with a tri-cornered piece of -wood fitted in at the end. Two old skates were screwed on the bottom, -and the thing was done. The boys worked together at the harness as they -sat round the stove in the evening. The snow was thicker, the frost was -harder every night. Ice had settled on the quiet pools, and was -spreading over the quick-running streams, but the dash of the falls -still resisted its ever-encroaching influence. By-and-by they too must -yield, and the whole face of nature would be locked in its iron clasp. -November was wearing away. A sunny morning came now and then to cheer -the little party so soon to separate. - -Gaspe proposed a run with the dogs, just to try how they would go in -their new harness, and if, after all, the sled would run as a sled -should. - -Other things were set aside, and boys and men gathered in the court. -Even Mr. De Brunier stepped out to give his opinion about the puppies. -Gaspe had named them from the many tongues of his native Canada. - -In his heart Wilfred entertained a secret belief that not one of them -would ever be equal to his Yula. They were Athabascans. They would -never be as big for one thing, and no dog ever could be half as -intelligent; that was not possible. But he did not give utterance to -these sentiments. It would have looked so ungrateful, when Gaspe was -designing the best and biggest for his parting gift. And they were -beauties, all four of them. - -There was Le Chevalier, so named because he never appeared, as Gaspe -declared, without his white shirtfront and white gloves. Then there was -his bluff old English Boxer, the sturdiest of the four. He looked like -a hauler. Kusky-tay-ka-atim-moos, or "the little black dog," according -to the Cree dialect, had struck up a friendship with Yula, only a little -less warm than that which existed between their respective masters. -Then the little schemer with the party-coloured face was Yankee-doodle. - -"Try them all in harness, and see which runs the best," suggested -grandfather, quite glad that his Gaspard should have one bright holiday -to checker the leaden dulness of the everyday life at Hungry Hall. - -Louison was harnessing the team. He nailed two long strips of leather -to the lowest end of the sled for traces. The dogs' collars were made -of soft leather, and slipped over the head. Each one was ornamented -with a little tinkling bell under the chin and a tuft of bright ribbon -at the back of the ear, and a buckle on either side through which the -traces were passed. A band of leather round the dogs completed the -harness, and to this the traces were also securely buckled. The dogs -stood one before the other, about a foot apart. - -Yula was an experienced hand, and took the collar as a matter of course. -Yankee was the first of the puppies to stand in the traces, and his -severe doggie tastes were completely outraged by the amount of finery -Gaspe and Louison seemed to think necessary for their proper appearance. - -Wilfred was seated on a folded blanket, with a buffalo-robe tucked over -his feet. Louison flourished a whip in the air to make the dogs start. -Away went Yula with something of the velocity of an arrow from a bow, -knocking down Gaspe, who thought of holding the back of the sled to -guide it. - -He scrambled to his feet and ran after it. Yula was careering over the -snow at racehorse speed, ten miles an hour, and poor little Yankee, -almost frightened out of his senses, was bent upon making a dash at the -ribbon waving so enticingly before his eyes. He darted forward. He -hung back. He lurched from side to side. He twisted, he turned. He -upset the equilibrium of the sledge. It banged against a tree on one -side, and all but tilted over on the other. One end went down into a -badger hole, leaving Wilfred and his blanket in a heap on the snow, when -Yankee, lightened of half his load, fairly leaped upon Yula's back and -hopelessly entangled the traces. The boys concealed an uneasy sense of -ignominious failure under an assertion calculated to put as good a face -as they could on the matter: "We have not got it quite right yet, but we -shall." - - - - - *CHAPTER XI.* - - _*THE HUNTERS' CAMP.*_ - - -A burst of merry laughter made the two boys look round, half afraid that -it might be at their own expense. - -Wilfred felt a bit annoyed when he perceived a little party of horsemen -spurring towards the fort. But Gaspe ran after them, waving his arms -with a bonjour as he recognized his own Louison's cousin, Batiste, among -the foremost. - -Dog training and dog driving are the never-failing topics of interest -among the hunters and trappers. Batiste had reined in his horse to watch -the ineffectual efforts of the boys to disentangle the two dogs, who -were fighting and snarling with each other over the upturned sled. - -Batiste and his comrades soon advanced from watching to helping. The -sled was lifted up, the traces disentangled, and Wilfred and Gaspe were -told and made to feel that they knew nothing at all about dog driving, -and might find themselves in a heap all pell-mell at the bottom of the -river bank some day if they set about it in such a reckless fashion. -They were letting the dogs run just where they liked. Dogs wanted -something to follow. Batiste jumped from his horse at last, quite unable -to resist the pleasure of breaking in a young dog. - -"It takes two to manage a dog team," he asserted. "It wants a man in -snow-shoes to walk on in front and mark a track, and another behind to -keep them steady to their work." - -Dogs, horses, men, and boys all turned back together to discuss Yankee's -undeveloped powers. But no, Batiste himself could do nothing with him. -Yankee refused to haul. - -"I'll make him," said Batiste. - -But Gaspe preferred to take his dog out of the traces rather than -surrender him to the tender mercies of a hunter. "I know they are very -cruel," he whispered to Wilfred. So Yula was left to draw the empty -sled back to the fort, and he did it in first-rate style. - -"He is just cut out for hauling, as the hound is for hunting," explained -Batiste. "It is not any dog can do it." - -They entered the gate of the fort. The men stood patting and praising -Yula, while Batiste exchanged greetings with his cousin. - -Before he unlocked the door of his shop, Mr. De Brunier called Wilfred -to him. - -"Now is your chance, my boy," he said kindly. "Batiste tells me he -passed this Bowkett on his way to the camp, so you are sure to find him -there. Shall I arrange with Batiste to take you with him?" - -The opportunity had come so suddenly at last. If Wilfred had any -misgiving, he did not show it. - -"What do you think I had better do, sir?" he asked. - -"There is so much good common sense in your own plan," answered his -friend, "I think you had better follow it. When we shut up, you cannot -remain here; and unless we take you with us, this is the best thing to -do." - -Wilfred put both his hands in Mr. De Brunier's. - -"I can't thank you," he said; "I can't thank you half enough." - -"Never mind the thanks, my boy. Now I want you to promise me, when you -get back to your home, you will make yourself missed, then you will soon -find yourself wanted." Mr. De Brunier turned the key in the lock as he -spoke, and went in. - -Wilfred crossed the court to Gaspe. He looked up brightly, exclaiming, -"Kusky is the boy for you; they all say Kusky will draw." - -"I am going," whispered Wilfred. - -"Going! how and why?" echoed Gaspe in consternation. - -"With these men," answered Wilfred. - -"Then I shall hate Batiste if he takes you from me!" exclaimed Gaspe -impetuously. - -They stepped back into the shed the puppies had occupied, behind some -packing-cases, where nobody could see them, for the parting words. - -"We shall never forget each other, never. Shall we ever meet again?" -asked Wilfred despairingly. "We may when we are men." - -"We may before," whispered Gaspe, trying to comfort him. "Grandfather's -time is up this Christmas. Then he will take his pension and retire. He -talks of buying a farm. Why shouldn't it be near your uncle's?" - -"Come, Gaspard, what are you about?" shouted Mr. De Brunier from the -shop door. "Take Wilfred in, and see that he has a good dinner." - -Words failed over the knife and fork. Yula and Kusky had to be fed. - -"Will the sled be of any use?" asked Gaspe. - -Even Wilfred did not feel sure. They had fallen very low--had no heart -for anything. - -Louison was packing the sled--pemmican and tea for three days. - -"Put plenty," said Gaspe, as he ran out to see all was right. - -Louison and Batiste were talking. - -"We'll teach that young dog to haul," Batiste was saying; "and if the -boy gets tired of them, we'll take them off his hands altogether." - -"With pleasure," added Louison, and they both laughed. - -The last moment had come. - -"Good-bye, good-bye!" said Wilfred, determined not to break down before -the men, who were already mounting their horses. - -"God bless you!" murmured Gaspe. - -Batiste put Wilfred on his horse, and undertook the management of the -sled. The unexpected pleasure of a ride helped to soften the pain of -parting. - -"I ought to be thankful," thought Wilfred--"I ought to rejoice that the -chance I have longed for has come. I ought to be grateful that I have a -home, and such a good home." But it was all too new. No one had -learned to love him there. Whose hand would clasp his when he reached -Acland's Hut as Gaspe had done? - -On, on, over the wide, wild waste of sparkling snow, with his jovial -companions laughing and talking around him. It was so similar to his -ride with Bowkett and Diome, save for the increase in the cold. He did -not mind that. - -But there was one thing Wilfred did mind, and that was the hard blows -Batiste was raining down on Kusky and Yula. He sprang down to -remonstrate. He wanted to drive them himself. He was laughed at for a -self-conceited jackass, and pushed aside. - -Dog driving was the hunter's hobby. The whole party were engrossed in -watching Yula's progress, and quiet, affectionate little Kusky's -infantine endeavours to keep up with him. - -Batiste regarded himself as a crack trainer, and when poor Kusky brought -the whole cavalcade to a standstill by sitting down in the midst of his -traces, he announced his intention of curing him of such a trick with -his first taste. - -"Send him to Rome," shouted one of the foremost of the hunters. "He'll -not forget that in a hurry." - -"He is worth training well," observed another. "See what a chest he has. -He will make as good a hauler as the old one by-and-by. Pay him well -first start." - -What "sending to Rome" might mean Wilfred did not stay to see. Enough -to know it was the uttermost depth of dog disgrace. He saw Batiste -double up his fist and raise his arm. The sprain in his ankle was -forgotten. He flew to the ground, and dashed between Batiste and his -dogs, exclaiming, "They are mine, my own, and they shan't be hurt by -anybody!" - -He caught the first blow, that was all. He staggered backwards on the -slippery ground. - -Another of the hunters had alighted. He caught Wilfred by the arm, and -pulled him up, observing dryly, "Well done, young 'un. Got a settler -unawares. That just comes of interfering.--Here, Mathurin, take him up -behind ye." - -The hunter appealed to wheeled round with a good-natured laugh. - -But Wilfred could not stand; the horses, dogs, and snow seemed dancing -round him. - -"Yula! Kusky!" he called, like one speaking in a dream. - -But Yula, dragging the sled behind him, and rolling Kusky over and over -in the tangling harness, had sprung at Batiste's arm; but he was too -hampered to seize him. Wilfred was only aware of a confused _melee_ as -he was hoisted into Mathurin's strong arms and trotted away from the -scene of action. - -"Come, you are the sauciest young dog of the three," said Mathurin -rather admiringly. "There, lay your head on me. You'll have to sleep -this off a bit," he continued, gently walking his horse, and gradually -dropping behind the rest of the party. - -Poor Wilfred roused up every now and then with a rather wild and -incoherent inquiry for his dogs, to which Mathurin replied with a -drawling, sleepy-sounding "All right." - -Wilfred's eyes were so swollen over that he hardly knew it was starshine -when Mathurin laid him down by a new-lit camping-fire. - -"There," said the hunter, in the self-congratulatory tone of a man who -knows he has got over an awkward piece of business; "let him have his -dogs, and give him a cup of tea, and he'll be himself again by the -morning." - -"Ready for the same game?" asked Batiste, who was presiding over the -tea-kettle. - -The cup which Mathurin recommended was poured out; the sugar was not -spared. Wilfred drank it gladly without speaking. When words were -useless silence seemed golden. Yula was on guard beside him, and poor -little Kusky, cowed and cringing, was shivering at his feet. They -covered him up, and all he had seen and heard seemed as unreal as his -dreams. - -The now familiar cry of "_Leve! leve!_" made Yula sit upright. The -hunters were astir before the dawn, but Wilfred was left undisturbed for -another hour at least, until the rubeiboo was ready--that is, pemmican -boiled in water until it makes a sort of soup. Pemmican, as Mr. De -Brunier had said, was the hunters' favourite food. - -"Now for the best of the breakfast for the lame and tame," laughed -Batiste, pulling up Wilfred, and looking at his disfiguring bruises with -a whistle. - -Wilfred shrank from the prospect before him. Another day of bitter -biting cold, and merciless cruelty to his poor dogs. "Oh, if Gaspe -knew!--if Kusky could but have run back home!" - -Wilfred could not eat much. He gave his breakfast to his dogs, and -fondled them in silence. It was enough to make a fellow's blood boil to -be called Mathurin's babby, _l'enfant endormi_ (sleepy child), and -Pierre the pretty face. - -"Can we be such stoics, Yula," he whispered, "as to stand all this -another twenty-four hours, and see our poor little Kusky beaten right -and left? Can we bear it till to-morrow morning?" - -Yula washed the nervous fingers stroking his hair out of his eyes, and -looked the picture of patient endurance. There was no escape, but it -could not last long. Wilfred set his teeth, and asserted no one but -himself should put the harness on his dogs. - -"Gently, my little turkey-cock," put in Mathurin. "The puppy may be your -own, but the stray belongs to a friend of mine, who will be glad enough -to see him back again." - -Wilfred was fairly frightened now. "Oh, if he had to give his Yula -chummie back to some horrid stranger!" He thought it would be the last -straw which brings the breakdown to boy as well as camel. But he -consoled himself at their journey's end. Bowkett would interfere on his -behalf. Mathurin's assertion was not true, by the twinkle in his eye -and the laugh to his companions. Louison must have told his cousin that -Yula was a stray, or they would never have guessed it. True or false, -the danger of losing his dog was a real one. They meant to take it from -him. One thing Wilfred had the sense to see, getting in a passion was -of no good anyway. "Frederick the Great lost his battle when he lost -his temper," he thought. "Keep mine for Yula's sake I will." - -But the work was harder than he expected, although the time was shorter. -The hardy broncos of the hunters were as untiring as their masters. -Ten, twenty, thirty miles were got over without a sign of weariness from -any one but Wilfred and Kusky. If they were dead beat, what did it -matter? The dog was lashed along, and Wilfred was teased, to keep him -from falling asleep. - -"One more push," said the hunters, "and instead of sleeping with our -feet to a camp-fire, and our beards freezing to the blankets, we shall -be footing it to Bowkett's fiddle." - -The moon had risen clear and bright above the sleeping clouds still -darkening the horizon. A silent planet burned lamp-like in the western -sky. Forest and prairie, ridges and lowland, were sparkling in the -sheen of the moonlight and the snow. - -Wilfred roused himself. The tinkle of the dog-bells was growing fainter -and fainter, as Mathurin galloped into the midst of a score or so of -huts promiscuously crowded together, while many a high-piled meat-stage -gave promise of a winter's plenty. Huge bones and horns, the remnants -of yesterday's feast, were everywhere strewing the ground, and changing -its snowy carpet to a dingy drab. There were wolf-skins spread over -framework. There were buffalo-skins to be smoked, and buffalo-robes--as -they are called when the hair is left on--stretched out to dry. Men and -horses, dogs and boys, women drawing water or carrying wood, jostled -each other. There was a glow of firelight from many a parchment window, -and here and there the sound of a fiddle, scraped by some rough hunter's -hand, and the quick thud of the jovial hunter's heel upon the earthen -floor. - -It resembled nothing in the old world so much as an Irish fair, with its -shouts of laughter and snatches of song, and that sense of inextricable -confusion, heightened by the all too frequent fight in a most -inconvenient corner. The rule of contrary found a notable example in -the name bestowed upon this charming locality. A French missionary had -once resided on the spot, so it was still called La Mission. - -Mathurin drew up before one of the biggest of the huts, where the sounds -of mirth were loudest, and the light streamed brightest on the bank of -snow beside the door. - -"Here we are!" he exclaimed, swinging Wilfred from the saddle to the -threshold. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII.* - - _*MAXICA'S WARNING.*_ - - -Mathurin knocked at the door. It was on the latch. He pushed Wilfred -inside; but the boy was stubborn. - -"No, no, I won't go in; I'll stand outside and wait for the others," he -said. "I want my dogs." - -"But the little 'un's dead beat. You would not have him hurried. I am -going back to meet them," laughed Mathurin, proud of the neat way in -which he had slipped out of all explanation of the blow Wilfred had -received, which Bowkett might make awkward. - -He was in the saddle and off again in a moment, leaving Wilfred standing -at the half-open door. - -"This is nothing but a dodge to get my dogs away from me," thought the -boy, unwilling to go inside the hut without them. - -"I am landed at last," he sighed, with a grateful sense of relief, as he -heard Bowkett's voice in the pause of the dance. His words were -received with bursts of laughter. But what was he saying? - -"It all came about through the loss of the boy. There was lamentation -and mourning and woe when I went back without him. The auntie would -have given her eyes to find him. See my gain by the endeavour. As hope -grew beautifully less, it dwindled down to 'Bring me some certain -tidings of his fate, and there is nothing I can refuse you.' As luck -would have it, I came across a Blackfoot wearing the very knife we stuck -in the poor boy's belt before we started. I was not slow in bartering -for an exchange; and when I ride next to Acland's Hut, it is but to -change horses and prepare for a longer drive to the nearest church. So, -friends, I invite you all to dance at my wedding feast. Less than three -days of it won't content a hunter." - -A cheer went up from the noisy dancers, already calling for the fiddles. - -Bowkett paused with the bow upraised. There stood Wilfred, like the -skeleton at the feast, in the open doorway before him. - -"If you have not found me, I have found you, Mr. Bowkett," he was -saying. "I am the lost boy. I am Wilfred Acland." - -The dark brow of the handsome young hunter contracted with angry dismay. - -"Begone!" he exclaimed, with a toss of his head. "You! I know nothing -of you! What business have you here?" - -Hugh Bowkett turned his back upon Wilfred, and fiddled away more noisily -than before. Two or three of his friends who stood nearest to him--men -whom it would not have been pleasant to meet alone in the darkness of -the night--closed round him as the dance began. - -"A coyote in your lamb's-skin," laughed one, "on the lookout for a -supper." - -A coyote is a little wolfish creature, a most impudent thief, for ever -prowling round the winter camps, nibbling at the skins and watching the -meat-stage, fought off by the dogs and trapped like a rat by the -hunters. - -Wilfred looked round for Diome. He might have recognized him; but no -Diome was there. - -Was there not one among the merry fellows tripping before him, not one -that had ever seen him before? He knew he was sadly changed. His face -was still swollen from the disfiguring blow. Could he wonder if Bowkett -did not know him? Should he run back and call the men who had brought -him to his assistance? He hated them, every one. He was writhing still -under every lash which had fallen on poor Kusky's sides. Turn to them? -no, never! His dogs would be taken as payment for any help that they -might give. He would reason it out. He would convince Bowkett he was -the same boy. - -Three or four Indians entered behind him, and seated themselves on the -floor, waiting for something to eat. He knew their silent way of -begging for food when they thought that food was plentiful in the camp: -the high-piled meat-stage had drawn them. It was such an ordinary thing -Wilfred paid no heed to them. He was bent on making Bowkett listen; and -yet he was afraid to leave the door, for fear of missing his dogs. - -"A word in your ear," said the most ill-looking of the hunters standing -by Bowkett's fiddle, trusting to the noise of the music to drown his -words from every one but him for whom they were intended. "You and I -have been over the border together, sharpened up a bit among the Yankee -bowie-knives. You are counting Caleb Acland as a dead man. You are -expecting, as his sister's husband, to step into his shoes. Back comes -this boy and sweeps the stakes out of your very hand. He'll stand -first." - -"I know it," retorted Bowkett with a scowl. "But," he added hurriedly, -"it is not he." - -"Oh, it isn't the boy you lost? Of course not. But take my advice, turn -this impudent young coyote out into the snow. One midnight's frost will -save you from any more bother. There are plenty of badger holes where -he can rest safe and snug till doomsday." - -Bowkett would not venture a reply. The low aside was unnoticed by the -dancers; not the faintest breath could reach Wilfred, vainly -endeavouring to pass between the whirling groups to Bowkett's side; but -every syllable was caught by the quick ear of one of the Indians on the -floor. - -He picked up a tiny splinter of wood from the hearth, near which he was -sitting; another was secreted. There were three in the hollow of his -hand. Noiselessly and unobtrusively he stole behind the dancers. A -gentle pull at Wilfred's coat made him look up into the half-blind eyes -of Maxica the Cree. - -Not a word was said. Maxica turned from him and seated himself once -more on the ground, in which he deliberately stuck his three pegs. - -Wilfred could not make out what he was going to do, but his heart felt -lighter at the sight of him; "for," he thought, "he will confirm my -story. He will tell Bowkett how he found me by the banks of the -dried-up river." He dropped on the floor beside the wandering Cree. -But the Indian laid a finger on his lips, and one of his pegs was -pressed on Wilfred's palm; another was pointed towards Bowkett. The -third, which was a little charred, and therefore blackened, was turned -to the door, which Wilfred had left open, to the darkness without, from -whence, according to Indian belief, the evil spirits come. - -Then Maxica took the three pegs and moved them rapidly about the floor. -The black peg and Bowkett's peg were always close together, rubbing -against each other until both were as black as a piece of charcoal. It -was clear they were pursuing the other peg--which Wilfred took for -himself--from corner to corner. At last it was knocked down under them, -driven right into the earthen floor, and the two blackened pegs were -left sticking upright over it. - -Wilfred laid his hand softly on Maxica's knee, to show his warning was -understood. - -But what then? - -Maxica got up and glided out of the hut as noiselessly as he had entered -it. The black-browed hunter whispering at Bowkett's elbow made his way -through the dancers towards Wilfred with a menacing air. - -"What are you doing here?" he demanded. - -"Waiting to speak to Mr. Bowkett," replied Wilfred stoutly. - -"Then you may wait for him on the snow-bank," retorted the hunter, -seizing Wilfred by the collar and flinging him out of the door. - -"What is that for?" asked several of the dancers. - -"I'll vow it is the same young imp who passed us with a party of miners -coming from a summer's work in the Rocky Mountains, who stole my dinner -from the spit," he went on, working himself into the semblance of a -passion. "I marked him with a rare black eye before we parted then, and -I'll give him another if he shows his face again where I am." - -"It is false!" cried Wilfred, rising up in the heat of his indignation. - -His tormentor came a step or two from the door, and gathering up a great -lump of snow, hurled it at him. - -Wilfred escaped from the avalanche, and the mocking laughter which -accompanied it, to the sheltering darkness. He paused among the sombre -shadows thrown by the wall of the opposite hut. Maxica was waiting for -him under its pine-bark eaves, surveying the cloudless heavens. - -"He speaks with a forked tongue," said the Cree, pointing to the man in -the doorway, and dividing his fingers, to show that thoughts went one -way and words another. - -The scorn of the savage beside him was balm to Wilfred. The touch of -sympathy which makes the whole world kin drew them together. But -between him and the hunter swaggering on the snow-bank there was a moral -gulf nothing could bridge over. There was a sense--a strange sense--of -deliverance. What would it have been to live on with such men, touching -their pitch, and feeling himself becoming blackened? That was the -uttermost depth from which this fellow's mistake had saved him. - -It was no mistake, as Maxica was quick to show him, but deliberate -purpose. Then Wilfred gave up every hope of getting back to his home. -All was lost to him--even his dogs were gone. - -He tried to persuade Maxica to walk round the huts with him, to find out -where they were. But the Cree was resolute to get him away as fast as -he could beyond the reach of Bowkett and his companions. He expected -that great lump of snow would be followed by a stone; that their steps -would be dogged until they reached the open, when--he did not -particularize the precise form that when was likeliest to assume. The -experiences of his wild, wandering life suggested dangers that could not -occur to Wilfred. There must be no boyish footprint in the snow to tell -which way they were going. Maxica wrapped his blanket round Wilfred, -and threw him over his shoulder as if he had been a heavy pack of skins, -and took his way through the noisiest part of the camp, choosing the -route a frightened boy would be the last to take. He crossed in front -of an outlying hut. Yula was tied by a strip of leather to one of the -posts supporting its meat-stage, and Kusky to another. Maxica recognized -Yula's bark before Wilfred did. He muffled the boy's head in the -blanket, and drew it under his arm in such a position that Wilfred could -scarcely either speak or hear. Then Maxica turned his course, and left -the dogs behind him. But Yula could not be deceived. He bounded -forward to the uttermost length of his tether. One sniff at the toe of -Wilfred's boot, scarcely visible beneath the blanket, made him -desperate. He hung at his collar; he tore up the earth; he dragged at -the post, as if, like another Samson, he would use his unusual strength -to pull down this prison-house. - -Maxica, with his long, ungainly Indian stride, was quickly out of sight. -Then Yula forbore his wailing howl, and set himself to the tough task of -biting through the leathern thong which secured him. Fortunately for -him, a dog-chain was unattainable in the hunters' camp. Time and -persistency were safe to set him free before the daylight. - -"I thought you were going to stifle me outright," said Wilfred, when -Maxica released him. - -"I kept you still," returned the Cree. "There were ears behind every -log." - -"Where are we going?" asked Wilfred. - -But Maxica had no answer to that question. He was stealing over the -snow with no more definite purpose before him than to take the boy away -somewhere beyond the hunters' reach. A long night walk was nothing to -him. He could find his way as well in the dark as in the light. - -They were miles from the hunters' camp before he set Wilfred on his feet -or paused to rest. - -"You have saved me, Maxica," said Wilfred, in a low, deep voice. "You -have saved my life from a greater danger than the snowdrift. I can only -pray the Good Spirit to reward you." - -"I was hunger-bitten, and you gave me beaver-skin," returned Maxica. -"Now think; whilst this bad hunter keeps the gate of your house there is -no going back for you, and you have neither trap nor bow. I'll guide -you where the hunter will never follow--across the river to the pathless -forest; and then--" he looked inquiringly, turning his dim eyes towards -the boy. - -"Oh, if I were but back in Hungry Hall!" Wilfred broke forth. - -Maxica was leading on to where a poplar thicket concealed the entrance -to a sheltered hollow scooped on the margin of a frozen stream. The -snow had fallen from its shelving sides, and lay in white masses, -blocking the entrance from the river. Giving Wilfred his hand, Maxica -began to descend the slippery steep. It was one of nature's -hiding-places, which Maxica had frequently visited. He scooped out his -circle in the frozen snow at the bottom, fetched down the dead wood from -the overhanging trees, and built his fire, as on the first night of -their acquaintance. But now the icy walls around them reflected the -dancing flames in a thousand varied hues. Between the black rocks, from -which the raging winds had swept the recent snow, a cascade turned to -ice hung like a drapery of crystal lace suspended in mid-air. - -It was the second night they had passed together, with no curtain but -the star-lit sky. Now Maxica threw the corner of his blanket over -Wilfred's shoulders, and drew him as closely to his side as if he were -his son. The Cree lit his pipe, and abandoned himself to an hour or two -of pure Indian enjoyment. - -Wilfred nestled by his side, thinking of Jacob on his stony pillow. The -rainbow flashes from the frozen fall gleamed before him like stairs of -light, by which God's messengers could come and go. It is at such -moments, when we lie powerless in the grasp of a crushing danger, and -sudden help appears in undreamed-of ways, that we know a mightier power -than man's is caring for us. - -He thought of his father and mother--the love he had missed and mourned; -and love was springing up for him again in stranger hearts, born of the -pity for his great trouble. - -There was a patter on the snow. It was not the step of a man. With a -soft and stealthy movement Maxica grasped his bow, and was drawing the -arrow from his quiver, when Yula bounded into Wilfred's arms. There was -a piteous whine from the midst of the poplars, where Kusky stood -shivering, afraid to follow. To scramble up by the light of the fire -and bring him down was the work of a moment. - -Yula's collar was still round his neck, with the torn thong dangling -from it; but Kusky had slipped his head out of his, only leaving a -little of his abundant hair behind him. - -Three hours' rest sufficed for Maxica. He rose and shook himself. - -"That other place," he said, "where's that?" - -Now his dogs were with him, Wilfred was loath to leave their icy retreat -and face the cruel world. - -The fireshine and the ice, with all their mysterious beauty, held him -spell-bound. - -"Maxica," he whispered, not understanding the Cree's last question, -"they call this the new world; but don't you think it really is the very -old, old world, just as God made it? No one has touched it in all these -ages." - -Yes, it was a favourite nook of Maxica's, beautiful, he thought, as the -happy hunting-grounds beyond the sunset--the Indian's heaven. Could he -exchange the free range of his native wilds, with all their majestic -beauty, for a settler's hut? the trap and the bow for the plough and the -spade, and tie himself down to one small corner? The earth was free to -all. Wilfred had but to take his share, and roam its plains and forests, -as the red man roamed. - -But Wilfred knew better than to think he could really live their savage -life, with its dark alternations of hunger and cold. - -"Could I get back to Hungry Hall in time to travel with Mr. De Brunier?" -he asked his swarthy friend. - -"Yes; that other place," repeated Maxica, "where is that?" - -Wilfred could hardly tell him, he remembered so little of the road. - -"Which way did the wind blow and the snow drift past as you stood at the -friendly gates?" asked Maxica. "On which cheek did the wind cut keenest -when you rode into the hunters' camp at nightfall?" - -Wilfred tried to recollect. - -"A two days' journey," reflected Maxica, "with the storm-wind in our -faces." - -He felt the edge of his hatchet, climbed the steep ascent, and struck a -gash in the stem of the nearest poplar. His quick sense of touch told -him at which edge of the cut the bark grew thickest. That was the -north. He found it with the unerring precision of the mariner's -compass. Although he had no names for the cardinal points, he knew them -all. - -There was an hour or two yet before daylight. Wilfred found himself a -stick, as they passed between the poplars, to help himself along, and -caught up Kusky under his other arm; for the poor little fellow was -stiff in every limb, and his feet were pricked and bleeding, from the -icicles which he had suffered to gather between his toes, not yet -knowing any better. But he was too big a dog for Wilfred to carry long. -Wilfred carefully broke out the crimsoned spikes as soon as there was -light enough to show him what was the matter, and Yula came and washed -Kusky's feet more than once; so they helped him on. - -Before the gray of the winter's dawn La Mission was miles behind them, -and breakfast a growing necessity. - -Maxica had struck out a new route for himself. He would not follow the -track Batiste and his companions had taken. The black pegs might yet -pursue the white and trample it down in the snow if they were not wary. -Sooner or later an Indian accomplishes his purpose. He attributed the -same fierce determination to Bowkett. Wilfred lagged more and more. -Food must be had. Maxica left him to contrive a trap in the run of the -game through the bushes to their right. So Wilfred took the dogs slowly -on. Sitting down in the snow, without first clearing a hole or lighting -a fire, was dangerous. - -Yula, sharing in the general desire for breakfast, started off on a -little hunting expedition of his own. Kusky was limping painfully after -him, as he darted between the tall, dark pines which began to chequer -the landscape and warn the travellers they were nearing the river. - -Wilfred went after his dog to recall him. The sun was glinting through -the trees, and the all-pervading stillness was broken by the sound of a -hatchet. Had Maxica crossed over unawares? Had Wilfred turned back -without knowing it? He drew to the spot. There was Diome chopping -firewood, which Pe-na-Koam was dragging across the snow towards a -roughly-built log-hut. - -She dropped the boughs on the snow, and drawing her blanket round her, -came to meet him. - -Diome, not perceiving Wilfred's approach, had retreated further among -the trees, intent upon his occupation. - -Wilfred's first sensation of joy at the sight of Pe-na-Koam turned to -something like fear as he saw her companion, for he had known him only -as Bowkett's man. But retreat was impossible. The old squaw had -shuffled up to him and grasped his arm. The sight of Yula bounding over -the snow had made her the first to perceive him. She was pouring forth -her delight in her Indian tongue, and explaining her appearance in such -altered surroundings. Wilfred could not understand a word, but Maxica -was not far behind. Kusky and Yula were already in the hut, barking for -the wa-wa (the goose) that was roasting before the fire. - -When Maxica came up, walking beside Diome, Wilfred knew escape was out -of the question. He must try to make a friend--at least he must meet -him as a friend, even if he proved himself to be an enemy. But the work -was done already. - -"Ah, it is you!" cried Diome. "I was sure it was. You had dropped a -button in the tumble-down hut, and the print of your boot, an English -boot, was all over the snow when I got there. You look dazed, my little -man; don't you understand what I'm talking about? That old squaw is my -grandmother. You don't know, of course, who it was sent the Blackfoot -Sapoo to dig her out of the snow; but I happen to know. The old man is -going from Hungry Hall, and Louison is to be promoted. I'm on the -look-out to take his place with the new-comer; so when I met with him, a -snow-bird whispered in my ear a thing or two. But where are your -guides?" - -Wilfred turned for a word with Maxica before he dared reply. - -Both felt the only thing before them was to win Diome to Wilfred's side. - -"Have you parted company with Bowkett?" asked Maxica cautiously. - -"Bowkett," answered Diome, "is going to marry and turn farmer, and I to -try my luck as voyageur to the Company. This is the hunters' idle -month, and I am waiting here until my services are wanted at the -fort.--What cheer?" he shouted to his bright-eyed little wife, driving -the dogs from the door of the hut. - -The wa-wa shortly disappeared before Maxica's knife, for an Indian likes -about ten pounds of meat for a single meal. Wilfred was asleep beside -the fire long before it was over; when they tried to rouse him his -senses were roaming. The excitement and exertion, following the blow on -his head, had taken effect at last. - -Pe-na-Koam, with all an Indian woman's skill in the use of medicinal -herbs, and the experience of a long life spent among her warrior tribe, -knew well how to take care of him. - -"Leave him to me," she said to Maxica, "and go your ways." - -Diome too was anxious for the Cree to depart. He was looking forward to -taking Wilfred back to Acland's Hut himself. Caleb Acland's gratitude -would express itself in a tangible form, and he did not intend to divide -it with Maxica. His evident desire to get rid of the Cree put the red -man on his guard. Long did he sit beside the hunter's fire in brooding -silence, trusting that Wilfred might rise up from his lengthened sleep -ready to travel, as an Indian might have done. But his hope was -abortive. He drew out of Pe-na-Koam all he wanted to know. Diome had -been long in Bowkett's employ. When the Cree heard this he shut his -lips. - -"Watch over the boy," he said to Pe-na-Koam, "for danger threatens him." - -Then Maxica went out and set his traps in the fir-brake and the marsh, -keeping stealthy watch round the hut for fear Bowkett should appear, and -often looking in to note Wilfred's progress. - -One day the casual mention of Bowkett's name threw the poor boy into -such a state of agitation, Diome suspected there had been some passage -between the two he was ignorant of. A question now and then, before -Wilfred was himself again, convinced him the boy had been to La Mission, -and that Bowkett had refused to recognize him. When he spoke of it to -Pe-na-Koam, she thought of the danger at which Maxica had hinted. She -watched for the Cree. Diome began to fear Wilfred's reappearance might -involve him in a quarrel with Bowkett. - -As Wilfred got better, and found Hungry Hall was shut up, he resolved to -go back to Acland's Hut, if possible, whilst his Aunt Miriam and Bowkett -were safe out of the way on their road to the church where they were to -be married. Diome said they would be gone two days. He proposed to -take Wilfred with him, when he went to the wedding, on the return of the -bride and bridegroom. - -"Lend me your snow-shoes," entreated Wilfred, "and with Maxica for a -guide, I can manage the journey alone. Don't go with me, Diome, for -Bowkett will never forgive the man who takes me back. You have been -good and kind to me, why should I bring you into trouble?" - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII.* - - _*JUST IN TIME.*_ - - -The walk from Diome's log hut to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one, but -the clear, bright sunshine of December had succeeded the pitiless sleet -and blinding snow. Lake and river had hardened in the icy breath of the -north wind. An iron frost held universal sway, as Wilfred and Maxica -drew near to Acland's Hut. - -[Illustration: The walk to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one.] - -The tinkle of a distant sledge-bell arrested Maxica. Had some miscount -in the day brought them face to face with the bridal party? - -They turned away from the well-known gate, crept behind the farm -buildings, and crossed the reedy pool to Forgill's hut. - -With the frozen snow full three feet deep beneath their feet there was -roadway everywhere. Railings scarcely showed above it, and walls could -be easily cleared with one long step. The door of the hut was fastened, -but Wilfred waited behind it while Maxica stole round to reconnoitre. - -He returned quickly. It was not the bridal party, for there was not a -single squaw among them. They were travellers in a horse-sledge, -stopping at the farm to rest. He urged Wilfred to seize the chance and -enter with them. The presence of the strangers would be a protection. -They took their way through the orchard trees, and came out boldly on -the well-worn tracks before the gate. It excited no surprise in the -occupants of the sledge to see two dusky figures in their long, pointed -snow-shoes gliding swiftly after them; travellers like themselves, no -doubt, hoping to find hospitality at the farm. - -Yula and Kusky went bounding over the intervening space. - -There were two travellers and a sledge-driver. The dogs considered them, -and did not bark. Then Kusky, in frantic delight, endeavoured to leap -into the sledge. It drew up. The driver thundered on the gate. - -"What cheer?" shouted a voice from the sledge. - -It was the usual traveller's inquiry, but it thrilled through Wilfred's -ears, for it was--it could not be--yet it was the voice of Mr. De -Brunier. - -Kusky was already on Gaspe's knee devouring him with his doggie -caresses. - -"Is it a dream, or is it real?" asked Wilfred, as with one long slide he -overtook the sledge, and grasped a hand of each. - -"I didn't know you, coming after us in your seven-league boots," laughed -Gaspe, pointing to the long, oval frame of Wilfred's snow-shoes, -reaching a foot or more before and behind his boot. - -But Wilfred did not answer, he was whispering rapidly to Mr. De Brunier. - -"Wilfred, _mon ami_," (my friend), pursued Gaspe, bent upon interrupting -the low-voiced confidence, "it was for your sake grandfather decided to -make his first inquiries for a farm in this neighbourhood. Batiste was -so ambiguous and so loath to speak of your journey when he came after -Louison's post, we grew uneasy about you. All the more glad to find you -safe at home." - -"At home, but not in home," answered Wilfred, significantly laying his -finger on his lips, to prevent any exclamation from his bewildered -friend. - -"All right," said Mr. De Brunier. "We will enter together." - -Pete, who was already opening the gate, bade them heartily welcome. -Hospitality in the lone North-West becomes a duty. - -Wilfred dropped behind the sledge, slouched his fur cap well over his -eyes, and let Maxica fold his blanket round him, Indian fashion. - -Pete led the way into the kitchen, Wilfred followed behind the -sledge-driver, and the Cree was the last to enter. A long row of joints -were roasting before the ample fire, giving undoubted indications of an -approaching feast. - -"Just in time," observed Mr. De Brunier with a smile, which gained a -peculiar significance as it rested on Wilfred. - -"Ay, and that you are," returned old Pete; "for the missis is gone to be -married, and I was on the look-out for her return when I heard the -jingling of your sledge-bells. The house will be full enough by -nightfall, I reckon." - -Wilfred undid the strap of his snow-shoes, gave them to Maxica, and -walked softly to the door of his uncle's room. - -He opened it with a noiseless hand, and closed it behind him. - -Mr. De Brunier's retort about the welcome which awaited uninvited guests -on a bridal night kept Pete from noticing his movements. - -The logs crackled and the sparks flew on the kitchen hearth. The fat -from the savoury roast fell hissing in the pan, and the hungry -travellers around it seemed to have eyes for nothing else. - -Wilfred crept to his uncle's bed. He was asleep. The boy glanced round. -He threw off his wraps. His first care was to find his uncle's comb and -brush. It was a luxury unknown since his departure from Hungry Hall. He -was giving a good tug at his tangled locks, hoping to make himself look -a little more like the schoolboy who had once before roused the old man -from his sleep, when a cough and an exclamation sounding like, "Who is -there?" told him his uncle was awake. - -"O uncle, you surely have not forgotten me--me, your nephew, Wilfred! -Got home at last. The pony threw me, and I was utterly lost. An Indian -guided me here," he answered, tumbling his words one upon another as -fast as he could, for his heart was beating wildly. - -Caleb Acland raised himself on one elbow and grasped Wilfred by the -wrist. "It is he! It is flesh and blood!" he ejaculated. "The boy -himself Pete! Pete!" He felt for the stick left leaning against his -bed, and stamped it on the floor. - -A great sob burst unawares from the poor boy's lips. - -"Don't!" said the old man in alarm. "What are you crying for, lad? -What's happened? I don't understand. Give me your hand! That's cold -enough--death cold. Pete! Pete! what are ye about? Have you grown deaf -that you can't hear me?" - -He pulled Wilfred's cold fingers under the blankets and tried to chafe -them between his swollen hands. - -"I'm not crying," protested Wilfred, brushing his other hand across his -eyes. "It is the ice melting out of me. I'm thawing all over. It is -because I have got back uncle, and you are glad to have me. I should -have been dead but for the Cree who brought me home. I was almost -starving at times. I have wandered in the snow all night." - -"God bless the boy!" ejaculated the old man, thundering on the floor -once more. - -"Here, Pete! Pete! Something quick to eat." - -Pete's head appeared at the door at last. - -"Whatever do you want now, master?" he demanded in an injured tone. "I -thought I had put everything ready for you, as handy as could be; and -you said you wouldn't call me off, with the bride expected every minute, -and the supper to cook, as you know." - -"Cook away then," returned his master impatiently. "It is the hour for -the fatted calf. Oh, you've no eyes, none! Whom have I got here? Who -is this?" - -Pete backed to the door in wide-eyed wonder. "I'm struck of a heap!" he -gasped, staring at Wilfred as if he thought he would melt away into -vacancy. - -"Where were you that you did not see him come in?" asked his master -sharply. - -"Where?" repeated Pete indignantly. "At your own gate, answering a -party of travellers--men who've come down to buy land; and," he added, -changing his tone, "there is a gentleman among them says he must speak -to you, master, your own self particular, this very night." - -"It is Mr. De Brunier, uncle. He took me in, and sent me to the -hunters' camp, where Mr. Bowkett was to be found," interposed Wilfred. - -This name was spoken with an effort. Like many a noble-minded boy, -Wilfred hated to tell of another. He hesitated, then went on abruptly: -"I thought he would be sure to bring me home. Well, I got there. He did -not seem to know me. He was all for fiddling and dancing. They were a -rough set, uncle, a very rough set. Father would not have liked to have -seen me with such men. I got away again as quickly as I could. The -Cree who had saved me before guided me home at last." - -"What is that? Did you say Bowkett, Hugh Bowkett?" repeated the old -man. "Why, your aunt was married to him this morning." - -When Pete disappeared into his master's room, Maxica, who had seated -himself on the kitchen floor, rose suddenly, and leaning over Mr. De -Brunier, asked, "Who in this place is friend to the boy without a -father?" - -"I can answer your question for myself, but no further, for I am a -stranger here," replied Mr. De Brunier. - -"We are four," said Maxica, counting on his fingers. "I hear the voice -of the man at the gate--the man who spoke against the white boy with a -forked tongue; the man who drove him out into the frosty night, that it -might kill him. We have brought the marten to the trap. If it closes -on him, Maxica stays to break it." - -"Come outside, where we can talk freely," answered Mr. De Brunier, -leading the way. - -Gaspe and the sledge-driver were left to the enjoyment of the roaring -fire. They were considering the state of Kusky's feet. Gaspe was -removing the icicles from his toes, and the man of the sledge was warmly -recommending boots, and describing the way to make them, when the shouts -at the gate told them the bridal party had arrived. The stupid Pete, as -they began to think, had vanished, for no one answered the summons. -Gaspe guessed the reason, and sent the man to open the gate. He -silenced the dogs, and drew back into the corner, with instinctive good -breeding, to make himself as little in the way as possible. - -The great farm-house kitchen was entrance-hall as well. Every door -opened into it. On one hand was the dining-room, reserved chiefly for -state occasions; on the other, the storeroom. The family sleeping rooms -were at the back. Like a provident housewife, Aunt Miriam had set the -tables for her marriage feast, and filled the storeroom with good -things, before she went to church. Pete, with a Frenchman's genius for -the spit, could manage the rest. - -The arrival of one or two other guests at the same moment detained the -bridal party with their noisy greetings. - -When Aunt Miriam entered the kitchen, leaning on her bridegroom's arm, -Gaspe was almost asleep in his dim corner. - -Out ran Pete, effervescing with congratulations, and crossing the -heartiness of the bridal welcome with the startling exclamation, "The -boy, Mrs. Bowkett!--the boy's come home!" - -The bridegroom looked sharply round. "The boy," he repeated, seeing -Gaspe by the fire. "There he is." - -Up sprang Gaspe, bowing to the bride with all the courtly grace of the -chivalrous De Bruniers of Breton days. - -Aunt Miriam turned her head away. "O Pete!" she groaned, "I thought--I -thought you meant--" - -Bowkett did not let her finish her sentence, he hurried her into the -dining-room. Behind him came his bright-eyed sister, who had played the -part of bridesmaid, and was eager for the dancing and the fun, so soon -to commence. At her side walked Forgill in his Sunday best, all -important with the responsibility of his position, acting as proxy for -his old master. He had given the bride away, and was at that moment -cogitating over some half-dozen sentences destined for the after-dinner -speech which he knew would be required of him. They were restive, and -would not follow each other. "Happy day" and "Best wishes" wanted -setting up on stilts, with a few long words to back them, for such an -occasion. He knew the Indian love of speechifying would be too strong -in their hunter guests to let him off. He had got as far as, -"Uncommonly happy day for us all." But "uncommonly" sounded far too -common in his critical ears. He was searching for a finer-sounding -word, and thought he had got it in "preternaturally," when he heard the -feeble voice of his master calling out, "Miriam! Here, Miriam." - -"Are they all deaf?" said Caleb Acland to Wilfred. "Open the door, my -lad, and show yourself to your aunt." - -Slowly and reluctantly Wilfred obeyed him. He held it open just a -hand-breadth, and met the scowling brow of the owner of the forked -tongue. - -There was mutual recognition in the glance exchanged. - -Wilfred shut the door softly, and drew the bolt without attracting his -uncle's attention. - -"The place is full of strangers," he said; "I shall see auntie soon. -I'd rather wait here with you. I shall be sure to see her before she -goes to her new home." - -"As you like, my boy;--that Pete's a cow. There is no going away to a -new home. It is bringing in a new master here before the old one is -gone, so that your aunt should not be left unprotected a single day." - -As Caleb Acland spoke, Wilfred felt himself growing hard and desperate -in the cold clutch of a giant despair. The star of hope dropped from -his sky. He saw himself in the hand of the man who had turned him from -his door into the killing frost. - -It was too late to speak out; Bowkett would be sure to deny it, and hate -him the more. No, not a word to Uncle Caleb until he had taken counsel -with Mr. De Brunier. But in his hasty glance into the outer world Mr. -De Brunier was nowhere to be seen. - -Wilfred was sure he would not go away without seeing him again. There -was nothing for it but to gain a little time, wait with his uncle until -the wedding guests were shut in the dining-room, and then go out and -find Mr. De Brunier, unless Aunt Miriam had invited him to sit down with -them. Yes, she was sure to do that, and Gaspe would be with his -grandfather. But Maxica was there. He had saved him twice. He knew -what Maxica would say: "To the free wild forest, and learn the use of -the trap and the bow with me." - -Wilfred was sorely tempted to run away. The recollection of Mr. De -Brunier's old-world stories restrained him. He thought of the Breton -emigrants. "What did they do in their despair? What all men can do, -their duty." He kept on saying these words over and over, asking -himself, "What is my duty? Have I no duty to the helpless old man who -has welcomed me so kindly? How will Bowkett behave to him?" Wilfred -felt much stronger to battle through with the hunter on his uncle's -behalf, than when he thought only of himself. "The brave and loyal die -at their posts. Gaspe would, rather than run away--rather than do -anything that looked like running away." - -"What is the matter with you, Wilfred?" asked his uncle anxiously. -"What makes you stand like that, my boy?" - -"I am so tired," answered Wilfred, "I have walked all day to-day, and -all day yesterday. If I take the cushion out of your chair for a -pillow, I might lie down before the stove, uncle." - -"That Pete is an ass not to bring something to eat, as if he could not -make those fellows in the dining-room wait half-a-minute. But stop, -there is some broth keeping hot on the stove. Take that, and come and -lie down on the bed by me; then I can see you and feel you, and know I -have got you again," answered Uncle Caleb, as if he had some -presentiment of what was passing in Wilfred's mind. - -Glad enough to obey, Wilfred drank the broth eagerly, and came to the -bed. The old man took him by both hands and gazed in his face, -murmuring, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace." - -The peace that Uncle Caleb rejoiced in was his own alone; all around him -strife was brewing. But his peace was of that kind which circumstances -cannot give or take away. - -"Kneel down beside me just one minute, my boy," he went on. "We must -not be like the nine lepers, who forgot the thanks when the good had -come. They wouldn't even with the tailors, for in the whole nine put -together there was not one bit of a true man, or they could not have -done it." - -Wilfred fell on his knees and repeated softly the Christ-taught prayer -of the ages, "Our Father who art in heaven." He remembered how he had -been fed from the wild bird's _cache_, and saved by the wild man's pity, -and his heart was swelling. But when he came to "Forgive us our -trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us," he stopped -abruptly. - -"Go on," whispered the old man softly. - -"I can't," muttered Wilfred. "It isn't in my heart; I daren't go on. -It is speaking with a forked tongue: words one way, thoughts another; -telling lies to God." - -Caleb Acland looked at him as if he were slowly grasping the position. - -"Is it Bowkett that you can't forgive?" he asked gently. "Did you think -he need not have lost you? Did you think he would not know you, my poor -boy?" - -"Have I got to live with him always?" returned Wilfred. - -"No, not if you don't like him. I'll send you back to school," answered -his uncle in a tone of decision. - -"Do you mean it, uncle? Do you really say that I shall go back to -school?" exclaimed the boy, his heavy heart's lead beginning to melt, as -the way of escape opened so unexpectedly before him. - -"It is a promise," repeated the old man soothingly. It was obvious now -there was something wrong, which the boy refused to explain. - -"Patience a bit," he thought; "I can't distress him. It will leak out -soon; but it is growing strange that nobody comes near us." - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV* - - _*WEDDING GUESTS.*_ - - -More guests were arriving--Diome, Batiste, Mathurin, and a dozen others. -Bowkett came out into the porch to receive them, and usher one after the -other into the dining-room. As the last went in before him, his friend -Dick Vanner of the forked tongue tapped him on the shoulder. - -"Who is in there?" he whispered. "Did you see?" pointing as he spoke to -the door of Uncle Caleb's room. - -Gaspe was on the alert in a moment, longing to break a lance in his -friend's behalf. The men dropped their voices, but the echo of one -sentence reached him. It sounded like, "No, she only saw the other -boy." - -"So, Wilfred, _mon cher_, you and I have changed places, and I have -become that 'other boy,'" laughed Gaspe to himself, lying perdu with an -open ear. - -As the two separated they muttered, "Outwit us? Like to see it done!" - -"Keep that door shut, and leave the rest to me," added Vanner, -sauntering up to the fire.--"Accommodation is scanty here to-night. How -many are there in your party?" he asked, looking down on Gaspe. "Pete -said four--three men and a boy. Was not it five--three men and two -boys?" - -"Yes, five," answered Gaspe. - -"You boys must want something to eat," remarked Vanner, carelessly -pushing open the door of the storeroom, and returning with a partridge -pie. "Here, fall to. Where's your chum?" - -Gaspe saw the trap into which he was expected to walk. He stepped over -it. - -"Have not you been taught to look out for number one?" asked Gaspe. -"I'll have a turn at that pie by myself, now I have got the chance, -before I call on a chum to help me. I can tell you that." - -"Confound you, you greedy young beggar!" exclaimed Vanner. - -"Try thirty miles in an open sled, with twenty-five degrees of frost on -the ground, and see if you would be willing to divide your pie at the -end of it," retorted Gaspe. - -"That is a cool way of asking for one apiece," remarked Vanner, -abstracting a second pie from the storeroom shelves. - -"If you've another to spare I'd like two for myself," persisted Gaspe. - -"Then have it," said Vanner. "I am bound to give you a satisfaction. -We do not reckon on a wedding feast every night. Now, where is the -other boy? You can't object to call him. Here is a sausage as long as -your arm. Walk into that." - -"You will not get me to move with this dish before me," returned the -undaunted Gaspe, and Vanner felt it waste of time to urge him further. -He went back to his friends. - -Gaspe was at Caleb Acland's door in a moment, singing through the -keyhole,-- - - "St. George he is for England, St. Denis is for France. - _Honi soit qui mal y pense._" - - -Wilfred rose to open the door as he recognized his friend's voice. - -"Keep where you are. Don't come out for anybody," urged Gaspe, -retreating as he heard a noise: but it was only his grandfather -re-entering the porch. - -He flew to his side. "What's up?" he asked breathlessly. - -"A goodly crop of suspicions, if all the Cree tells me is true. Your -poor friend is fitted with an uncle in this Bowkett after their old -ballad type of the Babes in the Wood." - -"Now listen to me, grandfather, and I can tell you a little bit more," -answered Gaspe, giving his narrative with infinite delight at the -success of his manoeuvring. - -The moon shone clear and bright. The tree in the centre of the court, -laden with hoar-frost, glittered in its crystal white like some bridal -bouquet of gigantic size. The house was ablaze with light from every -window. The hunters had turned their horses adrift. They were -galloping at will among the orchard trees to keep themselves warm. -Maxica was wandering in their midst, counting their numbers to ascertain -the size of the party. Mr. De Brunier crossed over to him, to discuss -Gaspe's intelligence, and sent his grandson back indoors, where the -sledge-driver was ready to assist him in the demolition of the pies -which had so signally failed to lure Wilfred from his retreat. - -Mr. De Brunier followed his grandson quickly, and walking straight to -Uncle Caleb's door, knocked for admittance. - -The cowkeeper, the only individual at Acland's Hut who did not know -Wilfred personally, was sent by Bowkett to keep up the kitchen fire. - -The man stared. "The master has got his door fastened," he said; "I -can't make it out." - -"Is Mr. Acland ready to see me?" asked Mr. De Brunier, repeating his -summons. - -"Yes," answered Uncle Caleb; "come in." - -Wilfred opened the door. - -Uncle Caleb raised himself on his elbow, and catching sight of the -dishes on the kitchen-table, said, "It seems to me the old man's orders -are to go for little. But whilst the life is in me I am master in this -place. Be so good, sir, as to tell that fellow of mine to bring that pie -in here, and give this child something to eat." - -"With pleasure," returned his visitor. - -Wilfred's supper provided for, the two looked well at each other. - -"What sort are you?" was the question in both minds. They trusted, as -we all do more or less, to the expression. A good honest character -writes itself on the face. They shook hands. - -"I have to thank you for bringing back my boy," said Uncle Caleb. - -"Not me," returned Mr. De Brunier, briefly recapitulating the -circumstances which led to Wilfred's sojourn at Hungry Hall, and why he -sent him to the hunters' camp. "Since then," he added, "your nephew has -been wandering among the Indians. It was a Cree who guided him -home--the same Cree who warned him not to trust himself with Bowkett." - -"Come here, Wilfred, and tell me exactly what this Indian said," -interposed Caleb Acland, a grave look gathering on his wrinkled brow. - -"Not one word, uncle. Maxica did not speak," answered Wilfred. "He -brought me three queer bits of wood from the hearth and stuck them in -the floor before me, so, and so," continued the boy, trying to explain -the way in which the warning had been given to him. - -Uncle Caleb was getting so much exhausted with the excitement of -Wilfred's return, and the effort of talking to a stranger, he did not -quite understand all Wilfred was saying. - -"We can't condemn a fellow on evidence like that," moaned the old man, -"and one so near to me as Bowkett. What does it mean for Miriam?" - -"Will you see this Cree and hear for yourself?" asked Mr. De Brunier. -"We are neither judge nor jury. We are not here to acquit or condemn, -but a warning like this is not to be despised. I came to put you on -your guard." - -The feeble hand grasped his, "I am about spent," groaned Caleb. "It is -my breath. Let me rest a bit. I'll think this over. Come again." - -The gasping words came with such painful effort, Mr. De Brunier could -only lay him back amongst his pillows and promise to return in the -morning, or earlier if it were wished. He was at the door, when Caleb -Acland signed to him to return. - -"Not a word to my sister yet. The boy is safe here. Tell him he is not -to go out of this room." - -Mr. De Brunier shook the feeble hand once more, and gave the required -promise. There was one more word. "What was that about buying land? I -might help you there; a little business between us, you understand." - -"Yes, yes," answered Mr. De Brunier, feeling as if such another effort -might shake the labouring breath out of the enfeebled frame in a moment. - -"Keep in here. Keep quiet; and remember, whatever happens, I shall be -near," was Mr. De Brunier's parting charge to Wilfred as he went back -into the kitchen, intending to watch there through the night, if no one -objected to his presence. - -The old man started as the door closed after him. "Don't fasten it, -lad!" he exclaimed. "It looks too much like being afraid of them." - -Mr. De Brunier joined Gaspe and the sledge-driver at their supper. -Gaspe watched him attentively as they ate on in silence. - -Bowkett came out and spoke to them. "I am sorry," he said, "to seem -inhospitable, but the house is so full to-night I really cannot offer -you any further accommodation. But the men have a sleeping hut round -the corner, under the pines, where you can pass the night. I'll send -one of them with you to show you the way and light a fire." - -No exception could be taken to this. The three finished their supper -and were soon ready to depart. - -"I must see Mr. Acland again about the land business," remarked Mr. De -Brunier, recalling Uncle Caleb's hint. - -Bowkett summoned his man, and Diome came out with him. He strolled -through the porch and looked about him, as if he were considering the -weather. - -Maxica was still prowling behind the orchard trees, like a hungry coyote -watching for the remnants of the feast, as it seemed. The two met. - -"There will be mischief before these fellows part," said Diome. "Keep a -sharp look-out for the boy." - -Diome went on to catch Dick Vanner's pony. Maxica stole up to the house. -The travellers were just coming out. He gave Yula a call. Gaspe was -the only one who perceived him, as Yula bounded between them. - -It was hard for Gaspe to go away and leave his friend without another -word. He had half a mind to take Kusky with him. He lingered -irresolute a moment or two behind his grandfather. Bowkett had opened -the door of Caleb Acland's room, and he saw Kusky creeping in between -Bowkett's legs. - -"How is this?" the latter was saying in a noisy voice. "Wilfred got -home, and won't show his face!--won't come out amongst us to have his -dinner and speak to his aunt! What is the meaning of it? What makes him -afraid of being seen?" - -There was not a word from Wilfred. It was the feeble voice of his Uncle -Caleb that was speaking:-- - -"Yes, it is Wilfred come back. I've got him here beside me all safe. -He has been wandering about among the redskins, half dead and nearly -starved. Don't disturb us. I am getting him to sleep. Tell Miriam she -must come here and look at him. You can all come and look at him; -Forgill and your Diome too. They all know my boy. How has Miriam -managed to keep away?" - -"As if we could spare the bride from the marriage feast," laughed -Bowkett, raising his voice that every one might hear what they were -saying. - -"Neither can I spare my boy out of my sight a single moment," said the -old man quietly. - -"That's capital," laughed Gaspe to himself, as he ran after his -grandfather. - -They did not encounter Maxica, but they passed Diome trying to catch the -horse, and gave him a little help by the way. - -"You are not going?" he asked anxiously. "I thought you would be sure -to stay the night. You are a friend of Wilfred Acland's, are you not, -Mr. De Brunier? He was so disappointed when he found Hungry Hall was -shut up. I thought you would know him; so do I. Mrs. Bowkett says the -boy is not her nephew." - -"I rather think that has been said for her," remarked Mr. De Brunier -quietly. - -"I see through it," exclaimed Gaspe; "I see what they are driving at. -Her husband told her I was the boy. She came and looked at me. Bowkett -knows well enough the real Wilfred is in his uncle's room, If they could -get him out into the kitchen, they would make a great clamour and -declare he is an impostor trying to take the old man in." - -"You've hit it," muttered Diome. "But they shan't give him lynch law. -I'll not stand by and see that." - -"Come back, grandfather," cried Gaspe. "Give me one of your English -sovereigns with a little silver threepenny on either side to kiss it. -I'll string them on my watch-chain for a lady's locket, walk in with it -for a wedding present, and undeceive the bride before them all." - -"Not so fast, Gaspard. We should only bring the crisis before we have -raised our safeguards," rejoined Mr. De Brunier thoughtfully. "I saw -many a gun set down against the wall, as the hunters came in." - -"That is nothing," put in Diome; "we are never without them." - -"That is everything," persisted Mr. De Brunier. "Men with arms -habitually in their hands use them with small provocation, and things -are done which would never be done by deliberate purpose." - -"I am not Dick Vanner's groom," said Diome, "but he wants me to hold his -horse in the shadow of those pines or under the orchard wall; and I'll -hold it as long as he likes, and walk it about half the night in -readiness for him, and then I shall know where he is bound for." - -"The American frontier, with Wilfred behind him, unless I am making a -great mistake. If Bowkett laid a finger on him here, half his guests -would turn upon him," observed Mr. De Brunier. - -"That's about it," returned Diome. "Now I am going to shut up this -horse in one of the sheds, ready for Vanner at a moment's notice, and -then I'll try for a word with Forgill. He is working so hard with the -carving-knife there is no getting at him." - -"There is one of the Aclands' men lighting a fire in his hut, ready for -us," put in Gaspe. - -Diome shook his head. "He!" he repeated in accents of contempt; "he -would let it all out at the wrong time." - -"Is the Cree gone?" - -"Maxica is on the scent already,' replied Diome, whistling carelessly as -they parted. - -"Gaspard," said Mr. De Brunier, as they entered the hut, "do you -remember passing a policeman on the road. He was watching for a Yankee -spirit cart, contraband of course. He will have caught it by this time, -and emptied the barrels, according to our new Canadian law. Go back in -the sledge--you will meet him returning--and bring him here. If he -rides into the farm-court before daybreak, your little friend is safe. -As for me, I must keep watch here. No one can leave the house without -me seeing him, the night is so clear. A dark figure against the white -ground is visible at twice this distance; and Maxica is somewhere by the -back of the homestead. Neither sight nor sound will escape an Indian." - -Mr. De Brunier despatched the sledge-driver back to the farm with the -man Bowkett had sent to light their fire, to try to procure a fresh -horse. This was easily managed. Bowkett was delighted to think the -travellers were about to resume their journey, and declared the better -half of hospitality was to speed the parting guest. - -The sledge went round to Forgill's hut. Gaspe wrapped himself in the -bearskin and departed. No one saw him go; no one knew that Mr. De -Brunier was left behind. He built up the fire and reconnoitred his -ground. In one corner of the hut was a good stout cudgel. - -"I must anticipate your owner's permission and adopt you," he said, as -he gave it a flourish to try its weight. Then he looked to the revolver -in his breast pocket, and began his walk, so many paces in front of the -hut, with his eye on the farm-house porch, and so many paces walking -backwards, with it still in sight--a self-appointed sentry, ready to -challenge the enemy single-handed, for he did not count much upon Diome. -He saw how loath he was to come into collision with Bowkett, and -reckoned him more as a friend in the camp than as an active ally. There -was Maxica, ready like a faithful mastiff to fly at the throat of the -first man who dared to lay a hand on Wilfred, regardless of -consequences. He did not know Maxica, but he knew the working of the -Indian mind. Revenge is the justice of the savage. It was Maxica's -retaliation that he feared. Diome had spoken of Forgill, but Mr. De -Brunier knew nothing of him, so he left him out of count. It was clear -he must chiefly rely on his own coolness and courage. "The moral force -will tell in such an encounter as this, and that is all on my side," he -said to himself. "It will tell on the outsiders and the farm-servants. -I shall find some to second me." He heard the scrape of the fiddle and -the merry chorus of some hunting-song, followed by the quick beat of the -dancers' footsteps. - -Hour succeeded hour. The fire in the hut burned low. De Brunier left -his post for a moment to throw on fresh logs. He returned to his watch. -The house-door opened. Out came Diome and crossed to the cattle-sheds. -Mr. De Brunier saw him come back with Vanner's horse. He changed his -position, creeping in behind the orchard trees, until he was within a -few yards of the house. The three feet of snow beneath his feet gave -him an elevation. He was looking down into the court, where the snow -had been partially cleared. - -Diome was walking the horse up and down before the door. It was not a -night in which any one could stand still. His impatient stamping to -warm his feet brought out Vanner and Bowkett, with half-a-dozen others. -The leave-taking was noisy and prolonged. Batiste's head appeared in the -doorway. - -"I cannot count on his assistance," thought Mr. De Brunier, "but I can -count on his neutrality; and Diome must know that a word from me would -bring about his dismissal from his new master." - -Vanner mounted and rode off along the slippery ground as only a hunter -could ride. - -"Now for the first act," thought Mr. De Brunier. "May my Gaspard be -speeding on his errand. The hour draws near." - -As Bowkett and his friends turned back into the house, Diome walked -rapidly across the other end of the orchard and went towards Forgill's -hut. With cautious steps De Brunier followed. - -Diome was standing moodily by the fire. He started. - -"Well," demanded Mr. De Brunier, "how goes the night?" - -"For God's sake keep out of the way, sir. They have made this hut the -rendezvous, believing you had started hours ago," exclaimed Diome -brightening. - -"Did you think I had deserted the poor boy?" asked Mr. De Brunier. - -"I was thinking," answered Diome, waiving the question, "Dick Vanner is -a dangerous fellow to thwart when the bowie-knife is in his hand." - -"Well, you will see it done, and then you may find him not quite so -dangerous as he seems," was the quiet reply. - - - - - *CHAPTER XV.* - - _*TO THE RESCUE.*_ - - -Diome had no more information to give. "For the love of life, sir," he -entreated, as the brief conference ended, "move off to the other side of -the house, or you will be seen by Vanner as he returns. A hunter's eye, -Mr. De Brunier, notices the least change in the shadows. You mean to -hide among the orchard trees, but you can't stand still. You will be -frozen to death, and a moving shadow will betray you." - -His cautionary counsels were wasted on a preoccupied mind. De Brunier -was examining the fastenings of the door. There was a lock, but the key -was with the owners of the hut. There was also a bar which secured it -on the inside. Forgill's basket of tools stood by the chimney. - -"How much time have we?" asked Mr. De Brunier. - -"A good half-hour, sir," replied Diome. - -"Time enough for me to transfer this staple to the outside of the -doorpost?" - -Diome hesitated before he answered this inquiry. "Well then?" he asked -in turn. - -"Well then," repeated Mr. De Brunier, "this Vanner is to meet you here. -Don't go out of the hut to take his horse; beckon him to come inside. -Shut the door, as if for caution, and tell him you have seen me watching -him from the orchard trees. He will listen to that. Two minutes will -be enough for me to bar the door on the outside, and we shall have caged -the wild hawk before he has had time to pounce upon his prey. I must -shut you in together; but play your part well, and leave the rest to -me." - -"Shut me in with Dick Vanner in a rage!" exclaimed Diome. "He would -smell treachery in a moment. Not for me." - -It went hard with Diome to turn against his old companions. It was -clear to Mr. De Brunier the man was afraid of a hand-to-hand encounter. -With such half-hearted help the attempt was too hazardous. He changed -his tactics. - -"I am not in their secrets," protested Diome. "I am only here to hold -his horse. They don't trust me." - -"And I," added Mr. De Brunier, "am intent upon preventing mischief. -I'll walk round once more. Should you hear the house-door open, you will -probably find I have gone in." - -Yes, Mr. De Brunier was beginning to regret leaving the house; and yet, -if he had not done so, he could not have started Gaspe to intercept the -policeman. "Now," he thought, "the boy will be carried off before they -can arrive." His thoughts were turning to a probable pursuit. He -crossed to the back of the house to look for the Cree. No one better -than an Indian for work like that. - -The light from the windows of the farm-house was reflected from the -shining ground, making it bright as day before them, and deepening the -gloom of the shadows beyond. A low, deep growl from Yula brought Mr. De -Brunier to the opposite corner of the house, where he discovered Maxica -lying on the ground, with his ear to the end of one of the largest logs -with which the house was built. They recognized each other instantly, -but not a word was said. They were at the angle of the building where -the logs crossed each other. - -Suddenly Mr. De Brunier remembered the capacity in the uncut trunk of a -tree for transmitting sound, and following Maxica's example he too laid -his ear to the end of another log, and found himself, as it were, in a -whispering gallery. The faintest sound at the other end of the log was -distinctly audible. They tried each corner of the house. The music and -the dancing from dining-room to kitchen did not detain them long. At -the back they could hear the regular breathing of a healthy sleeper and -the laboured, painful respiration of the broken-down old man. - -The log which crossed the one at which they were now listening ran at -the end of the storeroom, and gave back no sound. It was evident both -Wilfred and his uncle had fallen asleep, and were therefore off their -guard. - -To drive up the loose ponies and make them gallop round the house to -waken them was a task Yula took off their hands and accomplished so well -that Bowkett, listening in the midst of the whirling dancers, believed -that Vanner had returned. - -Maxica was back at the angle of the logs, moving his ear from one to the -other. He raised a warning finger, and laid his ear a little closer to -the storeroom side. Mr. De Brunier leaned over him and pressed his own -to the tier above. Some one had entered the storeroom. - -"Anything here?" asked a low voice. - -"What's that behind the door?" whispered another in reply. - -"A woman's ironing board." - -"A woman's what?" - -"Never mind what it is if it will slide through the window," interposed -a third impatiently, and they were gone. - -But the watchers without had heard enough to shape their plan. Maxica -was ear, Mr. De Brunier was eye, and so they waited for the first faint -echo of the horse-hoofs in the distance or the tinkle of the -sledge-bell. - -Within the house the merriment ran high. Bridal healths were drank with -three times three. The stamp of the untiring dancers drowned the -galloping of the ponies. - -Aunt Miriam paused a moment, leaning on her bridegroom's arm. "I am -dizzy with tiredness," she said. "I think I have danced with every one. -I can surely slip away and speak to Caleb now. What made him fasten his -door?" - -"To keep those travellers out; and now he won't undo it: an old man's -crotchet, my dear. I have spoken to him. He is all right, and his cry -is, 'Don't disturb me, I must sleep,'" answered Bowkett. "You'll give -Batiste his turn? just one more round." - -Wilfred was wakened by his Yula's bark beneath the window. Kusky, who -was sleeping by the stove, sprang up and answered it, and then crept -stealthily to Wilfred's feet. - -"That dog will wake the master," said some one in the kitchen. - -The bedroom door was softly opened, a low whistle and a tempting bone -lured Kusky away. Wilfred was afraid to attempt to detain him, not -venturing to show himself to he knew not whom. There was a noise at the -window. He remembered it was a double one. It seemed to him somebody -was trying to force open the outer pane. - -A cry of "Thieves! thieves!" was raised in the kitchen. Wilfred sprang -upright. Uncle Caleb wakened with a groan. - -"Look to the door. Guard every window," shouted Bowkett, rushing into -the room, followed by half-a-dozen of his friends, who had seized their -guns as they ran. - -The outer window was broken. Through the inner, which was not so -thickly frozen, Wilfred could see the shadow of a man. He knew that -Bowkett was by the side of the bed, but his eyes were fixed on the pane. - -At the first smash of the butt end of Vanner's gun, through shutter and -frame, Mr. De Brunier laid a finger on Maxica's arm. The Cree, who was -holding down Yula, suddenly let him go with a growl and a spring. -Vanner half turned his head, but Yula's teeth were in his collar. The -thickness of the hunter's clothing kept the grip from his throat, but he -was dragged backwards. Maxica knelt upon him in a moment, with a huge -stone upraised, ready to dash his brains out if he ventured to utter a -cry. Mr. De Brunier stepped out from the shadow and stood before the -window, waiting in Vanner's stead. For what? He hardly dared to think. -The window was raised a finger's breadth, and the muzzle of a hunter's -gun was pointed at his ear. He drew a little aside and flattened -himself against the building. The gun was fired into the air. - -"That is a feint," thought Mr. De Brunier. "They have not seen us yet. -When they do, the tug comes. Two against twenty at the very least, -unless we hear the sledge-bell first. It is a question of time. The -clock is counting life and death for more than one of us. All hinges on -my Gaspe. Thank God, I know he will do his very best. There is no -mistrust of Gaspe; and if I fall before he comes, if I meet death in -endeavouring to rescue this fatherless boy, the God who sees it all, in -whose hand these lawless hunters are but as grasshoppers, will never -forget my Gaspe." - -The report of Bowkett's gun roused old Caleb's latent fire. - -"What is it?" he demanded. "Are the Indians upon us? Where is Miriam?" - -Wilfred threw the bearskin across his feet over the old man's back. - -"I am here!" cried Bowkett, with an ostentatious air of protection. -"I'll defend the place; but the attack is at this end of the house. -First of all, I carry you to Miriam and safety at the other." - -Bowkett, in the full pride of his strength, lifted up the feeble old man -as if he were a child and carried him out of the room. - -"Wilfred, my boy, keep close to me, keep close," called Uncle Caleb; but -a strong man's hand seized hold of Wilfred and pulled him back. - -"Who are you?" demanded Wilfred, struggling with all his might. "Let me -go, I tell you; let me go!" - -The door was banged up behind Uncle Caleb and Bowkett. The room was -full of men. - -Wilfred knew too well the cry of "Thieves" was all humbug--a sham to get -him away from his uncle. - -"Forgill! Forgill!" he shouted. "Pete! Pete! Help me! help me!" - -A pillow was tossed in his face. - -"Don't cram the little turkey-cock with his own feathers," said a voice -he was almost glad to recognize, for he could not feel that Mathurin -would really hurt him. He kicked against his captor, and getting one -hand free, he tried to grasp at this possible friend; but the corner of -the pillow, crushed into his mouth, choked his shouts. "So it's -Mathurin's own old babby, is it?" continued the deep, jovial voice. -"Didn't I tell ye he was uncommon handy with his little fists? But he is -a regular mammy's darling for all that. It is Mathurin will put the -pappoose in its cradle. Ah! but if it won't lie still, pat it on its -little head; Batiste can show you how." - -In all this nonsense Wilfred comprehended the threat and the caution. -His frantic struggles were useless. They only provoked fresh bursts of -merriment. Oh, it was hard to know they were useless, and feel the -impotency of his rage! He was forced to give in. They bound him in the -sheets. - -Mathurin was shouting for-- - - "A rabbit-skin, - To wrap his baby bunting in. - - -They took the rug from the floor and wrapped it round Wilfred. He was -laid on the ironing board. - -He felt the strong, firm straps that were binding him to it growing -tighter and tighter. - -What were they going to do with him? and where was Mr. De Brunier? - -The hunters set him up against the wall, like the pappoose in the wigwam -of the Blackfoot chief, whilst they opened the window. - -Mr. De Brunier stood waiting, his arms uplifted before his face, ready -to receive the burden they were to let fall. It was but a little bit of -face that was ever visible beneath a Canadian fur cap, such as both the -men were wearing. Smoked skin was the only clothing which could resist -the climate, therefore the sleeves of one man's coat were like the -sleeves of another. The noisy group in the bedroom, who had been -drinking healths all night, saw little but the outstretched arms, and -took no notice. - -"Young lambs to sell!" shouted Mathurin, heaving up the board. - -"What if he takes to blaring?" said one of the others. - -"Let him blare as he likes when once he is outside," retorted a third. - -"Lull him off with 'Yankee-doodle,'" laughed another. - -"He'll just lie quiet like a little angel, and then nothing will hurt -him," continued the incorrigible Mathurin, "till we come to-- - - "'Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top, - When the wind blows the cradle will rock; - When the bough breaks the cradle will fall, - Then down goes cradle, and baby, and all.'" - - -This ridiculous nursery ditty, originated by the sight of the Indian -pappooses hung so often on the bough of a tree when their mothers are -busy, read to Wilfred his doom. - -Would these men really take him out into the darksome forest, and hang -him to some giant pine, and leave him there, as Pe-na-Koam was left, to -die alone of hunger and cold? - -It was an awful moment. The end of the board to which he was bound was -resting on the window-sill. - -"Gently now," said one. - -"Steady there," retorted another. - -"Now it is going beautifully," cried a third. - -"Ready, Vanner, ready," they exclaimed in chorus. Caution and prudence -had long since gone to the winds with the greater part of them. -Mathurin alone kept the control. - -Mr. De Brunier nodded, and placed himself between the window and the two -men on the snow in deadly silent wrestle, trusting that his own dark -shadow might screen them from observation yet a little longer. He saw -Wilfred's feet appear at the window. His hand was up to guide the board -in a moment, acting in concert with the men above. They slid it easily -to the ground. - -Mr. De Brunier's foot was on a knot in the logs of the wall, and -stretching upwards he shut the window from the outside. It was beyond -his power to fasten it; but a moment or two were gained. His knife was -soon hacking at the straps which bound Wilfred to his impromptu cradle. -They looked in each other's faces; not a word was breathed. Wilfred's -hands were freed. He sat up and drew out his feet from the thick folds -of the rug. Mr. De Brunier seized his hand, and they ran, as men run -for their lives, straight to Forgill's hut. - -Diome saw them coming. He was still leading Vanner's horse. He wheeled -it round and covered their retreat, setting it off prancing and -curvetting between them and the house. - -Through the open door of Forgill's hut the fire was glowing like a -beacon across the snow. It was the darkest hour of all that brilliant -night. The moon was sinking low, the stars were fading; the dawning was -at hand. - -The hut was gained at last. The door was shut behind the fugitives, and -instantly barred. Every atom of furniture the hut contained was piled -against it, and then they listened for the return of the sledge. Whether -daylight would increase their danger or diminish it, Mr. De Brunier -hardly knew. But with the dreaded daylight came the faint tinkle of a -distant bell and the jingling of a chain bridle. - -The Canadian police in the Dominion of the far North-West are an -experienced troop of cavalry. Trooper and charger are alike fitted for -the difficult task of maintaining law and order among the scattered, -lawless population sprinkling its vast plains and forest wilds. No -bronco can outride the splendid war-horse, and the mere sight of his -scarlet-coated rider produces an effect which we in England little -imagine. For he is the representative of the strong and even hand of -British justice, which makes itself felt wherever it touches, ruling all -alike with firmness and mercy, exerting a moral force to which even the -Blackfoot in his moya yields. - -Mr. De Brunier pulled down his barricade almost before it was finished, -for the sledge came shooting down the clearing with the policeman behind -it. - -Wilfred clasped his hands together at the joyful sight. "They come! -they come!" he cried. - -Out ran Mr. De Brunier, waving his arms in the air to attract attention, -and direct the policeman to the back of the farm-house, where he had -left Dick Vanner writhing under Maxica's grasp on the frozen ground. - -When the window was so suddenly closed from the outside, the hunters, -supposing Vanner had shut it, let it alone for a few minutes, until -wonder prompted Mathurin to open it just a crack for a peep-hole. - -At the sight of Vanner held down by his Indian antagonist he threw it to -its widest. Gun after gun was raised and pointed at Maxica's head; but -none of them dared to fire, for the ball would have struck Vanner also. -Mathurin was leaping out of the window to his assistance, when Yula -relaxed his hold of Vanner's collar, and sprang at Mathurin, seizing him -by the leg, and keeping him half in half out of the window, so that no -one else could get out over him or release him from the inside. - -There was a general rush to the porch; but the house-door had been -locked and barred by Bowkett's orders, and the key was in his pocket. - -He did it to prevent any of the Aclands' old servants going out of the -house to interfere with Vanner. It was equally successful in keeping in -the friends who would have gone to his help. - -"The key! the key!" roared Batiste. - -Another seized on old Pete and shook him because he would not open the -door. In vain Pete protested the key was missing. They were getting -furious. "The key! the key!" was reiterated in an ever-increasing -crescendo. - -They seized on Pete and shook him again. They would have the key. - -Mathurin's yell for help grew more desperate. With one hand holding on -to the window-frame, he could not beat off the dog. The blows he aimed -at him with the other were uncertain and feeble. - -"Who let the brute out?" demanded Batiste. - -He had seen Yula lying by the kitchen fire when he first arrived, and of -course knew him again. Ah! and the dog had recognized him also, for he -had saluted him with a low, deep growl. It had watched its chance. It -was paying back old scores. Batiste knew that well. - -Another howl of pain from Mathurin. - -The heel of an English boot might have given such a kick under the lock -that it would have sent the spring back with a jerk; but they were all -wearing the soft, glove-like moccasin, and knew no more about the -mechanism of a lock than a baby. Their life had been passed in the -open; when they left the saddle for the hut in the winter camp, their -ideas of door-fastening never rose beyond the latch and the bar. A -dozen gun-stocks battered on the door. It was tough and strong, and -never stirred. - -Pete was searching everywhere for the key. He would have let them out -gladly, only too thankful to rid the house of such a noisy crew, and -leave them to fight the thieves outside; but no key was to be found. - -"We always hang it on this nail," he protested, groping about the floor. - -Patience could hold out no longer. There was a shout for Bowkett. - -"Don't leave me," Miriam had entreated, when Bowkett brought her brother -into the dining-room and set him in the arm-chair by the fire; for she -thought the old man's life would go every moment, and Forgill shared her -fears. - -"There are enough to defend the place," he said, "without me;" and he -gave all his care to his master. - -"The boy! Wilfred!" gasped Caleb Acland, making vain attempts to return -to find him. His sister and Forgill thought he was wandering, and -trusted in Bowkett's strong arm to hold him back. - -How could Bowkett leave his bride? He was keeping his hands clean. -There were plenty to do his dirty work. He himself was to have nothing -to do with it, according to Vanner's programme. He would not go. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI.* - - _*IN CONFUSION.*_ - - -There was a thundering rap at the dining-room window, and a voice -Bowkett instantly recognized as Diome's rang out the warning word,-- - -"The police! The police are here!" - -"Thank God!" exclaimed Miriam; but her bridegroom's cheek grew deadly -pale, and he rushed into the kitchen, key in hand. The clamouring group -around the door divided before him, as Diome hissed his warning through -the keyhole. - -The door flew open. Bowkett was almost knocked down by his hurrying -guests. Each man for his horse. Some snatched up their guns, some left -them behind. Broncos were caught by the mane, by the ear, by the tail. -Their masters sprang upon their backs. Each man leaped upon the first -horse he could lay hold of, saddle or no saddle, bridle or no bridle. -What did it matter so that they got away? or else, horrors of horrors! -such an escapade as they had been caught in might get one or other among -them shut up for a month or two in Garry Jail. They scattered in every -direction, as chickens scatter at the flutter of the white owl's wing. - -Diome put the bridle of Vanner's horse into Bowkett's hand. "To the -frontier," he whispered. "You know the shortest road. We are parting -company; for I go northwards." - -Bowkett looked over his shoulder to where Pete stood staring in the -doorway. "Tell your mistress we are starting in pursuit," he shouted, -loud enough for all to hear, as he sprang on Vanner's horse and galloped -off, following the course of the wild geese to Yankee land. - -Within ten minutes after the first jingling sound from the light shake -of the trooper's bridle the place was cleared. - -"Oh, I did it!" said Gaspe, with his arm round Wilfred's neck. "I was -back to a minute, wasn't I, grandfather?" - -Mr. De Brunier scarcely waited to watch the break-neck flight. He was -off with the sledge-driver to the policeman's assistance. He beckoned -to the boys to follow him at a cautious distance, judging it safer than -leaving them unguarded in Forgill's hut. - -The policeman, seeing Yula had already arrested Mathurin, turned to the -two on the ground. He knocked the stone out of Maxica's hand, and -handcuffed Vanner. - -Mr. De Brunier was giving his evidence on the spot. "I was warned there -would be mischief here before morning. I sent my messenger for you, and -watched the house all night. The Indian and the dog were with me. I -saw this fellow attempt to break in at that window. The dog flew on -him, dragged him to the ground, and the Indian held him there. That -other man I denounce as an accomplice indoors, evidently acting in -concert with him." - -Wilfred shook off Gaspe's arm and flew to Yula. "Leave go," he said, -"leave go." His hands went round the dog's throat to enforce obedience -as he whispered, "I am not quite a babby to choke him off like that, am -I? Draw your leg up, Mathurin, and run. You meant to save me--I saw it -in your face--and I'll save you. The porch-door stands open, run!" - -Mathurin drew up his leg with a groan, but Yula's teeth had gone so -deeply into the flesh he could scarcely move for pain. If Mathurin -could not run, the sledge-driver could. He was round the house and -through the porch before Mathurin could reach it. He collared him by the -kitchen-table, to Pete's amazement. Forgill burst out of the -dining-room, ready to identify him as one of their guests, and was -pushed aside. The policeman was dragging in his prisoner. - -Mr. De Brunier held Wilfred by the arm. "You should not have done -that," he was saying. "Your dog knew what he was about better than you -did. At any other time to call him off would only have been humane and -right, but in such circumstances--" - -He never finished his sentence. There was Mathurin cowed and trembling -at the sight of Yula, who was marching into the porch with his head up -and his tail wagging in triumph. - -Aunt Miriam, aghast and pale, stood in the doorway of the dining-room. -Mr. De Brunier led her aside for a word of explanation. "The thieves -among the guests of her wedding party, incredible!" She was stunned. - -Yula seated himself in front of Mathurin, daring him to move hand or -foot. - -Wilfred was looking round him for the Cree, who was feeling for his bow -and arrows, thrown somewhere on the ground during his prolonged -struggle. When the stone was struck from Maxica's grasp, and he knew -that Vanner was dragged off helpless, he felt himself in the presence of -a power that was mightier than his own. As Wilfred caught up the bow -and put it in his hand, he said solemnly, "You are safe under the shadow -of that great white warrior chief, and Maxica is no longer needed; for -as the horse is as seven to the dog, so is the great white medicine as -seven to one, therefore the redman shuns his presence, and here we -part." - -"Not yet, not yet," urged Wilfred desperately; but whilst he was -speaking the Cree was gone. He had vanished with the morning shadows -behind the pine trees. - -Wilfred stretched out his arms to recall him; but Gaspe, who had -followed his friend like his shadow, pulled him back. "It would be but -poor gratitude for Maxica's gallant rescue to run your head into the -noose a second time," he said. "With these hunters lurking about the -place, we ought to make our way indoors as fast as we can." - -The chill of the morning wrapped them round. They were shivering in the -icy mist, through which the rising sun was struggling. It was folly to -linger. Gaspe knew the Indian was afraid to trust himself in the company -of the policeman. - -"Shall I never see him more?" burst out Wilfred mournfully. - -"Don't say that," retorted Gaspe. "He is sure to come again to Hungry -Hall with the furs from his winter's hunting. You can meet him then." - -"I? I shall be at school at Garry. How can I go there?" asked Wilfred. - -"At Garry," repeated his consoler, brightening. "Well, from Garry you -can send him anything you like by the winter packet of letters. You -know our postman, the old Indian, who carries them in his dog-sled to -every one of the Hudson Bay stations. You can send what you like by him -to Hungry Hall. Sooner or later it will be sure to reach your dusky -friend." - -"It will be something to let him know I don't forget," sighed Wilfred, -whose foot was in his uncle's porch, where safety was before him. - -There was a sudden stillness about the place. A kind of paralysis had -seized upon the household, as it fell under the startling interdict of -the policeman: "Not a thing on the premises to be touched; not an -individual to leave them until he gave permission." This utter -standstill was more appalling to the farm-servants than the riotous -confusion which had preceded it. The dread of what would come next lay -like a nightmare over master and men. - -Wilfred scarcely looked at prisoners or policeman; he made his way to -his uncle. - -"I can finish my prayer this morning, and I will--I will try to do my -duty. Tell me what it is?" - -"To speak the truth," returned old Caleb solemnly, "without fear or -prevarication. No, no! don't tell me beforehand what you are going to -say, or that fellow in the scarlet coat will assert I have tutored you." - -Gaspe began to speak. - -"No, no!" continued Uncle Caleb, "you must not talk it over with your -friend. Sit down, my boy; think of all that has happened in the night -quietly and calmly, and God help us to bear the result." - -Again he rocked himself backwards and forwards, murmuring under his -breath, "My poor Miriam! I have two to think of--my poor, poor Miriam!" - -Wilfred's own clear commonsense came to his aid; he looked up brightly. -The old man's tears were slowly trickling down his furrowed cheeks. -"Uncle," he urged, "my friends have not only saved me, they have saved -you all. They stopped those fellows short, before they had time to do -their worst. They will not be punished for what they were going to do, -but for what they actually did do." - -A sudden rush of gratitude came over Wilfred as he recalled his peril. -His arms went round Gaspe with a clasp that seemed to know no -unloosening. A friend is worth all hazards. - -His turn soon came. Aunt Miriam had preceded her nephew. She had so -little to tell. "In the midst of the dancing there was a cry of -'Thieves!' The men ran. Her husband came back to her, bringing her -invalid brother to the safest part of the house. He stayed to guard -them, until there arose a second cry, 'The police!' She supposed the -thieves made off. Her husband had started in pursuit." - -In pursuit, when there was nothing to pursue; the aggressor was already -taken. Aunt Miriam saw the inevitable inference: her husband had fled -with his guests. She never looked up. She could not meet the eyes -around her, until she was asked if Vanner and Mathurin were among her -guests. Her pale cheeks grew paler. - -Their own men were stupid and sleepy, and could only stare at each -other. All they had had to say confirmed their mistress's statements. - -Mr. De Brunier had fetched Wilfred whilst his aunt was speaking. He -looked at the men crowding round the table, pushed between the -sledge-driver and Pete to where his aunt was standing, and squeezed her -hand. There was just one look exchanged between them. Of all the -startling events in that strange night, it was strangest of all to Aunt -Miriam to see him there. The fervency in the pressure she returned set -Wilfred's heart at ease. One determination possessed them both--not to -make a scene. - -Aunt Miriam got back into her own room; how, she never knew. She threw -herself on her knees beside her bed, and listened; for in that -wood-built house every word could be heard as plainly as if she had -remained in the kitchen. Her grief and shame were hidden, that was all. - -Wilfred's clear, straightforward answers made it plain there were no -thieves in the case. Her wedding guests had set upon her little -wanderer in the moment of his return. - -Vanner, scowling and sullen, never uttered a single word. - -Mathurin protested volubly. He never meant to let them hurt the boy, -but some amongst them owed him a grudge, and they were bent on paying it -off before they parted. - -"A base and cowardly trick, by your own showing, to break into an old -man's room in the dead of the night with a false alarm; not to mention -your behaviour to the boy. If this outrage hastens the old gentleman's -end, you will find yourselves in a very awkward position. His seizure -in the night was solely due to the unwarrantable alarm," observed the -policeman. - -Mathurin began to interrupt. He checked him. - -"If you have anything to say for yourself, reserve it for the proper -time and place; for the present you must step into that sledge and come -with me at once.--Mr. De Brunier, I shall meet you and your son at Garry -on the twenty-ninth." - -He marched his prisoners through the porch; a sullen silence reigned -around. The sledge-bell tinkled, the snow gleamed white as ever in the -morning sunshine, as Vanner and Mathurin left the farm. - -With the air of a mute at a funeral, Forgill bolted the door behind -them. Mr. De Brunier walked into the sleeping-room, to examine the -scene of confusion it presented for himself. - -Aunt Miriam came out, leaving the door behind her open, without knowing -it. She moved like one in a dream. "I cannot understand all this," she -said, "but we must do the thing that is nearest." - -She directed Forgill to board up the broken window and to see that the -house was secure, and took Pete with her to make up a bed for her -brother in the dining-room. She laid her hand on Wilfred's shoulder as -she passed him, but the words died on her lips. - -The men obeyed her without reply. Forgill was afraid to go out of the -house alone. As the cowman followed him, he patted Yula's head, -observing, "After all that's said and done, it was this here dog which -caught 'em. I reckon he's worth his weight in gold, wherever he comes -from, that I do." - -Yula shook off the stranger's caress as if it were an impertinent -freedom. His eye was fixed on two small moccasined feet peeping out -from under Aunt Miriam's bed. - -There was a spring, but Wilfred's hand was in his collar. - -"I know I had better stop him," he whispered, looking up at Gaspe, as he -thought of Mr. De Brunier's reproof. - -"Right enough now," cried Gaspe. "Wilfred, it is a girl." - -He ran to the bed and handed out Bowkett's young sister, Anastasia. Her -dress was of the universal smoked skin, but its gay embroidery of beads -and the white ribbons which adorned it spoke of the recent bridal. Her -black hair fell in one long, heavy braid to her waist. - -"Oh, you uncomplimentary creatures!" she exclaimed, "not one of you -remembered my existence; but I'll forgive you two"--extending a hand to -each--"because you did not know of it. I crawled in here at the first -alarm, and here I have lain trembling, and nobody missed me. But, I -declare, you men folk have been going on awful. You will be the death -of us all some of these days. I could have knocked your heads together -until I had knocked some sense into you. Put your pappoose in its -cradle, indeed! I wish you were all pappooses; I would soon let you -know what I think of upsetting a poor old man like that." - -The indignant young beauty shook the dust from her embroidery, and -twirled her white ribbons into their places as she spoke. - -"Spoiling all the fun," she added. - -"Now don't perform upon us, Miss Bowkett," put in Gaspe. "We are not -the representatives of last night's rowdyism. My poor friend here is -chief sufferer from it. Only he had a four-footed friend, and a -dark-skinned friend, and two others at the back of them of a very -ordinary type, but still friends with hands and feet. So the tables -were turned, and the two real representatives are gone up for their -exam." - -"I daren't be the first to tell a tale like this in the hunters' camp. -Besides," she demanded, "who is to take me there? This is what the day -after brings," she pouted, passing the boys as she went into the -kitchen. The guns which the hunters had left behind them had been -carefully unloaded by the policeman and Mr. De Brunier, and were piled -together in one corner, waiting for their owners to reclaim them. Every -one knew the hunters could not live without their trading guns; they -must come back to fetch them. Anastasia, too, was aware she had only to -wait for the first who should put in an appearance to escort her home. -Little was said, for Aunt Miriam knew Anastasia's departure from -Acland's Hut would be Hugh Bowkett's recall. - -When Mr. De Brunier understood this, his anxiety on Wilfred's account -was redoubled. - -But when Uncle Caleb revived enough for conversation, he spoke of the -little business to be settled between them, and asked for Mr. De -Brunier. - -"I have thought it all through," he said. "In the face of the Cree's -warning, and all that happened under this roof, I can never leave my -nephew and Hugh Bowkett to live together beneath it. As soon as he -hears from his sister how matters stand here, and finds sentence has -been passed on Vanner and Mathurin, he may come back at any hour. I -want to leave my nephew to your care; a better friend he could not -have." - -"As he has had it already, he shall always have it, as if he were next -to Gaspe, I promise you," was the ready answer. - -"I want a little more than that," Uncle Caleb continued. "I want you to -take him away at once, and send him back to school. You spoke of buying -land; buy half of mine. That will be Wilfred's portion. Invest the -money in the Hudson Bay Company, where Bowkett can never touch it, and I -shall feel my boy is safe. As for Miriam, she will still have a good -home and a good farm; and the temptation out of his reach, Bowkett may -settle down." - -"I have no faith in bribery for making a man better. It wants the -change here, and that is God's work, not man's," returned Mr. De -Brunier, tapping his own breast. - -Caleb Acland had but one more charge: "Let nobody tell poor Miriam the -worst." But she knew enough without the telling. - -When Wilfred found he was to return to Garry with his friends the next -day his arms went round his dogs, and a look of mute appeal wandered -from Mr. De Brunier to Aunt Miriam. - -"Had not I better take back Kusky?" suggested Gaspe. "And could not we -have Yula too?" - -"Yula!" repeated Aunt Miriam. "It is I who must take care of Yula. He -shall never want a bone whilst I have one. I shall feed him, Wilfred, -with my own hands till you come back to claim him." - - - - - THE END. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST IN THE WILDS *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43640 - -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. Special rules, set forth in the -General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and -distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works to protect the -Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a -registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, -unless you receive specific permission. 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