"That she were," agreed d.i.c.k, "wonderful handsome--an' wonderful wild-lookin', too."

"Th' poor lad!" said Ed, after a pause. "He were buildin' th' tilt yonder, thinkin' o' th' good furrin' he were t' have th' winter, an'

now he's gone. I'm not knowin', d.i.c.k, how t' tell his mother. You'll have t' tell she, d.i.c.k; I couldn't stand t' tell she."

"No," objected d.i.c.k, "you were goin' an' tellin' she th' time we thinks th' wolves gets Bob, an' you knows how. You'm a wonderful sight better breakin' bad news than me, Ed. I'd just be bawlin' with she, an' she cries; an' she sure will, for 'twill break her heart this time, an' Bob sure gone."

"Maybe none of us'll be havin' th' chanct," broke in Bill. "They may be a big pa.s.sel o' Mingens, and whilst we catches some of un, th'

others won't be sittin' quiet."

"Ed an' me's keepin' a watch for signs," a.s.sured d.i.c.k, as they arose to continue their journey. "They ain't been no signs so far, exceptin'

signs o' th' poor lads an' th' Injun la.s.s, an' she were pa.s.sin' in th'

night, by th' oldness o' her footin'."

"They ain't no danger o' findin' Injuns here, Bill," added Ed. "This is what they calls th' ha'nted country, an' they'd be too scairt o'

ghosts an' th' devils they thinks is runnin' round loose here t' risk theirselves."

The long detours made necessary without the a.s.sistance of a canoe so far delayed their progress that, though they had not slackened the rapid pace set in the morning, night found them upon the sh.o.r.es of one of the intermediate lakes, with little more than half the distance to the end of the portage trail behind them.

Here they erected a lean-to at the edge of the forest, as a reflector for their camp-fire, and as a protection against a light but chilling breeze that had sprung up with the setting sun; and, all made snug for the night, they cooked and ate their supper.

Then they lighted their pipes and lounged back upon the bed of spruce boughs under the lean-to, speculating upon the morrow, and the probability of an encounter with the Indians.

"What's that, now?" exclaimed Ed suddenly, and cautiously rising and taking a position beyond the glow of the fire, he stood for several minutes gazing intently out upon the waters of the wide lake not yet lighted by the belated moon.

"There 'tis again! Did you make un out, d.i.c.k?" he asked, as d.i.c.k and Bill, following Ed's example of cautious exit from the range of the fire's glow, joined him.

"No, I weren't makin' nothin' out," answered d.i.c.k.

"There were somethin' there on th' water," Ed stated positively, when they presently returned to the lean-to.

"What were it, now? What were it like?" asked d.i.c.k.

"I seen un twict, an' 'twere lookin' t' me like a canoe, though I'm not sayin' so for sure," explained Ed.

"I seen un," corroborated Bill, "but whether 'twere a canoe or no, I'm noways sure--'twere so far out."

"If 'twere a canoe, 'twere Injuns," declared Ed, "an' if 'twere Injuns they was seein' our fire, an' they'll be up t' some devilment, now, before day."

"Be you sartin', now, you seen something?" asked d.i.c.k, a note of scepticism in his voice.

"Sure an' sartin'," insisted Ed. "'Twere movin', an' I'm thinkin'

'twere a canoe, though I'm noways sure."

"'Twere just a loon or maybe a bunch o' geese," said d.i.c.k, still unwilling to believe.

"'Twere movin', an' 'twere lookin' like a canoe t' me," said Bill.

"'Twere certain no loon nor geese either. 'Twere too big."

"An' we better be gettin' out o' here, too," advised Ed. "If 'twere Injuns--an' I'm noways sure 'twere or 'tweren't--they seen th' fire, an' th' dirty devils'll be droppin' us off an' we stays here."

"Aye," agreed d.i.c.k, "we'll be movin' on. You an' Bill both seein'

somethin', they must ha' been somethin' there, though I weren't seein'

un."

Weary as they were, the three men hastily shouldered their light packs, and with rifles resting in the hollow of their arms, Ed in the lead, they stole noiselessly away into the forest.

Two hours of rapid travelling, in the light of the now rising moon, brought them to the end of the lake. Here they paused to fall upon their knees and make a critical examination of the sh.o.r.e.

"Here's fresh footin'," Ed finally announced. "A canoe were launched here since sundown. Th' gravel's wet where th' water splashed up.

They's one track o' a Injun moccasin, an' from th' smallness of un 'twere a woman."

"'Twere sure a woman," both Bill and d.i.c.k agreed.

"An' there's th' same footin' goin' t'other way, but 'tis an older track," Ed continued. "'Twere th' Injun la.s.s we sees to-night goin'

back."

"Now I'm wonderin'," said d.i.c.k, as they arose, "what she's goin' back for? Maybe now, she's lookin' t' meet us t' help her?"

"Maybe," Ed suggested, laughing, "she's finding a hull pa.s.sel o'

Injuns more'n she wants t' tackle wi' just her bow an' arrer. I were thinkin', now, a bow an' arrer weren't much t' run up ag'in a band o'

Injuns with, seein' they has guns."

"Whatever 'tis she's up to," suggested Bill, "'tisn't lookin' for us.

She couldn't ha' missed seein' our fire back here on th' sh.o.r.e, an'

she'd ha' known who 'twere an' come over if she's wantin' t' see us."

"You're right," agreed d.i.c.k. "She must have seen our fire, and if she'd wanted t' see us she'd ha' come over. Now I'm wonderin' why she didn't."

At mid-forenoon the following day the tilt on the last lake, where Manikawan had s.n.a.t.c.hed a few hours' sleep, was reached, and mounting the ridge above, the river was discovered beyond.

At the end of the portage trail the three trappers held a hurried consultation. At length, carefully concealing their packs among the bushes, and with rifles held in position for instant use, they turned noiselessly up along the river bank, following the water closely, and taking almost exactly the course followed the previous morning by Manikawan.

They were aware that they were now beyond the bounds of the region avoided by the Indians, and they also had no doubt that the Indian camp was situated farther up the river, probably at some convenient landing-place for canoes.

Finally Ed Matheson, who had the lead, halted and held up his hand.

"Smoke," he whispered, sniffing the air. "Aye," whispered d.i.c.k, also sniffing.

Ed now sank to his hands and knees, pausing frequently in his advance to reconnoitre. Presently he ceased to move, his rifle extended before him, until d.i.c.k and Bill drew along side.

"There's th' fire," he whispered, "an' there's where they was camped, but it's lookin' t' me as if they's gone."

The smouldering embers of a camp-fire in the centre of the open spot where the wigwam had stood the previous day, lay directly in front of them. On a tree hung some unfinished snow-shoe frames, and there were many signs of a hurried departure.

"What you think?" d.i.c.k whispered.

"Th' devils may be hidin' back here," answered Ed. "You an' Bill stay now, an' watch, whilst I looks."

Very cautiously Ed stole away, and d.i.c.k Blake and Bill Campbell waited patiently for an hour, when they discovered him walking boldly down toward them.