"Um-m-m! Plum duff!" echoed David.

Indian Jake ripped the bag its length, and with a dexterous movement lifted it, leaving the pudding naked, and disclosed in all its glory, announcing as he did so:

"Cranberry puddin'!"

Then he cut it into three big portions, and covering each with mola.s.ses, in lieu of sauce, pa.s.sed one to each of the boys.

"There 'tis," he said. "Go to un, and see how you like un!"

Like it! They were both quite sure they had never eaten _such_ a pudding in all their life. Andy declared it "A wonderful lot better than plum duff!" It was a fit crown for the dinner.

Indian Jake explained that he had picked the berries one day when they were making a portage along the Nascaupee River. He had put them in the tea pail which he used on his trail, and there he found them when he opened the pail at his first tilt. They were frozen, and he stowed them away with other things under his bunk, and quite forgot them until he heard Andy wishing for plum duff on the day they killed the caribou.

"Then I makes up my mind if you wants plum duff so bad, we'll use t'

berries and have some," he concluded.

"You've been thinkin' up a wonderful lot o' surprises for us," said Andy appreciatively.

The wind continued to howl and the snow to drift outside, but it troubled them not in the least. They were as snug and warm and satisfied as ever mortals can be. They were as happy, too--only David and Andy complained that they had eaten too much. But that is characteristic of boys the world over, on such occasions. And as for Indian Jake, he had reason to be the happiest of the three, for there is no happiness so complete as that which comes from giving others pleasure.

And if it were to be measured by appreciation rather than by variety or quality of cooking, or manner of service, I daresay nowhere in all the world was a better dinner served that Christmas day than in the little Narrows tilt on Seal Lake, in the heart of the Labrador wilderness.

XVIII

s...o...b..IND

Tighter and tighter grew the grip of winter. As January advanced the days grew longer, and the weather became more bitterly and terribly cold. The great white, limitless wilderness was frozen now into a silence awful in its solemnity. Even the wild creatures of the forest feared the blighting hand of the frost king, and lay quiet in their lairs, and the traps yielded small returns for the tremendous effort put forth by the hunters. It seemed to David and Andy as they plodded the dreary trails during this period that they were the only living things in all the silent, solitary world.

Sudden and terrible, too, were the storms--so terrible that no man could have resisted exposure to them. And sometimes the trappers were held prisoners for days at a time in the tilts, for to have gone forth would have been to go to certain destruction.

This was a trying period. Idleness always breeds discontent, and the trappers chafed, and became moody, when storms interfered with the regular routine of their work. Following the Christmas celebration, Indian Jake lapsed into his customary habit of long, silent broodings, when he seemed to have no wish for companionship and was scarcely aware of the boys' presence.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "We've been goin' long enough to be at the tilt," said David]

With the end of February and coming of March the cold gradually, though reluctantly, lessened. The animals began again to stir more actively and the traps to yield, as in earlier winter. There were still the storms to contend against, however. They came now with even less warning than formerly, and David and Andy found themselves in many a tight pinch, and had adventures a-plenty, but adventure is the daily portion of the trapper. They suffered with frost-bitten cheeks and noses now and again, but they never thought of this as a hardship.

Every one who ventures forth in a Labrador winter expects sooner or later to have frost-bitten cheeks and nose, and seldom is he disappointed.

"I'm wishin', now, I had my snow gla.s.ses here, but they're down in th'

tilt," remarked David one bright morning in early April when the snow, reflecting the sun rays, glistened with dazzling brilliancy.

"I'm wishin' I had mine, too, but I didn't bring un, either," said Andy. "'Twas a bit hazy when we left th' tilt, and I didn't think I'd need un."

"'Tis time t' wear un now, and we mustn't come out again without un, whether 'tis hazy or no. There'll be a bad glare on th' snow out on th' mesh today," David predicted.

"'Twon't be long now till we strikes up th' traps, will it?" asked Andy.

"Th' fur'll be good till th' end of April, and we'll strike up th' end of April, whatever," said David.

"I'm wonderin' and wonderin' how Pop's leg is, and how th' mist in Jamie's eyes is. I'll be wonderful glad t' get home," and there was longing in Andy's voice.

"I hope Pop's 'most well, and th' mist isn't gettin' thicker. I been wonderin' and wonderin', too."

"We got a fine lot o' fur, Davy. Pop'll be wonderful glad."

"That he will. We've got 'most as much as Pop got last year."

"With Pop's share o' Indian Jake's, and with what Doctor Joe gets, I'm thinkin' there'll be plenty t' pay for Jamie's goin' t' have th' great doctor cut th' mist away and maybe t' pay for part of next year's outfit too."

"Aye, plenty, but I has a wonderful strange feelin' lately, Andy, about Indian Jake not tellin' what fur he has. Indian Jake's fine, though, and I take it 'tis just his way."

"He don't talk much, Davy."

"No, he don't talk much, and he never tells us what fur he's gettin'.

I wonders why?"

"I wonders why, now?"

Thus discussing Indian Jake's strange behavior and stranger reticence, and conversing of home, a subject of which they never tired, they traveled on and out upon the dazzling white of the marsh. As David had predicted, the glare was intense, and when they reached the cl.u.s.ter of spruce trees where they were accustomed to boil their kettle for dinner at midday, Andy complained that his eyes pained him badly and he could not see aright.

"We'll wait a bit, till th' noon glare is past," suggested David.

"There's plenty o' time t' get back t' th' tilt, with th' long day now. My eyes hurt wonderful bad too."

So they built up their fire and for an hour lounged upon a seat of spruce boughs they had arranged, holding their eyes closed, while they talked, to relieve them from the intense light reflected by the snow.

The rest, however, was of no avail. The pain in their eyes grew steadily worse, and it was becoming more difficult to raise the lids, and presently David announced that they had best return to the tilt as quickly as possible.

"'Tis hard t' see anything," said Andy, as they set forth.

"'Tis s...o...b..indness. We'll go straight for th' tilt," suggested David, "and not stop t' fix th' traps."

A wind was springing up and very soon the sky became overcast. In a little while snow began to fall. David in advance, Andy directly behind him, the two walked for a time in silence. At length David stopped.

"Andy, b'y, can you see th' trail?" he asked. "My eyes is wonderful bad."

"No," said Andy, "'tis growing dark t' me."

The snow thickened as they plodded along, and the rising wind whirled it about in clouds.

"'Twill be a nasty night," remarked David at the end of another hour.

"'Twill that," agreed Andy.

"I'm glad we turned back when we did," said David.

For a long time neither spoke. Both were stumbling. The pain in their eyes was intense, and it was only with the greatest effort that they could open them for brief intervals.