"Leastways 'twere thereabouts. Well, I finds myself away off from th'

hole I'd dropped into, an' no way o' findin' he. The river were low an' had settled a foot below th' ice, which were four or five feet thick over my head, an' no way o' cuttin' out. So what does I do?"

"An' what does un do?" asked d.i.c.k.

"What does I do? I keeps shallow water near th' sh.o.r.e an' holdin' my head betwixt ice an' water makes down t' th' Porcupine Rapids. 'Twere a long an' wearisome pull, an' thinks I, 'Tis too much--un's done for now.' After a time I sees light an' I goes for un. 'Twere a place near a rock where th' water swingin' around had kept th' ice thin. I gets t' un an' makes a footin' on th' rock. I gets out my knife an' finds th' ice breaks easy, an' cuts a hole an' crawls out. By th' time I gets on th' ice I were pretty handy t' givin' up wi' th' cold."

"'Twere a close call," a.s.sented d.i.c.k, as he puffed at his pipe meditatively.

"How far did un go under th' ice?" asked Bill, who had been much interested in the narrative.

"Handy t' two mile."

For several days after this the men worked very hard from early dawn until the evening darkness drove them into camp. The current was swift and the rapids great surging torrents of angry water that seemed bent upon driving them back. One after another the Horseshoe, the Ninipi, and finally, after much toil, the Mouni Rapids were met and conquered.

The weather was stormy and disagreeable. Nearly every day the air was filled with driving snow or beating cold rain that kept them wet to the skin and would have sapped the courage and broken the spirit of less determined men. But they did not mind it. It was the sort of thing they had been accustomed to all their life.

With each morning, Bob, full of the wilderness spirit, took up the work with as much enthusiasm as on the day he left Wolf Bight. At night when he was very tired and just a bit homesick, he would try to picture to himself the little cabin that now seemed far, far away, and he would say to himself,

"If I could spend th' night there now, an' be back here in th'

mornin', 'twould be fine. But when I _does_ go back, the goin' home'll be fine, an' pay for all th' bein' away. An' the Lard lets me, I'll have th' fur t' send Emily t' th' doctors an' make she well."

One day the clouds grew tired of sending forth snow and rain, and the wind forgot to blow, and the waters became weary of their rushing. The morning broke clear and beautiful, and the sun, in a blaze of red and orange grandeur, displayed the world in all its rugged primeval beauty. The travellers had reached Lake Wonakapow, a widening of the river, where the waters were smooth and no current opposed their progress. For the first time in many days the sails were hoisted, and, released from the hard work, the men sat back to enjoy the rest, while a fair breeze sent them up the lake.

"'Tis fine t' have a spell from th' trackin'," remarked Ed as he lighted his pipe.

"Aye, 'tis that," a.s.sented d.i.c.k, "an' we been makin' rare good time wi' this bad weather. We're three days ahead o' my reckonin'."

How beautiful it was! The water, deep and dark, leading far away, every rugged hill capped with snow, and the white peaks sparkling in the sunshine. A loon laughed at them as they pa.s.sed, and an invisible wolf on a mountainside sent forth its long weird cry of defiance.

They sailed quietly on for an hour or two. Finally Ed pointed out to Bob a small log shack standing a few yards back from the sh.o.r.e, saying:

"An' there's my tilt. Here I leaves un."

Bill Campbell was at the tiller, and the boat was headed to a strip of sandy beach near the tilt. Presently they landed. Ed's things were separated from the others and taken ash.o.r.e, and all hands helped him carry them up to the tilt.

There was no window in the shack and the doorway was not over four feet high. Within was a single room about six by eight feet in size, with a rude couch built of saplings, running along two sides, upon which spruce boughs, used the previous year and now dry and dead, were strewn for a bed. The floor was of earth. The tilt contained a sheet iron stove similar to the one Bob had brought, but no other furniture save a few cooking utensils. The round logs of which the rough building was constructed, were well c.h.i.n.ked between them with moss, making it snug and warm.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

This was where Ed kept his base of supplies. His trail began here and ran inland and nearly northward for some distance to a lake whose sh.o.r.es it skirted, and then, taking a swing to the southwest, came back to the river again and ended where d.i.c.k's began, and the two trappers had a tilt there which they used in common. Between these tilts were four others at intervals of twelve to fifteen miles, for night shelters, the distance between them const.i.tuting a day's work, the trail from end to end being about seventy miles long.

The trails which the other three were to hunt led off, one from the other--d.i.c.k's, Bill's and then the Big Hill trail, with tilts at the juncture points and along them in a similar manner to the arrangement of Ed's, and each trail covering about the same number of miles as his. Each man could therefore walk the length of his trail in five days, if the weather were good, and, starting from one end on Monday morning have a tilt to sleep in each night and reach his last tilt on the other end Friday night. This gave him Sat.u.r.day in which to do odd jobs like mending, and Sunday for rest, before taking up the round again on Monday.

It was yet too early by three weeks to begin the actual trapping, but much in the way of preparation had to be done in the meantime. This was Tuesday, and it was agreed that two weeks from the following Sat.u.r.day Ed and d.i.c.k should be at the tilt where their trails met and Bill and Bob at the junction of their trails, ready to start their work on the next Monday. This would bring d.i.c.k and Bill together on the following Friday night and Bob and Ed would each be alone, one at either end of the series of trails and more than a hundred miles from his nearest neighbour.

"I hopes your first cruise'll be a good un, an' you'll be doin' fine th' winter, Bob. Have a care now for th' Nascaupees," said Ed as they shook hands at parting.

"Thanks," answered Bob, "an' I hopes you'll be havin' a fine hunt too."

Then they were off, and Ed's long winter's work began.

The next afternoon d.i.c.k's first tilt was reached, and a part of his provisions and some of Ed's that they had brought on for him, were unloaded there. d.i.c.k, however, decided to go with the young men to the tilt at the beginning of the Big Hill trail, to help them haul the boat up and make it snug for the winter, saying, "I'm thinkin' you might find her too heavy, an' I'll go on an' give a hand, an' cut across to my trail, which I can do handy enough in a day, havin' no pack."

An hour before dark on Friday evening they reached the tilt. d.i.c.k was the first to enter it, and as he pushed open the door he stopped with the exclamation:

"That rascal Micmac!"

VI

ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS

The stove and stovepipe were gone, and fresh, warm ashes on the floor gave conclusive proof that the theft had been perpetrated that very day. Some one had been occupying the tilt, too, as new boughs spread for a bed made evident.

"More o' Micmac John's work," commented d.i.c.k as he kicked the ashes.

"He's been takin' th' stove an' he'll be takin' th' fur too, an' he gets a chance."

"Maybe 'twere Mountaineers," suggested Bill.

"No, 'twere no Mountaineers--_them_ don't steal. No un ever heard o' a Mountaineer takin' things as belongs to _other_ folks. _Injuns_ be honest--leastways all but half-breeds."

"Nascaupees might a been here," offered Bob, having in mind the stories he had heard of them, and feeling now that he was almost amongst them.

"No, Nascaupees 'd have no use for a _stove_. They'd ha' burned th'

tilt. 'Tis Micmac John, an' he be here t' steal fur. 'Tis t' steal fur's what _he_ be after. But let me ketch un, an' he won't steal much more fur," insisted d.i.c.k, worked up to a very wrathful pitch.

They looked outside for indications of the course the marauder had taken, and discovered that he had returned to the river, where his canoe had been launched a little way above the tilt, and had either crossed to the opposite side or gone higher up stream. In either case it was useless to attempt to follow him, as, if they caught him at all, it would be after a chase of several days, and they could not well afford the time. There was nothing to do, therefore, but make the best of it. Bob's tent stove was set up in place of the one that had been stolen. Then everything was stowed away in the tilt.

The next morning came cold and gray, with heavy, low-hanging clouds, threatening an early storm. The boat was hauled well up on the sh.o.r.e, and a log protection built over it to prevent the heavy snows that were soon to come from breaking it down.

Before noon the first flakes of the promised storm fell lazily to the earth and in half an hour it was coming so thickly that the river twenty yards away could not be seen, and the wind was rising. The three cut a supply of dry wood and piled what they could in the tilt, placing the rest within reach of the door. Then armfuls of boughs were broken for their bed. All the time the storm was increasing in power and by nightfall a gale was blowing and a veritable blizzard raging.

When all was made secure, a good fire was started in the stove, a candle lighted, and some partridges that had been killed in the morning put over with a bit of pork to boil for supper. While these were cooking Bill mixed some flour with water, using baking soda for leaven--"risin'" he called it--into a dough which he formed into cakes as large in circ.u.mference as the pan would accommodate and a quarter of an inch thick. These cakes he fried in pork grease. This was the sort of bread that they were to eat through the winter.

The meal was a cozy one. Outside the wind shrieked angrily and swirled the snow in smothering clouds around the tilt, and rattled the stovepipe, threatening to shake it down. It was very pleasant to be out of it all in the snug, warm shack with the stove crackling contentedly and the place filled with the mingled odours of the steaming kettle of partridges and tea and spruce boughs. To the hunters it seemed luxurious after their tedious fight against the swift river. Times like this bring ample recompense to the wilderness traveller for the most strenuous hardships that he is called upon to endure. The memory of one such night will make men forget a month of suffering. Herein lies one of the secret charms of the wilds.

When supper was finished d.i.c.k and Bill filled their pipes, and with coals from the stove lighted them. Then they lounged back and puffed with an air of such perfect, speechless bliss that for the first time in his life Bob felt a desire to smoke. He drew from his pocket the pipe Douglas had given him and filled it from a plug of the tobacco.

When he reached for a firebrand to light it d.i.c.k noticed what he was doing and asked good naturedly,--

"Think t' smoke with us, eh?"

"Yes, thinks I'll try un."

"An' be gettin' sick before un knows it," volunteered Bill.

Disregarding the suggestion Bob fired his pipe and lay back with the air of an old veteran. He soon found that he did not like it very much, and in a little while he felt a queer sensation in his stomach, but it was not in Bob's nature to acknowledge himself beaten so easily, and he puffed on doggedly. Pretty soon beads of perspiration stood out upon his forehead and he grew white. Then he quietly laid aside the pipe and groped his way unsteadily out of doors, for he was very dizzy and faint. When he finally returned he was too sick to pay any attention to the banter of his companions, who unsympathetically made fun of him, and he lay down with the inward belief that smoking was not the pleasure it was said to be, and as for himself he would never touch a pipe again.