"Don't talk, now, but eat! Good gracious! starvin'! Eat, now, lads!

Fill up! Fill up!" Uncle Ben kept repeating, though the manner in which the boys ate made it manifestly unnecessary for him to urge them.

When they had eaten until they could eat no more, and altogether more than was well for them, David recounted the events of the preceding weeks, while Uncle Ben interjected at frequent intervals one or all of his favorite exclamations:

"Good gracious! I told you so! D-e-a-r eyes!"

"And," added David at the conclusion of his narrative, "'twas wonderful fine for you t' come here t' help us out."

"And so Indian Jake has gone!" said Uncle Ben. "Good gracious! I warned Thomas Angus not t' trust that half-breed!"

"But--but don't you suppose now he's gone home with th' fur?" asked David anxiously.

"Gone home with un? Good gracious, no! I'd never go home with un!"

declared Uncle Ben. "And you saw no tracks which way he were goin'?"

"No," answered David dejectedly, "th' snow had covered un before we gets here."

"Hum-m-m! Hum-m-m!" grunted Uncle Ben several times. "He's well out o'

th' country by now. Good gracious, yes! No catchin' him now. And gone with all th' fur! Good gracious! Good gracious me, with all th' fur!"

Then he explained that he and Hiram had gone directly to his home at Tuggle Bight after his visit at The Jug in the fall, and all the way home they had talked of how foolish and headstrong Thomas Angus was in sending Indian Jake to the trails with David and Andy.

"And I says t' Hiram: 'Hiram,' says I, 'Thomas Angus and Doctor Joe has got t' have th' fur them lads gets, t' have th' little lad cured, and we got t' see to it that Indian Jake don't steal un!' Good gracious, yes! I says that t' Hiram. Didn't I, Hiram?"

"You did, now," agreed Hiram.

"Then we fixes it up t' trap along the Nascaupee th' winter, where no one could get out o' th' country without our seein' 'em," continued Uncle Ben. "Dear eyes, we had un all fixed right, but our plan missed fire! Good gracious! She missed fire! Indian Jake must ha' seen our tilt with his Indian eyes, and sneaked past down t'other side o' th'

river in th' night, and we never see him! Good gracious, never seen hide or hair or feather of him! He must ha' done that, Hiram?"

"He must ha' done it," said Hiram solemnly.

"I were expectin' he'd try t' steal Tom Angus's third o' th' fur he hunted, _what_ever," declared Uncle Ben, "but I weren't certain he'd steal your fur, too, lads. Good gracious, no! I knew he were bad, but I didn't think he'd do _that_! And he's gone with un all, lock, stock _and_ barrel! And we'll never see him again. The _scamp_! Good gracious, yes, a _scamp_! Nothin' else but a scamp, and such a scamp as I never thought lived! D-e-a-r eyes!"

"A _wonder_ful scamp!" agreed Hiram.

Uncle Ben and Hiram had struck up their traps, and then come up the river to Seal Lake to "keep an eye," as Uncle Ben said, on Indian Jake until the break-up. They had expected to return with the boys and Indian Jake, stopping at their tilt for their own furs as they pa.s.sed down the Nascaupee, and then, still acting as guard, continue with the boys until the furs were safely delivered to Thomas at The Jug.

"You lads need us now to cheer you a bit! Dear eyes! You _needs_ cheerin'," Uncle Ben declared. "We'll wait here for th' break-up and all go home together, and _we'll_ cheer you. Good gracious, yes!"

But now that David and Andy were a.s.sured their precious furs were really gone they felt anything but cheered. And that night, and for many nights that followed, their hearts were heavy indeed.

"What, now, would become of Jamie?" was the question always on their mind, and they could not answer it, and they even forgot Doctor Joe's cheerful song.

They could picture Jamie, and their father, and Margaret, and Doctor Joe, with loving and abiding confidence and faith in them waiting at home for their return. Jamie's lifelong happiness depended upon the furs that had been stolen. Doctor Joe had said that Jamie would become blind if he did not go to the great doctor for the cure. Now Jamie could not go, and the ordeal of their homecoming empty-handed, and the disappointment of Jamie and the others, seemed to them more than they could bear. And when they thought of all this they almost regretted that they had not indeed perished in the blizzard, or starved in the tilt.

XXV

"TROUBLES THAT NEVER CAME TRUE"

With the coming of May the sun grew bold, and fearlessly poured forth his genial warmth. The end of the reign of the once mighty frost monarch, who had so long ruled the world, was at hand. The snow began rapidly to shrink, rains fell, and presently the ice-clogged river and lake were open and free again.

With the break-up immediate preparations were made for departure, and one day the boat was loaded, and the homeward journey was begun.

The descent of the river was much more rapid than the ascent had been, for now they had the current with them. Below the carry around the big rapids was the tilt where Uncle Ben and Hiram had spent the winter.

Here the two men transferred their belongings to their own boat, and three days later the two boats pa.s.sed out of Grand Lake, and in mid-afternoon reached the Post.

Zeke Hodge met them at the landing with vociferous greetings and welcome, but he could offer no comfort. He had seen nothing of Indian Jake since the day he had observed the half-breed and the boys on their way to the trails the previous autumn.

"Of course not! Good gracious, no!" observed Uncle Ben. "To be sure you didn't see him. He wouldn't come this way. He wouldn't go where folks could see him. The scamp has run out o' th' country with all th'

furs!"

And thus, their last hope that Indian Jake might, after all, have returned to The Jug banished, and with no possibility that the half-breed could be overtaken and the furs recovered, David and Andy said good-bye to Uncle Ben and Hiram, and continued upon their journey home with sorrowful and heavy hearts.

The sun was setting when they approached the entrance of The Jug.

Evening shadows were already stealing down over the hills when they turned into the bight and the cabin came into view, and the voice of Roaring Brook, shouting a welcome, fell upon their ears.

And then they saw their father and Doctor Joe come hurrying down to meet them at the landing, and Margaret running to join them, as excited as she could be, and finally Jamie--poor, pathetic little Jamie--groping his way more slowly, and shouting to them at the top of his voice.

A moment later they were ash.o.r.e with Jamie clinging to them, and Margaret hugging them and laughing and crying at the same time, and Thomas and Doctor Joe looking as pleased as ever two men could look.

Then the pent-up sorrow and disappointment in their hearts burst bounds, and these two lads who had fearlessly faced a wolf pack, and braved the wild blizzards and bitter cold of an arctic winter in the wilderness, broke down and wept.

In the cozy shelter of the cabin, in the long twilight, David and Andy told their story. And everybody praised their courage, and n.o.body blamed them, for they were guilty of no blame.

"You kept plenty o' grit," soothed Jamie, "and _you_ couldn't help Indian Jake's takin' th' fur, and--and maybe it won't be so bad goin'

blind--when I gets used to un."

Oh, but Jamie, too, had grit, and grit a-plenty.

They tried now, one and all--save Doctor Joe, perhaps--to become reconciled to Jamie's coming blindness. The great doctor and the marvelous cure were no longer mentioned. Thomas and the boys got the fishing nets out, and methodically went about their duties.

Doctor Joe did not return at once to Break Cove. He seemed to have lost heart and ambition. He ceased to sing his cheerful songs, and he would go out alone and for hours wander away into the forest, or pace up and down the gravelly beach of The Jug, and sometimes, with a frightened look in his face, he would sit and stare at Jamie.

On one of these occasions, on an afternoon a fortnight after the return of David and Andy, Doctor Joe, after watching Jamie for a long while, sprang suddenly to his feet, and, standing a dozen feet from Jamie, held out three fingers of his right hand and asked Jimmie to count them.

"I can't make un out," said Jamie. "They're in a heavy mist."

"Now count them," and Doctor Joe moved nearer.

"I can't make un out," repeated Jamie.

And Doctor Joe must needs approach within six feet of Jamie before the lad could see them sufficiently well to count them.

When the test was made, Doctor Joe without a word donned his cap and pa.s.sed out of doors and strode away, up the path and into the forest, and on and on.