"Ungava," Bob shouted to the astonished skipper, who was now almost out of hearing.

The information that the land was the Devil's Head came as joyful news to Bob. He had often heard of the Devil's Head, and knew that it lay not far from the entrance to Eskimo Bay, and therefore in a little while he believed he should see some familiar landmarks.

Bob's hopes were confirmed, and before dark the Twin Rocks near Scrag Island were sighted, and as they came into view his heart swelled and his blood tingled. He was almost home!

That night they lay behind Scrag Island, and with the first dawn of the morning were under way again. The wind was fair, and before sunset the _Maid of the North_ sailed into Fort Pelican Harbour and anch.o.r.ed.

Bob's heart beat high as he stepped into the small boat to row ash.o.r.e, for the whitewashed buildings of the Post, the air redolent with the perfume of the forest, and the howling dogs told him that at last the dangers of the trail and sea were all behind him and of the past, and that he would soon be at home again.

Mr. Forbes was at the wharf when Bob landed, and when he saw who it was exclaimed in astonishment:

"Why it's Bob Gray! Where in the world, or what spirit land did you come from? Why Ed Matheson brought your remains out of the bush last winter and I hear they were buried the other day."

"I comes from Ungava, sir, with some letters Mr. MacPherson were sendin'," answered Bob, as he made the painter fast.

"Letters from Ungava! Well, come to the office and we'll see them. I want to hear how you got here from Ungava."

In the office Bob told briefly the story of his adventures, while he ripped the letters from his shirt, where he had sewed them in a sealskin covering for safe keeping.

"Has un heard, sir, how mother an' Emily an' father is?" he asked as he handed over the mail.

"Mr. MacDonald sent his man down the other day, and he told me your mother took it pretty hard, when they buried you last week, although she has stuck to it all along that the remains Ed brought out were not yours and you were alive somewhere. Emily don't seem to change. Your father and nearly every one else in the Bay has had a good hunt. Go out to the men's kitchen for your supper now and when you've eaten come back again and we'll talk things over."

In the kitchen he heard some exaggerated details of Ed's journey out, and something of the happenings up the bay during the winter. When he had finished his meal he returned to the office, where Mr. Forbes was waiting for him.

"Well, Ungava Bob, as Mr. MacPherson calls you in his letter," said Mr. Forbes, "you've earned the rifle he gave you, and you're to keep it. Now tell me more of your adventures since you left Ungava."

Little by little he drew from Bob pretty complete details of the journey, and then told him that he had better sail the _Maid of the North_ up to Kenemish, where Douglas Campbell and his father would see that he secured the salvage due him for bringing out the schooner.

"An' what may salvage be, sir?" asked Bob.

"Why," answered Mr. Forbes, "you found the schooner a derelict at sea and you brought her into port. When you give her back to the owner he will have to pay you whatever amount the court decides is due you for the service, and it may be as much as one-half the value of the vessel and cargo. You'll get enough out of it to settle you comfortably for life."

Bob heard this in open-mouthed astonishment. It was too good for him to quite believe at first, but Mr. Forbes a.s.sured him that it was usual and within his rights.

They arranged that Netseksoak and Aluktook should go with him to Kenemish and later return to Fort Pelican to be paid by Mr. Forbes for their services and to be sent home by him on the company's ship, the _Eric_, on its annual voyage north.

Then Bob, after thanking Mr. Forbes, rowed back to the _Maid of the North_, too full of excitement and antic.i.p.ation to sleep.

With the first ray of morning light the anchor was weighed, the sails hoisted and but two days lay between Bob and home.

As he stood on the deck of the _Maid of the North_ and drank in the wild, rugged beauty of the scene around him Bob thought of that day, which seemed so long, long ago, when he and his mother, broken hearted and disconsolate were going home with little Emily, and how he had looked away at those very hills and the inspiration had come to him that led to the journey from which he was now returning. Tears came to his eyes and he said to himself,

"Sure th' Lard be good. 'Twere He put un in my head t' go, an' He were watchin' over me an' carin' for me all th' time when I were thinkin'

He were losin' track o' me. I'll never doubt th' Lard again."

XXV

THE BREAK-UP

One evening a month after Ed Matheson started out with his gruesome burden to Wolf Bight, d.i.c.k Blake was sitting alone in the tilt at the junction of his and Ed's trails, smoking his after supper pipe and meditating on the happenings of the preceding weeks. There were some things in connection with the tragedy that he had never been able to quite clear up. Why, for instance, he asked himself, did Micmac John steal the furs and then leave them in the tilt where they were found?

Had the half-breed been suddenly smitten by his conscience? That seemed most unlikely, for d.i.c.k had never discovered any indication that Micmac possessed a conscience. No possible solution of the problem presented itself. A hundred times he had probed the question, and always ended by saying, as he did now,

"'Tis strange--wonderful strange, an' I can't make un out."

He arose and knocked the ashes out of his pipe, filled the stove with wood, and then looked out into the night before going to his bunk. It was snowing thick and fast.

"'Tis well to-morrow's Sunday," he remarked. "The's nasty weather comin'."

"That they is," said a voice so close to his elbow that he started back in surprise,

"Why, h.e.l.lo, Ed. You were givin' me a rare start, sneakin' in as quiet's a rabbit. How is un?"

"Fine," said Ed, who had just come around the corner of the tilt in time to hear d.i.c.k's remark in reference to the weather. "Who un talkin' to?"

"To a sensible man as agrees wi' me," answered d.i.c.k facetiously. "A feller does get wonderful lonesome seem' no one an' has t' talk t'

hisself sometimes."

The two entered the tilt and Ed threw off his adikey while d.i.c.k put the kettle over.

"Well," asked d.i.c.k, when Ed was finally seated, "how'd th' mother take un?"

"Rare hard on th' start off," said Ed. "'Twere th' hardest thing I ever done, tellin' she, an' 'twere all I could do t' keep from breakin' down myself. I 'most cried, I were feelin so bad for un.

"Douglas were there an' Bessie were visitin' th' sick maid, which were a blessin', fer Richard were away on his trail.

"I goes in an' finds un happy an' thinkin' maybe Bob'd be comin'. I finds th' bones gettin' weak in my legs, soon's I sees un, an' th'

mother, soon's she sees me up an' says she's knowin' somethin'

happened t' Bob, an' I has t' tell she wi'out waitin' t' try t' make un easy's I'd been plannin' t' do. She 'most faints, but after a while she asks me t' tell she how Bob were killed, an' I tells.

"Then she's wantin' t' see a bit o' the clothes we found, an' when she looks un over she raises her head an' says, '_Them_ weren't Bob's. I knows Bob's clothes, an' them weren't _his_! When I tells 'bout findin' _two_ axes she says Bob were havin' only one axe, an' then she's believin' Bob wasn't got by th' wolves, an' is livin'

somewheres.

"Douglas goes for Richard, an' when Richard comes he says th'

clothes's Bob's an' th' gun _ain't_, an' Bob were havin' only one axe.

"Richard's not doubtin' th' remains was Bob's though, an' o' course the's no doubtin' _that_. Th' clothes's gettin' so stained up I'm thinkin' th' mother'd not be knowin' un. But Richard sure would be knowin' th' gun, an' that's what _I'm_ wonderin' at."

"'Tis rare strange," a.s.sented d.i.c.k. "An' _I'm_ wonderin' why Micmac John were leavin' th' fur in th' 'tilt after stealin' un. That's what _I'm_ wonderin' at."

The whole evening was thus spent in discussing the pros and cons of the affair. They both decided that while the gun and axe question were beyond explanation, there was no doubt that Bob had been destroyed by wolves and the remains that they found were his.

The plan that Bill had suggested for hunting the trails without taking Sunday rest, thus enabling them to attend to a part of Bob's Big Hill trail, was resorted to, and the winter's work was the hardest, they all agreed, that they had ever put in.