breaking the trail with his snow-shoes while Bob behind hauled the
loaded toboggan. On they pushed through trees heavily laden with snow,
out upon wide, frozen marshes, skirting lakes deep hidden beneath the
ice and snow which covered them like a great white blanket. The only
halts were for a moment now and again to note the location of traps as
they passed, which Bob with his keen memory of the woods could easily
find again when he returned to set them. Once they came upon some
ptarmigans, white as the snow upon which they stood. Their "grub bag"
received several of the birds, which were very tame and easily shot. A
hurried march brought them to the first tilt at noon, where they had
dinner, and that night, shortly after dark, they reached the second
tilt, thirty miles from their starting point. At midday on Thursday
they came to the end of the trail.
When they had had dinner of fried ptarmigan and tea, Bill announced:
"I'll be leavin' ye now, Bob. In two weeks from Friday we'll be
meetin' in th' river tilt."
"All right, an' I'll be there."
"An' don't be gettin' lonesome, now I leaves un."
"I'll be no gettin' lonesome. There be some traps t' mend before I
starts back an' a chance bit o' other work as'll keep me busy."
Then Bill turned down the trail, and Bob for the first time in his
life was quite alone in the heart of the great wilderness.
VII
A STREAK OF GOOD LUCK
When Bill was gone Bob went to work at once getting some traps that
were hanging in the tilt in good working order. He set them and sprang
them one after another, testing every one critically. They were
practically all new ones, and Douglas, after his careful, painstaking
manner, had left them in thorough repair. These were some additional
traps that no place had been found for on the trail. There were only
about twenty of them and Bob decided that he would set them along the
shores of a lake beyond the tilt, where there were none, and look
after them on the Saturday mornings that he would be lying up there.
The next morning he put them on his toboggan, and shouldering his gun
he started out.
Not far away he saw the first marten track in the edge of the spruce
woods near the lake. Farther on there were more. This was very
satisfactory indeed, and he observed to himself,
"The's a wonderful lot o' footin', and 'tis sure a' fine place for
martens."
He went to work at once, and one after another the traps were set,
some of them in a little circular enclosure made by sticking spruce
boughs in the snow, to which a narrow entrance was left, and in this
entrance the trap placed and carefully concealed under loose snow and
the chain fastened to a near-by sapling. In the centre of each of the
enclosures a bit of fresh partridge was placed for bait, to reach
which the animal would have to pass over the trap. Where a tree of
sufficient size was found in a promising place he chopped it down, a
few feet above the snow, cut a notch in the top, and placed the trap
in the notch, and arranged the bait over it in such a way that the
animal climbing the stump would be compelled to stand upon the trap to
secure the meat.
All the marten traps were soon set, but there still remained two fox
traps. These he took to a marsh some distance beyond the lake, as the
most likely place for foxes to be, for while the marten stays amongst
the trees, the fox prefers marshes or barrens. Here, in a place where
the snow was hard, he carefully cut out a cube, making a hole deep
enough for the trap to set below the surface. A square covering of
crust was trimmed thin with his sheath knife, and fitted over the trap
in such a way as to completely conceal it. The chain was fastened to a
stump and also carefully concealed. Then over and around the trap
pieces of ptarmigan were scattered. This he knew was not good fox
bait, but it was the best he had.
"Now if I were only havin' a bit o' scent 'twould help me," he
commented as he surveyed his work.
Foxes prefer meat or fish that is tainted and smells bad, and the more
decomposed it is, the better it suits them. Bob had no tainted meat
now, so he used what he had, in the hope that it might prove
effective. A few drops of perfumery, or "scent," as he called it,
would have made the fresh meat that he used more attractive to the
animals, but unfortunately he had none of that either.
As he left the marsh and crossed from a neck of woods to the lake
shore he saw two moving objects far out upon the ice. He dropped
behind a clump of bushes. They were caribou.
His gun would not reach them at that distance, and he picked up a
dried stick and broke it. They heard the noise and looked towards
him. He stood up, exposing himself for the fraction of a second, then
concealed himself behind the bushes again. Caribou are very
inquisitive animals, and these walked towards him, for they wanted to
ascertain what the strange object was that they had seen. When they
had come within easy range he selected the smaller one, a young buck,
aimed carefully at a spot behind the shoulders, and fired. The animal
fell and its mate stood stupidly still and looked at it, and then
advanced and smelled of it. Even the report of the gun had not
satisfied its curiosity.
It would have been an easy matter for Bob to shoot this second
caribou, but the one he had killed was quite sufficient for his needs,
and to kill the other would have been ruthless slaughter, little short
of murder, and something that Bob, who was a true sportsman, would not
stoop to. He therefore stepped out from his cover and revealed
himself. Then when the animal saw him clearly, a living enemy, it
turned and fled.
Bob removed the skin and quartered the carcass. These he loaded upon
his toboggan and hauled to his tilt. The meat was suspended from the
limb of a tree outside, where animals could not reach it and where it
would freeze and keep sweet until needed. A small piece was taken into
the tilt for immediate use, and some portions of the neck placed in
the corner of the tilt where they would decompose somewhat and thus be
rendered into desirable fox bait. The skin was stretched against the
logs of the side of the shack farthest from the stove, to dry. This
would make an excellent cover for Bob's couch and be warm and
comfortable to sleep upon. The sinew, taken from the back of the
animal, was scraped and hung from the roof to season, for he would
need it later to use as thread with which to repair moccasins.
Now there was little to do for two or three days, and Bob began for
the first time to understand the true loneliness of his new life. The
wilderness was working its mysterious influence upon him. It seemed a
long, long while since Bill had left him, and he recalled his last
Sunday at Wolf Bight as one recalls an event years after it has
happened. Sometimes he longed passionately for home and human
companionship. At other times he was quite content with his day to day
existence, and almost forgot that the world contained any one else.
Early the next week he visited the traps. In one he found a Canada jay
that had tried to filch the bait. In another a big white rabbit which
had been caught while nibbling the young tops of the spruce boughs
with which the trap was enclosed. A single marten rewarded him. The
pelt was not prime, as it was yet early in the season, but still it
was fairly good and Bob was delighted with it.
The fox traps had not been disturbed, but a fox had been feeding upon
the caribou head and entrails, where they had been left upon the ice,
and one of the traps was taken up and reset here. The others he also
put in order, and returned to the tilt with the rabbit and marten. The
former, boiled with small bits of pork, made a splendid stew, and the
skin was hung to dry, for, with others it could be fashioned into
warm, light slippers to wear inside his moccasins when the colder
weather came.
The marten pelt was removed from the body by splitting it down the
inside of the hind legs to the trunk, and then pulling it down over
the head, turning it inside out in the process. In the tilt were a
number of stretching boards, that Douglas had provided, tapered down
from several inches wide at one end until they were narrow enough at
the other end to slip snugly into the nose of the pelt. Over one of
these, with the flesh side out, the skin was tightly drawn and
fastened. Then with his knife Bob scraped it carefully, removing such
fat and flesh as had adhered to it, after which he placed it in a
convenient place to dry.
Bob felt very much elated over this first catch of fur, and was
anxious to get at the real trapping. It was only Tuesday, and Bill
would not be at the river tilt until Friday of the following week, but
he decided to start back the next morning and set all his traps. So on
Wednesday morning, with a quarter of venison on his flat sled, he
turned down over the trail.
Everything went well. Signs of fur were good and Bob was brimming over
with anticipation when a week later he reached the river.
Bill did not arrive until after dark the next evening, and when he
pushed the tilt door open he found Bob frying venison steak and a
kettle of tea ready for supper.
"Ho, Bob, back ahead o' me, be un? Where'd ye get th' deer's meat?"
"Knocked un over after you left me. 'Tis fine t' be back an' see you,
Bill. I've been wonderful lonesome, and wantin' t' see you wonderful
bad."
"An' I was thinkin' ye'd be gettin' lonesome by now. You'll not be
mindin' bein' alone when you gets used to un. It's all gettin' used t'
un."
"An' what's th' signs o' fur? Be there much marten signs?"
"Aye, some. Looks like un goin' t' be some. An' be there much signs on
th' Big Hill trail? Dick says there's a lot o' footin' his way."
"I _has_ one marten," said Bob proudly, "an' finds good signs."
"Un _has_ one a'ready! An' be un a good un?"
"Not so bad."
"Well, you be startin' fine, gettin' th' first marten an' th' first
deer."
Bill had taken off his adikey and disposed of his things, and they sat
down to eat and enjoy a long evening's chat.
With every week the cold grew in intensity, and with every storm the
snow grew deeper, hiding the smaller trees entirely and reaching up
towards the lower limbs of the larger ones. The little tilts were
covered to the roof, and only a hole in the white mass showed where
the door was.
The sun now described a daily narrowing arc in the heavens, and the
hours of light were so few that the hunters found it difficult to
cover the distance between their tilts in the little while from dawn
to dark. On moonlight mornings Bob started long before day, and on
starlight evenings finished his day's work after night. His cheeks and
nose were frost-bitten and black, but he did not mind that for he was
doing well. Two weeks before Christmas he brought to the river tilt
the fur that he had accumulated. There were twenty-eight martens, one
mink, two red foxes, one cross fox, a lynx and a wolf. These last two
animals he had shot. Bill was already in the tilt when he arrived, and
complimented him on his good showing.
Christmas fell on Wednesday that year, and Bill brought word that Dick
and Ed were coming up to spend the day with him and Bob. They would
reach the tilt on Tuesday night and use the remainder of the week in a
caribou hunt, as there were good signs of the animals a little way
back in the marshes and they were in need of fresh meat.
"An' I'll not try t' be gettin' here on Friday," said Bill. "I'll be
waitin' till Tuesday."
"I'll be doin' th' same, but I'll be here sure on a Tuesday, an' maybe
Monday," answered Bob.
So it was arranged that they should have a holiday, and all be
together again. It gave Bob a thrill of pleasure when he thought of
meeting Dick and Ed and proudly exhibiting his fur to have them
examine and criticise the skins and compliment him. It would make a
break in the monotonous life.
The day after Bob left the river tilt on his return round, the great
dream with which he had started out from Wolf Bight became a reality.
He caught a silver fox. It was almost evening when he turned into a
marsh where the trap was set. He had caught nothing in it before, and
he was thinking seriously of taking it up and placing it farther along
the trail. But now in the half dusk, as he approached, something
moved. "Sure 'tis a cross," said he. When he came closer and saw that
it was really a silver he could not for a moment believe his good
fortune. It was too good to be true. When he had killed it and taken
it out of the trap he hurried to the tilt hugging it closely to his
breast as though afraid it would get away.
In the tilt he lighted a candle and examined it. It was a beauty! It
was worth a lot of money! He patted it and turned it over. Then--there
was no one to see him and question his manhood or jibe at his
weakness--he cried--cried for pure joy. "Tis th' savin' o' Emily an'
makin' she well--an' makin' she well!" He had prayed that he would get
a silver, but his faith had been weak and he had never really believed
he should. Now he had it and his cup of joy was full. "Sure th' Lard
be good," he repeated to himself.
It was starlight two evenings later when he neared his last tilt.
Clear and beautiful and intensely cold was the silent white wilderness
and Bob's heart was as clear and light as the frosty air. When the
black spot that marked the roof of the almost hidden shack met his
view he stopped. A thin curl of smoke was rising from the stovepipe.
Some one was in the tilt! He hesitated for only a moment, then hurried
forward and pushed the door open. There, smoking his pipe sat Micmac
John.
VIII
MICMAC JOHN'S REVENGE
"Evenin', Bob," said Micmac.
"Evenin', John. An' where'd you be comin' from now?"
"Been huntin' t' th' suth'ard. Thought I'd drop in an' see ye."
"Glad t' see ye, John."
After an awkward pause Bob asked:
"What un do wi' th' stove, John?"
"What stove?"
"From th' river tilt. Ye took un, didn't ye?"
"No, I didn't take no stove. I weren't in th' river tilt, an' don't
know what yer talkin' about," lied the half-breed.
"Some one took un an' we was layin' it t' you. Now I wonders who
'twere."
"Well, _I_ wouldn't take it. Ye ought t' known _I_ wouldn't do a thing
like that," insisted Micmac, with an air of injured innocence. "Maybe
th' Mingen Injuns took it. There's been some around an' they says
they'll take anything they find, an' fur too, if they find any in th'
tilts. These are their huntin' grounds an' outsiders has no right on
'em. They gave me right t' hunt down t' th' suth'ard."
"Who may th' Mingen Injuns be, now?"
"Mountaineers as belong Mingen way up south, an' hunts between this
an' th' Straits."
"I were thinkin' 'twere th' Nascaupees took th' stove if you didn't
take un."
"Th' Nascaupees are back here a bit t' th' west'ard. I saw some of 'em
one day when I was cruisin' that way an' I made tracks back fer I
didn't want t' die so quick. They'll kill anybody they see in here,
an' burn th' tilts if they happen over this way an' see 'em. Ye have
t' be on th' watch fer 'em all th' time."
"I'll be watchin' out fer un an' keep clear if I sees their footin',"
said Bob as he went out to bring in his things.
What Micmac said about the Nascaupees disturbed him not a little. Bob
was brave, but every man, no matter how brave he may be, fears an
unseen danger when he believes that danger is real and is apt to come
upon him unexpectedly and at a time when no opportunity will be
offered for defense. It was evident that these Indians were close at
hand, and that he was in daily and imminent danger of being captured,
which meant, he was sure, being killed. But he was here for a
purpose--to catch all the fur he could--and he must not lose his
courage now, before that purpose was accomplished. He must remain on
his trail until the hunting season closed. He must be constantly upon
his guard, he thought, and perhaps after all would not be discovered.
No, he would _not_ let himself be afraid.
When he returned to the tilt Micmac John asked:
"Gettin' much fur?"
"Not so bad," he replied. "I has one silver, an' a fine un, too."
The half-breed showed marked interest at once.
"Let's see him. Got him here?"
"No, I left un in th' third tilt. That's where I caught un."
"Where's yer other fur?"
"I took un all down t' th' river tilt There's a cross among un an'
twenty-eight martens."
"Um-m."
Micmac John knew well enough the fur had been taken to some other
tilt, for when he arrived here early in the afternoon his first care
was to look for it, but not a skin had he found, and he was
disappointed, for it was the purpose of his visit. Bob, absolutely
honest and guileless himself, in spite of Dick's constant assertion
that Micmac was a thief and worse, was easily deceived by the
half-breed's bland manner. Unfortunately he had not learned that every
one else was not as honest and straightforward as himself. Micmac's
attempt upon his life he had ascribed to a sudden burst of anger, and
it was forgiven and forgotten. The selfish enmity, the blackness of
heart, the sinister nature that will never overlook and will go to any
length to avenge a real or fancied wrong--the characteristics of a
half-breed Indian--were wholly beyond his comprehension. He had never
dissembled himself, and he did not know that the smiling face and
smooth tongue are often screens of deception.
"We'll be havin' supper now," suggested Bob, lifting the boiling
kettle off the stove and throwing in some tea. "I'm fair starved."
After they had eaten Micmac filled his pipe and lounged back, smoking
in silence for some time, apparently deep in thought. Finally he
asked, "When ye goin' back t' th' river, Bob?"
"I'm not thinkin t' start back till Wednesday an' maybe Thursday, an'
reach un Monday or Tuesday after. Bill won't be gettin' there till
Tuesday, an' Dick an' Ed expects t' be there then t' spend Christmas
an' hunt deer."
"Hunt deer?"
"They're needin' fresh meat, an' deer footin's good in th' meshes."
"The's fine signs to th' nuth'ard from th' second lake in, 'bout
twenty mile from here. You could get some there. If ye ain't goin'
back till Wednesday why don't ye try 'em? Ye'd get as many as ye
wanted," volunteered Micmac.
"Where now be that?"
"Why just 'cross th' first mesh up here, an' through th' bush straight
over ye'll come to a lake. Cross that t' where a dead tree hangs out
over th' ice. Cut in there an' ye'll see my footin'; foller it over t'
th' next lake, then turn right t' th' nuth'ard. The's some meshes in
there where th' deer's feedin'. I seen fifteen or twenty, but I didn't
want 'em so I let 'em be."
"An' could I make un now in a day?"
"If ye walk sharp an' start early."
"I thinks I'll be startin' in th' mornin' an' campin' over there
Sunday, an' Monday I'll be there t' hunt. Can't un come 'long, John?"
"No, I'd like t' go but I got t' see my traps. I'll have t' be leavin'
ye now," said Micmac, rising.
"Not t'-night?"
"Yes, it's fine moonlight an' I can make it all right."
"Ye better stay th' night wi' me, John. There'll be no difference in a
day."
"No. I planned t' be goin' right back I seen ye. Good evenin'."
"Good evenin', John."
Micmac John started directly south, but when well out of sight of the
tilt suddenly swung around to the eastward and, with the long
half-running stride of the Indian, made a straight line for the tilt
where Bob had left his silver fox. The moon was full, and the frost
that clung to the trees and bushes sparkled like flakes of silver. The
aurora faintly searched the northern sky. A rabbit, white and
spectre-like, scurried across the half-breed's path, but he did not
notice it. Hour after hour his never tiring feet swung the wide
snow-shoes in and out with a rhythmic chug-chug as he ran on.
It was nearly morning when at length he slackened his pace, and with
the caution of the lifelong hunter approached the tilt as he would
have stalked an animal. He made quite certain that the shack was
untenanted, then entered boldly. He struck a match and found a candle,
which he lighted. There was the silver fox, where Bob had left it. It
was dry enough to remove from the board and he loosened it and pulled
it off. He examined it critically and gloated over it.
"As black an' fine a one as I ever seen!" he exclaimed. "It'll bring a
big price at Mingen. That boy'll never see it again, an' I'll clean
out th' rest o' th' fur too, at th' river. Old Campbell'll be sorry
when I get through with 'em, he let that feller hunt th' path. He's a
fool, an' if he gives me th' slip he'll go back an' say th' Mingen
Injuns took his fur. I fixed that wi' my story all right. I'll take
th' lot t' Mingen an' get cash fer 'em, an' be back t' th' Bay with
open water with 'nuff martens so's they won't suspect me."
He started a fire and slept until shortly after daylight. Then had
breakfast and started down the trail towards the river at the same
rapid pace that he had held before.
It was not quite dark when he glimpsed the tilt, and approached it
with even more caution than he had observed above.
"He don't know enough to lie," said he to himself, referring to Bob,
"but it's best t' take care, fer one o' th' others might be here."
When he was satisfied that the tilt was unoccupied he entered boldly
and appropriated every skin of fur he found--not only all of Bob's,
but also a few martens Bill had left there. No time was lost, for any
accident might send Bill or one of the others here at an unexpected
moment. The pelts were packed quickly but carefully into his hunting
bag and within twenty minutes after his arrival he was retreating up
the trail at a half run.
Some time after dark he reached the first tilt above the river, where
he spent the night. Short cuts and fast travelling brought him on
Sunday night to the tilt at the end of the trail where he had left
Bob. He made quite certain that the lad had really gone on his caribou
hunt, and then went boldly in and made himself as comfortable as he
could for the night without a stove, for Bob had taken the stove with
him, to heat his tent.
"If he comes back t'-night and finds me here," he said, "I'll just
tell him I changed my mind an' came back t' go on th' deer hunt. I'll
lie t' him about what I got in my bag an' he'll never suspicion; he
don't know enough."
Micmac John's work was not yet finished. He had arranged a full and
complete revenge. Bob's hunt for caribou would carry him far away from
the tilt and into a section where no searching party would be likely
to go. The half-breed's plan was now to follow and shoot the lad from
ambush. If by chance any one ever should find the body--which seemed a
quite improbable happening--Bob's death would no doubt be laid at the
door of the Nascaupee Indians.
Micmac John deposited the bag of stolen pelts in a safe place in the
tilt, intending to return for them after his bloody mission was
accomplished, and several hours before daylight on Monday morning
started out in the ghostly moonlight to trail Bob to his death.
IX
LOST IN THE SNOW
The trail that Bob had made lay open and well-defined in the snow, and
hour after hour the half-breed followed it, like a hound follows its
prey.
Early in the morning the sky clouded heavily and towards noon snow
began to fall. It was a bitterly cold day. Micmac John increased his
pace for the trail would soon be hidden and he was not quite sure when
he should find the camp. From the lakes the trail turned directly
north and for several miles ran through a flat, wooded country. After
a while there were wide open marshes, with narrow timbered strips
between. An hour after noon he crossed a two mile stretch of this
marsh and in a little clump of trees on the farther side of it came so
suddenly upon the tent that he almost ran against it.
The snow was by this time falling thickly and a rising westerly wind
was sweeping the marsh making travelling exceedingly difficult, and
completely hiding the trail beyond the trees.
The tent flaps were fastened on the outside, and Bob was away, as
Micmac John expected he would be, searching for caribou.
"There's no use tryin' t' foller him in this snow," said he to
himself, "I'd be sure t' miss him. But I'll take the tent an' outfit
away on his flat sled an' if he don't have cover th' cold'll fix him
before mornin'. There'll be no livin' in it over night with th' wind
blowin' a gale as it's goin' to do with dark. My footin' 'll soon be
hid an' he can't foller me. I can shoot him easy enough if he does."
It was the work of only a few minutes to strike the tent and pack it
and the other things, which included the stove, an axe, blanket and
food, on the toboggan.
The half-breed was highly elated when he started off with his booty.
The storm had come at just the right time. The elements would work a
slower but just as sure a revenge as his gun and at the same time
cover every trace of his villainy. He laughed as he pictured to
himself Bob's look of mystification and alarm when he returned and
failed to find the tent, and how the lad would think he had made a
mistake in the location and the desperate search for the camp that
would follow, only to end finally in the snow and cold conquering him,
as they were sure to do, and the wolves perhaps scattering his bones.
"That's a fine end t' him an' he'll never be takin' trails away from
_me_ again," he chuckled.
The whole picture as he imagined it was food for his black heart and
he forgot his own uncomfortable position in the delight that he felt
at the horrible death that he had so cleverly and cruelly arranged for
Bob.