off, and made frantic efforts to follow, but the remorseless snow-drift
held them fast.
[Illustration: "THE POOR CREATURES WHINNIED APPEALINGLY."]
It was certainly a pity to leave two such fine animals to perish, but
yet what could be done?
Striding along on the snow-shoes, in the use of which they were both
expert, the superintendent and Harry made better progress than they had
been doing in the sleigh, and now the chief anxiety was to hit the right
spot on the other side of the lake, where the road continued through the
woods.
On a clear day Mr. Maynard would have found little difficulty in doing
this, but in the midst of a blinding snowstorm it was no easy task; yet
their very lives depended upon its successful accomplishment.
When they reached the middle of the lake they were dismayed to discover
that the heavily-falling snow shrouded not only the shore for which they
were making, but the one which they had left. They were absolutely
without a mark to guide them.
Here was an unexpected peril. Mr. Maynard halted and strove to peer
through the ominous obscurity of white, but on every side it was the
same.
"What are we to do now, Harry?" he cried in a tone of deep concern. "I
can't make out our way at all."
By this time Harry's spirits, which had hitherto been keeping up
bravely, were beginning to fall, for he was growing weary of the long
struggle with the storm.
"I'm sure I don't know," he responded ruefully. "I suppose there is
nothing else to do but to push ahead and take our chances of hitting the
shore somewhere."
"That's about all, Harry," was the superintendent's reply. "Just rest a
minute to get your breath, and then we'll make a dash for it."
For a little space they stood still and silent, the mind of each
absorbed in anxious thought, and then Mr. Maynard called out,--
"Come along now, Harry. Keep right in my tracks, and I'll see if I
can't make the shore all right."
For half-an-hour they toiled steadily onward, and well it was for both
that they had such skill in the use of snow-shoes. Without them they
could not have made a hundred yards' headway, so heavy was the snow.
Even as it was, the hard work told upon Harry, and presently he had to
call to his companion,--
"Hold on a minute, Mr. Maynard; I'm out of breath."
The superintendent stopped short and came back to him.
"Not played out already, are you, Harry?" he asked, peering anxiously
into his face.
"Oh, no!" and the boy made a gallant effort at a reassuring smile. "I
just want to get my wind; that's all. This abominable storm nearly
suffocates me."
As they rested again for a few minutes, the wind suddenly shifted,
parting the whirling snow to right and left, and through the rift thus
made, Mr. Maynard's keen eyes caught a glimpse of a dark mass rising
dimly into the air a little more than a mile away.
With a shout of joy he slapped his companion upon the back, crying,--
"Eagle Rock, Harry. See!" and he pointed with a quivering finger to the
spectral appearance. "Once we make that, I can find the road all right
enough. Come along!"
Cheered by the sight, which the next moment the snow-curtain again hid
from them, they pushed forward with renewed energy.
It was terribly hard walking. Their snow-shoes sank deep into the
drifts at every step, and it was an effort each time to release them.
The afternoon was also waning fast, and they had not more than an hour
of daylight left at best. Truly they were in desperate straits.
On they went over the drifts that seemed to be determined to bar their
way, the superintendent straining his eyes for another glimpse of Eagle
Rock. At last, as Harry was about once more to cry halt, his companion
exclaimed joyfully,--
"There's Eagle Rock, Harry! I see it. We're making straight for it. A
few minutes more will take us there."
The cheering announcement revived the boy's failing energies for another
effort. He shut his lips upon the request for a rest, and doggedly
tramped on after his guide.
Ten minutes more and they were at the foot of the lofty crag called
Eagle Rock, in a friendly recess of which they found welcome shelter
from the furious wind.
"Thank goodness!" ejaculated Harry, throwing himself wearily down upon a
snow-bank, "we've got thus far anyway. How many miles more, Mr.
Maynard?"
"About ten, Harry," was the answer, given in quite a matter-of-fact
tone.
"Ten!" echoed Harry in dismay. "I hoped it would only be about five.
I'll never do it in the world."
"Oh yes, you will, my boy!" replied Mr. Maynard. "I'll help you you
know."
To their vast relief the snow now began to abate, and presently ceased
falling altogether.
"That's something to be thankful for," said the superintendent. "Are
you ready to start again?"
"Go ahead," was the response.
But no sooner had one danger passed than another presented itself. The
light began to fail, for night was at hand.
A ten-mile tramp on snow-shoes through a desolate forest was not much to
be desired under any circumstances. To accomplish it in the dark, tired
as they both felt already, was a feat the achieving of which seemed more
than doubtful.
Mr. Maynard had his misgivings, but he carefully concealed them from his
companion, and even started whistling a lively march as he led the way
along the faintly discernible road.
Never will either of them ever forget that awful tramp.
The night soon enfolded them, leaving only the scant light of the
glimmering stars for guidance. Every step they took had to be carefully
considered, lest they should stray from the track and be hopelessly
lost.
Again and again the silence through which they marched was broken by the
blood-curdling cry of the lynx or the dismal howl of the wolf, seeking
what they might devour.
The superintendent's rifle hung at his back, and Harry had a good
revolver; but they prayed in their hearts that they might have no
occasion to use them.
Every little while they had to pause that the boy might take a brief
rest. Then on they went again.
Mile after mile of the dreary, toilsome way was slowly yet steadily
overcome, each one adding to poor Harry's weariness, until he felt as if
he must give up the struggle and throw himself down in the snow to die.
But Mr. Maynard cheered him up and helped him, and kept him going,
knowing well that to give up really meant death.
At last the exhausted boy sank down with a piteous wail,--
"It's no use, Mr. Maynard, I can't take another step."
"Oh yes, you can, Harry!" said the superintendent soothingly; "just take
a little rest, and then you'll be all right."
While Harry rested he went on ahead a short distance, for it seemed to
him that they could not be very far from the depot.
Presently there came from him a glad hurrah, and running back he put his
arm around his companion, and helped him to his feet, exclaiming
joyfully,--
"I can see a light, Harry. We're safe now. It's the depot."
And he was right. They were within half a mile of their haven.
Forgetting all their weariness, they put on a gallant spurt, and in less
than ten minutes were in the midst of their friends, telling the story
of their thrilling experience.
All's well that ends well. The superintendent kept his appointments in
the city; Harry had a royal Christmas time with the clerks in the depot;
and, happy to relate, the horses were not lost, for a relief party that
went out the following morning with a big sledge found them still alive,
and brought them and the sleigh back to the depot, little the worse for
the long imprisonment in the snow-drift.
*A STRANGE HELPER.*
"There's nothing for it, Maggie, but to let the place go. I've tried my
best to raise the money, but those that are willing to help a fellow
haven't it to lend, and those that have it ain't willing to help. It's
mighty hard lines, I tell you," and, with a groan of despair, Alec
M'Leod buried his head in his hands, as he leaned heavily upon the
table.
Hard lines it was, indeed, as no one knew better than Moses Shearer, the
money-lender, to whose conduct was due Alec the miller's anguish of
mind. He had chosen that particular time for enforcing satisfaction of
his claim, because he understood that it could not be done without a
sale of the mill property; and this was just what he desired, as he
intended to bid it in for himself.
It did seem a cruel thing for Mr. M'Leod to be sold out of the snug,
well-equipped mill that represented his whole fortune; and all for a
debt of one hundred pounds, incurred under special circumstances for
which he was in no wise to blame.
No wonder that he was sorely cast down, and that gloom reigned in his
household, which consisted of a devoted wife and two children--Robert,
the elder, a sturdy, enterprising lad of fourteen, and Jessie, a sweet,
fair-haired lassie two years younger. They were all in the room when
the miller gave voice to his despair, and Rob, full of sympathy,
hastened to say something comforting, with all the hopefulness of youth.
"Don't give up yet, father," said he. "The sale is more than a week
off, and you may be able to get the money somehow before then."
Mr. M'Leod shook his head without raising it from his hands. He had
exhausted every available resource, and saw no way in which help could
come. He was not a religious man, although of unblemished integrity of
character, and had no faith to sustain him in his grievous trial; nor
did his wife know how to lay hold upon God, and claim the fulfilment of
his promises.
In this they both had much to learn from their own children, for, thanks
to sound teaching in Sunday school, Rob and Jessie believed in the
prayer of faith. They believed God was always ready and willing to
respond in his wisdom to the petitions of his children, and when they
learned of their father's trouble, their thoughts took the same
direction.
That night, when Rob went up to his room, he found Jessie there.
"O Rob!" she hastened to say, "I've been waiting for you to come."
"What do you want to do, Jessie?" inquired Rob.
"Why, Rob, you know when father told us of his trouble, I made up my
mind to ask God to help him out of it. What is that in the Bible about
God doing anything that two of his people agree to ask for?"
Proud of his memory, Rob promptly repeated the verse: "If two of you
shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall
be done for them."
"Yes, that's it!" exclaimed Jessie. "Now then, Rob, can't we agree to
ask God to help father to pay off that dreadful Mr. Shearer?"
"Of course we can," responded Rob heartily; "and we'll do it right
away."
So down on their knees they went, and each in turn presented an earnest,
simple petition to God that aid should be granted their father in the
present emergency. When they rose their faces were radiant.
"It will be all right now, won't it, Rob?" said Jessie, as she went to
her own room.
The following day passed without any sign of an answer, and so did the
next. Rob, boy-like, began to grow impatient, but Jessie was more
trustful. Each night they renewed their united requests.
On the third night Rob, the window of whose room overlooked the
mill-pond, happening to awake about midnight, thought he heard a most
unusual splashing noise coming from the pond. Sitting up in bed, and
listening attentively, he asked himself:--
"What can it be? Has somebody fallen into the pond? No, it can't be
that, or there would be cries for help. Oh! it's only some old cow
that's fooling around."
He was about to accept this explanation and settle down to sleep again,
when there was added to the frantic splashing a hoarse bellow such as no
domestic animal ever uttered.
"I must see what that is," said he to himself. So out of bed he jumped,
hurried on his clothes, and slipping quietly out of the house, hastened
across the yard to the mill-platform, from which he could command a view
of the whole pond.
It was a bright, clear night, with the moon at the full, and the still
waters of the pond reflected its silver rays like a huge mirror. At
first the boy could see nothing to account for the strange noises he had
heard, but presently he discovered a big creature, whose exact nature he
could not make out, in the deepest part of the pond, where, surrounded
by the floating logs which had rendered futile all its efforts to
extricate itself, it was, for the moment, resting quietly as though
exhausted.
Rob's appearance upon the platform evidently aroused the creature to
fresh exertions, and it proceeded to fling itself about with reckless
fury, in the course of which its head emerged from the shadow into a
broad band of light, and with a cry of astonishment Rob, who had been
bending over the edge of the platform, sprang to his feet.
"Why, it's a moose!" he exclaimed; "and a monster one, too. And I'm
going to catch him." Then looking down at the imprisoned animal, he
added: "Just stay there, my beauty; I'll be back in a jiffy to look
after you."
Darting over to the house he quickly aroused his father, who, as soon as
he had assured himself that his son's story was correct, hastened to
call up some of the neighbours. He did not stop to think what he would
do with the moose when he had him safely secured. He was merely glad of
a diversion that would help him to forget his troubles for a while.
But Rob already had a scheme worked out in his mind, of which, however,
he intended to say nothing until the capture had been successfully
accomplished. Then he would let it be known.
The neighbours responded readily to Mr. M'Leod's summons, and in a
quarter of an hour half-a-dozen men were upon the scene, some armed with
pitchforks, others with stakes, and all eager to have a share in the
honours of the capture.
Many and various were the suggestions as to the best plan for getting
the animal out of the pond uninjured, but no sooner had Mr. M'Leod
offered his than it was unanimously adopted as the best.
By pushing away the logs a clear space could be made leading to the
incline up which the logs were drawn to meet their fate at the saw's
teeth, and the miller's idea was to lasso the moose by the antlers, drag
the creature through the water to the foot of the incline, then attach
the rope to the chain for drawing up the logs, and turn on the
water-power.
The strongest animal that ever stood on four legs could not resist the
tug of the chain, and thus the moose would be drawn up on the platform,
and kept there, a safe prisoner, until he could be removed to the barn.
Mr. M'Leod had little difficulty in getting the rope fastened to the big
branching antlers, and not much more in towing his captive around to the
foot of the incline. But then came the rub. The monarch of the forest
fought frantically against being drawn out of the water, and it seemed
as if he might kill himself in his desperate efforts for freedom.
[Illustration: CAPTURING THE MOOSE.]
There was no resisting the inexorable strain of the log-chain, however,
and foot by foot he was compelled to ascend the incline until he reached
the platform. Then the power was shut off, and Mr. M'Leod decided that
it was best to allow the great creature to stay where he was until
daylight.
The men all went back to their beds, but Rob remained. He did not want
to leave the prize which had thus strangely fallen into his hands, and
which he hoped to make signally helpful in his father's trouble. So he
chose a corner of the platform where he could keep the moose in full
view, and composed himself to wait for the morning.
As he sat there his heart went up in gratitude to God, for right before
him had he not the answer to the prayer he and Jessie had united in
offering?
With the dawn Mr. M'Leod and the other men returned, and by dint of much
shouting, flourishing of pitchforks, and tugging of ropes, the moose,
after many furious attempts at breaking away, was at length safely
conveyed to the barn, and securely fastened up in such a manner that he
could do himself no hurt, struggle and kick as he might.
"Hip, hip, hurrah!" shouted Rob as the big door closed with a bang, and
he flung himself against it to make sure that it was shut tight. "We've
got him all right enough. He can't get out of there until we want him."
"And now that you have got him, Robby," said the miller, laying his hand
affectionately on the boy's shoulder. "perhaps you'll tell us what you
are going to do with him."
Up to this point Rob had kept his own counsel, because his Scotch
shrewdness told him it would be best to do so until the capture was
successfully effected. But now there was no longer need for reserve.
"You remember that gentleman who was here hunting last winter, don't
you, father?" said he, looking up eagerly into Mr. M'Leod's face.
"You mean Professor Owen from New York."
"Yes. Well, you know he said he'd give a hundred pounds for a
full-grown moose alive; and now you must write and tell him you've got a
beauty for him, and to come along and get it."
The miller's face became radiant as his son spoke. He now understood
what had been in Rob's mind, and why he had shown such intense anxiety
to secure the moose uninjured.
"God bless you, my boy!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around his
neck, for the revulsion of feeling broke down his characteristic
reserve. "I see what you've been driving at. You always were a bright
lad, and now, maybe, you're going to save me from ruin. I won't wait to
write Professor Owen; I'll telegraph him. He left me his address so
that I might let him know when the hunting was good."
Mounting his best horse, Mr. M'Leod hastened to the village, and sent
this despatch to the professor: "Have a splendid live moose in my barn.
Do you want him?"
Before many hours the reply came: "Am coming for him by first train."
The following evening Professor Owen appeared. When he saw the moose he
fairly shouted with delight.
"A perfect specimen, and in the very prime of life," he cried. "I'll
give you a hundred pounds for him on the spot. Will that be right?"
The offer was gladly accepted; and as soon as the necessary arrangements
could be made, the moose was taken away to become the chief attraction
in a famous zoological garden.
On the day before the sheriff's sale Mr. M'Leod, greatly to the
money-lender's chagrin, paid his claim in full, and cleared his property
from all encumbrance.
That night they had a praise-meeting at the mill; for when Mr. M'Leod
was told about Rob and Jessie praying together for his deliverance from
the grasp of Moses Shearer his heart was deeply stirred, and he joined
in thanking God who had thus signally answered the children's petitions.
Not only so, but both he and his wife were moved to withhold no longer
from God's service, and they became active, happy members of the church.
As for Rob and Jessie, their faith was wonderfully strengthened, and
often afterwards the recollection of this incident helped them to be
trustful in the midst of many difficulties.
*FORTY MILES OF MAELSTROM.*
The Canadian Pacific train, speeding swiftly on toward Winnipeg, had
just dashed over an iron bridge which threw its audacious spider-web
across a foaming torrent. Pointing down at the tumbling water beneath,
one of the men in the smoking compartment of a palace car exclaimed,--
"I'd like to try that rapid in my _Rice Lake_."
"Are you so fond of a wetting as all that?" asked Charlie Hall with a
smile.
"Oh, I'd risk the wetting. I've been through worse rapids than that
without so much as being sprinkled." He proceeded to support his
assertion by relating some of his adventures.
When Jack Fleming came to the end of his tether, the others had their
say, for they had not been without experiences of a similar nature.
Meanwhile, the fourth member of the group had been listening with
interested attention, as if their stories were so novel that he did not
wish to lose a word of them. He was merely a chance acquaintance, who
had fallen into conversation with his fellow-travellers through the
freemasonry of the pipe. They knew his name; Ronald Cameron, but they
knew nothing more about him.
It was more for the sake of saying something courteous than with any
idea of drawing the stranger out that Fleming turned to him and said,
"Perhaps you know something about running rapids too?"
The stranger's bronzed face broke out into a smile, which meant
unmistakably, "As well ask Grant if he knew something about fighting
battles;" but there was not the faintest trace of boastfulness in his
tone as he replied, "I have run a few rapids in my time."
"Well, it's your turn now; tell us your experience," said Fleming, and
without much urging Cameron began.
"I must explain that I am in the employ of the Hudson Bay Company, and
have spent many years in the North-west districts. My duties have
required frequent long trips by York boat and bark canoe, in the course
of which I have had my full share of tussles with rapids of all kinds.
I could tell you half-a-dozen rather exciting little episodes, but I'll
give you only one just now, namely, my passage of the Long Canon of the
Liard in a canvas boat."
"In a canvas boat?" broke out Fleming, half incredulously.
"Yes, in a canvas boat," repeated Cameron. "Not a particularly
seaworthy craft, I must confess. But it was a notion of my own in order
to get over the difficulty in which I was placed. I had been over in
British Columbia, and was on my way back to Athabasca. The season was
growing late, and I had only two men with me--an Indian and a
half-breed. The Indian was a splendid canoe-man, but the half-breed was
not of much account. The first part of the journey could be made by
boat easily enough, but for us three men to drag a heavy boat over
Grizzly Portage, which is about six miles long, and has a portage-path
that climbs a thousand feet up the mountain side, was quite out of the
question.
"So before I started I had a boat made out of tent canvas, which would
be no trouble to carry. The wooden boat was to be left at the head of
Grizzly Portage to take care of itself.
"Well, we got on smoothly until we passed the portage, and the Long
Canon opened out before us. As I looked at its wild rush of water, and
realized that this was only the beginning, and far from the worst of it,
I confess I felt tempted to turn back. But my pride soon banished that
thought, and I set about getting my frail craft ready for the trip.
Dennazee, the Indian, did not show the slightest concern; but Machard,
the half-breed, was evidently much frightened.
"Assuming a cheery indifference I by no means felt, I went about the
work in the most matter-of-fact way, and, with Dennazee helping
heartily, the canvas boat was put together and set afloat.
"But it became evident immediately that she was not minded to stay
afloat long. Although I had taken the precaution to give the canvas a
good coat of oil, no sooner were we on board than, the treacherous stuff
leaked through every pore. Clearly this must be remedied before we
could attempt the passage.
"Bidding the men gather all the gum and balsam they could find, I put
the whole of our bacon, some ten pounds at least, half-a-dozen candles,
and the gum and balsam into our pot, set it over a brisk fire, and
produced the most extraordinary compound you can imagine.
"With this we thickly daubed the outside of the boat from stem to stern,
and then left her for the night. The next morning she was as tight as a
drum, and we started off, the poor half-breed muttering prayers in full
expectation of a watery grave, the Indian as stolid as a statue, and
myself much more anxious at heart than I cared to have either man know.
"The canon is about forty miles long, and in that distance the river
falls quite five hundred feet. Old Lepine, who has piloted boats up and
down the Liard for thirty years or more, asserts that once, when the
water was unusually high, he went through the whole length of the canon
in a York boat in two hours. The old man may be a few minutes short of
the record, but there is no doubt that in the spring, when the snow is
melting on the mountain slopes, the river runs at a fearful rate. I had
hoped for low water, but, as luck would have it, a sudden spell of
intensely hot weather had set the snow going, and the Liard was just
high enough to be a very ugly customer.
"Well, we paddled out into the current, and then there was nothing to do
but steer. I had the stern, and Dennazee the bow, while Machard clung
tightly to the centre thwart, and was useful only as ballast. Like an
arrow our little boat sped down stream, darting this way and that,
dipping and dancing about like a cork, doing exactly what the water
willed.