XVI

ONE OF THE TRIBE

If Bob Gray had held any secret hope that the Indians would eventually listen to his plea to guide him back to the Big Hill trail it was mercilessly swept away by the next move, for again they faced steadily towards the north. Whenever he thought of home a lump came into his throat, but he always swallowed it bravely and said to himself:

"'Tis wrong now t' be grievin' when I has so much t' be thankful for. Bill'll be takin' th' silver fox an' other fur out, and when father sells un 'twill pay for Emily's goin' t' th' doctor. Th' Lard saved me from freezin', an' I'm well an' th' Injuns be wonderful good t' me. Maybe some time they'll be goin' back th' Big Hill way—maybe 'twill be next winter—an' then I'll be gettin' home."

In this manner the hope of youth always conquered, and his desperate situation was to some extent forgotten in the pictures he drew for himself of his reunion with the loved ones in the uncertain "Sometime" of the future.

On and on they travelled through the endless, boundless white, over wind-swept rocky hills so inhospitably barren that even the snow could not find a lodgment on them, or over wide plains where the few trees that grew had been stunted and gnarled into mere shrubs by winter blasts. On every hand the mountains began to raise their ragged austere heads like grim giant sentinels placed there to guard the way. Finally they turned into a pass, which brought them, on the other side of the ridge it led through, to a comparatively well-wooded valley down which a wide river wound its way northward. The trees were larger than any Bob had seen since leaving the Big Hill trail, and this new valley seemed almost familiar to him.

As they emerged from the pass a wolf cry, long and weird, came from a distant mountainside and broke the wilderness stillness, which had become almost insufferable, and to the lad even this wild cry held a note of companionship that was pleasant to hear after the long and deathlike quiet that had prevailed.

They took to the river ice and travelled on it for several miles when, rounding a bend, they suddenly came upon a cluster of half a dozen deerskin wigwams standing in the spruce trees just above the river bank. An Indian from one of the lodges discovered their approach, and gave a shout. Instantly men, women and children sprang into view and came running out to welcome them. It was a curious, medley crowd. The men were clad in long, decorated deerskin coats such as Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn wore, and the women in deerskin skirts reaching a little way below the knees, and all wearing the fringed buckskin leggings.

The greeting was cordial and noisy, everybody shaking hands with the new arrivals, talking in the high key characteristic of them, and laughing a great deal. Two of the men embraced Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn and shed copious tears of joy over them. These two men it appeared were Mookoomahn's brothers. The women were not so demonstrative, but showed their delight in a ceaseless flow of words.

When the first greetings were over Sishetakushin told the assembled Indians how Bob had been found sleeping in the snow, and that the Great Spirit had sent the White Snow Brother to dwell in their lodges as one of them. After this introduction and a rather magnified description of his accomplishments as a hunter they all shook Bob's hand and welcomed him as one of the tribe.

A few caribou had been killed, and the travellers received gifts of the frozen meat with a good proportion of fat, and that night a great feast was held in their behalf.

With plenty to eat there was no occasion to hunt and the Indians were living in idleness during the intensely cold months of January and February, rarely venturing out of the wigwams. This was not only for their comfort, but because the fur bearing animals lie quiet during this cold period of the winter and the hunt would therefore yield small reward for the exposure and suffering it would entail.

They had an abundance of tobacco and tea. Sishetakushin and his family had been without these luxuries, and it seemed to Bob that he had never tasted anything half so delicious as the first cup of tea he drank. His Indian friends could not understand at first his refusal of their proffered gifts of "stemmo"—tobacco—but he told them finally that it would make him sick, and then they accepted his excuse and laughed at him good naturedly.

Manikawan had never ceased her attentions to Bob, and the others of her family seemed to have come to an understanding that it was her especial duty to look after his comfort. From the first she had been much troubled that he had only his cloth adikey instead of a deerskin coat such as her father and Mookoomahn wore, and she often expressed her regret that there was no deerskin with which to make him one. He insisted at these times that his adikey was quite warm enough, but she always shook her head in dissent, for she could not believe it, and would say,

"No, the Snow Brother is cold. Manikawan will make him warm clothes when the deer are found."

On the very night of their arrival at the camp she went amongst the wigwams and begged from the women some skins of the fall killing, tanned with the hair on, with the flesh side as fine and white and soft as chamois. In two days she had manufactured these into a coat and had it ready for decoration. It was a very handsome garment, sewn with sinew instead of thread, and having a hood attached to it similar to the hoods worn by Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn.

With brushes made from pointed sticks she painted around the bottom of the coat a foot-wide border in intricate design, introducing red, blue, brown and yellow colours that she had compounded herself the previous summer from fish roe, minerals and oil. Other decorations and ornamentations were drawn upon the front and arms of the garment before she considered it quite complete. Then she surveyed her work with commendable pride, and with a great show of satisfaction presented it and a pair of the regulation buckskin leggings to Bob. She was quite delighted when he put his new clothes on, and made no secret of her admiration of his improved appearance.

"Now," she said, "the brother is dressed as becomes him and looks very fine and brave."

"'Tis fine an' warm," Bob assented, "an' I'm thinkin' I'm lookin' like an Injun sure enough."

Bob's aversion to Manikawan's attentions was wearing off, and he was taking a new interest in her. He very often found himself looking at her and admiring her dark, pretty face and tall, supple form. Sometimes she would glance up quickly and catch him at it, and smile, for it pleased her. Then he would feel a bit foolish and blush through the tan on his face; for he knew that she read his thoughts. But neither he nor Manikawan ever voiced the admiration that they felt for each other.

Bob was lounging in the wigwam one day a week or so after the arrival at the camp when he heard some one excitedly shouting,

"Atuk! Atuk!"

He grabbed his gun and ran outside where he met Sishetakushin rushing in from an adjoining wigwam. The Indian called to him to leave his gun behind and get a spear and follow. He could see that something of great moment had occurred and he obeyed.

The Indians from the lodges, all armed with spears, were running towards a knoll just below the camp, and Bob and Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn joined them. When they reached the top of the knoll Bob halted for a moment in astonishment. Never before had he beheld anything to compare with what he saw below. A herd of caribou containing hundreds—yes thousands—like a great living sea, was moving to the eastward.

Some of the Indians were already running ahead on their snow-shoes to turn the animals into the deep snowdrifts of a ravine, while the other attacked the herd with their spears from the side. The caribou changed their course when they saw their enemies, and plunged into the ravine, those behind crowding those in front, which sank into the drifts until they were quite helpless. From every side the Indians rushed upon the deer and the slaughter began. Bob was carried away with the excitement of the hunt, and many of the deer fell beneath his spear thrusts. The killing went on blindly, indiscriminately, without regard to the age or sex or number killed, until finally the main herd extricated itself and ran in wild panic over the river ice and out of reach of the pursuers.

In the brief interval between the discovery of the deer and the escape of the herd over four hundred animals had fallen under the ruthless spears. When Bob realized the extent of the wicked slaughter he was disgusted with himself for having taken part in it.

"'Twas wicked t' kill so many of un when we're not needin' un, an' I hopes th' Lard'll forgive me for helpin'," he said contritely.



Aside from the inhumanity of the thing, it was a terrible waste of food, for it would only be possible to utilize a comparatively small proportion of the meat of the slaughtered animals. Perhaps seventy-five of the carcasses were skinned, after which the flesh was stripped from the bones and hung in thin slabs from the poles inside the wigwams to dry. The tongues were removed from all the slaughtered animals, for they are considered a great delicacy by the Indians; and some of the leg bones were taken for the marrow they contained. The great bulk of the meat, however, was left for the wolves and foxes, or to rot in the sun when summer came.

The deer killing was followed by a season of feasting, as is always the case amongst the Indians after a successful hunt. In every wigwam a kettle of stewing venison was constantly hanging, night and day over the fire, and marrow bones roasting in the coals, and for several days the men did nothing but eat and smoke and drink tea.

It was, however, a busy time for the women. Besides curing the meat and tongues, they rendered marrow grease from the bones and put it up neatly in bladders for future use; and it fell to their lot, also, to dress and tan the hides into buckskin.

The passing deer herds brought in their wake packs of big gray and black timber wolves, and the country was soon infested with these animals. At night their howls were heard, and they came boldly to the scene of the caribou slaughter and fattened upon the discarded carcasses of the animals. Now and again one was shot. With plenty to eat, they were, however, comparatively harmless, and never molested the camp.

February was drawing to a close when one day Sishetakushin, Mookoomahn and two other Indians packed their toboggans preparatory to going on an excursion. Bob noticed the preparations with interest, and inquired the meaning of them.

"The tea and tobacco are nearly gone, and we are in need of powder and ball," Sishetakushin answered.

To get these things Bob knew they must go to a trading post, and here, he decided, was a possible opportunity for him to find a means of reaching home. He asked the Indians at once for permission to accompany them. There was no objection to this from any of them, though they told him it would be a tiresome journey, that they would travel fast, and be back in a few days.

But Bob did not propose to let any chance of meeting white men pass him, and he hurriedly got his things together for the expedition. He had no intimation of the name or location of the post they were going to further than that the Indians told him they were going to Mr. MacPherson, who was, he felt sure, a Hudson's Bay Company Factor, and he believed that if he could once reach one of the company's forts a way would be shown him to get to Eskimo Bay. That night was one of excitement and anticipation for Bob.

Manikawan seemed to read his thoughts, for the whole evening she looked troubled, and her eyes were wet when Bob said good-bye to her in the morning. As the little party turned down upon the river ice, he looked back once and saw her standing near the wigwam, in the bright moonlight, her slender figure outlined against the snow, and he waved his hand to her.

He never knew that for many days afterwards, when the dusk of evening came, she stole alone out of the wigwam and down the trail where he had disappeared to watch for his return, nor how lonely she was and how she brooded over his loss when she knew that she should never see her White Brother of the Snow again.



XVII

STILL FARTHER NORTH

Bob and the Indians travelled in single file, with Mookoomahn leading, and kept to the wide, smooth pathway that marked the place where the river lay imprisoned beneath ice a fathom thick. The wind had swept away the loose snow and beaten down that which remained into a hard and compact mass upon the frozen river bed, making snow-shoeing here much easier than in the spruce forest that lay behind the willow brush along the banks. The Indians walked with the long rapid stride that is peculiar to them, and which the white man finds hard to simulate, and good traveller though he was Bob had to adopt a half run to keep their pace. They drew but two lightly loaded toboggans, and unencumbered by the wigwam and other heavy camp equipment, and with no trailing squaws to hamper their speed, an even, unbroken gait was maintained as mile after mile slipped behind them.

Not a breath of air was stirring, and the absolute quiet that prevailed was broken only by the moving men and the rhythmic creak, creak of the snow-shoes as they came in contact with the hard packed snow.

The very atmosphere seemed frozen, so intense was the cold. The moon like a disk of burnished silver set in a steel blue sky cast a weird, metallic light over the congealed wilderness. The hoar frost that lay upon the bushes along the river bank sparkled like filmy draperies of spun silver, and transformed the bushes into an unearthly multitude of shining spirits that had gathered there from the dark, mysterious forest which lay behind them, to watch the passing strangers. Presently the light of dawn began to diffuse itself upon the world, and the spirit creations were replaced by substantial banks of frost-encrusted willows. In a little while the sun peeped timorously over the eastern hills, but, half obscured by a haze of frost flakes which hung suspended in the air, gave out no warmth to the frozen earth.

No halt was made until noon. Then a fire was built and a kettle of ice was melted and tea brewed. Bob was hungry, and the jerked venison, with its delicate nutty flavour, and the hot tea, were delicious. The latter, poured boiling from the kettle, left a sediment of ice in the bottom of the tin cup before it was drained, so great was the cold.

After an hour's rest they hit the trail again and never relaxed their speed for a moment until sunset. Then they sought the shelter of the spruce woods behind the river bank, and in a convenient spot for a fire cleared a circular space, several feet in circumference, by shovelling the snow back with their snow-shoes, forming a high bank around their bivouac as a protection from the wind, should it rise. At one side a fire was built, and in front of the fire a thick bed of boughs spread. While the others were engaged in these preparations Bob and Sishetakushin cut a supply of wood for the night.

It was quite dark before they all settled themselves around the fire for supper. Two frying pans were now produced, and from a haunch of venison, frozen as hard as a block of wood, thin chips were cut with an axe, and with ample pieces of fat were soon sizzling in the pans and filling the air with an appetizing odour, and in spite of the bleak surroundings the place assumed a degree of comfort and hospitality.

After supper the Indians squatted around the fire on deerskins spread upon the boughs, smoking their pipes and telling stories, while Bob reclined upon the soft robes that Manikawan had thoughtfully provided him with, watching the light play over their dark faces framed in long black hair, and thought of the Indian girl and wondered if he was always to live amongst them, and if he would ever become accustomed to their wild, rude life.

Finally they lay down close together, with their feet towards the fire, and wrapped their heads and shoulders closely in the skins, leaving their moccasined feet uncovered, to be warmed by the blaze, and the lad was soon lost in dreams of the snug cabin at Wolf Bight. Once during the night he awoke and arose to replenish the fire. The stars were looking down upon them, cold and distant, and the wilderness seemed very solemn and quiet when he resumed his place amongst the sleeping Indians.

They were on their way again by moonlight the following morning. Shortly after daybreak they turned out of the river bed and towards noon came upon some snow-shoe tracks. A little later they passed a steel trap, in which a white arctic fox straggled for freedom. They halted a moment for Sishetakushin to press his knee upon its side to kill it and then went on. The fox he left in the trap, however, for the hunter to whom it belonged. This was the first steel trap that Bob had seen since coming amongst the Indians and he drew from its presence here that they must be approaching a trading station where traps were obtainable and in use by the hunters.

In the middle of the afternoon they turned into a komatik track, and Bob's heart gave a bound of joy.

"Sure we're gettin' handy t' th' coast!" he exclaimed.

They would soon find white men, he was sure. The track led them on for a mile or so, and then they heard a dog's howl and a moment later came out upon two snow igloos. Eskimo men, women, and children emerged on their hands and knees from the low, snow-tunnel entrance of the igloos at their approach, but when they saw that the travellers were a party of Indians, gave no invitation to them to enter, and said nothing until Bob called "Oksunie" to them—a word of greeting that he had learned from the Bay folk. Then they called to him "Oksunie, oksunie," and began to talk amongst themselves.

"They're rare wild lookin' huskies," thought Bob.

As much as Bob would have liked to stop, he did not do so, for the Indians stalked past at a rapid pace, never by word or look showing that they had seen the igloos or the Eskimos.

These new people, particularly the women, who wore trousers and carried babies in large hoods hanging on their backs, did not dress like any Eskimos that Bob had ever seen before. Nor had he ever before seen the snow houses, though he had heard of them and knew what they were. The dogs, too, were large, and more like wolves in appearance than those the Bay folk used, and the komatik was narrower but much longer and heavier than those he was accustomed to. He was surely in a new and strange land.

More igloos were seen during the afternoon, but they were passed as the first had been, and at night the party bivouacked in the open as they had done the night before.

On the morning of the third day they passed into a stretch of barren, treeless, rolling country, and before midday turned upon a well-beaten komatik trail, which they followed for a couple of miles, when it swung sharply to the left towards the river, and as they turned around a ledge of rocks at the top of a low ridge a view met Bob that made him shout with joy, and hasten his pace.

At his feet, in the field of snow, lay a post of the Hudson's Bay Company.



XVIII

A MISSION OF TRUST

As Bob looked down upon the whitewashed buildings of the Post, his sensation was very much like that of a shipwrecked sailor who has for a long time been drifting hopelessly about upon a trackless sea in a rudderless boat, and suddenly finds himself safe in harbour. The lad had never seen anything in his whole life that looked so comfortable as that little cluster of log buildings with the smoke curling from the chimney tops, and the general air of civilization that surrounded them. He did not know where he was, nor how far from home; but he did know that this was the habitation of white men, and the cloud of utter helplessness that had hung over him for so long was suddenly swept away and his sky was clear and bright again.

A man clad in a white adikey and white moleskin trousers emerged from one of the buildings, paused for a moment to gaze at Bob and his companions as they approached, and then reentered the building.

As they descended the hill the Indians turned to an isolated cabin which stood somewhat apart from the main group of buildings and to the eastward of them, but Bob ran down to the one into which the man had disappeared. His heart was all aflutter with excitement and expectancy. As he approached the door, it suddenly opened, and there appeared before him a tall, middle-aged man with full, sandy beard and a kindly face. Bob felt intuitively that this was the factor of the Post, and he said very respectfully,

"Good day, sir."

"Good day, good day," said the man. "I thought at first you were an Indian. Come in."

Bob entered and found himself in the trader's office. At one side were two tables that served as desks, and on a shelf against the wall behind them rested a row of musty ledgers and account books. Benches in lieu of chairs surrounded a large stove in the centre.

"Take off your skin coat and sit down," invited the trader, who was, indeed, Mr. MacPherson of whom the Indians had told.

"Thank you, sir," said Bob.

When he was finally seated Mr. McPherson asked:

"That was Sishetakushin's crowd you came with, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir," Bob answered.

"Where did you hail from? It's something new to see a white man come out of the bush with the Indians."

"From Eskimo Bay, sir, an' what place may this be?"

"Eskimo Bay! Eskimo Bay! Why, this is Ungava! How in the world did you ever get across the country? What's your name?"

"My name's Bob Gray, sir, an' I lives at Wolf Bight." Then Bob went on, prompted now and again by the factor's questions, to tell the story of his adventures.

"Well," said Mr. MacPherson, "you've had a wonderful escape from freezing and death and a remarkable experience. You'd better go over to the men's house and they'll put you up there. Come back after you've had dinner and we'll talk your case over. The dinner bell is ringing now," he added, as the big bell began to clang. "Perhaps I'd better go over with you and show you the way."

The men's house, as the servants' quarters were called, was a one-story log house but a few steps from the office. As Bob and Mr. MacPherson entered it, a big man with a bushy red beard, and a tall brawny man with clean shaven face, both perhaps twenty-five or thirty years of age, and both with "Scot" written all over their countenances, were in the act of sitting down to an uncovered table, while an ugly old Indian hag was dishing up a savory stew of ptarmigan.

Bob's eye took in a plate heaped high with white bread in the centre of the table and he mentally resolved that it should not be there when he had finished dinner.

"Here's some company for you," announced the factor. "Ungava Bob just ran over from Eskimo Bay to pay us a visit. Take care of him. This," continued he by way of introduction, indicating the red-headed man, "is Eric the Red, our carpenter, and this," turning to the other, "is the Duke of Wellington, our blacksmith. Fill up, Ungava Bob, and come over to the office and have a talk when you've finished dinner."

"Sit doon, sit doon," said the red-whiskered man, adding, as Mr. MacPherson closed the door behind him, "my true name's Sandy Craig and th' blacksmith here is Jamie Lunan. Th' boss ha' a way o' namin' every mon t' suit hisself. Now, what's your true name, lad? 'Tis not Ungava Bob."

"Bob Gray, an' I comes from Wolf Bight."

"Now, where can Wolf Bight be?" asked Sandy.

"In Eskimo Bay, sir."

"Aye, aye, Eskimo Bay. 'Tis a lang way ye are from Eskimo Bay! Th' ship folk tell o' Eskimo Bay a many hundred miles t' th' suthard. An' Jamie an' me be a lang way fra' Petherhead. Be helpin' yesel' now, lad. Ha' some partridge an' ye maun be starvin' for bread, eatin' only th' grub o' th' heathen Injuns this lang while," said he, passing the plate, and adding in apology, "'Tis na' such bread as we ha' in auld Scotland. Injun women canna make bread wi' th' Scotch lassies an' we ne'er ha' a bit o' oatmeal or oat-cake. 'Tis bread, though. An' how could ye live wi' th' Injuns? 'Tis bad enough t' bide here wi' na' neighbours but th' greasy huskies an' durty Injuns comin' now an' again, but we has some civilized grub t' eat—sugar an' molasses an' butter, such as 'tis."

Sandy and Jamie plied Bob with all sorts of questions about Eskimo Bay and his life with the Indians, and they did not fail to tell him a good deal about Peterhead, their Scotland home, and both bewailed loudly the foolish desire for adventure that had induced them to leave it to be exiled in Ungava amongst the heathen Eskimos and Indians in a land where "nine minths o' th' year be winter an' th' ither three remainin' minths infested wi' th' worst plagues o' Egypt, referrin' t' th' flies an' nippers (mosquitoes)."

Strange and new it all was, and while he ate and talked, Bob took in his surroundings. The room was not unlike the Post kitchen at Eskimo Bay, though not so spotlessly clean. Besides the table there were two benches, four rough, home-made chairs and a big box stove that crackled cheerily. At one side three bunks were built against the wall and were spread with heavy woollen blankets. Two chests stood near the bunks and several guns rested upon pegs against the wall. Upon ropes stretched above the stove numerous duffel socks and mittens hung to dry. The Indian woman passed in and out through a passageway that led from the side of the room opposite the door at which he had entered and her kitchen was evidently on the other side of the passageway.

Bob did not forget his resolution as to the bread, to which was added the luxury of butter, and more than once the Indian woman had to replenish the plate. When they arose from the table Jamie pointed out to Bob the bunk that he was to occupy. Then, while they smoked their pipes, they gossiped about the Post doings until the bell warned them that it was time to return to their work.

In accordance with Mr. MacPherson's instructions Bob walked over to the factor's office where he found a young man of eighteen or nineteen years of age writing at one of the desks.

"Sit down," said he, looking up. "Mr. MacPherson will be in shortly. You're the young fellow just arrived, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir," said Bob.

"You've had a long journey, I hear, and must be glad to get out. When did you leave home?"

"In September, sir, when I goes t' my trail."

"I came here on the Eric in September, and if you want to see home as badly as I do you're pretty anxious to get back there. But there isn't any chance of getting away from here till the ship comes. This is the last place God ever made and the loneliest. What did you say your name is?"

"Bob Gray, sir."

"Well, Mr. MacPherson will call you something else, but don't mind that. He has a new name for every one. He calls Sishetakushin, one of the Indians you came in with, Abraham Lincoln because he's so tall, and one of the stout Eskimos is Grover Cleveland. That's the name of an American president. Mr. MacPherson gets the papers every year and keeps posted. He received, on the ship, all last year's issues of a New York paper called the Sun besides a great packet of Scotch and English papers. But this Sun he thinks more of than any of them and every morning he picks out the paper for that date the year before and reads it as though it had just been delivered. One year behind, but just as fresh here. He finds a lot of new names in 'em to give the Eskimos and Indians and the rest of us that way. I'm Secretary Bayard, whoever he may be. I don't read the American papers much. The chief clerk is Lord Salisbury, the new premier. You know the Conservatives downed the Liberals, and Gladstone is out. Good enough for him, too, for meddling in the Irish question. I'm a conservative, or I would be if I was home. We don't have a chance to be anything here. Now, I suppose you——"

Here Mr. MacPherson entered and the loquacious Secretary Bayard became suddenly engrossed in his work. The factor opened a door leading into a small room to the right.

"Come in here, Ungava Bob," said he, "and we'll have a talk. Now," he continued when they were seated, "what do you think you'll do?"

"I don't know, sir. I wants t' get home wonderful bad," said Bob.

"Yes, yes, I suppose you do. But you're a long way from home. It looks as though you'll have to stay here till the ship comes next summer. I can send you back with it."

"'Tis a long while t' be bidin' here, sir, an' I'm fearin' as mother'll be worryin'."

"There's no way out of it that I can see, though. I'll give you work to do to pay for your keep, and I'm afraid that's the best we can do unless," continued the factor, thoughtfully "unless you go with the mail. I find I've got to send some letters to Fort Pelican. How far is that from Eskimo Bay,—a hundred miles?"

"Ninety, sir."

"Do you speak Eskimo?"

"No, sir."

"Well, the dog drivers will be Eskimos. The men that leave here will go east to the coast. They will meet other Eskimos there who will go to Pelican. It's a hard and dangerous journey. Are you a good traveller?"

"Not so bad, sir, an' I drives dogs."

Mr. MacPherson was silent for a few moments, then he spoke.

"These Eskimos are careless scallawags with letters and they lose them sometimes. The letters I am sending are very important ones or I wouldn't be sending them. I think you would take better care of them than they. Will you keep them safe if I let you go with the Eskimos?"

"Yes, sir, I'd be rare careful."

"Well, we'll see. I think I'll let you take the letters. I can't say yet just when I'll have you start but within the month."

"Thank you, sir."

"In the meantime make yourself useful about the place here. There'll be nothing for you to do to-day. Look around and get acquainted. You may go now. Come to the office in the morning and one of the clerks will tell you what to do."

"All right, sir."

When Bob passed out of doors he was fairly treading upon air. A way was opening up for him to return home and in all probability he should reach there by the time Dick and Ed and Bill came out from the trails in the spring and if they had not, in the meantime, taken the news of his disappearance to Wolf Bight, the folks at home would know nothing of it until he told them himself and would have no unusual cause for worry in the meantime. He felt a considerable sense of importance, too, at the confidence Mr. MacPherson reposed in him in suggesting that he might place him in charge of an important mail. And what a tale he would have to tell! Bessie would think him quite a hero. After all it had turned out well. He had caught a silver fox and all the other fur—quite enough, he was sure, to send Emily to the hospital. God had been very good to him and he cast his eyes to heaven and breathed a little prayer of thanksgiving.

Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn had been quite forgotten by Bob in the excitement of the arrival at the Fort. Now he saw them and the two other Indians coming over from the cabin to which they had gone when he left them to meet Mr. MacPherson, and he hurried down to meet them and tell them that he had found a way to reach home. It was plain that they did not approve of the turn matters had taken, for they only grunted and said nothing.

They turned to a building where the door stood open and Bob accompanied them and entered with them. This was the Post shop, and a young man, whom Bob had not seen before, presumably "Lord Salisbury," the chief clerk of whom the talkative "Secretary Bayard" had spoken, was behind the counter attending to the wants of an Eskimo and his wife, the latter with a black-eyed, round-faced baby which sat contentedly in her hood sucking a stick of black tobacco. The clerk spoke to the Indians in their language, said "good day" to Bob in English, and then continued his dickering in the Eskimo language with his customers, who had deposited before them on the counter a number of arctic fox pelts.

When the clerk had finished with the Eskimos he turned to the Indians in a very businesslike way and asked to see the furs they had brought. They produced some marten skins which, after a great deal of wrangling, were bartered for tobacco, tea, powder, shot, bullets, gun caps, beads, three-cornered needles and a few trinkets. Much time was consumed in this, for the Indians insisted upon handling and discussing at length each individual article purchased.

Bob had brought with him the marten skins that he had trapped during his stay with the Indians and he exchanged them for a red shawl and a little box of beads for Manikawan, a trinket for the old woman, Manikawan's mother, and a small gift each for Sishetakushin and Mookoomahn, besides some much needed clothing for himself.

These tokens of his gratitude he presented to the two Indians, who had indicated their intention of returning to the interior camp the next morning. They had not fully realized until now that Bob was actually going to leave them and attempt to reach home with the Eskimos, and they protested vigorously against the plan. Sishetakushin told him the Eskimos were bad people and would never guide him safely to his friends. Indeed, he asserted, they might kill him when they had him alone with them. On the other hand, the Indians were kind and true. They had recognized his worth and had adopted him into the tribe. With them he had been happy and with them he would be safe. He could have his own wigwam and take Manikawan for his wife; and sometimes, if he wished, he could go to visit his people.

The failure of their arguments to impress Bob was a great disappointment to the Indians, and Bob, on his part, felt a keen sense of sorrow when, the following morning, he saw his benefactors go. They had saved his life and had done all they could in their rude, primitive way for his comfort, and he appreciated their kindness and hospitality.

Ungava Bob, as every one at the Post called him, made himself generally useful about the fort and was soon quite at home in his new surroundings. He cut wood and helped the Eskimo servants feed the dogs, and did any jobs that presented themselves and soon became a general favourite, not only with Mr. MacPherson but with the clerks and servants also.

His quarters with Sandy and Jamie seemed luxurious in contrast with the rough life of the interior to which he had so long been accustomed, and when the three gathered around the red hot stove those cold evenings after the day's work was done and supper eaten, the Scotchmen held him enthralled with stories they told of their native land and the wonderful and magnificent things they had seen there.

Besides the factor and the two clerks these were the only white people at the Fort, and naturally they grew to be close companions. The white men, too, were the only ones of the Post folk that could speak English, for the few Eskimos and Indians that lived on the reservation knew only their respective native tongue.

And so the time passed until, at last, the middle of March came, with its lengthening days and stormy weather, and Bob was beginning to fear that Mr. MacPherson had abandoned the project of sending him out with a mail, for nothing further had been said about his going since the conversation on the day of his arrival. For two or three days he had been upon the lookout for a favourable opportunity to ask whether or not he was to go, and was thinking about it one Friday morning as he worked at the wood-pile, when "Secretary Bayard" hailed him:

"Hey, there, Bob! The boss wants you."

This was auspicious, and Bob hurried over to the factor's inner office, where he found Mr. MacPherson waiting for him.

"Well, Ungava Bob," the factor greeted, "are you getting tired of Ungava and anxious to get away?"

"I'm likin' un fine, sir, but wantin' t' be goin' home wonderful bad," answered Bob.

"I suppose you are. I suppose you are. I remember when I was young and first left home, how badly I wanted to go back," he said, reminiscently. "That was a long while ago and there's no one for me to go home to now—they're all dead—all dead—and it's too late."

He was silent for a little in meditation, and seemed to have quite forgotten Bob. Then suddenly bringing himself from the past to the present again, he continued:

"Yes, yes, you want to go home, and I'm going to start you on Monday morning. I'll give you a packet of very important letters that you will deliver to Mr. Forbes, the factor at Fort Pelican, and I shall hold you responsible for their safe delivery. Akonuk and Matuk will go with you as far as Kangeva, where they will try to get two other Eskimos with a good team of dogs to take you on to Rigolet. But it may be they'll have to go farther, to find drivers that know the way, and that will delay you some. You'll have time to reach Rigolet, however, before the break-up if you push on. The Eskimos will lose some time visiting with their friends when they meet them on the way, and I've allowed for that. Now, be ready to start on Monday. The clerks will fix you up with what supplies you will need for the journey."

"Yes, sir. I'll be ready, an' thank you, sir."

"Hold on," said the factor as Bob turned to go. "Here's a rifle that I'm going to let you take with you, for you may need it." He picked up a gun that had been leaning against the wall beside him. "It's a 44 repeating Winchester that I've used for three or four years, and it's a good one. I've got a heavier one now for seals and white whales, and I'll give you this if you take the letters through safely. Is that a bargain?"

Bob's eyes bulged and his pleasure was manifest.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I'll not be losin' th' letters."

It was the first repeating rifle—the first rifle, in fact, of any kind—that he had ever seen, and as Mr. MacPherson explained and illustrated to him its manipulation, he thought it the most marvellous piece of mechanism in the world.

"Now be careful how you handle it," cautioned the factor after the arm had been thoroughly described. "You see that when you throw a cartridge into the barrel by the lever action it cocks the gun, and if you're not going to discharge it again immediately you must let the hammer down. It shoots a good many times farther, too, than your old gun, so be sure there are no Eskimos within half a mile of its muzzle or you'll be killing some of them, and I don't want that to happen, for I need them all to hunt. Besides, if you killed one of them his friends would be putting you out of the way so you'd kill no more, and then my packet of letters wouldn't be delivered. Now look out."

"I'll be rare careful of un, sir."

"Very well, see that you are. Be ready to start, now, at daylight, Monday."

"I'll be ready, sir."

Bob's delight was little short of ecstatic as he strode out of the office with his rifle.

The next day (Saturday) "Secretary Bayard," with voluminous comments and cautions in reference to the undertaking, the Eskimos and things in general, helped him and the two Eskimos that were to accompany him put in readiness his supplies, which consisted of hardtack, jerked venison, fat pork—the only provisions they had which would not freeze—tea, two kettles, sulphur matches, ammunition, and a reindeer skin sleeping bag. The Eskimos possessed sleeping bags of their own. Blubber and white whale meat, frozen very hard, were packed for dog food.

An axe, a small jack plane and two snow knives were the only tools to be carried. This knife had a blade about two feet in length and resembled a small, broad-bladed sword. It was to be used in the construction of snow igloos. The jack plane was needed to keep the komatik runners smooth.

Instead of the runners being shod with whale-bone, as in many places in the North, the Eskimos of Ungava apply a turf—which is stored for the purpose in the short summer season—and mixed with water to the consistency of mud. This is moulded on the runners with the hands in a thick, broad, semicircular shape, and freezes as hard as glass. Then its irregularities are planed smooth, and it slips easily over the snow and ice.

Finally, all the preparations were completed, and Bob looked forward in a high state of excited anticipation to the great journey of new experiences and adventures that lay before him to be crowned by the joy of his home-coming.

But a thousand miles separated Bob from his home and danger and death lurked by the way. Human plans and day-dreams are not considered by the Providence that moulds man's fortune, and it is a blessed thing that human eyes cannot look into the future.



XIX

AT THE MERCY OF THE WIND

In the starlight of Monday morning Akonuk and Matuk harnessed their twelve big dogs. Fierce creatures these animals were, scarcely less wild than the wolves that prowled over the hills behind the Fort, of which they were the counterpart, and more than once the Eskimos had to beat them with the butt end of a whip to stop their fighting and bring them to submission.

The load had already been lashed upon the komatik and the mud on the runners rubbed over with lukewarm water which had frozen into a thin glaze of ice that would slip easily over the snow.

Mr. MacPherson gave Bob the package of letters, with a final injunction not to lose them when at length the dogs were harnessed and all was ready. Good-byes were said and Bob and his two Eskimo companions were off.

The snow was packed hard and firm, so that neither the dogs nor the komatik broke through, and the animals, fresh and eager, started at a fast pace and maintained an even, steady trot throughout the day.

Occasionally there were hills to climb, and some of these were so steep that it was necessary for Bob and the Eskimos to haul upon the traces with the dogs, and now and then they had to lift the komatik over rocky places, and on one river that they crossed they were forced to cut in several places a passage around ice hills, where the tide had piled the ice blocks thirty or forty feet high. But for the most part the route lay over a rolling country near the coast.

Only at long intervals were trees to be seen, and these were very small and stunted, and grew in sheltered hollows. At noon they halted in one of these hollows to build a fire, over which they melted snow in one of the kettles and made tea, with which they washed down some hardtack and jerked venison.

That night when they stopped to make their camp, sixty miles lay behind them. The going had been good and they had done a splendid day's work.

Before unharnessing the dogs, which would have immediately attacked and destroyed the goods upon the sledge had they been released, the Eskimos went about building an igloo.

A good bank of snow was selected and out of this Akonuk cut blocks as large as he could lift and placed them on edge in a circle about seven feet in diameter in the interior. As each block was placed it was trimmed and fitted closely to its neighbour. Then while Matuk cut more blocks and handed them to Akonuk as they were needed, the latter standing in the centre of the structure placed them upon edge upon the other blocks, building them up in spiral form, and narrowing in each upper round until the igloo assumed the form of a dome. When it was nearly as high as his head, the upper tier of blocks was so close together that a single large block was sufficient to close the aperture at the top. This block was like the keystone in an arch, and held the others firmly in place. Akonuk now cut a round hole through the side of the igloo close to the bottom, and large enough for him to crawl through on his hands and knees.

When the Eskimos began building the snow house Bob commenced unloading the komatik, but Matuk called "Chuly, chuly,"—wait a little—to him, and said "tamaany,"—here—a suggestion that he would be more useful in helping to chink up the crevices between the blocks of snow on the igloo after Akonuk placed them This he did, and in half an hour from the time they halted the igloo was completed and was so strongly built a man could have stood on its top without fear of breaking it down.

The tops of spruce boughs were now cut and spread within, after which they unlashed the komatik, and, covering the bed of boughs with deerskins, stored everything that the dogs would be likely to destroy safely inside the igloo. This done the dogs were unharnessed and fed, the men standing over the animals with stout sticks to prevent their fighting while they ravenously gulped down the chunks of frozen whale meat.

This function completed, a fire was made outside the igloo and tea brewed. With the kettle of hot tea the three crawled into the igloo, dragging after them a block of snow which Akonuk fitted neatly into the entrance and chinked the edges with loose snow.

Matuk now brought forth an Eskimo lamp into which he squeezed the oil from a piece of seal blubber, first pounding the blubber with the axe head, and with moss to serve the purpose of a wick, the lamp was lighted. This lamp, which was made of stone cut in the shape of a half moon, was about ten inches long, four inches wide and an inch deep. The moss that served as a wick was arranged along the straight side, and gave out a strong, fishy odour as it burned.

Besides the tea, hardtack and jerked venison, Bob ate pieces of the frozen fat pork which had been boiled before starting, and found it very delicious, as fat always is to a traveller in the far North. The Eskimos each accepted a small piece of it from him, but when he offered them a second portion they both said "Taemet,"—Thank you, enough—and instead helped themselves liberally to raw seal blubber, which they ate with an evident relish and gusto along with the jerked venison and hardtack.

Akonuk, the older of these men, was perhaps thirty-five years of age, nearly six feet in height and well proportioned. Matuk was not so tall, but like Akonuk was well formed. Both were muscular and powerful men physically, and both had round, fat faces that were full of good nature.

Intense as was the cold out of doors, the stone lamp soon made the igloo so warm within that all were compelled to remove their outer skin garments. The snow, however, was not melted, but remained quite hard and firm.

The Eskimos talked and smoked for a whole hour after supper, before stretching in their sleeping bags, but Bob crawled into his almost immediately, for he was very weary after his long day's travel. His knowledge of their language was not sufficient for him to take part in the conversation, or, indeed, to understand much they said, and the constant talk soon became tiresome to him, though he kept his ears open with a view to adding to his Eskimo vocabulary whenever an opportunity offered.

"'Tis a strange language an' I'm wonderin' how they understands un," he observed as he turned over to go to sleep.

Very early the next morning he heard Akonuk calling to Matuk to wake up. Then for a little while the two Eskimos conversed together and finally the lamp was lighted. Over this a snow knife was stuck into the side of the igloo and the kettle hung upon the knife in such a position that it was directly over the flame, and snow, cut from the side of the igloo near the bottom, was melted for tea, and thus the simple breakfast was prepared without going out of doors.

When Bob came out of his bag to eat he realized that a storm was raging outside, for he could hear the wind roaring around the igloo, and Akonuk made him understand that a heavy snow-storm was in progress and a continuation of the journey that day quite out of the question. When daylight finally filtered dimly through the igloo roof, he removed the snow block that closed the entrance, and crawled to the outer world, where he verified Akonuk's statement.

The air was so filled with snow that it would be quite useless to attempt to move in it. The previous night the dogs had dug holes for themselves in the bank and were now completely covered with the drift, and invisible, and the komatik, too, was quite hidden. The aspect was dreary in the extreme, and he returned to spend the day dozing in his sleeping bag.

For two days they were held prisoners by the storm, and when finally the third morning dawned clear and cold, a deep covering of soft snow had spoiled the good going and they found travelling much slower and more difficult than the day they started.

Akonuk and Bob ran ahead on their snow-shoes to break the way for the dogs, which Matuk drove, and found it necessary to constantly urge the animals on with shouts of "Oo-isht! Oo-isht! Ok-suit! Ok-suit!" and sometimes with stinging cuts of his long whip. This whip was made of braided strands of walrus hide, and tapered from a thickness of two inches at the butt to one long single strand at the tip. Its handle was a piece of wood about a foot long and the whole whip was perhaps thirty-five feet in length. When not in use a loop on the handle was dropped over the end of one of the forward crosspieces of the komatik, and its lash trailed behind in the snow. Here it could be readily reached and brought into instant service. Matuk was an expert in the manipulation of this cruel instrument, and the dogs were in deadly fear of it. When he cracked it over their heads they would plunge madly forward and whine piteously for mercy. When he wished to punish a dog he could cut it with the lash tip even to the extent of breaking the skin, if he desired, and he never missed the animal he aimed at.

Each dog had an individual trace which was fastened to a long, single thong of sealskin attached to the front of the komatik. These traces were of varying length, the leader, or dog trained to the Eskimos' calls, having the longest trace, which permitted it to go well in advance of the others.

For several days the journey was monotonous and uneventful. Gradually as they advanced the travelling improved again, as the March winds drifted away the soft, loose snow and left the bottom solid and firm for the dogs.

Ptarmigans were plentiful, as were also arctic hares, and a white fox and one or two white owls were killed. The flesh of all these they ate, and were thus enabled to keep in reserve the provisions they had brought with them. Bob was rather disgusted than amused to see the Eskimos eat the flesh of animals and birds raw. They appeared to esteem as a particular delicacy the freshly killed ptarmigans, still warm with the life blood, eating even the entrails uncooked.

One afternoon they turned the komatik from the land to the far stretching ice of a wide bay directing their course towards a cove on the farther side, where the Eskimos said they expected to find igloos.

All day a stiff wind had been blowing from the southwest and as the day grew old it increased in velocity. The komatik was taking an almost easterly course and therefore the wind did not seriously hamper their progress, though it was bitter cold and searching and made travelling extremely uncomfortable.

Less than half-way across the bay, which was some twelve miles wide, a crack in the ice was passed over. Presently cracks became numerous, and glancing behind him Bob noticed a wide black space along the shore at the point where they had taken to the ice, and could see in the distance farther to the northwest, as it reflected the light, a white streak of foam where the angry sea was assailing the ice barrier. He realized at once that the wind and sea were smashing the ice.

They were far from land and in grave peril. The Eskimos urged the dogs to renewed efforts, and the poor brutes themselves, seeming to realize the danger, pulled desperately at the traces.

After a time the ice beneath them began to undulate, moving up and down in waves and giving an uncertain footing. Between them and the cove they were heading for, but a little outside of their course, was a bare, rocky island and the Eskimos suddenly turned the dogs towards it. The whole body of ice was now separated from the mainland and this island was the only visible refuge open to them. Behind them the sea was booming and thundering in a terrifying manner as it drove gigantic ice blocks like mighty battering rams against the main mass, which crumbled steadily away before the onslaught.

It had become a race for life now, and it was a question whether the sea or the men would win. Once a crack was reached that they could not cross and they had to make a considerable detour to find a passage around it, and it looked for a little while as though this sealed their fate, but with a desperate effort they presently found themselves within a few yards of the island.

Here a new danger awaited them. The ice upon the shore was rising and falling and crumbling against the rocks with each incoming and receding sea. To successfully land it would be necessary to make a dash at the very instant that the ice came in contact with the shore. A moment too soon or a moment too late and they would inevitably be crushed to death. It was their only way of escape, however. The howling dogs were held in leash until the proper moment, and all prepared for the run.

Akonuk gave the word. The dogs leaped forward, the men jumped, and they found themselves ashore. The three grabbed the traces and helped the dogs jerk the komatik clear of the next sea, and all were at last safe.

Five minutes later a landing would have been impossible, and two hours later the entire bay surrounding their island was swept clear of ice by the gale and outgoing tide.

During the whole adventure the Eskimos had conducted themselves with the utmost coolness and gave Bob confidence and courage. Dangers of this kind had no terrors for them for they had met them all their lives.

They had landed upon the windward side of the island at a point where they were exposed to the full sweep of the gale.

"Peungeatuk"—very bad—said Akonuk.

Then he told Bob to remain by the dogs while he and Matuk looked for a sheltered camping place. In half an hour Matuk returned, his face wreathed in smiles, with the information,

"Innuit, igloo."

Then he and Bob drove the dogs to the lee side of the island, where they found four large snow igloos and several men, women and children, standing outside waiting to see the white traveller.

The Eskimos received Bob kindly, and they asked him inside while some of the men helped Akonuk and Matuk erect an igloo and fix up their camp.

The several igloos were all connected by snow tunnels, which permitted of an easy passage from one to the other without the necessity of going out of doors. A piece of clear ice, like glass, was set into the roof of each to answer for a window. They were all filled with a stench so sickening that Bob soon made an excuse to go outside and lend a hand in unpacking and helping Akonuk and Matuk make their own snow house ready.

There were no boughs here for a bed, as the island sustained no growth whatever, and in place of the boughs the dog harness was spread about before the deerskins were put down. In a little while the place was made quite comfortable.

It was not until they sat down to supper that Bob realized fully the serious position they were in. Akonuk and Matuk, after much difficulty, for he could understand their Eskimo tongue so imperfectly, explained to him that there was no means of reaching the mainland as there were no boats on the island, and that after the food they had was eaten there would be no means of procuring more, as the island had no game upon it. They also told him that no one would be passing the island until summer and that there was therefore no hope of outside rescue.

But one chance of escape was possible. If the wind were to shift to the northward and hold there long enough it would probably drive the ice back into the bay and then it would quickly freeze and they could reach the mainland. This their only hope, at this season of the year, for March was nearly spent, was a scant one.



XX

PRISONERS OF THE SEA

The party of Eskimos that Bob and his companions found encamped upon the island had come from the Kangeva mainland to spear seals through the animals' breathing holes in the ice, which in this part of the bay were more numerous than on the mainland side. In the few days since they had established themselves here they had met with some success, and had accumulated a sufficient store of meat and blubber to keep them and their dogs for a month or so, but further seal hunting, or hunting of any kind, was now out of the question, as no animal life existed on the island itself, and without boats with which to go upon the water the people were quite helpless in this respect.

Limited as was their supply of provisions, however, they unselfishly offered to share with Bob and his two companions the little they had, as is the custom with people who have not learned the harder ways of civilization and therefore live pretty closely to the Golden Rule. This hospitality was a considerable strain upon their resources, for the twelve dogs in addition to their own would require no small amount of flesh and fat to keep them even half-way fed; and the whale meat that had been brought for the dogs from Ungava Post was nearly all gone.

Akonuk had been instructed by Mr. MacPherson to discover the whereabouts of these very Eskimos and arrange with two of them to go on with Bob, after which he and Matuk were to secure from them food for themselves and their team and return to Ungava.

A good part of the hardtack, boiled pork and venison still remained, for, as we have seen, the game they had killed on the way had pretty nearly been enough for their wants. It was fortunate for Bob that they had these provisions, which required no cooking, for otherwise he would have had to eat the raw seal as the Eskimos did. They understood his aversion to doing this, and generously, and at the same time preferably, perhaps, ate the uncooked meat themselves, and left the other for him.

March passed into April, and daily the situation grew more desperate, as the provisions diminished with each sunset. Bob was worried. It began to look as though he and the Eskimos were doomed to perish on this miserable island. He was sorry now that he had not waited at Ungava for the ship, and been more patient, for then he would have reached Eskimo Bay in safety. At first the Eskimos were very cheerful and apparently quite unconcerned, and this consoled him somewhat and made him more confident; but finally even they were showing signs of restlessness.

Every day he was becoming more familiar with their language and could understand more and more of their conversation, and he drew from it and their actions that they considered the situation most critical. Back of the igloos was a hill a couple of hundred feet high, and many times each day the men of the camp would climb it and look long and earnestly to the north, where the heaving billows of Hudson Straits and the sky line met, broken only here and there by huge icebergs that towered like great crystal mountains above the water. They were watching for the ice field that they hoped would drift down with each tide to bridge the sea that separated them from the distant mainland.

The early April days were growing long and the sun's rays shining more directly upon the world were gaining power, though not yet enough to bring the temperature up to zero even at high noon, but enough to remind the men that winter was aging, and the ice hourly less likely to come back.

One of the Eskimos, Tuavituk by name, was an Angakok, or conjurer, and claimed to possess special powers which permitted him to communicate with Torngak, the Great Spirit who ruled their fortunes just as the Manitou rules the fortunes of the Indians. Tuavituk one day announced to the assembled Eskimos that something had been done to displease Torngak, and to punish them he had caused the storm to come that had so suddenly carried away the ice and left them marooned upon this desolate island, and here they would all perish eventually of starvation unless Torngak were appeased.

This announcement occasioned a long discussion as to what the cause of their trouble could have been. One old Eskimo suggested that the ice had broken up at the very moment that the kablunok—stranger—arrived, and that his presence was undoubtedly the disturbing influence. White men, he said, showed no respect for Torngak, and it was quite reasonable, therefore, that Torngak should resent it and wish not only to destroy the white men, but punish the innuit who gave the kablunok shelter or assistance. If this were the case they could only hope for relief after first driving Bob from their camp. When once purged of his presence Torngak would be satisfied, he would send the ice back into the bay and they would be enabled to return to the mainland and to renew their hunting.

A long discussion followed this harangue in which all the men took part with the exception of Tuavituk, who as Angakok reserved his opinion until it should be called for in a professional way; and all agreed with the first speaker save Akonuk and Matuk, who, being visitors, spoke last.

Akonuk asserted that he and Matuk had travelled with the kablunok all the way from Ungava and had enjoyed during that time not only perfect safety and comfort, but had made an unusually quick and lucky journey, killing all the ptarmigans and small game they wanted, and experiencing with the exception of one snow-storm excellent weather until they approached Kangeva. Then the ill wind blew upon them and brought disaster as they came to the camp on the island; therefore it seemed quite certain that not the kablunok but some of the innuit in the camp had offended the great Torngak, and amongst themselves they must look for the cause of their misfortune.

Matuk followed this speech with an address in which he bore out Akonuk's statements, and, doubtless having in mind Bob's plentiful supply of tea, of which beverage Matuk was passionately fond and partook freely, he stated it as his opinion that the presence of the kablunok had actually been the source of the good luck they had had previous to their arrival at Kangeva. Then he wound up with the startling announcement that he believed he knew the cause of Torngak's anger: that on the very day of their arrival he had seen Chealuk—one of the old women—sewing a netsek—sealskin adikey—with the sinew of the tukto—reindeer.

Every one turned to Chealuk for confirmation and she said simply,

"It is true."

The Eskimos were struck dumb with horror. This, then, was the cause of their trouble. For the women to work with any part of the reindeer while the men were hunting seals was one of the greatest affronts that could be offered the Great Spirit. Torngak had been insulted and angered. He must be appeased and mollified at any cost.

Tuavituk, the Angakok, it was decided, must do some conjuring. He must get into immediate communication with Torngak and learn the spirit's wishes and demands and what must be done to dispel the evil charm that Chealuk had worked by her thoughtlessness. Tauvituk was quite willing—indeed anxious—to do this, but he demanded to be well paid for it, and every man had to contribute some valuable pelt or article of clothing.

When all preparations for the seance had been made the Angakok's head was covered and in a few moments he began to utter untelligible exclamations, which were shortly punctuated by shouts and screams and ravings. He fell to the floor and seemed stricken with a fit, and Bob thought the man had gone stark mad. He struck out and grasped those within his reach, and they were glad to escape from his iron clutch. For several minutes this wild frenzy lasted before he said an intelligible word.

"The deer! The deer! The deer's sinew! Chealuk! Chealuk! Chealuk! Torngak! The evil spirit is in Chealuk! She must go! Must go! Send Chealuk away! Send her away! Send her away! Send her away!"

Finally from sheer exhaustion he quieted down and came out of his trance. He probably thought that he had given them their value's worth and what they had wanted, and that they should be satisfied.

It was now decreed that, this being the direct command of Torngak, Chealuk must be expelled from the camp. Some even asserted that she should be killed, but the majority decided that as Torngak had said merely that "Chealuk must go" that meant only that she must be sent away. If this did not prove sufficient to counteract their ill luck, why she could, after a reasonable time, be sought out and dispatched, if she had not in the meantime perished.

The feeble old woman heard it all with outward stoic indifference. It was a part of her religion and she probably thought the punishment quite just, and whatever shrinking of spirit she felt, she hid it heroically from the others. To have been killed immediately would have been more humane than banishment, for the latter only meant a slower but just as sure a death, from exposure and starvation.

To Bob, who had listened intently and was able to grasp the situation in a general way, it seemed heartless in the extreme; but his protests would not only have been powerless to move the Eskimos from their purpose, but in all probability would have worked harm for himself and to no avail. These people that at first had seemed so amiable and hospitable, and almost childlike in their nature, had been by their heathen superstitions suddenly transformed into cruel, unsympathetic savages.

"Oh," thought Bob, "if I had but heeded Sishetakushin's warning!"

But it was too late now to repent of the course he had taken and he had only to abide by it. It seemed to him that his own life hung by a mere thread and that at any moment some fancy might strike them to sacrifice him too. He had indeed but barely escaped Chealuk's fate, and the next time he might not be so fortunate.

In this disturbed state of mind he withdrew from the igloos and climbed the hill, where he stood and gazed longingly at the mainland hills to the southward, wondering where, beyond those cold, white ranges, lay Wolf Bight and his little cabin home, warm and clean and tidy, and whether his mother and father and Emily thought him safe or had heard of his disappearance and were mourning him as dead. And here he was far, far away in the north and hopelessly—apparently—stranded upon a desolate island from which he would probably never escape and never see them again.

Oh, how lonely and disconsolate he felt. Every day since he left home he had prayed God to keep the loved ones safe and to take him back to them.

"I hopes they're safe an' Emily's better, but th' Lard's been losin' track o' me," he said to himself with a wavering faith.

"But th' Lard took me safe t' Ungava, an' He must be watchin' me," he exclaimed after further thought. "An' He's been rare good t' me."

Then like a bulwark to lean against there came to him the words of his mother as they parted that beautiful September morning:

"Don't forget your prayers, lad, an' remember your mother's prayin' for you every night an' every mornin'."

And Emily had said, too, that she would ask God every night to keep him safe. This brought him a renewal of his faith and he argued,

"Th' Lard'll sure not be denyin' mother an' Emily, an' they askin' He every day t' bring me back. He sure would not be denyin' they for He knows how bad 'twould be makin' they feel if I were not comin' home. An' He wouldn't be wantin' that, for they never does nothin' t' make He cross with un."

This thought comforted him and he said confidently to himself,

"Th' Lard'll be showin' th' way when th' right time comes an' I'll try t' bide content till then."

But there was little in the surroundings to warrant Bob's faith. Looking about him from the hilltop he could see nothing but open sea around the island with an expanse of desolation beyond—snow, snow everywhere, from the water's edge to where the rugged mountains to the south and east held their cold heads into the gray clouds that hid the sky and sun. The sea was sombre and black. Not a breath of air stirred, not a sound broke the silence, and it seemed almost as though Nature in anxious suspense watched the outcome of it all. But Bob's faith was renewed—the simple, childlike faith of his people—and he felt better and more content with himself and his fortune.

It was growing dusk when he returned to the igloos. As he descended the hill a flake of snow struck his face and it was followed by others. A breath of wind like a blast from a bellows swirled the flakes abroad. The elements were awakening.

In the igloos Akonuk and Matuk were brewing tea for supper and the three ate in silence.

Bob asked once,

"What's to be done with Chealuk?"

"Nothing," they answered laconically.

This relieved the anxiety he felt for her, and he crawled into his sleeping bag and went to sleep, thinking that after all the judgment of the Angakok was a mere form, not to be executed literally.

After some hours Bob awoke. The wind was blowing a gale outside. He could hear it quite distinctly. From what direction it came he could not tell, and after lying awake for a long while he decided to arise and see.

When he removed the block of snow from the igloo entrance and crawled outside he was all but smothered by the swirling snow of a terrific, raging blizzard. He turned his back to the blast, and realized that it came from the north-east. The cold was piercing and awful. The elements which had been held in subjection for so long were unleashed and were venting themselves with all the untamed fury of the North upon the world.

As he turned to reenter the igloo an apparition brushed past him rushing off into the night.

"Who is it?" he shouted.

But the wind brought back no answer and overcome with a feeling of trepidation and a sense of impending tragedy, half believing that he had seen a ghost, he crawled back to his cover and warm sleeping bag to wonder.

There was no cessation in the storm or change in the conditions the next day. In the morning while they were drinking their hot tea Bob told Akonuk and Matuk of the apparition he had seen in the night.

"That," they said in awe, "was the spirit of Torngak," and Bob was duly impressed.

Upon a visit later to the other igloos he missed Chealuk. She had always sat in one corner plying her needle, and had always had a word for him when he came in to pay a visit. Her absence was therefore noticeable and Bob asked one of the Eskimos where she was.

"Gone," said the Eskimo.

And this was all he could learn from them. Poor old Chealuk had been sent away, and it must have been she, then, that he had seen in the darkness.

That night Bob was aroused again, and he immediately realized that something of moment had occurred. Akonuk and Matuk were awake and talking excitedly, and through the shrieking of the gale outside came a distinct and unusual sound. It was like the roar of distant thunder, but still it was not thunder. He sat up sharply to learn the meaning of it all.



XXI

ADRIFT ON THE ICE

The unusual sound that Bob heard was the pounding of ice driven by the mighty force of wind and tide against the island rocks. This the Eskimos verified with many exclamations of delight. The hoped for had happened and release from their imprisonment was at hand. Bob thanked God for remembering them.

"I were thinkin' th' Lard would not be losin' sight o' me now He's been so watchful in all th' other times I were needin' help," said he as he lay down.

To the Eskimos it was a proof of the efficacy of the appeal to the Angakok.

During the next day the high wind and snow continued until dusk. Then the weather began to calm and before morning the sky was clear and the stars shining cold and brilliant, and the sun rose clear and beautiful. Kangeva Bay, a solid held of ice again, as it was when Bob first saw it, stretched away unbroken and white to the northward.

No time was lost in making preparations for their escape. The komatiks were packed at once with the camp goods and the little food that still remained, the dogs were harnessed and a quick march took them safely to the mainland.

Here the Eskimos had an ample cache of seal and walrus meat killed earlier in the season. New igloos were built, as the old ones in use before they transferred to the island were not considered comfortable, the previous occupancy having softened the interior snow, which was now encrusted with a thin glaze of ice and this glaze prevented a free circulation of air.

Bob wanted to go on without delay but Akonuk and Matuk had found none of the Eskimos willing to proceed with him. It was therefore necessary for them to go with him until another camp was reached, and they insisted upon delaying the start a day in order as they said to give the dogs a good feed and get them in better shape for the journey, as they for some time had been fed only each alternate day instead of every day as was customary, and even then had received but half their usual portion. This seemed quite reasonable, but when Bob saw his friends a little later consuming raw seal meat themselves in enormous quantities, he concluded that the dogs were not the only object of their consideration.

They were still busily engaged arranging their new quarters when one of the Eskimos called the attention of the others to a black object far out upon the ice in the direction from which they had come. Slowly it tottered towards them and in a little while it was made out to be old Chealuk, who had been in hiding somewhere on the island. The poor old woman, nearly starved and with frozen hands and feet, was barely able to drag herself into camp. Some of the men protested against receiving her but she was finally permitted to enter the igloos and take up her old place, though with the understanding that she should leave again immediately at the first indication of Torngak's displeasure.

It was a great relief to Bob to know that she had not perished. The old woman had only been able to keep from freezing to death, as he learned, by hollowing out a place in a snow-bank in which to lie and letting the snow drift thickly over her and remaining there until the storm had spent itself.

"Sure I'm glad t' see she back again," thought Bob, and he voiced the sentiment to Matuk.

"Atsuk"—I don't know—said the Eskimo with a shrug of the shoulders.

While, as we have seen, none of the Eskimos would take the place of Akonuk and Matuk, they gave them sufficient seal meat and blubber for a two weeks' journey, and early the next morning the march eastward was resumed.

Bob was now driven to eating seal meat, as all his other provisions were exhausted, though, fortunately, he still had an abundance of tea. He had often eaten seal meat at home and was rather fond of it when it was properly cooked, but now no wood with which to make a fire was to be had. The land was absolutely barren, and even the moss was so deeply hidden beneath the snow it could not be resorted to for this purpose. Evenings in the igloo he boiled some meat over the stone lamp—enough to last him through the following day—but at best he could get it but partially cooked. However, he soon learned not to mind this much, for hunger is the best imaginable sauce, and in the cold of the Arctic north one can eat with a relish what could not be endured in a milder climate.

For several days they traversed mountain passes where they were shut in by towering, rugged peaks which seemed to reach to the very heavens. Bleak and desolate as the landscape was it possessed a magnificence and grandeur that demanded admiration and called forth Bob's constant wonder. He would gaze up at the mysterious white summits and ejaculate,

"'Tis grand! 'Tis wonderful grand!"

Such mountains he had never seen before, and like all wilderness dwellers he was a lover of Nature's beauties and a close observer of her wonders.

It was near the middle of April now and the sun's rays, reflected by the snow, were growing dazzlingly bright and beginning to affect their eyes. Goggles should have been worn as a protection against this glare but they had none and did not trouble to make them until one night Matuk found that he was overtaken by a slight attack of snow-blindness. This is an extremely painful affliction which does not permit the sufferer to approach the light or, in fact, so much as open his eyes without experiencing agony. The sensation is that of having innumerable splinters driven into the eyeballs with the lids when opened and closed grating over the splinters.

While they were waiting for Matuk to recover his eyesight Akonuk and Bob removed one of the wooden cross-bars from the komatik and with their knives cut from it three pieces each long enough to fit over the eyes for a pair of goggles. These were rounded to fit the face and a place whittled out for the nose to fit into. Then hollow places were cut large enough to permit the eyelids to open and close in them, and opposite each eye hollow a narrow slit for the wearer to look through. Then the interior of the eye places were blackened with smoke from the stone lamp, and a thong of sealskin was fastened to each end of the goggles with which to tie them in place upon the head.

Thus a pair of goggles was ready for each when, after a three days' rest Matuk's eyes were well enough for him to continue the journey, and by constantly wearing them on days when the sun shone, further danger of snow-blindness was averted.

Two days later, upon emerging from a mountain pass, they suddenly saw stretching far away to the eastward the great ocean ice. The sight sent the blood tingling through Bob's veins. Nearly half the journey from Ungava to Eskimo Bay had been accomplished!

"Th' coast! Th' coast!" shouted Bob. "Now I'll be gettin' home inside a month!"

He began at once to plan the surprise he had in store for the folk and an early trip that he would make over to the Post, when he would tell Bessie about his great "cruise" and hear her say that she was glad to see him back again. But Fortune does not wait upon human plans and Bob's fortitude was yet to be tried as it never had been tried before.

That afternoon an Eskimo village of snow igloos was reached. The Eskimos swarmed out to meet the visitors and gave them a whole-souled welcome, and in an hour they were quite settled for a brief stay in the new quarters.

Akonuk told Bob that now after the dogs, which were very badly spent, had a few days in which to rest, he and Matuk would turn back to Ungava. They would try to arrange for two more Eskimos with a fresh team to go on with him, but as for themselves, even were the dogs in condition to travel, they did not know the trail beyond this point.

The Eskimos here, like those they had met on the island at Kangeva, were engaged in seal hunting, and none of the men seemed to care to leave their work for a long, hard journey south. They did not say, however, that they would not go. When they were asked their answer was:

"In a little while—perhaps."

This was very unsatisfactory to Bob in his anxious frame of mind. But he had learned that Eskimos must be left to bide their time, and that no amount of coaxing would hurry them, so he tried to await their moods in patience. He understood the reluctance of the men to go away during one of the best hunting seasons of the year and could not find fault with them for it.

The seals were the mainstay of their living and to lose the hunt might mean privation. They were in need of the skins for clothing, kayaks and summer tents, and the flesh and blubber for food for themselves and their dogs, and the oil for their stone lamps.

Later in the season they would harpoon the animals from their kayaks, but this was the great harvest time when they killed them by spearing through holes in the ice where the seals came at intervals to breathe, for a seal will die unless it can get fresh air occasionally. Early in the morning each Eskimo would take up his position near one of these breathing holes, and there, with spear poised, not moving so much as a foot, sometimes for hours at a time, await patiently the appearance of a seal, which, having many similar holes, might not chance to come to this particular one the whole day.

The spear used had a long, wooden handle, with a barbed point made of metal or ivory, and so arranged that the barbed point came off the handle after it had been driven into the animal. To the point was fastened one end of a long sealskin line, the other end of which the hunter tied about his waist.

The moment a seal's nose made its appearance at the breathing hole the watchful Eskimo drove the spear into its body. Then began a tug of war between man and seal, and sometimes the Eskimos had narrow escapes from being pulled into the holes.

The seals of Labrador, it should be explained, are the hair, and not the fur seals such as are found in the Alaskan waters and the South Sea. There are five varieties of them, the largest of which is the hood seal and the smallest the doter or harbour seal. The square flipper also grows to a very large size. The other two kinds are the jar and the harp.

These all have different names applied to them according to their age. Thus a new-born harp is a "puppy," then a "white coat"; when it is old enough to take to the water, which is within a fortnight after birth, it becomes a "paddler," a little later a "bedlamer," then a "young harp" and finally a harp. The handsomest of them all is the "ranger," as the young doter is called.

Finally, one evening when all the men were assembled in the igloos after their day's hunt, Akonuk announced that he and Matuk were to return home the next morning. This renewed the discussion as to who should go on with Bob, and the upshot of it was that two young fellows—Netseksoak and Aluktook—with the promise that Mr. Forbes would reward them for aiding to bring the letters which Bob carried, volunteered to make the journey.

This settled the matter to Bob's satisfaction and it was agreed that, as the season was far advanced, it would be necessary to start at once in order to give the two men time to reach home again before the spring break-up of the ice.

Long before daylight the next morning the Eskimos were lashing the load on the komatik and at dawn the dogs were harnessed and everything ready. Bob said good-bye to Akonuk and Matuk and the two teams took different directions and were soon lost to each other's view.

"'Twill not be long now," said Bob to himself, "an' we gets t' th' Bay."

The sun at midday was now so warm that it softened the snow, which, freezing towards evening, made a hard ice crust over which the komatik slipped easily and permitted of very fast travelling until the snow began to soften again towards noon. Therefore the early part of the day was to be taken advantage of.

The new team, containing eleven dogs, was really made up of two small teams, one of six dogs belonging to Netseksoak and the other of five dogs the property of Aluktook. At first the two sets of dogs were inclined to be quarrelsome and did not work well together. At the very start they had a pitched battle which resulted in the crippling of Aluktook's leader to such an extent that for two days it was almost useless.

However, with the good going fast time was made. Usually they kept to the sea ice, but sometimes took short cuts across necks of land where, as had been the case near Ungava, the men had to haul on the traces with the dogs.

The new drivers were much younger men than Akonuk and Matuk and they were in many respects more companionable. But Bob missed a sort of fatherly interest that the others had shown in him and did not rely so implicitly upon their judgment.

Able now as he was to understand very much of their conversation, he took part in the discussion of various routes and expressed his opinion as to them; and the Eskimos, who at first had looked upon him as a more or less inexperienced kablunok, soon began to feel that he knew nearly as much about dog and komatik travelling as they did themselves. Thus a sort of good fellowship developed at once.

One evening after a hard day's travelling as they came over the crest of a hill the first grove of trees that Bob had seen since shortly after leaving Ungava came in sight. It was the most welcome thing that had met his view in weeks, and when the dogs were turned to its edge and he saw a small shack, he knew that he was nearing again the white man's country.

The shack was found to have no occupants, but it contained a sheet iron stove such as he had used in his tilts, and that night he revelled in the warmth of a fire and a feast of boiled ptarmigan and tea.

"'Tis like gettin' back t' th' Bay," said Bob, and he asked the Eskimos, "Will there be igloosoaks (shacks) all the way?"

"Igloosoaks every night," answered Aluktook.

The following morning a westerly breeze was blowing and the Eskimos were uncertain whether to keep to the land or follow the sea ice along the shore. The former route, they explained to Bob, passed over high hills and was much the harder and longer one of the two, but safer. The ice route along the shore was smooth and could be accomplished much more quickly, but at this season of the year was fraught with more or less danger. For many miles the shore rose in precipitous rocks, and should a westerly gale arise while they were passing this point, the ice was likely to break away and no escape could be made to the shore. The wind blowing then from the West was not strong enough yet, they said, to cause any trouble, and they did not think it would rise, but still it was uncertain.

"Which way should they go?"

Bob's experience at Kangeva made him hesitate for a moment, but his impatience to reach home quickly got the better of his judgment; and, especially as the Eskimos seemed inclined to prefer the outside route, he joined them in their preference and answered,

"We'll be goin' outside."

And the outside route they took.

All went well for a time, but hourly the wind increased. The dogs were urged on, but the wind kept blowing them to leeward and they began to show signs of giving out. Finally a veritable gale was blowing and the Eskimos' faces grew serious.

They were now opposite that part of the shore where it rose a perpendicular wall of rock towering a hundred feet above the sea, and offered no place of refuge. So they hurried on as best they could in the hope of rounding the walls and making land before the inevitable break came. Presently Aluktook shouted,

"Emuk! Emuk!"—the water! the water!

Bob and Netseksoak looked, and a ribbon of black water lay between them and the shore.

They lashed the dogs and shouted at them until they were hoarse, in a vain effort to urge them on. The poor brutes lay to the ice and did their best, but it was quite hopeless. In an incredibly short time the ribbon had widened into a gulf a quarter of a mile wide. Then it grew to a mile, and presently the shore became a thin black line that was soon lost to view entirely. They were adrift on the wide Atlantic!

They stopped the dogs when they realized that further effort was useless and sat down on the komatik in impotent dismay.

The weather had grown intensely cold and the perspiration that the excitement and exertion had brought out upon their faces was freezing. Snow squalls were already beginning and before nightfall a blizzard was raging in all its awful fury and at any moment the ice pack was liable to go to pieces.



XXII

THE MAID OF THE NORTH

"The's no profit in this trade any more," said Captain Sam Hanks, as he sat down to supper with his mate, Jack Simmons, in the little cabin of his schooner, Maid of the North. "I won't get a seaman's wages out o' th' cruise, an' I'm sick o' workin' fer nothin'. Now there was a time before th' free traders done th' business t' death that a man could make good money on th' Labrador, but that time's past They pays so much fer th' fur they's spoiled it fer everybody, an' I'm goin' t' quit."

"Th' free traders don't go north o' th' Straits much. Why don't ye try it there, sir?" suggested the mate.

"Ice. Too much ice. I've been thinkin' it over. Th' trouble is we couldn't get through th' ice in th' spring until after th' Hudson's Bay people had gobbled up everything. Th' natives down that coast is poor as Job's turkey, an' they has t' sell their fur soon's th' furrin' season's over. I hears th' company gets th' fur from 'em fer a song. Them natives'll give ye a silver fox fer a jackknife an' a barrel o' flour, an' a marten fer a gallon o' molasses. But the's money in it if a feller could get there in time," he added thoughtfully.

"What's th' matter with goin' down in th' fall before th' ice blocks th' coast? Th' Maid o' th' North is sheathed fer ice, an' we could freeze her in, some place down th' coast, an' be on hand t' sail when th' ice clears in th' spring, We could let th' folks know where we were t' freeze up, an' we'd pick up a lot o' fur before th' ice breaks, an' th' natives'd hold th' rest until we calls comin' south. The's a big chanct there," said the mate, conclusively.

"I dunno but yer right. I hadn't thought o' goin' down in th' fall t' freeze up. We'd have t' be gettin' t' our anchorage by th' first o' October."

"The's plenty o' time t' do that, sir. 'Twon't take more'n ten days t' fit out."

"Then the's th' cost o' shippin' th' crew t' be taken into account, 'n havin' 'em doin' nothin' th' hull winter. I don't know's the'd be much in it after everythin's counted out."

"That's easy 'nuff fixed. Take a lot o' traps an' let th' crew hunt in th' winter. Ye wouldn't have t' pay 'em then when ye wasn't afloat. Ye could give 'em their keep an' let 'em hunt with th' traps on shore an' make a little outen 'em. The's always fools 'nuff as thinks they'll get rich if they has a chanct t' try their hand doin' somethin' they ain't been doin' before, an' you kin get a crew o' fellers like that easy 'nuff."

"I dunno. Maybe I kin an' maybe I can't. Sounds like it's worth tryin' an' I'll think about it."

Every spring for ten years Captain Hanks—Skipper Sam he was generally called—had sailed out of Halifax Harbour with his schooner Maid of the North to work his way into the Gulf of St. Lawrence when the waters were clear of ice, and trade a general cargo of merchandise for furs with the Indians and white trappers along the north shore and the Straits of Belle Isle—the southern Labrador.

At first he found the trade extremely lucrative, and during the first four or five years in which he was engaged in it accumulated a snug sum of money, the income of which would have been quite sufficient to keep him comfortably the remainder of his life in the modest way in which he lived.

But Skipper Sam was much like other people, and the more he had the more he wanted, so he continued in the fur trade. The fact that he had purchased some city real estate for the purpose of speculation became known, and other skippers sailing schooners of their own, with an eye to lucrative, trade, decided that "Skipper Sam must be havin' a darn good thing on th' Labrador," and when the Maid of the North made her fifth voyage she had another schooner to keep her company, and another skipper was on hand to compete with Skipper Sam.

Each year had brought additions to the trading fleet, and competition had raised the price of fur until now the trappers, with a ready market, were growing quite independent, and Skipper Sam, instead of paying what he pleased for the pelts, which, when he had a monopoly of the trade, was a merely nominal price as compared with their value, was forced in order to get them at all to pay more nearly their true worth.

Even now he was making a fair profit, but his mind constantly reverted to the "good old days" when his returns were from five hundred to a thousand per cent. on his investment, and he felt injured and dissatisfied. At the end of every voyage he declared solemnly that he was no longer making more than seamen's wages and would quit the trade, and the mate, who was well aware of the captain's comfortable financial position, always believed he meant it.

It should be said to Captain Hanks' credit that he paid his mate and crew of five men the highest going wages, and treated them well and kindly. So long as they attended strictly to their duties he was their friend. They were provided with the best of food and they appreciated the good treatment and were loyal to Captain Hanks' interest and very much attached to the Maid of the North, as seamen are to a good ship that for several voyages has been their home.

So it was that the mate made his suggestions so freely. If Captain Hanks were to quit the trade he knew that it would be many a day before he secured another such berth, and his solicitude was therefore not alone in the captain's interests but was largely a matter of looking out for himself.

The voyage just completed had not, in fact, been a very profitable one, for the previous winter had been a poor year for the trappers that they dealt with, just as it had been farther north in Eskimo Bay, and Skipper Sam had good reason for feeling discouraged.

It was early in August now, and the Maid of the North was entering Halifax Harbour with the expectation of tying up at her berth the next morning. If she were to go north it would be necessary for her to be fitted out for the voyage immediately in order to reach her winter quarters before the ice began to form in the bays.

The two men ate their supper and both went on deck to smoke their pipes. Skipper Sam had no more to say about the proposed undertaking until late in the evening, when he called the mate to his cabin, where he had retired after his smoke, and there the mate found him poring over a chart.

"D'ye know anything about this coast?" the skipper asked, without looking up.

The mate glanced over his shoulder.

"Not much, sir. I was down on a fishin' cruise once when I was a lad."

"Well, how far down ought we t' go, d' ye think, before we lays up?"

"I think, sir, we should go north o' Indian Harbour. Th' farther north we gets, th' more fur we'll pick up."

"Well," said the skipper, standing up, "I'm goin' t' sail just as quick as I can fit out. Ship th' crew on th' best terms ye can. We got t' move smart, fer I wants time t' run well down before th' ice catches us."

"All right, sir."

Thus it happened that the Maid of the North, spick and span, with a new coat of paint on the outside, and a good stock of provisions and articles of trade in her hold, sailed out of Halifax Harbour and turned her prow to the northward on the first day of September, and was plowing her way to the Labrador at the very time that Bob Gray with his mother and Emily were returning so disconsolate to Wolf Bight after hearing the verdict of the mail boat doctor, and Bob was making the plans that carried him into the interior.

The Maid of the North called at many harbours by the way and the fame of Captain Hanks spread amongst the livyeres, as the native Labradormen are called. He told them what fabulous prices he would pay them for their furs in the spring when he came south, with open water, and they promised him to a man to reserve the bulk of their catch for him, and all had visions of coming wealth.

It was decided that they winter in the Harbour of God's Hope, just north of Cape Harrigan, and after passing Indian Harbour the natives were notified that if they wished any supplies during the winter they could bring their furs there and get what they needed.

The Harbour of God's Hope was found to be a deep, narrow inlet, not as well protected from the sea as might be desired, but still comparatively well sheltered, and particularly advantageous from the fact that the shores of the upper end of the inlet were wooded, an essential feature, as it provided an abundance of good fuel, and the supply on board was far from adequate for their needs.

The Maid of the North was made as snug as possible for the freeze-up, but could not be brought as close to shore as desirable, because of shoals. However, her position was deemed quite safe, and Skipper Sam experienced a sense of supreme satisfaction at his achievements and the prospects for a profitable trade in the spring.

The crew were put at work immediately to build a log shack for shore quarters, which was shortly accomplished. This shack was of ample size and was furnished with a stove brought from Halifax for the purpose, some chairs, a table and a kitchen outfit.

The skipper, the mate and the cook remained on board at first, but the crew were given permission to go ashore and hunt and trap in the hills back of the harbour, an opportunity of which they promptly took advantage.

As the cold weather came on and the ice formed thick and hard around the vessel it seemed unnecessary to keep a watch aboard, and as the shack was much more roomy than the cabin, and therefore more comfortable, all hands finally took up their quarters in it.

As the winter wore on livyeres began to pay frequent visits to Skipper Sam from up and down the coast, and they all brought furs to trade. With the approach of spring the skipper found to his satisfaction that he had already collected more pelts than he had been able to purchase on his previous spring's voyage in the South, and at prices that even to him seemed ridiculously low. These furs were duly stored aboard the Maid of the North, and by the first of May she had a cargo that could have been disposed of in Halifax or Montreal for several thousand dollars.

It was at this time that the skipper suggested to the mate one evening,

"Jack, les go caribou huntin' t'-morrer. I'm gettin' stiff hangin' 'round here."

"All right, sir," acquiesced the mate, "but," he asked, "th' crew's all away exceptin' th' cook, an' who'll look after things here if we both goes t' once?"

"We kin leave the cook alone fer one day I guess. If any o' th' livyeres come he kin keep 'em till we comes back in th' evenin'."