"Yes, they're going. Sorry you feel so badly at losing their society, but I don't see any way out of it."

"Well, they're not going." MacTavish spoke more quietly, but with determination, glowering at Amesbury. "They have a debt here and they will stay until it is worked out. They've signed articles to remain here until the debt is worked out, and I will hold them under the articles. You fellows go back to your work."

"We're not going to work for you any more," said Paul, his anger rising. "Mr. Amesbury has told you we're going with him, and we are."

"Go back to your work, I say, or I'll have you flogged!" MacTavish was now in a rage, and he made for the lads as though to strike them, only to find the ungainly figure of Amesbury in the way.

"Tut! Tut! Big Jack Blunderbuss trying to strike the little Tiddledewinks! Fine display of courage! But not this time. No pugilistic encounters with any one but me while I'm around, and my hands have an awful itch to get busy."

"None of your interference in the affairs of this post!" bellowed MacTavish. "You're breeding mutiny here, and I've a mind to run you off the reservation."

"Hey diddle diddle," broke in Amesbury, who had not for a moment lost his temper, and who fairly oozed good humor. "This isn't seemly in a man in your position, MacTavish. Now let's be reasonable. Sit down and talk the matter over."

"There's nothing to talk over with you!" shouted MacTavish, who nevertheless resumed his seat.

"Well, now, we'll see." Amesbury drew a chair up, sat down in front of MacTavish, and leaning forward a.s.sumed a confidential att.i.tude. "In the first place," he began, "the lads owe a debt, you say, and you demand that it be paid."

"They can't leave here until it is paid! They can't leave anyhow!"

still in a loud voice.

"No, no; of course not. That's what we've got to talk about. I'll pay the debt. Now, how much is it?"

"That won't settle it. They both signed on here for at least six months, at three dollars a month, and they've got to stay the six months."

"Now you know, MacTavish, they are both minors and under the law they are not qualified to make such a contract with you. Even were they of age, there isn't a court within the British Empire but would adjudge such a contract unconscionable, and throw it out upon the ground that it was signed under duress. You couldn't hire Indians to do the work these lads have done under twelve dollars a month. In all justice you owe them a balance, for they've more than worked out their debt."

"I'm the court here, and I'm the judge, and I'm going to keep these fellows right here."

"Wrong in this case. There's no law or court here except the law and the court of the strong arm. Now I've unanimously elected myself judge, jury and sheriff to deal with this matter. In these various capacities I've decided their debt is paid and they're going with me.

As their friend and your friend, however, I've suggested for the sake of good feeling that they pay the balance you claim is due you under the void agreement, and I offer to make settlement in full now. I believe you claim twelve dollars due from each--twenty-four dollars in all?"

It was plain that Amesbury had determined to carry out the plan detailed, with or without the factor's consent, and finally MacTavish agreed to release Paul and Dan, and charge the twenty-four dollars which he claimed still due on their debt against the forty dollars credited to Amesbury for the two marten skins. He declared, however, that had he known Amesbury's intention he would not have accepted a pelt from him, nor would he have sold Amesbury the provisions necessary to support him and the lads on their journey to Indian Lake.

"You can never trade another shilling's worth at this post," announced MacTavish as the three turned to the door, "not another shilling's worth."

"Now, now, MacTavish," said Amesbury, smiling, "you know better. I've a credit here that I'll come back to trade out, and I'll have some nice pelts that you'll be glad enough to take from me."

"Not a shilling's worth," repeated the factor, whose anger was not appeased when he heard Amesbury humming, as he pa.s.sed out of the door:

"'A diller, a dollar, a ten o'clock scholar, What made you come so soon?

You used to come at ten o'clock, But now you come at noon.'"

It was to be expected that MacTavish would refuse them shelter for the night, but he made no reference to it, probably because in his anger he forgot to do so, and the following morning, when his wrath had cooled, he astonished Paul and Dan when he met them with, for him, a very cheery greeting.

On New Year's morning Amesbury and Ahmik visited the Indian encampment, and with little difficulty secured from their Indian friends two light toboggans for Paul and Dan to use in the transportation of their equipment.

The day was spent in taking part in snowshoe obstacle races, rifle matches, and many contests with the Indian visitors, and the evening in final preparations for departure. In early morning, before the bell called the post folk to their daily task, they pa.s.sed out of the men's house for the last time. Tammas, Amos and Samuel were sorry to lose their young friends and a.s.sistants, but glad of their good fortune.

"I'll be missin' ye, laddies. G.o.d bless ye," said Tammas.

"Aye, G.o.d bless ye," repeated Samuel.

"Hi 'opes you'll 'ave a pleasant trip. Tyke care of yourselves," was Amos's hearty farewell.

They turned their faces toward the vast dark wilderness to the westward, redolent with mystery and fresh adventure. Presently the flickering lights of the post, which a few weeks before they had hailed so joyously, were lost to view.

CHAPTER XVII

THE SNOWSHOE JOURNEY TO INDIAN LAKE

There was yet no hint of dawn. Moon and stars shone cold and white out of a cold, steel-blue sky. The moisture of the frozen atmosphere, shimmering particles of frost, hung suspended in s.p.a.ce. The snow crunched and creaked under their swiftly moving snowshoes.

They traveled in single file, after the fashion of the woods. Amesbury led, then followed Ahmik, after him Paul, with Dan bringing up the rear. Each hauled a toboggan, and though Paul's and Dan's were much less heavily laden than Amesbury's and Ahmik's, the lads had difficulty in keeping pace with the long, swinging half-trot of the trapper and Indian.

Presently they entered the spruce forest of a river valley, dead and cold, haunted by weird shadows, flitting ghostlike hither and thither across ghastly white patches of moonlit snow. Now and again a sharp report, like a pistol shot, startled them. It was the action of frost upon the trees, a sure indication of extremely low temperature.

Dawn at length began to break--slowly--slowly--dispersing the grotesque and ghostlike shadows. As dawn melted into day, the real took the place of the unreal, and the frigid white wilderness that had engulfed them presented its true face to the adventurous travelers.

Scarce a word was spoken as they trudged on. Amesbury and Ahmik kept the silence born of long life in the wilderness where men exist by pitting human skill against animal instinct, and learn from the wild creatures they stalk the lesson of necessary silence and acute listening. Dan, too, in his hunting experiences with his father, had learned to some degree the same lesson, and Paul had small inclination to talk, for he needed all his breath to hold the rapid pace.

Rime had settled upon their clothing, and dawn revealed them white as the snow over which they pa.s.sed. The moisture from their eyes froze upon their eyelashes, and now and again it was found necessary to pick it off, painfully, as they walked.

The sun was two hours high when Amesbury and Ahmik suddenly halted, and when Paul and Dan, who had fallen considerably in the rear, overtook them, Ahmik was cutting wood, while Amesbury, lighting a fire, was singing:

"'Polly put the kettle on, Polly put the kettle on, Polly put the kettle on, And let's drink tea.'"

"How are you standing it, fellows?" he asked, looking up.

"Not bad, sir," answered Dan.

"I'm about tuckered out, and as empty as a drum!" exclaimed Paul.

"Pretty hard pull for raw recruits," said Amesbury, laughing. "But wait till tomorrow! Cheer up! The worst is yet to come."

"I hope it won't be any harder than this," and Paul sat wearily down upon his toboggan.

"No," encouraged Amesbury, "better snowshoeing, if anything. But there's the wear and tear. You'll have a hint of it tonight, and know all about it tomorrow."

"I finds th' snowshoein' not so bad today," said Dan, "but I'm thinkin' now I knows what you means. I had un bad last year when I goes out wi' Dad. 'T were wonderful bad, too. I were findin' it wonderful hard t' walk with th' stiffness all over me when I first starts in th' mornin', but th' stiffness wears off after a bit, an'

I'm not mindin' un after."

"That's it. You're on," laughed Amesbury, as he chipped some ice from a frozen brook to fill the kettle for tea.

"Very hard, you find him," broke in Ahmik, joining in Amesbury's laugh. "You get use to him quick. Walk easy like Mr. Amesbury and me soon. No hard when use to him."