"Then you have nothing to eat?" said Thirlwell sharply.

"Half a small bannock; I ate the rest this morning. The worst was I had only melted snow to drink."

Thirlwell made a sympathetic gesture, for men who camp in the frozen woods consume large quant.i.ties of nearly boiling tea. Then he turned to the half-breed and sent him back for his companion and the sledge.

"We'll haul you down the river as soon as they come," he said. "By good luck, we camped in perhaps the only place from which we could have seen your fire."

"Ah," said Father Lucien with a quiet smile, "I do not know if it was luck alone that made you choose the spot."

They sat down in the hollow among the rocks, and the missionary shivered although the fire snapped and threw out clouds of smoke close by.

Thirlwell gave him his tobacco pouch.

"In the meantime, you can eat your bannock and then take a smoke. I'm curious to learn how you lost your outfit and the dogs."

Father Lucien ate the morsel of hard cake, and afterwards looked up.

"Perhaps I had better tell you before your men arrive. Well, I traveled about with my people as they moved their traps, and one night when very tired I slept in damp moccasins. The fire got low and next morning my foot was slightly frozen. We were forced to make long marches for some days, and I found the frost-bite had gone deeper than I thought. You can, no doubt, guess what happened."

Thirlwell nodded. A frozen foot sometimes galls into a sore that will not heal while the temperature is low.

"Well," said Father Lucien, "some time after we pitched camp, a man came in with a dog-team that belonged to the Hudson's Bay. He was not going farther but offered to lend me the dogs, if I would leave them with some friends of his who were trapping to the south."

"But can you drive dogs?" Thirlwell asked, knowing that skill is required to manage the snarling, fighting teams.

"Not well, but I have driven dogs, and was anxious to reach the mine before my foot got worse. I thought I might find somebody at the Indians' camp who would go on with me. For a day or two we made good progress, though I had trouble to harness the leader in the morning; he was a stubborn, bad tempered animal, and missed his master's firm control. Then, one evening, we came to a creek. The stream had kept the channel open here and there, and I thought the ice thin, but it was open, rocky country round about, and I saw a clump of pines in the distance where we could camp. It got dark as we followed the creek and clouds drifted over the moon, but I wanted to find shelter and pushed on. Once or twice the ice cracked ominously, but it held until we came to a spot where the stream got narrower between high, rocky banks.

"The leader stopped and growled, at the edge of an open crack. His instinct warned him of danger, but I knew I could not get up the rough bank with my lame foot, and drove him past. As I limped by his side with the whip, I thought I heard the current gurgle under the ice, but we went on, the dogs snuffing and treading cautiously. Then there was a soft thud and a splash, the team was jerked back and I saw that the sledge had vanished. I suppose it had broken through a snow-bridge that our weight had shaken.

"I scrambled back a yard or two and looked down into the dark gap--I could not run because of my galled foot. Part of the sledge was covered by fallen snow, but the fore end rested on something and I leaned down and seized my blanket. There was a bag of food beneath it that I tried to reach, but perhaps I shook the sledge, which began to slip down, and I saw the dogs roll among the traces as they were dragged towards the hole. The leader clawed desperately at the snow, howling as if he begged my help, and I felt that I must save him. You have heard a dog howl in fear or pain?"

"Yes," said Thirlwell, "it makes a strong appeal. But I suppose you remembered what you risked by leaving the food?"

"I cut the trace," Father Lucien went on. "Another ma.s.s of snow fell and the sledge sank out of sight. I imagine the stream swept it under the ice, for I could only see the dark water foam. All the food I had except a bannock in my pocket was lost. I forgot the team for a few moments and when I looked up they had gone."

He paused and Thirlwell made a sign of sympathy. "A nerve-shaking jar!

But what became of the dogs?"

"I think they were afraid of the ice. If my camp had been made and a fire lighted, they might have come in for warmth, but I was not their master, and perhaps they took the back trail to the spot we started from. Well, as I could not follow, I limped on until I reached the pine clump, where I slept, and then dragged myself across the divide to this corner among the rocks. I knew I could go no farther and sat down to wait--"

Father Lucien's voice was calm and Thirlwell knew his courage had not failed. The man had often risked death when duty sent him out across the snowy wilds.

"Anyhow," said Thirlwell, "I'm glad I found you before it was too late.

It's something I and others will long be thankful for."

Father Lucien smiled deprecatingly. "If I had starved, another would have filled my place. Men fall on the trail, but the work goes forward.

Perhaps I have said too much about my danger, but I did so because of a curious thing that happened last night. I slept as well as usual for some hours, and then opened my eyes. I think, however, I was not quite awake, or else my brain was dull, because I felt no surprise although a man was in my camp. The fire had burned low and he stood back in the gloom where I could not see his face, but a dry branch broke into flame and the light fell on me. The way the man turned his head indicated that he was looking about the camp, and he must have seen that I had nothing but my blanket. But he was silent and did not come forward."

"An Indian?" Thirlwell asked.

"No," said Father Lucien. "He was white."

Thirlwell started. "A white man? It looks impossible. But why didn't you--?"

"I did not speak. You see, I had not heard him come, and imagine now that I thought I was dreaming and was afraid to wake and find my hope of help had gone. After a few moments, he stepped back very quietly into the shadow, and I called out. There was no answer and I got up. It took a little time--the blanket was round my legs and my foot hurt--and when I stumbled away from the fire he had vanished and there was no sound in the bush. Soon afterwards I fell down in the snow, and lay until the cold roused me to an effort and I crawled back to the fire. By and by I went to sleep again and did not waken until daybreak."

"Then," said Thirlwell, meaningly, "you could find no tracks."

"I could not," Father Lucien agreed. "That was not strange, because light snow was falling when I got up and the wind was fresh. Still I found this; it shows I was not dreaming."

He gave Thirlwell a wooden pipe with a nickel band round the stem.

"Ah!" said Thirlwell, who examined the frozen pipe and sc.r.a.ped out a little half-burned tobacco with his knife. "Fifty-cents, at a settlement store! Not the kind of things the Indians buy, and this is not the stuff they generally smoke. Besides, you would know an Indian, whether he spoke or not, by his figure and his pose."

Father Lucien said nothing, but looked at him with a quiet smile, and Thirlwell resumed: "Well, there was a man; a white man. But the thing's not to be understood. He knew you were starving and stole away! Then where did he come from? There's no white man except Driscoll between the Hudson's Bay post and the mine, and you saved Driscoll's life."

"When I last heard of him, Driscoll was trapping about Stony Creek, a long way to the east."

Thirlwell knitted his brows and lighted his pipe, which he had put near the fire to thaw, and there was silence until the _Metis_ arrived with the sledge, when they took the missionary to their camp and gave him food. After he had eaten they lay down with their feet to the fire and Thirlwell said: "If the man had seen your fire and come to borrow something or find out who you were, he would have spoken. There's n.o.body I can think of who has not some grounds for wishing you well, but it looks as if the fellow thought you were asleep and meant to let you starve."

"It looks like that," Father Lucien agreed with a curious calm. "Perhaps we shall find out who he was some day, and if not, it does not matter."

Then he drew the blanket across his face and went to sleep.

CHAPTER VII

AGATHA'S RESOLVE

Agatha looked pale and tired as she sat, rather languidly, in an easy chair in Mrs. Farnam's pretty room. There was bitter frost outside, but the new wooden house, standing among the orchards of South Ontario, was warm, and furnished with a regard for comfort and artistic taste. Mrs.

Farnam was proud of her house and good-humored husband, who gave way to her except about the growing of fruit. On this subject, she had told Agatha, he was extraordinarily obstinate. She had some tact and much kindly feeling, but had been a teacher and believed she had a talent for managing other people's business. In fact, she had tried to manage Agatha's, but was forced to admit without much success. Agatha, she said, was difficult.

For all that, it had given her keen satisfaction to bring the girl there when she was threatened by a nervous breakdown in consequence of over-work. Agatha had been her confidential friend when they were at school, but since Mabel married she had sometimes felt that the confidence had been rather one-sided. She had told Agatha much, but the latter had said little about her future plans.

"I don't think you're very much better yet," Mrs. Farnam said after a pause in the talk, for she was seldom silent long.

Agatha languidly looked about the room, noting the warm color of the polished floor, on which the light of the shaded lamp lay in a glistening pool, the fine skin rugs, and thick curtains. She had not an exaggerated love of comfort and her Toronto rooms were bare, but she owned that Mabel had a pretty house. Besides, she had a husband who indulged her and was always kind.

"It's very nice to be here, and I shall soon get strong," she said. "I suppose I rather overdid things, but the examination was coming and I was anxious my girls should pa.s.s well."

"From the school managers' point of view, that was a laudable aim, but I don't know that it was worth injuring your health for. You used to agree that managers often expected too much from a teacher."

"I'm afraid I had a selfish object," said Agatha, smiling. "I wanted a better post that will soon be vacant."

"Ambition sometimes deceives one. I know the post you mean and the girl who's going. It carries duties that wore her out."

"And better pay," said Agatha.