Possibly he had gone to put them in order when the storm came, and had been caught in it farther up, and perished. Anyway it was worth investigation. When d.i.c.k returned with the fox and the trap to the tilt he told the others of his theory and it was decided to concentrate their efforts in that direction in the morning.

Accordingly the next day they pushed farther to the westward across the second lake, and at a point where a dead tree hung out over the ice found fresh axe cuttings. A little farther on they saw one or two sapling tops chopped off. These were in a line to the northward, and they took that direction. Finally they came upon a marsh, and heading in the same northerly course across it, came upon the tracks of a pack of wolves. Looking in the direction from which these led, d.i.c.k stopped and pointed towards a high boulder half a mile to the eastward.

"Now what be that black on th' snow handy t' th' rock?" he asked.

"'Tis lookin' t' me like a flat sled," said Ed.

"We'll have a look at un," suggested d.i.c.k, who hurried forward with the others at his heels. Suddenly he stopped, and pointed at the beaten snow and scattered bones and torn clothing, where Micmac John had fought so desperately for his life. The three men stood horror stricken, their faces drawn and tense. This, then, was the solution of the mystery! This was what had happened to Bob! Pretty soon d.i.c.k spoke:

"Th' poor lad! Th' poor lad! An' th' wolves got un!"

"An' his poor mother," said Ed, choking. "'Twill break her heart, she were countin' so on Bob. An' th' little maid as is sick--'twill kill she."

"Yes," said Bill, "Emily'll be mournin' herself t' death wi'out Bob."

These big, soft-hearted trappers were all crying now like women. No other thought occurred to them than that these ghastly remains were Bob's, for the toboggan and things on it were his.

After a while they tenderly gathered up the human remains and placed them upon the toboggan. Then they picked up the gun and blood spattered axe.

"Now here be another axe on th' flat sled," said d.i.c.k. "What were Bob havin' two axes for?"

"'Tis strange," said Ed.

"He must ha' had one cached in here, an' were bringin' un back,"

suggested Bill, and this seemed a satisfactory explanation.

"I'll take some pieces o' th' clothes. His mother'll be wantin'

somethin' that he wore when it happened," said d.i.c.k, as he gathered some of the larger fragments of cloth from the snow.

Then with bowed heads and heavy hearts they silently retraced their steps to the tilt, hauling the toboggan after them.

At the tilt they halted to arrange their future course of action.

"Now," said d.i.c.k, "what's t' be done? 'Twill only give pain th' sooner t' th' family t' go out an' tell un, an' 'twill do no good. I'm thinkin' 'tis best t' take th' remains t' th' river tilt an' not go out with un till we goes home wi' open water."

"No, I'm not thinkin' that way," dissented Ed. "Bob's mother 'll be wantin' t' know right off. 'Tis not right t' keep it from she, an'

she'll never be forgivin' us if we're doin' it."

"They's trouble enough down there that they _knows_ of," argued d.i.c.k.

"They'll be thinkin' Bob safe 'an not expectin' he till th' open water an' we don't tell un, an' between now an' then have so much less t'

worry un, and be so much happier 'an if they were knowin'. Folks lives only so long anyways an' troubles they has an' don't know about is troubles they don't have, or th' same as not havin' un, an' their lives is that much happier."

"I'm still thinkin' they'll be wantin' t' know," insisted Ed. "They'll be plannin' th' whole winter for Bob's comin' an' when they's expectin' him an' hears he's dead, 'twill be worse'n hearin' before they expects un. Leastways, they'll be gettin' over un th' sooner they hears, for trouble always wears off some wi' pa.s.sin' time. 'Tis our duty t' go an' tell un _now_, I'm thinkin'."

"What's un think, Bill?" asked d.i.c.k.

"I'm thinkin with Ed, 'tis best t' go," said Bill, positively.

"Well, maybe 'tis--maybe 'tis," d.i.c.k finally a.s.sented. "Now, who'll be goin'? 'Twill be a wonderful hard task t' break th' news. I'm thinkin'

my heart'd be failin' me when I gets there. Ed, would un _mind_ goin'?"

Ed hesitated a moment, then he said:

"I'm fearin' t' tell th' mother, but 'tis for some one t' do. 'Tis my duty t' do un--an' I'll be goin'."

It was finally arranged that Ed should begin his journey the following morning, drawing the remains on a toboggan, and taking otherwise only the tent, a tent stove, and enough food to see him through, leaving the remainder of Bob's things to be carried out in the boat in the spring. d.i.c.k undertook the charge of them as well as Bob's fur. Ed was to take the short cut to the river tilt and thence follow the river ice while d.i.c.k and Bill sprang Bob's traps on the upper end of his path.

"But," said Bill, after this arrangement was made, "Bob's folks be in sore need o' th' fur he'd be gettin' an' when Ed comes back, I'm thinkin' 'twould be fine for us not t' be takin' rest o' Sat.u.r.days but turnin' right back in th' trails. Ed can be doin' one tilt o' your trail, d.i.c.k, an' so shortenin' your trail one tilt so you can do two o' mine an' I'll shorten Ed two tilts an' do _three_ o' Bob's. I'd be willin' t' work _Sundays_ an' I'm thinkin' th' Lard wouldn't be findin' fault o' me for doin' un seem' Emily's needin' th' fur t' go t' th' doctor. 'Tis sure th' Lard wouldn't be gettin' angry wi' me for _that_, for He knows how bad off Emily is."

This generous proposal met with the approval of all, and details were arranged accordingly that evening as to just what each was to do until the furring season closed in the spring.

This was Sat.u.r.day, December the twenty-eighth. On Sunday morning Ed bade good-bye to his companions and began the long and lonely journey to Wolf Bight with his ghastly charge in tow.

XII

IN THE HANDS OF THE NASCAUPEES

Late on the afternoon of the day that Bob fell asleep in the snow, he awoke to new and strange surroundings. His first conscious moments brought with them a sense of comfortable security. His mind had thrown off every feeling of responsibility and he knew only that he was warm and snugly tucked into bed and that the odour of spruce forest and wood smoke that he breathed was very pleasant. He lay quiet for a time, with his eyes closed, in a state of blissful, half consciousness, vaguely realizing these things, but not possessing sufficient energy to open his eyes and investigate them or question where he was.

Slowly his mind awoke from its lethargy and then he began to remember as a dim, uncertain dream, his experience of the night before.

Gradually it became more real but he recalled his failure to find the tent, the fearful groping in the snow, and his struggle for life against the storm as something that had happened in the long distant past.

"But how could all this ha' been happenin' t' me now?" he asked himself, for here he was snug in the tent--or perhaps he had reached the tilt and did not remember.

He opened his eyes now for the first time to see and satisfy himself as to whether it was the tent or the tilt he was in, and what he saw astonished and brought him to his senses very quickly.

He recognized at once the interior of an Indian wigwam. In the centre a fire was burning and an Indian woman was leaning over it stirring the contents of a kettle. On the opposite side of the fire from her sat a young Indian maiden of about Bob's own age netting the babiche in a snow-shoe, her fingers plying deftly in and out. The woman and girl wore deerskin garments of peculiar design. The former was fat and ugly, the latter slender, and very comely, he thought, from her sleek black hair to her feet encased in daintily worked little moccasins. At that moment she glanced towards him and said something to her companion, who turned in his direction also.

"Where am I?" he asked wonderingly and with some alarm.

They both laughed and jabbered then in their Indian tongue but he could not understand a word they said. The girl lay aside the snow-shoe and babiche and, taking up a tin cup, dipped some hot broth from the kettle and offered it to him. He accepted it gladly for he was thirsty and felt unaccountably weak. The broth contained no salt or flavouring of any kind, but was very refreshing. When he had finished it he put the cup down and attempted to rise but this movement brought forth a flood of Indian expostulations and he was forced to lie quiet again.

It was very evident that he was either considered an invalid too ill to move or was held in bondage. He had never heard that Indian captives were tucked into soft deerskin robes and fed broth by comely Indian maidens, however, and if he were a prisoner it did not promise to be so very disagreeable a captivity.

On the whole it was very pleasant and restful lying there on the soft skins of which his bed was composed, for he still felt tired and weak.

He took in every detail of his surroundings. The wigwam was circular in form and of good size. It was made of reindeer skins stretched over poles very dingy and black, with an opening at the top to permit the smoke from the fire in the centre to escape. Flat stones raised slightly above the ground served as a fireplace, and around it were thickly laid spruce boughs. Some strips of jerked venison hung from the poles above, and near his feet he glimpsed his own gun and powder horn.

Bob could see at once that these Indians were much more primitive than those he knew at the Bay and, unfamiliar as he was with the Indian language, he noticed a marked difference in the intonation and inflection when the woman spoke.

"Now," said Bob to himself, "th' Nascaupees must ha' found me an'

these be Nascaupees. But Mountaineers an' every one says Nascaupees be savage an' cruel, an' I'm not knowin' what un be. 'Tis queer--most wonderful queer."

He had no recollection of lying down in the snow. The last he could definitely recall was his fearful battling with the storm. There was a sort of hazy remembrance of something that he could not quite grasp--of having gone to sleep somewhere in a snug, warm bed spread with white sheets. Try as he would he could not explain his presence in this Indian wigwam, nor could he tell how long he had been here. It seemed to him years since the morning he left the tilt to go on the caribou hunt.

So he lay for a good while trying to account for his strange surroundings until at last he became drowsy and was on the point of going to sleep when suddenly the entrance flap of the wigwam opened and two Indians entered--the most savage looking men Bob had ever seen--and he felt a thrill of fear as he beheld them. They were very tall, slender, sinewy fellows, dressed in snug fitting deerskin coats reaching half way to the knees and decorated with elaborately painted designs in many colours. Their heads were covered with hairy hoods, and the ears of the animal from which they were made gave a grotesque and savage appearance to the wearers. Light fitting buckskin leggings, fringed on the outer side, encased their legs, and a pair of deerskin mittens dangled from the ends of a string which was slung around the neck. One of the men was past middle age, the other a young fellow of perhaps twenty.