On entering the belt of woods close to the fort, the horsemen reined in, and rode among the trees more cautiously.

"Here's the end of our journey at last," cried Jasper, on whose bronzed countenance there was a deep flush of excitement and a look of anxiety.

Just as he said this, Jasper's heart appeared to leap into his throat and almost choked him. Pulling up suddenly, he swallowed his heart, with some difficulty, and said—

"Hold on, lads. I'll ride round to the fort by way of the river, for reasons of my own. Push on, Heywood, with the Indian, and let Mr Pemberton know I'm coming. See, I will give you the packet of letters we were asked to carry from the fort below. Now, make haste."

Heywood, though a little surprised at this speech, and at the manner of his friend, took the packet in silence and rode swiftly away, followed by the Indian. When they were gone, Jasper dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and walked quickly into the woods in another direction.

Now this mysterious proceeding is not difficult to explain. Jasper had caught sight of a female figure walking under the trees at a considerable distance from the spot where he had pulled up. He knew that there were none but Indian women at Fort Erie at that time, and that, therefore, the only respectably dressed female at the place must needs be his own Marie Laroche. Overjoyed at the opportunity thus unexpectedly afforded him of meeting her alone, he hastened forward with a beating heart.

Marie was seated on the stump of a fallen tree when the hunter came up. She was a fair, beautiful woman of about five-and-twenty, with an air of modesty about her which attracted love, yet repelled familiarity. Many a good-looking and well-doing young fellow had attempted to gain the heart of Marie during the last two years, but without success—for this good reason, that her heart had been gained already.

She was somewhat startled when a man appeared thus suddenly before her. Jasper stood in silence for a few moments, with his arms crossed upon his breast, and gazed earnestly into her face.

As he did not speak, she said—

"You appear to be a stranger here. Have you arrived lately?"

Jasper was for a moment astonished that she did not at once recognise him, and yet he had no reason to be surprised. Besides the alteration that two years sometimes makes in a man, Jasper had made a considerable alteration on himself. When Marie last saw him, he had been in the habit of practising the foolish and unnatural custom of shaving; and he had carried it to such an extreme that he shaved off everything— whiskers, beard, and moustache. But within a year he had been induced by a wise friend to change his opinion on this subject. That friend had suggested, that as Providence had caused hair to grow on his cheeks, lips, and chin, it was intended to be worn, and that he had no more right to shave his face than a Chinaman had to shave his head. Jasper had been so far convinced, that he had suffered his whiskers to grow. These were now large and bushy, and had encroached so much on his chin as to have become almost a beard.

Besides this, not having shaved any part of his face during the last three weeks, there was little of it visible except his eyes, forehead, and cheek-bones. All the rest was more or less covered with black hair.

No wonder, then, that Marie, who believed him to be two thousand miles away at that moment, did not recognise him in the increasing darkness of evening. The lover at once understood this, and he resolved to play the part of a stranger. He happened to have the power of changing his voice—a power possessed by many people—and, trusting to the increasing gloom to conceal him, and to the fact that he was the last person in the world whom Marie might expect to see there, he addressed her as follows:—

"I am indeed a stranger here; at least I have not been at the post for a very long time. I have just reached the end of a long voyage."

"Indeed," said the girl, interested by the stranger's grave manner. "May I ask where you have come from?"

"I have come all the way from Canada, young woman, and I count myself lucky in meeting with such a pleasant face at the end of my journey."

"From Canada!" exclaimed Marie, becoming still more interested in the stranger, and blushing deeply as she asked—"You have friends there, no doubt?"

"Ay, a few," said Jasper.

"And what has brought you such a long way into this wild wilderness?" asked Marie, sighing as she thought of the hundreds of miles that lay between Fort Erie and Canada.

"I have come here to get me a wife," replied Jasper.

"That is strange," said the girl, smiling, "for there are few but Indian women here. A stout hunter like you might find one nearer home, I should think."

Here Marie paused, for she felt that on such a subject she ought not to converse with a stranger. Yet she could not help adding, "But perhaps, as you say, you have been in this part of the world before, you may have some one in your mind?"

"I am engaged," said Jasper abruptly.

On hearing this Marie felt more at her ease, and, being of a very sympathetic nature, she at once courted the confidence of the stranger.

"May I venture to ask her name?" said Marie, with an arch smile.

"I may not tell," replied Jasper; "I have a comrade who is entitled to know this secret before any one else. Perhaps you may have heard of him, for he was up in these parts two years agone. His name is Jasper Derry."

The blood rushed to Marie's temples on hearing the name, and she turned her face away to conceal her agitation, while, in a low voice, she said—

"Is Jasper Derry, then, your intimate friend?"

"That is he—a very intimate friend indeed. But you appear to know him."

"Yes, I—I know him—I have seen him. I hope he is well," said Marie; and she listened with a beating heart for the answer, though she still turned her face away.

"Oh! he's well enough," said Jasper; "sickness don't often trouble him. He's going to be married."

Had a bullet struck the girl's heart she could not have turned more deadly pale than she did on hearing this. She half rose from the tree stump, and would have fallen to the ground insensible, had not Jasper caught her in his arms.

"My own Marie," said he fervently, "forgive me, dearest; forgive my folly, my wickedness, in deceiving you in this fashion. Oh, what a fool I am!" he added, as the poor girl still hung heavily in his grasp—"speak to me Marie, my own darling."

Whether it was the earnestness of his voice, or the kiss which he printed on her forehead, or the coolness of the evening air, I know not, but certain it is that Marie recovered in the course of a few minutes, and, on being convinced that Jasper really was her old lover, she resigned herself, wisely, to her fate, and held such an uncommonly long conversation with the bold hunter, that the moon was up and the stars were out before they turned their steps towards the Fort.

"Why, Jasper Derry," cried Mr Pemberton, as the hunter entered the hall of Fort Erie, "where have you been. I've been expecting you every moment for the last two hours."

"Well, you see, Mr Pemberton, I just went down the river a short bit to see an old friend and I was kep' longer than I expected," said Jasper, with a cool, grave face, as he grasped and shook the hand which was held out to him.

"Ah! I see, you hunters are more like brothers than friends. No doubt you went to smoke a pipe with Hawkeye, or to have a chat with the Muskrat about old times," said the fur-trader, mentioning the names of two Indians who were celebrated as being the best hunters in the neighbourhood, and who had been bosom friends of Jasper when he resided there two years before.

"No, I've not yet smoked a pipe with Hawkeye, neither have I seen Muskrat, but I certainly have had a pretty long chat with one o' my old friends," answered Jasper, while a quiet smile played on his face.

"Well, come along and have a pipe and a chat with me. I hope you count me one of your friends too," said Mr Pemberton, conducting Jasper into an inner room, where he found Heywood and Arrowhead seated at a table, doing justice to a splendid supper of buffalo-tongues, venison-steaks, and marrow-bones.

"Here are your comrades, you see, hard at work. It's lucky you came to-night, Jasper, for I intend to be off to-morrow morning, by break of day, on a buffalo-hunt. If you had been a few hours later of arriving, I should have missed you. Come, will you eat or smoke?"

"I'll eat first, if you have no objection," said Jasper, "and smoke afterwards."

"Very good. Sit down, then, and get to work. Meanwhile I'll go and look after the horses that we intend to take with us to-morrow. Of course you'll accompany us, Jasper?"

"I'll be very glad, and so will Arrowhead, there. There's nothing he likes so much as a chase after a buffalo, unless, it may be, the eating of him. But as for my friend and comrade Mr Heywood, he must speak for himself."

"I will be delighted to go," answered the artist, "nothing will give me more pleasure; but I fear my steed is too much exhausted to—"

"Oh! make your mind easy on that score," said the fur-trader, interrupting him. "I have plenty of capital horses, and can mount the whole of you, so that's settled. And now, friends, do justice to your supper, I shall be back before you have done."

So saying, Mr Pemberton left the room, and our three friends, being unusually hungry, fell vigorously to work on the good cheer of Fort Erie.



CHAPTER TEN.

BUFFALO-HUNTING ON THE PRAIRIES.

Next day most of the men of Fort Erie, headed by Mr Pemberton, rode away into the prairies on a buffalo-hunt. Jasper would willingly have remained with Marie at the fort, but, having promised to go, he would not now draw back.

The band of horsemen rode for three hours, at a quick pace, over the grassy plains, without seeing anything. Jasper kept close beside his friend, old Laroche, while Heywood rode and conversed chiefly with Mr Pemberton. There were about twenty men altogether, armed with guns, and mounted on their best buffalo-runners, as they styled the horses which were trained to hunt the buffalo. Many of these steeds had been wild horses, caught by the Indians, broken-in, and sold by them to the fur-traders.

"I have seldom ridden so long without meeting buffaloes," observed Mr Pemberton, as the party galloped to the top of a ridge of land, from which they could see the plains far and wide around them.

"There they are at last," said Heywood eagerly, pointing to a certain spot on the far-off horizon where living creatures of some sort were seen moving.

"That must be a band o' red-skins," said Jasper, who trotted up at this moment with the rest of the party.

"They are Sauteaux," [This word is pronounced Sotoes in the plural; Sotoe in the singular] observed Arrowhead quietly.

"You must have good eyes, friend," said Pemberton, applying a small pocket-telescope to his eye; "they are indeed Sauteaux, I see by their dress, and they have observed us, for they are coming straight this way, like the wind."

"Will they come as enemies or friends?" inquired Heywood.

"As friends, I have no doubt," replied the fur-trader. "Come, lads, we will ride forward to meet them."

In a short time the two parties of horsemen met. They approached almost at full speed, as if each meant to ride the other down, and did not rein up until they were so close that it seemed impossible to avoid a shock.

"Have you seen the buffaloes lately?" inquired Pemberton, after the first salutation had passed.

"Yes, there are large bands not an hour's ride from this. Some of our young warriors have remained to hunt. We are going to the fort to trade."

"Good; you will find tobacco enough there to keep you smoking till I return with fresh meat," said Pemberton, in the native tongue, which he could speak like an Indian. "I'll not be long away. Farewell."

No more words were wasted. The traders galloped away over the prairie, and the Indians, of whom there were about fifteen, dashed off in the direction of the fort.

These Indians were a very different set of men from those whom I have already introduced to the reader in a former chapter. There are many tribes of Indians in the wilderness of Rupert's Land, and some of the tribes are at constant war with each other. But in order to avoid confusing the reader, it may be as well to divide the Indian race into two great classes—namely, those who inhabit the woods, and those who roam over the plains or prairies. As a general rule, the thick wood Indians are a more peaceful set of men than the prairie Indians. They are few in number, and live in a land full of game, where there is far more than enough of room for all of them. Their mode of travelling in canoes, and on foot, is slow, so that the different tribes do not often meet, and they have no occasion to quarrel. They are, for the most part, a quiet and harmless race of savages, and being very dependent on the fur-traders for the necessaries of life, they are on their good behaviour, and seldom do much mischief.

It is very different with the plain Indians. These savages have numbers of fine horses, and live in a splendid open country, which is well-stocked with deer and buffaloes, besides other game. They are bold riders, and scour over the country in all directions, consequently the different tribes often come across each other when out hunting. Quarrels and fights are the results, so that these savages are naturally a fierce and warlike race. They are independent too; for although they get their guns and ammunition and other necessaries from the traders, they can manage to live without these things if need be. They can clothe themselves in the skins of wild animals, and when they lose their guns, or wet their powder, they can kill game easily with their own bows and arrows.

It was a band of these fellows that now went galloping towards Fort Erie, with the long manes and tails of the half-wild horses and the scalp-locks on their dresses and their own long black hair streaming in the wind.

Pemberton and his party soon came up with the young Indians who had remained to chase the buffaloes. He found them sheltered behind a little mound, making preparations for an immediate attack on the animals, which, however, were not yet visible to the men from the fort.

"I do believe they've seen buffaloes on the other side of that mound," said Pemberton, as he rode forward.

He was right. The Indians, of whom there were six, well mounted and armed with strong short bows, pointed to the mound, and said that on the other side of it there were hundreds of buffaloes.

As the animals were so numerous, no objection was made to the fur-traders joining in the hunt, so in another moment the united party leaped from their horses and prepared for action. Some wiped out and carefully loaded their guns, others examined the priming of their pieces, and chipped the edges off the flints to make sure of their not missing fire. All looked to the girths of their saddles, and a few threw off their coats and rolled their shirt-sleeves up to their shoulders, as if they were going to undertake hard and bloody work.

Mr Pemberton took in hand to look after our friend Heywood; the rest were well qualified to look after themselves. In five minutes they were all remounted and rode quietly to the brow of the mound.

Here an interesting sight presented itself. The whole plain was covered with the huge unwieldy forms of the buffaloes. They were scattered about, singly and in groups, grazing or playing or lying down, and in one or two places some of the bulls were engaged in single combat, pawing the earth, goring each other, and bellowing furiously.

After one look, the hunters dashed down the hill and were in the midst of the astonished animals almost before they could raise their heads to look at them. Now commenced a scene which it is not easy to describe correctly. Each man had selected his own group of animals, so that the whole party was scattered in a moment.

"Follow me," cried Pemberton to Heywood, "observe what I do, and then go try it yourself."

The fur-trader galloped at full speed towards a group of buffaloes which stood right before him, about two hundred yards off. He carried a single-barrelled gun with a flint lock in his right hand and a bullet in his mouth, ready to re-load. The buffaloes gazed at him for one moment in stupid surprise, and then, with a toss of their heads and a whisk of their tails, they turned and fled. At first they ran with a slow awkward gait, like pigs; and to one who did not know their powers, it would seem that the fast-running horses of the two men would quickly overtake them. But as they warmed to the work their speed increased, and it required the horses to get up their best paces to overtake them.

After a furious gallop, Pemberton's horse ran close up alongside of a fine-looking buffalo cow—so close that he could almost touch the side of the animal with the point of his gun. Dropping the rein, he pointed the gun without putting it to his shoulder and fired. The ball passed through the animal's heart, and it dropt like a stone. At the same moment Pemberton flung his cap on the ground beside it, so that he might afterwards claim it as his own.

The well-trained horse did not shy at the shot, neither did it check its pace for a moment, but ran straight on and soon placed its master alongside of another buffalo cow. In the meantime, Pemberton loaded like lightning. He let the reins hang loose, knowing that the horse understood his work, and, seizing the powder-horn at his side with his right hand, drew the wooden stopper with his teeth, and poured a charge of powder into his left—guessing the quantity, of course. Pouring this into the gun he put the muzzle to his mouth, and spat the ball into it, struck the butt on the pommel of the saddle to send it down, as well as to drive the powder into the pan, and taking his chance of the gun priming itself, he aimed as before, and pulled the trigger. The explosion followed, and a second buffalo lay dead upon the plain, with a glove beside it to show to whom it belonged.

Scenes similar to this were being enacted all over the plain, with this difference, that the bad or impatient men sometimes fired too soon and missed their mark, or by only wounding the animals, infuriated them and caused them to run faster. One or two ill-trained horses shied when the guns were fired, and left their riders sprawling on the ground. Others stumbled into badger-holes and rolled over. The Indians did their work well. They were used to it, and did not bend their bows until their horses almost brushed the reeking sides of the huge brutes. Then they drew to the arrow heads, and, leaning forward, buried the shafts up to the feathers. The arrow is said to be even more deadly than the bullet.

Already the plain was strewn with dead or dying buffaloes, and the ground seemed to tremble with the thunder of the tread of the affrighted animals. Jasper had 'dropt' three, and Arrowhead had slain two, yet the pace did not slacken—still the work of death went on.

Having seen Pemberton shoot another animal, Heywood became fired with a desire to try his own hand, so he edged away from his companion. Seeing a very large monstrous-looking buffalo flying away by itself at no great distance, he turned his horse towards it, grasped his gun, shook the reins, and gave chase.

Now poor Heywood did not know that the animal he had made up his mind to kill was a tough old bull; neither did he know that a bull is bad to eat, and dangerous to follow; and, worse than all, he did not know that when a bull holds his tail stiff and straight up in the air, it is a sign that he is in a tremendous rage, and that the wisest thing a man can do is to let him alone. Heywood, in fact, knew nothing, so he rushed blindly on his fate. At first the bull did not raise his tail, but, as the rider drew near, he turned his enormous shaggy head a little to one side, and looked at him out of the corner of his wicked little eye. When Heywood came within a few yards and, in attempting to take aim, fired off his gun by accident straight into the face of the sun, the tail went up and the bull began to growl. The ferocious aspect of the creature alarmed the artist, but he had made up his mind to kill it, so he attempted to re-load, as Pemberton had done. He succeeded, and, as he was about to turn his attention again to the bull, he observed one of the men belonging to the fort making towards him. This man saw and knew the artist's danger, and meant to warn him, but his horse unfortunately put one of its feet into a hole, and sent him flying head over heels through the air. Heywood was now so close to the bull that he had to prepare for another shot.

The horse he rode was a thoroughly good buffalo-runner. It knew the dangerous character of the bull, if its rider did not, and kept its eye watchfully upon it. At last the bull lost patience, and, suddenly wheeling round, dashed at the horse, but the trained animal sprang nimbly to one side, and got out of the way. Heywood was all but thrown. He clutched the mane, however, and held on. The bull then continued its flight.

Determined not to be caught in this way again, the artist seized the reins, and ran the horse close alongside of the buffalo, whose tail was now as stiff as a poker. Once more the bull turned suddenly round. Heywood pulled the reins violently, thus confusing his steed which ran straight against the buffalo's big hairy forehead. It was stopped as violently as if it had run against the side of a house. But poor Heywood was not stopped. He left the saddle like a rocket, flew right over the bull's back, came down on his face, ploughed up the land with his nose—and learned a lesson from experience!

Fortunately the spot, on which he fell, happened to be one of those soft muddy places, in which the buffaloes are fond of rolling their huge bodies, in the heat of summer, so that, with the exception of a bruised and dirty face, and badly soiled clothes, the bold artist was none the worse for his adventure.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

WINTER—SLEEPING IN THE SNOW—A NIGHT ALARM.

Summer passed away, autumn passed away, and winter came. So did Christmas, and so did Jasper's marriage-day.

Now the reader must understand that there is a wonderful difference between the winter in that part of the North American wilderness called Rupert's land, and winter in our own happy island.

Winter out there is from six to eight months long. The snow varies from three to four feet deep, and in many places it drifts to fifteen or twenty feet deep. The ice on the lakes and rivers is sometimes above six feet thick; and the salt sea itself, in Hudson's Bay, is frozen over to a great extent. Nothing like a thaw takes place for many months at a time, and the frost is so intense that it is a matter of difficulty to prevent one's-self from being frost-bitten. The whole country, during these long winter months, appears white, desolate, and silent.

Yet a good many of the birds and animals keep moving about, though most of them do so at night, and do not often meet the eye of man. The bear goes to sleep all winter in a hole, but the wolf and the fox prowl about the woods at night. Ducks, geese, and plover no longer enliven the marshes with their wild cries; but white grouse, or ptarmigan, fly about in immense flocks, and arctic hares make many tracks in the deep snow. Still, these are quiet creatures, and they scarcely break the deep dead silence of the forests in winter.

At this period the Indian and the fur-trader wrap themselves in warm dresses of deer-skin, lined with the thickest flannel, and spend their short days in trapping and shooting. At night the Indian piles logs on his fire to keep out the frost, and adds to the warmth of his skin-tent by heaping snow up the outside of it all round. The fur-trader puts double window-frames and double panes of glass in his windows, puts on double doors, and heats his rooms with cast-iron stoves.

But do what he will, the fur-trader cannot keep out the cold altogether. He may heat the stove red-hot if he will, yet the water in the basins and jugs in the corner of his room will be frozen, and his breath settles on the window-panes, and freezes there so thickly that it actually dims the light of the sun. This crust on the windows inside is sometimes an inch thick!

Thermometers in England are usually filled with quicksilver. In Rupert's Land quicksilver would be frozen half the winter, so spirit of wine is used instead, because that liquid will not freeze with any ordinary degree of cold. Here, the thermometer sometimes falls as low as zero. Out there it does not rise so high as zero during the greater part of the winter, and it is often as low as twenty, thirty, and even fifty degrees below zero.

If the wind should blow when the cold is intense, no man dare face it— he would be certain to be frost-bitten. The parts of the body that are most easily frozen are the ears, the chin, the cheek-bones, the nose, the heels, fingers, and toes. The freezing of any part begins with a pricking sensation. When this occurs at the point of your nose, it is time to give earnest attention to that feature, else you run the risk of having it shortened. The best way to recover it is to rub it well, and to keep carefully away from the fire.

The likest thing to a frost-bite is a burn. In fact, the two things are almost the same. In both cases the skin or flesh is destroyed, and becomes a sore. In the one case it is destroyed by fire, in the other by frost; but in both it is painful and dangerous, according to the depth of the frost-bite or the burn. Many a poor fellow loses joints of his toes and fingers—some have even lost their hands and feet by frost. Many have lost their lives. But the most common loss is the loss of the skin of the point of the nose, cheek-bones, and chin—a loss which is indeed painful, but can be replaced by nature in the course of time.

Of course curious appearances are produced by such intense cold. On going out into the open air, the breath settles on the breast, whiskers, and eyebrows in the shape of hoar-frost; and men who go out in the morning for a ramble with black or brown locks, return at night with what appears to be grey hair—sometimes with icicles hanging about their faces. Horses and cattle there are seldom without icicles hanging from their lips and noses in winter.

Poor Mr Pemberton was much troubled in this way. He was a fat and heavy man, and apt to perspire freely. When he went out to shoot in winter, the moisture trickled down his face and turned his whiskers into two little blocks of ice; and he used to be often seen, after a hard day's walk, sitting for a long time beside the stove, holding his cheeks to the fire, and gently coaxing the icy blocks to let go their hold!

But for all this, the long winter of those regions is a bright enjoyable season. The cold is not felt so much as one would expect, because it is not damp, and the weather is usually bright and sunny.

From what I have said, the reader will understand that summer in those regions is short and very hot; the winter long and very cold. Both seasons have their own peculiar enjoyments, and, to healthy men, both are extremely agreeable.

I have said that Jasper's marriage-day had arrived. New Year's Day was fixed for his union with the fair and gentle Marie. As is usual at this festive season of the year, it was arranged that a ball should be given at the fort in the large hall to all the people that chanced to be there at the time.

Old Laroche had been sent to a small hut a long day's march from the fort, where he was wont to spend his time in trapping foxes. He was there alone, so, three days before New Year's Day, Jasper set out with Arrowhead to visit the old man, and bear him company on his march back to the fort.

There are no roads in that country. Travellers have to plod through the wilderness as they best can. It may not have occurred to my reader that it would be a difficult thing to walk for a day through snow so deep, that, at every step, the traveller would sink the whole length of his leg. The truth is, that travelling in Rupert's Land in winter would be impossible but for a machine which enables men to walk on the surface of the snow without sinking more than a few inches. This machine is the snowshoe. Snow-shoes vary in size and form in different parts of the country, but they are all used for the same purpose. Some are long and narrow; others are nearly round. They vary in size from three to six feet in length, and from eight to twenty inches in breadth. They are extremely light—made of a frame-work of hard wood, and covered with a network of deer-skin, which, while it prevents the wearer from sinking more than a few inches, allows any snow that may chance to fall on the top of the shoe to pass through the netting.

The value of this clumsy looking machine may be imagined, when I say that men with them will easily walk twenty, thirty, and even forty miles across a country over which they could not walk three miles without such helps.

It was a bright, calm, frosty morning when Jasper and his friend set out on their short journey. The sun shone brilliantly, and the hoar-frost sparkled on the trees and bushes, causing them to appear as if they had been covered with millions of diamonds. The breath of the two men came from their mouths like clouds of steam. Arrowhead wore the round snow-shoes which go by the name of bear's paws—he preferred these to any others. Jasper wore the snow-shoes peculiar to the Chipewyan Indians. They were nearly as long as himself, and turned up at the point. Both men were dressed alike, in the yellow leathern costume of winter. The only difference being that Jasper wore a fur cap, while Arrowhead sported a cloth head-piece that covered his neck and shoulders, and was ornamented with a pair of horns.

All day the two men plodded steadily over the country. Sometimes they were toiling through deep snow in wooded places, sinking six or eight inches in spite of their snow-shoes. At other times they were passing swiftly over the surface of the open plains, where the snow was beaten so hard by exposure to the sun and wind that the shoes only just broke the crust and left their outlines behind.

Then they reached a bend of the river, where they had again to plod heavily through the woods on its banks, until they came out upon its frozen surface. Here the snow was so hard, that they took off their snow-shoes and ran briskly along without them for a long space.

Thus they travelled all day, without one halt, and made such good use of their time, that they arrived at the log-hut of old Laroche early in the evening.

"Well met, son-in-law, that is to be," cried the stout old man heartily, as the two hunters made their appearance before the low door-way of his hut, which was surrounded by trees and almost buried in snow. "If you had been half an hour later, I would have met you in the woods."

"How so, father-in-law, that is to be," said Jasper, "were ye goin' out to your traps so late as this?"

"Nay, man, but I was startin' for the fort. It's a long way, as you know, and my old limbs are not just so supple as yours. I thought I would travel to-night, and sleep in the woods, so as to be there in good time to-morrow. But come in, come in, and rest you. I warrant me you'll not feel inclined for more walkin' to-night."

"Now my name is not Jasper Derry if I enter your hut this night," said the hunter stoutly. "If I could not turn round and walk straight back to the fort this night, I would not be worthy of your daughter, old man. So come along with you. What say you, Arrowhead; shall we go straight back?"

"Good," answered the Indian.

"Well, well," cried Laroche, laughing, "lead the way, and I will follow in your footsteps. It becomes young men to beat the track, and old ones to take it easy."

The three men turned their faces towards Fort Erie, and were soon far away from the log-hut. They walked steadily and silently along, without once halting, until the night became so dark that it was difficult to avoid stumps and bushes. Then they prepared to encamp in the snow.

Now it may seem to many people a very disagreeable idea, that of sleeping out in snow, but one who has tried it can assure them that it is not so bad as it seems. No doubt, when Jasper halted in the cold dark woods, and said, "I think this will be a pretty good place to sleep," any one unacquainted with the customs of that country would have thought the man was jesting or mad; for, besides being very dismal, in consequence of its being pitch dark, it was excessively cold, and snow was falling steadily and softly on the ground. But Jasper knew what he was about, and so did the others. Without saying a word, the three men flung down their bundles of provisions, and each set to work to make the encampment. Of course they had to work in darkness so thick that even the white snow could scarcely be seen.

First of all they selected a tree, the branches of which were so thick and spreading as to form a good shelter from the falling snow. Here Jasper and Laroche used their snow-shoes as shovels, while Arrowhead plied his axe and soon cut enough of firewood for the night. He also cut a large bundle of small branches for bedding. A space of about twelve feet long, by six broad, was cleared at the foot of the tree in half an hour. But the snow was so deep that they had to dig down four feet before they reached the turf. As the snow taken out of the hole was thrown up all round it, the walls rose to nearly seven feet.

Arrowhead next lighted a roaring fire at one end of this cleared space, the others strewed the branches over the space in front of it, and spread their blankets on the top, after which the kettle was put on to boil, buffalo steaks were stuck up before the fire to roast, and the men then lay down to rest and smoke, while supper was preparing. The intense cold prevented the fire from melting the snowy walls of this encampment, which shone and sparkled in the red blaze like pink marble studded all over with diamonds, while the spreading branches formed a ruddy-looking ceiling. When they had finished supper, the heat of the fire and the heat of their food made the travellers feel quite warm and comfortable, in spite of John Frost; and when they at last wrapped their blankets round them and laid their heads together on the branches, they fell into a sleep more sound and refreshing than they would have enjoyed had they gone to rest in a warm house upon the best bed in England.

But when the fire went out, about the middle of the night, the cold became so intense that they were awakened by it, so Jasper rose and blew up the fire, and the other two sat up and filled their pipes, while their teeth chattered in their heads. Soon the blaze and the smoke warmed them, and again they lay down to sleep comfortably till morning.

Before daybreak, however, Arrowhead—who never slept so soundly but that he could be wakened by the slightest unusual noise—slowly raised his head and touched Jasper on the shoulder. The hunter was too well-trained to the dangers of the wilderness to start up or speak. He uttered no word, but took up his gun softly, and looked in the direction in which the Indian's eyes gazed. A small red spot in the ashes served to reveal a pair of glaring eye-balls among the bushes.

"A wolf," whispered Jasper, cocking his gun. "No; a man," said Arrowhead.

At the sound of the click of the lock the object in the bushes moved. Jasper leaped up in an instant, pointed his gun, and shouted sternly—

"Stand fast and speak, or I fire!"

At the same moment Arrowhead kicked the logs of the fire, and a bright flame leapt up, showing that the owner of the pair of eyes was an Indian. Seeing that he was discovered, and that if he turned to run he would certainly be shot, the savage came forward sulkily and sat down beside the fire. Jasper asked him why he came there in that stealthy manner like a sly fox. The Indian said he was merely travelling by night, and had come on the camp unexpectedly. Not knowing who was there, he had come forward with caution.

Jasper was not satisfied with this reply. He did not like the look of the man, and he felt sure that he had seen him somewhere before, but his face was disfigured with war paint, and he could not feel certain on that point until he remembered the scene in the trading store at Jasper's House.

"What—Darkeye!" cried he, "can it be you?"

"Darkeye!" shouted Laroche, suddenly rising from his reclining position and staring the Indian in the face with a dark scowl. "Why, Jasper, this is the villain who insulted my daughter, and to whom I taught the lesson that an old man could knock him down."

The surprise and indignation of Jasper on hearing this was great, but remembering that the savage had already been punished for his offence, and that it would be mean to take advantage of him when there were three to one, he merely said—

"Well, well, I won't bear a grudge against a man who is coward enough to insult a woman. I would kick you out o' the camp, Darkeye, but as you might use your gun when you got into the bushes, I won't give you that chance. At the same time, we can't afford to lose the rest of our nap for you, so Arrowhead will keep you safe here and watch you, while Laroche and I sleep. We will let you go at daybreak."

Saying this Jasper lay down beside his father-in-law, and they were both asleep in a few minutes, leaving the two Indians to sit and scowl at each other beside the fire.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE WEDDING, AN ARRIVAL, A FEAST, AND A BALL.

New Year's Day came at last, and on the morning of that day Jasper Derry and Marie Laroche were made man and wife. They were married by the Reverend Mr Wilson, a Wesleyan missionary, who had come to Fort Erie, a few days before, on a visit to the tribes of Indians in that neighbourhood.

The North American Indian has no religion worthy of the name; but he has a conscience, like other men, which tells him that it is wrong to murder and to steal. Yet, although he knows this, he seldom hesitates to do both when he is tempted thereto. Mr Wilson was one of those earnest missionaries who go to that wilderness and face its dangers, as well as its hardships and sufferings, for the sake of teaching the savage that the mere knowledge of right and wrong is not enough—that the love of God, wrought in the heart of man by the Holy Spirit, alone can enable him to resist evil and do good—that belief in the Lord Jesus Christ alone can save the soul.

There are several missionaries of this stamp—men who love the name of Jesus—in that region, and there are a number of stations where the good seed of God's Word is being planted in the wilderness. But I have not space, and this is not the place, to enlarge on the great and interesting subject of missionary work in Rupert's Land. I must return to my narrative.

It was, as I have said, New Year's day when Jasper and Marie were married. And a remarkably bright, beautiful morning it was. The snow appeared whiter than usual, and the countless gems of hoar-frost that hung on shrub and tree seemed to sparkle more than usual; even the sun appeared to shine more brightly than ever it did before—at least it seemed so in the eyes of Jasper and Marie.

"Everything seems to smile on us to-day, Marie," said Jasper, as they stood with some of their friends at the gate of the fort, just after the ceremony was concluded.

"I trust that God may smile on you, and bless your union, my friends," said Mr Wilson, coming forward with a small Bible in his hand. "Here is a copy of God's Word, Jasper, which I wish you to accept of and keep as a remembrance of me and of this day."

"I'll keep it, sir, and I thank you heartily," said Jasper, taking the book and returning the grasp of the missionary's hand.

"And my chief object in giving it to you, Jasper, is, that you and Marie may read it often, and find joy and peace to your souls."

As the missionary said this a faint sound, like the tinkling of distant bells, was heard in the frosty air.

Looks of surprise and excitement showed that this was an unwonted sound. And so it was; for only once or twice during the long winter did a visitor gladden Fort Erie with his presence. These sweet sounds were the tinkling of sleigh-bells, and they told that a stranger was approaching—that letters, perhaps, and news from far-distant homes, might be near at band.

Only twice in the year did the Europeans at that lonely outpost receive letters from home. Little wonder that they longed for them, and that they went almost wild with joy when they came.

Soon the sleigh appeared in sight, coming up the river at full speed, and a loud "hurrah!" from the men at the gate, told the visitor that he was a welcome guest. It was a dog-sleigh—a sort of conveyance much used by the fur-traders in winter travelling. In form, it was as like as possible to a tin slipper bath. It might also be compared to a shoe. If the reader will try to conceive of a shoe large enough to hold a man, sitting with his legs out before him, that will give him a good idea of the shape of a dog cariole. There is sometimes an ornamental curve in front. It is made of two thin hardwood planks curled up in front, with a light frame-work of wood, covered over with deer or buffalo skin, and painted in a very gay manner. Four dogs are usually harnessed to it, and these are quite sufficient to drag a man on a journey of many days, over every sort of country, where there is no road whatever. Dogs are much used for hauling little sledges in that country in winter. The traveller sits wrapped up so completely in furs, that nothing but his head is visible. He is attended by a driver on snow-shoes, who is armed with a large whip. No reins are used. If the snow is hard, as is usually the case on the surface of a lake or river, the driver walks behind and holds on to a tail-line, to prevent the dogs from running away. If the traveller's way lies through the woods, the snow is so soft and deep that the poor dogs are neither willing nor able to run away. It is as much as they can do to walk; so the driver goes before them, in this case, and beats down the snow with his snow-shoes—"beats the track," as it is called. The harness of the dogs is usually very gay, and covered with little bells which give forth a cheerful tinkling sound.

"It's young Cameron," cried Mr Pemberton, hastening forward to welcome the newcomer.

Cameron was the gentleman in charge of the nearest outpost—two hundred and fifty miles down the river.

"Welcome, Cameron, my boy, welcome to Fort Erie. You are the pleasantest sight we have seen here for many a day," said Pemberton, shaking the young man heartily by the hand as soon as he had jumped out of his sleigh.

"Come, Pemberton, you forget Miss Marie Laroche when you talk of my being the pleasantest sight," said Cameron, laughing.

"Ah! true. Pardon me, Marie—"

"Excuse me, gentlemen," interrupted Jasper, with much gravity, "I know of no such person as Miss Marie Laroche!"

"How? what do you mean?" said Cameron, with a puzzled look.

"Jasper is right," explained Pemberton, "Marie was Miss Laroche yesterday; she is Mrs Derry to-day."

"Then I salute you, Mrs Derry, and congratulate you both," cried the young man, kissing the bride's fair cheek, "and I rejoice to find that I am still in time to dance at your wedding."

"Ay," said Pemberton, as they moved up to the hall, "that reminds me to ask you why you are so late. I expected you before Christmas Day."

"I had intended to be here by that day," replied Cameron, "but one of my men cut his foot badly with an axe, and I could not leave him; then my dogs broke down on the journey, and that detained me still longer. But you will forgive my being so late, I think, when I tell you that I have got a packet of letters with me."

"Letters!" shouted every one.

"Ay, letters and newspapers from England."

A loud cheer greeted this announcement. The packet was hauled out of the sleigh, hurried up to the fort, torn open with eager haste, and the fur-traders of Fort Erie were soon devouring the contents like hungry men.

And they were hungry men—they were starving! Those who see their kindred and friends daily, or hear from them weekly, cannot understand the feelings of men who hear from them only twice in the year. Great improvements have taken place in this matter of late years; still, many of the Hudson Bay Company's outposts are so distant from the civilised world, that they cannot get news from "home" oftener than twice a year.

It was a sight to study and moralise over—the countenances of these banished men. The trembling anxiety lest there should be "bad news." The gleam of joy, and the deep "thank God," on reading "all well." Then the smiles, the sighs, the laughs, the exclamations of surprise, perhaps the tears that would spring to their eyes as they read the brief but, to them, thrilling private history of the past half year.

There was no bad news in that packet, and a feeling of deep joy was poured into the hearts of the people of the fort by these "Good news from a far country." Even the half-breeds and Indians, who could not share the feeling, felt the sweet influence of the general happiness that was diffused among the fur-traders on that bright New Year's Day in the wilderness.

What a dinner they had that day to be sure! What juicy roasts of buffalo beef; what enormous steaks of the same; what a magnificent venison pasty; and what glorious marrow-bones—not to mention tongues, and hearts, and grouse, and other things! But the great feature of the feast was the plum-pudding. It was like a huge cannon-ball with the measles! There was wine, too, on this occasion. Not much, it is true, but more than enough, for it had been saved up all the year expressly for the Christmas and New Year's festivities. Thus they were enabled to drink to absent friends, and bring up all the old toasts and songs that used to be so familiar long ago in the "old country." But these sturdy traders needed no stimulants. There were one or two who even scorned the wine, and stuck to water, and to their credit be it said, that they toasted and sang with the best of them.

At night there was a ball, and the ball beat the dinner out of sight. Few indeed were the women, but numerous were the men. Indian women are not famous for grace or cleanliness, poor things. But they enjoyed the ball, and they did their best to dance. Such dancing! They seemed to have no joints. They stood up stiff as lamp-posts, and went with an up-and-down motion from side to side. But the men did the thing bravely, especially the Indians. The only dances attempted were Scotch reels, and the Indians tried to copy the fur-traders; but on finding this somewhat difficult, they introduced some surprising steps of their own, which threw the others entirely into the shade! There was unfortunately no fiddler, but there was a fiddle—one made of pine wood by an Indian, with strings of deer-skin sinew. Some of the boldest of the party scraped time without regard to tune, and our friend Heywood beat the kettle-drum. The tones of the fiddle at last became so horrible that it was banished altogether, and they danced that night to the kettle-drum!

Of course the fair bride was the queen of that ball. Her countenance was the light of it, and her modest, womanly manner had a softening influence on the rough men who surrounded her.

When the ball was over, a curious thing occurred in the hall in which it had taken place. The room was heated by a stove, and as a stove dries the air of a room too much, it was customary to keep a pan of water on the stove to moisten it a little. This moisture was increased that night by the steam of the supper and by the wild dancing, so that, when all was over, the walls and ceiling were covered with drops of water. During the night this all froze in the form of small beautifully-shaped crystals, and in the morning they found themselves in a crystal palace of nature's own formation, which beat all the crystal palaces that ever were heard of—at least in originality, if not in splendour.

Thus happily ended the marriage-day of honest Jasper Derry and sweet Marie Laroche, and thus pleasantly began the new year of 18—. But as surely as darkness follows light, and night follows day, so surely does sorrow tread on the heels of joy in the history of man. God has so ordained it, and he is wise who counts upon experiencing both.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE CONCLUSION.

A week after the events narrated in the last chapter, Jasper Derry was sitting beside the stove in the hall at Fort Erie, smoking his pipe and conversing with his father-in-law about his intention of going to Lake Winnipeg with the brigade in spring and proceeding thence to Canada in a bark canoe.

"Of course," said he, "I will take Marie with me, and if you'll take my advice, father, you'll come too."

"No, my son, not yet a while," said old Laroche, shaking his head; "I have a year yet to serve the Company before my engagement is out. After that I may come, if I'm spared; but you know that the Indians are not safe just now, and some of them, I fear, bear me a grudge, for they're a revengeful set."

"That's true, father, but supposin' that all goes well with you, will ye come an' live with Marie and me?"

"We shall see, lad; we shall see," replied Laroche, with a pleased smile; for the old guide evidently enjoyed the prospect of spending the evening of life in the land of his fathers, and under the roof-tree of his son and daughter.

At that moment the report of a gun was heard outside the house. One of the window-panes was smashed and at the same instant Laroche fell heavily forward on the floor.

Jasper sprang up and endeavoured to raise him, but found that he was insensible. He laid him carefully on his back, and hastily opened the breast of his coat. A few drops of blood showed where he had been wounded. Meanwhile several of the men who had been attracted by the gunshot so close to the house burst into the room.

"Stand back, stand back, give him air," cried Jasper; "stay, O God help us! the old man is shot clean through the heart!"

For one moment Jasper looked up with a bewildered glance in the faces of the men, then, uttering a wild cry of mingled rage and agony, he sprang up, dashed them aside, and catching up his gun and snow-shoes rushed out of the house.

He soon found a fresh track in the snow, and the length of the stride, coupled with the manner in which the snow was cast aside, and the smaller bushes were broken and trodden down, told him that the fugitive had made it. In a moment, he was following the track, with the utmost speed, of which he was capable. He never once halted, or faltered, or turned aside, all that day. His iron frame seemed to be incapable of fatigue. He went with his body bent forward, his brows lowering, and his lips firmly compressed; but he was not successful. The murderer had got a sufficiently long start of him to render what sailors call a stern chase a long one. Still Jasper never thought of giving up the pursuit, until he came suddenly on an open space, where the snow had been recently trodden down by a herd of buffaloes, and by a band of Indians who were in chase of them.

Here he lost the track, and although he searched long and carefully he could not find it. Late that night the baffled hunter returned to the fort.

"You have failed—I see by your look," said Mr Pemberton, as Jasper entered.

"Ay, I have failed," returned the other gloomily. "He must have gone with the band of Indians among whose tracks I lost his footsteps."

"Have you any idea who can have done this horrible deed?" said Pemberton.

"It was Darkeye," said Jasper in a stern voice.

Some of the Indians who chanced to be in the hall were startled, and rose on hearing this.

"Be not alarmed, friends," said the fur-trader. "You are the guests of Christian men. We will not punish you for the deeds of another man of your tribe."

"How does the white man know that this was done by Darkeye?" asked a chief haughtily.

"I know it," said Jasper angrily; "I feel sure of it; but I cannot prove it—of course. Does Arrowhead agree with me?"

"He does!" replied the Indian, "and there may be proof. Does Jasper remember the trading store and the bitten bullet?"

A gleam of intelligence shot across the countenance of the white hunter as his comrade said this. "True, Arrowhead, true."

He turned, as he spoke, to the body of his late father-in-law, and examined the wound. The ball, after passing through the heart, had lodged in the back, just under the skin.

"See," said he to the Indians, "I will cut out this ball, but before doing so I will tell how I think it is marked."

He then related the incident in the trading store, with which the reader is already acquainted, and afterwards extracted the ball, which, although much flattened and knocked out of shape, showed clearly the deep marks made by the Indian's teeth. Thus, the act which had been done slyly but boastfully before the eyes of a comrade, probably as wicked as himself, became the means whereby Darkeye's guilt was clearly proved.

At once a party of his own tribe were directed by their chief to go out in pursuit of the murderer.

It were vain for me to endeavour to describe the anguish of poor Marie on being deprived of a kind and loving father in so awful and sudden a manner. I will drop a veil over her grief, which was too deep and sacred to be intermeddled with.

On the day following the murder, a band of Indians arrived at Fort Erie with buffalo skins for sale. To the amazement of every one Darkeye himself was among them. The wily savage—knowing that his attempting to quit that part of the country as a fugitive would be certain to fix suspicion on him as the murderer—resolved to face the fur-traders as if he were ignorant of the deed which had been done. By the very boldness of this step he hoped to disarm suspicion; but he forgot the bitten ball.

It was therefore a look of genuine surprise that rose to Darkeye's visage, when, the moment he entered the fort, Mr Pemberton seized him by the right arm, and led him into the hall.

At first he attempted to seize the handle of his knife, but a glance at the numbers of the white men, and the indifference of his own friends, showed him that his best chance lay in cunning.

The Indians who had arrived with him were soon informed by the others of the cause of this, and all of them crowded into the hall to watch the proceedings. The body of poor Laroche was laid on a table, and Darkeye was led up to it. The cunning Indian put on a pretended look of surprise on beholding it, and then the usual expression of stolid gravity settled on his face as he turned to Mr Pemberton for information.

"Your hand did this," said the fur-trader.

"Is Darkeye a dog that he should slay an old man?" said the savage.

"No, you're not a dog," cried Jasper fiercely; "you are worse—a cowardly murderer?"

"Stand back, Jasper," said Mr Pemberton, laying his hand on the shoulder of the excited hunter, and thrusting him firmly away. "This is a serious charge. The Indian shall not be hastily condemned. He shall have fair play, and justice."

"Good!" cried several of the Indians on hearing this. Meanwhile the principal chief of the tribe took up his stand close beside the prisoner.

"Darkeye," said Mr Pemberton, while he looked steadfastly into the eyes of the Indian, who returned the look as steadily—"Darkeye, do you remember a conversation you had many weeks ago in the trading store at Jasper's House?"

The countenance of the Indian was instantly troubled, and he said with some hesitation, "Darkeye has had many conversations in that store; is he a medicine-man [a conjurer] that he should know what you mean?"

"I will only put one other question," said the fur-trader. "Do you know this bullet with the marks of teeth in it?"

Darkeye's visage fell at once. He became deadly pale, and his limbs trembled. He was about to speak when the chief, who had hitherto stood in silence at his side, suddenly whirled his tomahawk in the air, and, bringing it down on the murderer's skull, cleft him to the chin!

A fierce yell followed this act, and several scalping knives reached the dead man's heart before his body fell to the ground. The scene that followed was terrible. The savages were roused to a state of frenzy, and for a moment the white men feared an attack, but the anger of the Indians was altogether directed against their dead comrade, who had been disliked by his people, while his poor victim Laroche had been a universal favourite. Seizing the body of Darkeye, they carried it down to the banks of the river, hooting and yelling as they went; hacked and cut it nearly to pieces, and then, kindling a large fire, they threw the mangled corpse into it, and burned it to ashes.

It was long before the shadow of this dark cloud passed away from Fort Erie; and it was longer still before poor Marie recovered her wonted cheerfulness. But the presence of Mr Wilson did much to comfort her. Gradually time softened the pang and healed the wound.

And now, little remains to be told. Winter passed away and spring came, and when the rivers and lakes were sufficiently free from ice, the brigade of boats left Fort Erie, laden with furs, for the sea-coast.

On arriving at Lake Winnipeg, Jasper obtained a small canoe, and, placing his wife and Heywood in the middle of it, he and Arrowhead took the paddles, seated themselves in the bow and stern, and guided their frail bark through many hundreds of miles of wilderness—over many a rough portage, across many a beautiful lake, and up many a roaring torrent, until, finally, they arrived in Canada.

Here Jasper settled. His farm prospered—his family increased. Sturdy boys, in course of time, ploughed the land and blooming daughters tended the dairy. Yet Jasper Derry did not cease to toil. He was one of those men who feel that they were made to work, and that much happiness flows from working. He often used to say that if it was God's will, he would "like to die in harness."

Jasper's only weakness was the pipe. It stuck to him and he stuck to it to the last. Marie, in course of time, came to tolerate it, and regularly filled it for him every night.

Evening was the time when the inmates of Erie Cottage (as their residence was named) enjoyed themselves most; for it was then that the stalwart sons and the blooming daughters circled round the great fire of wood that roared, on winter nights, up the chimney; and it was then that Jasper received his pipe from his still good-looking, though rather stout, Marie, and began to spin yarns about his young days. At this time, too, it was, that the door would frequently open, and a rugged old Indian would stalk in like a mahogany ghost, and squat down in front of the fire. He was often followed by a tall thin old gentleman, who was extremely excitable, but good-humoured. Jasper greeted these two remarkable looking men by the names of Arrowhead and Heywood.

And glad were the young people when they saw their wrinkled faces, for then, they knew from experience, their old father would become more lively than usual, and would go on for hours talking of all the wonders and dangers that he had seen and encountered long, long ago, when he and his two friends were away in the wilderness.

THE END.