Straight down they came on their snowshoes to Charley and Toby. Fierce and wild they looked to Charley, but Toby stepped out to meet them and to shake the hand of each, greeting them in their own tongue, while they laughed as they returned the greeting and appeared to be glad to see Toby.

Then they shook hands with Charley, and when he looked into their faces he decided that they were not so savage after all, but human enough, though he could not take his eyes from their strange dress. It spoke of mystery and of the wild life the men lived in the trackless land from which they came.

They unpacked their toboggans, and directed by Toby stowed their belongings in the porch. When everything was stowed, they stood the toboggans on end, leaning them against the house, and followed Toby into the living-room.

Mrs. Twig welcomed the Indians with the cordiality of the frontier, and made a pot of tea for them, which they drank with rare relish until the pot was drained.

Then spoke Amishku[13] who was the leader, or chief, and Toby, who understood their language well, interpreted his words:

"We have been far into the land hunting the caribou, the marten and the fox, and it has been long since we have visited the wigwams of the white man. This is the first tea we have had in many moons. It is good, and we are hungry for it. You are our friends."

"Tell un we'll be havin' supper after a bit," said Mrs. Twig, "and then I'll make more tea."

Upon Toby repeating this, the Indians laughed and two of them went to the porch, where their belongings had been left, and presently returned with a quantity of jerked[14] caribou meat, half a dozen caribou tongues smoked and cured after the Indian manner, and six beautifully tanned hides of buckskin, all of which they presented to Mrs. Twig.

"Give the poor men each a stick of your father's tobacco," directed Mrs. Twig, when the Indians had seated themselves upon the floor, with their backs against the wall, after supper.

Toby went to Skipper Zeb's chest, and fetched a plug for each of them. When they saw the tobacco their faces beamed, and every man drew a red stone pipe from his belt, and when they had filled their pipes and were sending up clouds of smoke they began to laugh and joke.

The conversation inevitably turned to the success of the winter's hunt, and the fur they had caught, and Toby went proudly to his chest to produce and exhibit his precious silver fox pelt to the appreciative eyes of the Indians.

He gave an exclamation of horror, and standing up held in his hand the empty bag in which he had kept the pelt. Then he wildly rummaged to the very bottom of the chest, and finally cried out:

"'Tis gone! The silver's gone!"

Madly he looked through the chest again, throwing out every pelt and every article it contained, but the pelt was not there.

FOOTNOTES: [12] Hudson's Bay Company. [13] The Beaver. [14] Dried.



XXIV

THE VENGEANCE OF THE PACK

Marks was well satisfied with his day's work. He had gone to Double Up Cove for the silver fox pelt, and he had it. He also had the otter pelt. He had paid a good price for the otter—more than he would have paid under ordinary circumstances. Still, it would yield him a fair margin of profit.

He and Toby had been alone when the bargain was struck. Mrs. Twig and the little maid had retired and were asleep, and in any case could not have heard the final bargaining or conversation between himself and Toby. He was assured, also, by the lad's heavy breathing, that Charley was asleep. There was no witness. It would be his word against Toby's. He was a trader with an established reputation, Toby was only a boy.

Marks cringed a little when it occurred to him that contracts made with minors were not binding, if the minor's parents or guardians chose not to approve them. But this was Labrador, with no court of justice to which they might appeal. Possession was the point, and Marks grinned with satisfaction. He had the pelt in his possession.

No doubt, when the silver fox pelt was missed, he would be accused of having stolen it. When they came to him, he would simply claim that he had purchased it from Toby, upon a trade basis, and that the price was five hundred and fifty dollars. He would stand upon this claim. He was prepared to supply them with goods to this extent of value at any time they might choose to come to his shop at White Bear Run and select them. The price he should put on the goods, he assured himself, would be sufficiently high to render the deal a highly profitable one for him.

Marks had no doubt that he could establish a plausible case. He assured himself that he had no intention of stealing the pelt. At most, he had been guilty only of sharp practice. He would pay for it. From the moment that Aaron Slade had told him about it, he had set his heart upon possessing it, and, he told himself, he usually got what he wanted.

"I'm a go-getter," he laughed in self-appreciation.

The sun was climbing in the sky, and the reflection from the great white field of snow covered ice was intense. At this season it is never safe to travel in the north with the eyes unprotected by goggles fitted with smoked or orange-tinted glasses. The penalty for neglect might prove a serious attack of snow-blindness.

Marks felt in a pocket for his goggles. He could not find them. He felt in another pocket, and repeated the search, but they were not to be found. Then he remembered that he had laid them on the shelf beside the clock, at Double Up Cove, at the time he had taken off his adikey the previous day, and he had no recollection of having removed them from the shelf.

It was a risk to proceed without them, but there was a very good reason why he could not safely return to the cabin at Double Up Cove. He felt that it was to his advantage, until the Twigs had become accustomed to the loss of the silver fox skin, to place as many miles as he could between himself and them, and to do it as quickly as possible. Toby was stubborn, and nobody knew what he might do in his first anger upon discovering his loss.

"He might even shoot," he mused. "That other fellow didn't like me, and the two work together. I'll take a chance without glasses, and won't go back for them."

He turned about on the komatik and looked toward the cabin, his guilty conscience prompting him to fear that even now he might be followed. The cabin was still in view, and to his relief he could discover no activity, and nothing to alarm him.

He urged the dogs forward, and did not halt until he had passed Pinch-In Tickle, and early in the afternoon had turned into the next bay to the southward.

Here he found a grove of spruce trees, and with firewood at hand he stopped and lighted a fire and put his kettle over to boil for luncheon.

When the fire was burning freely, Marks discovered, upon looking into it, a painful sensation in his eyeballs. The glare of the snow had affected them. Before he finished eating, the pain had developed considerably, and he determined to remain where he was until sunset, when he would proceed to Aaron Slade's cabin, some five miles farther. Here he could spend the night, and could borrow a pair of goggles, he was sure, from Aaron. If he kept his eyes closed in the meantime, he had no doubt they would be much improved when evening came.

Snapping his long whip over the dogs, he compelled them to lie down. The big gray dog was slow to obey, and Marks laid the lash upon him two or three times to enforce authority.

The dogs quieted, he dropped the whip in the snow at the rear of the komatik, and within reach, and breaking some boughs arranged them to form a comfortable couch near the fire. He then unlashed his sleeping bag from the top of the load on his komatik, spread it upon the boughs and crawled into it.

Marks fell asleep. When he awoke it was nearing sunset, and time to drive on to Aaron Slade's. But he could only open his eyes to a narrow slit, and that for a moment, when they would close. The pain was excruciating. Marks was snowblind.

It was near feeding time, and the dogs were on their feet and restless. If he could get them started, perhaps they would carry him unguided to Slade's. At any rate, he determined to try, for he could not remain where he was.

With much fumbling and groping he succeeded fairly well in securing his load. He felt for his whip, and found it on the snow at the rear of the komatik, where he had dropped it after compelling the dogs to lie down.

The restless dogs had swung around in their traces, and were facing him. Through some mysterious instinct they appeared to have sensed the fact that there was something wrong with Marks. When he ordered them forward, and snapped the whip over them in an effort to straighten them out in the direction in which he wished to go, they replied with snarls, and refused to obey. Their open defiance of his authority sent Marks into a rage. He tried to lash them, but in his blinded condition his aim was poor and his efforts ineffectual.

His anger rose to white heat. If he could not lash them, he could at least beat them into submission, at close quarters, with the clubbed handle of the whip. With a volley of curses, he flew at them blindly, beating right and left, and bringing whines of pain from the unfortunate dogs that he chanced to strike.

Still they did not move into position. In painful peeps that he had through narrow eye slits he saw the big gray dog facing him and snarling at him with a show of its ugly fangs. That dog was the instigator of the trouble he was having! He hated the creature! He would beat it into submission!

The gray dog was in the center of the pack, and to reach it Marks was compelled to step over the traces of some of the other dogs. One of them, in fear of the whip handle, sprang away as Marks approached, and in the movement wrapped its trace around the man's foot. Marks stooped to disentangle his foot, and as he did the dog swung in another direction in an effort to escape.

This motion jerked the blinded man's feet from under him, and unable to recover his balance, he fell at full length among the dogs.

In a moment the gray dog, followed by the pack, was upon the prostrate and helpless man. The trader's team had suddenly become a snarling, yelping savage pack of wolves.



XXV

AMISHKU AND MAIGEN, THE INDIANS

Every one gathered around Toby and the chest. The Indians were no less excited than were Charley and Toby. Again the chest was searched, but with no result, until Charley thrust his hand into the cotton bag in which Toby had kept the missing pelt, and drew forth a piece of paper.

"Here's something!" he exclaimed. "It's a note that man wrote and left."

"Read un! Read un to me, Charley!" Toby asked, and Charley read:

"To TOBY TWIG:

"I forgot to give you credit slip for the silver fox skin before you went to bed. I may forget to give it to you in the morning, so I will put this in the bag where you will find it. You may use this as a credit memorandum. You may have trade goods from my store at White Bear Run to the value of $550.00 at any time you wish to take the goods.

"JACOB MARKS."

"I didn't trade he the silver!" Toby protested. "I'm not wantin' his goods! I sold he the otter, and told he the silver was for Dad to sell when he comes home from his path!"

"Of course you didn't sell it to him," Charley vouched indignantly. "He's a crook! I knew it right away! He stole it! He's going to try to make out that you sold it to him for five hundred and fifty dollars in trade."

"I wants the silver back," said Toby decisively. "I'll get un, too! Come on, Charley, we'll go for un now."

"All right, Toby, I'll help you get it! We'll make that fellow hand it over, if we ever catch him," and Charley meant every word of it.

"What is you lads about?" asked Mrs. Twig anxiously, as Toby and Charley began to change to their traveling moccasins.

"Charley and I'll be gettin' the silver back," said Toby firmly. "Marks'll be gettin' no farther than David Dyson's to-day, whatever, and Charley and I'll be catchin' he by marnin'. If we don't we'll follow he till we does, won't we, now, Charley? We'll be gettin' the silver."

"I'll stick to you, whatever you do," said Charley.

"You lads can't be goin' alone, whatever," objected Mrs. Twig.

"I'm goin' to get that silver!" persisted Toby.

"Don't be hasty, lads. Ask Amishku what he thinks about un," suggested Mrs. Twig. "I'm fearin' to have you lads go."

In his excitement Toby had failed to interpret the note to the Indians, nor had he told them of his purpose of following Marks, and they were looking curiously on without understanding the conversation.

When Toby now told them in their own language the contents of the note which Charley had found in the bag, and of his own and Charley's intention of following Marks and recovering the pelt, and of his mother's objection, the Indians were interested in behalf of their friends. They gathered at once in council. Shortly Amishku turned to Toby, and said:

"You are our friends and you are in trouble. We wish to help you. Your silver fox skin has been stolen, and we will help you find the man that stole it, and get it back for you. We are on our way to the Hudson's Bay Company's Post at Snow Inlet. At Pinch-In Tickle we must turn north. The man that stole your fur is from White Bear Run. That is south.

"This man left here this morning. He has been traveling all day. We must go now and travel all night if we overtake him soon. I will go with you and my brother Maigen[15] will go with you. You will take my things and my brother's things on your sledge. Our three friends will follow to-morrow and bring their flat sleds with their loads. At Pinch-In Tickle they will wait for us if we are not there before them. We will leave my brother's things and my own things at Pinch-In Tickle and go south until we find the man that stole your fur. Then we will get the fur and come back to Pinch-In Tickle where our friends will be waiting.

"Are you ready? We must go, and we must travel fast, that we may not lose the man's trail."

There was hustle and bustle at once. Toby and Charley brought in the komatik box that Mrs. Twig might pack in it necessary provisions and other equipment. The Indians packed their goods upon the komatik, together with the boys' sleeping bags, and Toby and Charley harnessed the dogs.

All of these preparations required but a few minutes, and when they were ready, and as the boys were leaving, Mrs. Twig plead with Toby to prevent the Indians "hurting the poor man," even if he would not surrender the fur.

"I'd shoot he myself," said Toby, "if he wouldn't give un up. I would, I'm that self-willed!"

"Don't be hard on the poor man now," admonished Mrs. Twig as Toby broke the dogs loose and they dashed away in the starlight.

The ice was firm and with few hummocks, and the snow that covered it was frozen nearly as hard as the ice beneath it. The dogs made fast progress, taking a steady trotting gait, with Toby and Charley trotting beside the komatik and the two Indians ahead following the trail of Marks to be certain that it did not turn to some other quarter.

This was an adventure indeed for Charley. He had never before seen Indians other than those exhibited in shows in New York. But these were different. They had never tasted civilization. They were like the Indians that Natty Bumpo knew, and of which Charley had read in Cooper's tales. He thrilled with the thought that he was traveling with Indians quite as primitive as those which Henry Hudson met when he first sailed up the river that was named after him. These, indeed, he was happy to think, might be the descendants of some of those very Indians, still living the untamed, free life of their primordial ancestors.

It was still dark when the komatik drew up before the cabins at Pinch-In Tickle, now grown familiar to Charley. Here the Indians quickly unloaded the komatik, while Toby and Charley lighted a fire in the stove and put the kettle on to boil; and while Toby fried some fresh caribou steak, the two Indians ran down the trail to assure themselves that Marks had turned to the southward instead of to the northward.

Presently they were back to report that the ice was safe through the tickle, and that Marks had gone, as Toby had expected, southward.

Charley was glad of the opportunity for a short rest, and both boys were hungry. The moment they had eaten, however, the Indians were on their feet keen for the chase. The sledge was lightly laden now, and the dogs traveled so rapidly that Charley and Toby were able to ride much of the time, though the Indians ran ahead to keep their eye on the trail.

Presently dawn came, and before they turned into the bay to the southward it was full daylight. It was at this time that Amishku, who was some distance in advance, held up his hand and signaled Toby to stop. The two Indians in a moment were lost to view among the boulders that lined the shore, and into which they crept.

"I wonder what's up?" asked Charley, no little excited by the occurrence.

"I'm not knowin'. Maybe 'tis some game they sees. 'Tis not like that Marks would be bidin' hereabouts. He sure went on to Dyson's or Slade's, whatever," answered Toby, no less mystified than was Charley.

Not more than fifteen minutes had passed, though it seemed to the boys much longer, when they saw the Indians returning, and when they joined them at the komatik Amishku held out the silver fox pelt to Toby.

"We got the silver fox skin for our friend, and we are glad," said Amishku, in high good humour. "The man who stole it will never steal again."

"You—don't mean—you—killed him?" asked Toby, suddenly sorry that he had permitted the Indians to come, and so horrified at the thought that the Indians might have done such a thing for him that he could scarcely speak.

"No," answered Amishku. "His dogs kill him. The dogs are there. The sledge is there. Not much of the man is there."

"The gray dog!" exclaimed Toby.

They drove their team nearer to the scene of the tragedy. A horrible thing met their view, and they quickly turned from it—blood-stained snow, pieces of torn clothing, and other evidences of the tragedy that had taken place.

The gray dog and his mates were still held in leash by their harness, and Toby decided that they should drive on to Aaron Slade's cabin to tell him what had happened and to ask his assistance. And when they reached Aaron's and he had listened to their story, he said:

"I'll drive my team over and take care of un, lads. 'Tis no job for lads like you."



XXVI

THE END OF THE FIX

March, with its sudden blizzards and terrific gales passed. Mid-April came, and Toby and Charley, with dogs and komatik, met Skipper Zeb at Black River tilt, when he appeared again out of the silent wilderness with the harvest of his labours, and his winter's trapping was ended.

How happy they were when Skipper Zeb was home again. It was pleasant to hear his big voice and his jolly laugh booming about the cabin. He was always an optimist, and he always made every one feel that everything was all right.

"Well, now! Here we are all safe and sound and snug! The winter gone, and nothin' to worry about, but a wonderful lot to be thankful to the Lard for!"

The days were long now, and with the coming of May the sun began to assert his strength. The snow softened at midday, and sealskin boots again took the place of buckskin moccasins.

Toby and Charley, with dogs and komatik, hauled wood that Toby had cut in the fall, and more wood that Skipper Zeb felled each day, in preparation for another winter.

"Before we knows un the summer'll be gone and the fishin' over, and Dad'll be settin' up his traps again, and the winter'll come, and I'll not be havin' you, Charley," said Toby sadly.

When there was enough wood cut and hauled to the cabin, and the warm days of June came with their threat of a final break-up of the ice in the bay, Long Tom Ham appeared to take the dogs to Lucky Bight for the summer.

A lump came in Charley's throat when he saw Long Tom Ham drive the dogs away. The going of the dogs marked the end of winter, and the time close at hand when they should close the little cabin at Double Up Cove, where he had spent so many happy months, and depart for Pinch-In Tickle, to await the coming of the mail boat.

But with every wave of regret there followed the happy thought that he would soon be with his father and his mother again, and the thought always sent a tingle of joy up and down his spine. What a meeting that would be! What a welcome he should receive! What tales he would have to tell! How proud his father would be of him! How his mother would hover over him and love him! As much as he regretted leaving his good friends, these thoughts made the time that he must wait for his going seem all too long.

Near the end of June came a deluge of rain. Miniature rivers poured down the hillsides into the bay, and the world became a sea of slush. When the rain ceased and the sky cleared, the sun shone warm and mellow, and the ice, now broken into pans, began to move out with the tide.

Seals were now basking in the sunshine upon the loosened ice and upon the shore, and for two weeks Skipper Zeb and the boys devoted their time to hunting them. The skins were needed for boots, the flesh for dog food, and the blubber for oil. Sometimes they would themselves eat seal meat, and though the Twigs were fond of it, and Charley had pronounced the meat excellent when he and Toby were starving on Swile Island, he now thought it strong and not as palatable as he would like.

On the last day of June Skipper Zeb's trap boat, calked and made tight, was launched, and Skipper Zeb announced:

"Well, now! Here we are clear of ice, and I'm thinkin' there'll soon be signs of fish down at the tickle. To-morrow marnin', and the weather holds fine, we'll be cruisin' down. In another week, or fortnight, whatever, the mail boat'll be comin' and blowin' her whistle in the offing. I tells you, Charley lad, when you comes, and when you wants to go home so bad, that when the mail boat comes back and blows her whistle in the offing, we'd be ready and waitin' for she."

And so it came to pass that Charley found himself again with Skipper Zeb and his family in the little cabin at Pinch-In Tickle. How crude it had seemed to him that day when Toby led him up the path, and he had first met Skipper Zeb! How comfortable and hospitable it seemed to him now! How many memories it held for him!

Early one morning there sounded the long blast of a whistle, and presently the mail boat appeared in the tickle, and came to in the offing. There was great excitement in Skipper Zeb's cabin. Charley had no time to change to the clothes in which he had arrived, but they were packed in a neat bundle, and in another bundle were the wolf and bear skins, together with many other souvenirs of the winter. Charley wished to give his rifle to Toby, but Toby declined:

"Keep un yourself to remember the bear, and our other huntin'."

"I'll send you and your father new ones, as I promised, anyhow," Charley assured.

"Well, now, and there's the mail boat!" exclaimed Skipper Zeb. "She's come at last to take Charley away from us! And this is the end of the fix you gets in! I'm wonderful sorry to have you go, lad! We're thinkin' of you like one of the family now, and we're not wishin' to lose you."

"We're all wonderful sorry!" and Mrs. Twig brushed away a tear.

"Some day," said Charley, his heart full, "I'll come back to see you, and perhaps I'll bring Dad with me to show him how good you people are, and how we live in a real wilderness."

"I'll be puttin' you over in the punt to the mail boat," said Toby, reluctant to bid Charley farewell.

They all went down to the landing to see him off, Skipper Zeb, Mrs. Twig and Violet. He sat in the stern of the punt, as he did on the day Toby took him ashore, while Toby rowed him alongside and helped him on deck with his baggage, and then the boys grasped each other's hands in farewell.

"'Twere the finest winter I ever has—with you here," and Toby's choking voice would permit him to say no more.

"It was the finest winter I ever spent, too," and Charley was little less moved than Toby.

"The ship's movin'. Good-bye!" and Toby hurried down the ladder and into his boat.

Charley stood at the rail watching Toby row his old punt back, until the ship passed into the tickle and shut from view Toby, the rocky hillside, the clinging cabins and Skipper Zeb with Mrs. Twig and Violet at the landing still waving their farewell to him.

"Where you going?" the steward's question met Charley as he turned from the rail.

"To St. John's. Don't you know me? I'm Charley Norton who came down with you last fall."

It was several minutes before the steward could convince himself that this upstanding, clear-eyed, bronze-skinned fellow, attired like a Labradorman, was the pale, listless unhappy lad they had lost the previous fall. Then he hastened to Captain Barcus with the news, and Captain Barcus and the whole crew gathered around Charley and welcomed him as they would have welcomed a returned hero, to his great confusion.

"Now a wireless to your father!" beamed Captain Barcus, when Charley had been duly greeted.

* * * * *

Mr. Bruce Norton was in his private office on William Street, in New York City, dictating his morning mail, when a boy laid a telegram upon his desk. He finished the letter he was dictating, before opening the message, and then he read:

"Will arrive in St. John's July twentieth, on mail boat from Labrador. Had a great winter. Killed a wolf and shot a white bear. Wire how you and mother are. Love to you both. Cannot wait to see you.

"CHARLEY."

Mr. Norton was upon his feet before he had read the last line. He stuffed the message into his pocket, seized his hat, and as he bolted from his office he shouted to his secretary, who now filled the place formerly occupied by Mr. Henry Wise:

"Get sleeper reservations for Mrs. Norton and myself to St. John's at once!"

"For to-day?" asked the secretary.

"Yes! Yes! First train possible!" and Mr. Norton disappeared in an elevator.

When Mr. Norton broke the good news to Mrs. Norton a half hour later, the two declared it was the happiest day of their whole life. But when, a week later, they greeted Charley in St. John's when he disembarked from the mail boat, and he threw his arms around his mother, perhaps a greater height of happiness was reached.

Before they left St. John's, Mr. Norton contracted for the best motor boat that he could buy, to be shipped on the mail boat to Skipper Zeb; and with it went a host of gifts to Mrs. Twig and Violet from Mrs. Norton, and new rifles and ammunition to Skipper Zeb and Toby as gifts from Charley.

And we may be sure that the friendship did not end with this. But our story has already grown too long, and those happenings of after years belong to another tale.

FOOTNOTE: [15] The Wolf.

Printed in the United States of America

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Transcriber's Notes: 1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards. 2. In the original, the place name "St. John's" was consistently spelled incorrectly as "St. Johns" and has been corrected here.

THE END