"Mookoomahn told Manikawan White Brother of the Snow would not hold her to her promise. That White Brother of the Snow did not mean that she should die for his friend.

"Manikawan would not listen to Mookoomahn, and she said: 'When White Brother of the Snow comes he will find Manikawan waiting with his friend. She has promised. If the Spirit of Death comes into the lodge, White Brother of the Snow will find Manikawan's body with the body of his friend, and he will know that Manikawan kept her word.'

"Seven suns ago Mookoomahn left the lodge. He travelled slowly, for the spirits clung to his feet and made them heavy. The spirits tripped him and made him fall often. He killed three ptarmigans as he travelled, and the flesh of the ptarmigans made him strong to reach the lodge of White Brother of the Snow.

"For seven suns the friend of White Brother of the Snow and Manikawan have had no food. The Spirit of Death stood very near the lodge when Mookoomahn left it. The Spirit of Death has entered the lodge and destroyed Manikawan and the friend of White Brother of the Snow."

With this sombre prophecy Mookoomahn ceased speaking, and leaned back exhausted. As they looked at him they could appreciate the sufferings of Shad and Manikawan, and no great stretch of the imagination was necessary to picture the gruesome spectacle that they had no doubt awaited them in the lodge on the Great Lake.

XXV

A MISSION OF LIFE AND DEATH

Bob's face had grown pale and tense as he listened. With Mookoomahn's last words he rose from the edge of the bunk where he had seated himself, and turning to Ed Matheson, asked:

"Be you goin' with me, Ed? Th' moon's good for travellin', an' I knows th' way."

"That I be," Ed responded, beginning his preparation at once. "I couldn't be restin' here a minute knowin' them poor souls was dyin'

out there."

"I'm goin', too," declared d.i.c.k Blake, reaching for his ad.i.c.ky. "Three can travel faster'n two, by changin' off in th' lead."

"What you doin', Bill, with your a d.i.c.ky, now?" Ed suddenly asked, observing that Bill Campbell was also drawing on his ad.i.c.ky. "Goin',"

answered Bill laconically.

"No, Bill, you better stay here with th' Injun," directed Ed.

"Somebody'll have t' stay with he. If they don't, by to-morrer he'll get eatin' so much he'll kill hisself if he ain't watched.

"You stay an' keep an eye on he. Give he just a small bit t' a time, till he gets over th' first sickness. He'll be wonderful sick t'-night, an' for a week, but sick's he is, by day after t'-morrer he'll be wonderful hungry, an' want t' eat everything in sight, an'

more too, an' if he eats too much 'twill kill he sure. His belly'll be givin' he trouble for a month yet, whatever, two ways--wantin' t'

stuff un, an' makin' he sick because he does."

Bill Campbell was plainly disappointed, but there was no doubt Ed was right, and laying aside his ad.i.c.ky he uncomplainingly a.s.sumed the role of nurse to which Ed had a.s.signed him.

The men set forth in haste upon their mission of life and death. The moon, a white, cold patch, lay against the steel-blue sky. The snow, thick coated with frost, glittered and scintillated in the moonlight.

A silence impressive, complete, tense, lay upon the frozen white world. It spoke of death, as the bated breath of the storm, before it breaks, speaks of calamity.

The three trappers, who had entered the tilt that evening wearied from the day's labour upon the trail, forgot their weariness as they swung forward at a rapid pace toward the camp on the Great Lake.

First one, then another, took the lead, breaking the trail and making it easier for those who followed. To men less inured to hardship and less accustomed to wilderness travel, it would have been a killing pace, continued unabated, unvarying, hour after hour.

At length the moon, falling near the western horizon, threatened quickly to withdraw her light; and then a halt was called, the tent quickly stretched between two convenient trees, the sheet-iron stove set up, a fire lighted, a few boughs spread for a bed, and the men stretched themselves for a two hours' rest.

They were up again before light, a hurried breakfast was eaten, and with daybreak they were away. Seldom was a word spoken. Each was occupied with his own thoughts, and each was stingy of his breath. To have talked would have been to expend energy.

Only once during the day did they halt, early in the evening, to make tea and partake of much-needed refreshment, and then were quickly on their way again, continuing by moonlight.

It was past midnight when, Ungava Bob in the lead, crossing a barren rise, beheld the smooth white surface of the Great Lake stretching far away to the northward. Descending the ridge and plunging into the thin forest below, he turned with a nameless dread at his heart toward the lodge where, three months before, he had said farewell to Shad and Manikawan. Then they were in the full exuberance of health and strength. How should he find them now? He dared not answer the question.

A little farther, and the lodge, a black blot on the snow, loomed up through the trees. Quickening his pace, he peered anxiously ahead for smoke, half hoping, wholly dreading, the result. Yes, there it was!

The merest whiff rising above the protruding lodge poles at the top!

At least one lived!

Bob broke into a run, the others at his heels, and, scarcely halting to drop the hauling rope of his toboggan from his shoulders, he lifted the flap and entered, calling as he did so:

"Shad! Shad! Manikawan! Does you hear me?"

The place was dark. The smouldering embers of a fire gave out no light, and receiving no answer Bob shouted to the others to bring a candle. Ed Matheson had antic.i.p.ated the need, and, close at Bob's side, struck a light.

XXVI

"GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN THAN THIS"

As the candle sputtered for a moment and then flared up, it revealed, lying p.r.o.ne on opposite sides of the lodge, feet to the embers of the dying fire, two human wrecks, whose emaciated features and shrunken forms could never have been recognised as those of Shad and Manikawan.

Bob stooped, and taking Shad gently by the shoulder shook him, saying as he did so:

"Shad! Shad! Shad!"

Slowly Shad, awakening from deep and exhausting slumber, opened his cavernous eyes and stared vacantly at Bob.

"Shad!" Bob repeated. "'Tis Bob an' Ed an' d.i.c.k come for you! Shad! We has grub, Shad!"

Still Shad gave no sign of recognition.

"Shad! Shad!" pleaded Bob. "Don 't you know me now, Shad?"

Then light came into Shad's face, and he forced himself to a sitting position.

"Bob! Oh, Bob!" he exclaimed, in a weak voice. "Am I awake or is it just a dream? Oh, Bob! Good old Bob! And Ed! and d.i.c.k! I was dreaming of you and the tilts. The dear old tilts! And you've come! You've really come? I heard you calling, Bob--days and days and days I heard you, and I answered. But my voice was too weak, and you couldn't hear.

"We've been in h.e.l.l, Bob! In h.e.l.l! The devils chased us, Bob--chased us for months and months and months. They looked like wolves, Bob--hungry, ugly wolves. I shot one! Yes, shot it! We ate it, and it was good! Ate the devil, Bob! and Ed! and d.i.c.k! Are you angels from heaven, or really you?"

"A bit o' tea's what he needs first thing," suggested Ed, in a shaky voice, as Shad paused in his ramblings. "d.i.c.k, you cut some wood, now, an' I'll be fillin' th' kettle with ice an' get un over. Bob better be stayin' right here."

"Bob!" Shad continued, as d.i.c.k and Ed pa.s.sed out of the lodge. "Is it really you, Bob?"

His voice was now more rational, though very weak.

"Yes, Shad, 'tis me."

"How is Manikawan, Bob? Look after her, won't you? I'm all right now.

I've tried to keep her out of the deep sleeps she falls into. I've been afraid she'd die. But I was very tired, and I think I must have been very sound asleep myself--and slept for hours. Leave me, Bob, and wake her up. I'm all right."