IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) h // fA ^ 1.0 I.I 21 12.5 ■10 W|/ lj£ 1^ £f KA i 2.2 us IIS u 140 11:25 iu I 2.0 1.6 V] <^ /a -> .'>.^' V ^> Photographic Sciences Corporation i-V ^ LO' <^ [V 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80 (716) S72-4S03 6^ : (meaning "CON- TINUED "), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbols — ► signifie "A SUIVRE ", le symbole V signifib "FIN". lire Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams !lustrate the method: L"'? uartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent fitre filmds A des taux de reduction diffirents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un soul clich6, il est filmd A partir de I'angle supirieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et i / " «■ ■ I ■ ■ ■ ■../5*-'^' lii 1 \. «..: ..„J k -*l i. * f OS y - f / /- N r^cf r/s O. (cAHcxdi^n Sloi '4 ■|- X i:i.sf)\ AND Son: I -'Ml. I. J II, I- .lillllLlIljl yli, .111.1 \u\v Vurk 1 Lost in the Wilds of Canada BY Bleanor Stre&Der Author of " The Merchant's Children." " Archie's Find," " Jack and his Ostrich,*- w.C. &c. " Icily colli from tlie nor'-nor'-east, the wind like An arrow went whistling by ; The stars stood sharp by a frozen moon, and the Moon stared white in a frosty sky." Clement Scott T NELSOY AND SONS London Edinbttrgh, and New YorA 1896 128387 STu^eb^c^ J J ©Tontcnts. I. IN acland's hut, ... 9 II. HUNTING THE BUFFALO, 22 III. THE FIRST SNOWSTORM, 86 IV. MAXICA, THE CREE INDIAN, 49 V. IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT, 62 VI. SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER, 70 VII. FOLLOWING THE BLACKFEET, 89 VIII. THE SHOP IN THE WILDERNESS, 102 IX. NEW FRIENDS, 116 X. THE DOG-SLED, 130 XI. THE HUNTERS' CAMP .'. . . . 144 XII. maxica's warning, 155 XIII. JUST IN TIME, m XIV. WEDDING GUESTS, 186 XV. TO THE RESCUE, 200 XVI. IN CONFUSION, ... 216 II LOST IN THE WILDS. -♦♦- CHAPTER I. IN AC LAND'S HUT. THE October sun was setting over a wild, wide waste of waving grass, growing dry and yellow in the autumn winds. The scarlet hips gleamed between the whitening blades wherever the pale pink roses of summer had shed their fragrant leaves. But now the brief Indian summer was drawing to its close, and winter was coming down upon that vast Canadian plain with rapid strides. The wailing cry of the wild geese rang through the gathering stillness. The driver of a rough Red River cart slapped the l^oy by his side upon the shoulder, and bade him look aloft at the swiftly-moving cloud of chattering beaks and waving wings. For a moment or two the twilight sky was darkened, and the air was filled with the restless beat of count- less pinions. The flight of the wild geese to the warmer south told the same story, of approaching 10 IN ACLANDS HUT. ii A M ' 4 ' snow, to the bluff carter. He muttered something about findi^.; ue cows which his young companion did not ti^dersUnd. The boy's eyes had travelled from the v :5 . files of retreating geese to the vast expanse of y and plain. The west was all aglow with myriad tints of gold and saffron and green, reflected back from many a gleaming lakelet and curving river, which shone like jewels on the broad breast of the grassy ocean. Where the dim sky-line faded into darkness the Touchwood Hills cast a black- ness of shadow on the numerous thickets which fringed their sheltering slopes. Onward stole the darkness, while the prairie fires shot up in wavy lines, like giant fireworks. Between the fire-flash and the dying sun the boy's quick eye was aware of the long winding course of the great trail to the north. It was a comfort to perceive it in the midst of such utter loneliness ; for if men had come and gone, they had left no other record behind them. He seemed to feel the .stillness of an unbroken solitude, and to hear the silence that was brooding over lake and thicket, hill and waste alike. He turned to his companion. " Forgill," he asked, in a low venturing tone, " can you find your way in the dark ? " He was answered by a low, short laugh, too ex- pressive of contempt to suffer him to repeat his question. IN ACLANDS HUT. 11 One broad flash of crimson light yet lingered along the western sky, and the evening star gleamed out upon the shadowy earth, which the night was hugging to itself closer and closer every moment. Still the cart rumbled on. It was wending now by the banks of a nameless river, where the pale, faint star-shine reflected in its watery depths gave back dim visions of inverted trees in wavering, uncertain lines. " How far are we now from Acland's Hut ? " asked the boy, disguising his impatience to reach their journey's end in careless tones. " Acland's Hut," repeated the driver ; " why, it is close at hand." The horse confirmed this welcome piece of intelli- gence by a joyous neigh to his companion, who was following in the rear. A Canadian always travels with two horses, which he drives by turns. The horses themselves enter into the arrancfement so well that there is no trouble about it. The loose horse follows his master like a dog, and trots up when the cart comes to a standstill, to take the collar warm from his companion's shoulders. But for once the loose pony had galloped past them in the darkness, and was already whinnying at the well-known gate of Acland's Hut. The driver put his hand to his mouth and gave a shout, which seemed to echo far and wide over the silent prairie. It was answered by a chorus of bark- ing from the many dogs about the farm. A lantern 12 IN ACLANDS HUT. ill i\ gleamed through the darkness, and friendly voices shouted in reply. Another bend in the river brought them face to face with the rough, white gato of Acland's Hut. Behind lay the low farm-house, with its log-built walls and roof of clay. Already the door stood wide, and the cheerful blaze from the pine-logs burning on the ample hearth within told of the hospi- table welcome awaiting the travellers. An unseen hand undid the creaking gate, and a gruff voice from the darkness exchanged a hearty "All right " with Forgill. The lantern seemed to dance before the horse's head, as he drew up beneath the solitary tree which had been left for a hen-roost in the centre of the enclosure. Forgill jumped down. He gave a helping hand to his boy companion, observing, " There is your aunt watching for you at the open door. Go and make friends ; you won't be strangers long." " Have you got the child, Forgill ? " asked an anxious woman's voice. An old Frenchman, who fulfilled the double office of man anrl maid at Acland's Hut, walked up to the cart and held out his arms to receive the expected visitor. Down leaped the boy, altogether disdaining the over-attention of the farming man. Then he heard Forgill whisper, " It isn't the little girl she expected, it is this here boy ; but I have brought him all the same." IN ACLANDS HUT. 18 This piece of intelligence was received with a low chuckle, and all three of the men became suddenly- intent upon the buckles of the harness, leaving aunt and nephew to rectify the little mistake which had clearly arisen — not that they had anything to do with it. " Com>3 in," said the aunt in kindly tones, scarcely knowing whether it was a boy or a girl that she was welcoming. But when the rough deer-skin in which Forgill had enveloped his charge as the night drew on was thrown aside, the look which spread over her face was akin to consternation, as she asked his name and heard the prompt reply, " Wilfred Acland ; and are you my own Aunt Miriam ? How is my uncle ? " But question was exchanged for question with exceeding rapidity. Then remembering the boy's long journey, Aunt Miriam drew a three-legged stool in front of the blazing fire, and bade him be seated. The owner of Acland's Hut was an aged man, the eldest of a large family, while Wilfred's father was the youngest. They had been separated from each other in early life ; the brotherly tie between them was loosely knitted. Intervals of several years* duration occurred in their correspondence, and many a kindly-worde'i epistle failed to reach its destination ; for the adventurous daring of the elder brother led him again and again to sell his holding, and push his way still farther west. He loved the ring of the woodman's axe, the felling and the clearing. He grew 14 IN ACLANDS HUT. ^ini M'l Wr rich from the abundant yield of the virgin soil, and his ever-increasing droves of cattle grew fat and fine in the grassy sea which surrounded his homestead. All went well until his life of arduous toil brought on an attack of rheumatic fever, which had left him a bedridden old man. Everything now depended upon the energy of his sole surviving sister, who had shared his fortunes. Aunt Miriam retained a more affectionate remem- brance of Wilfred's father, who had been her playmate. When the letter arrived announcing his death she was plunged in despondency. The letter had been sent from place to place, and was nine months after date before it reached Acland's Hut, on the verge of the lonely prairie between the Qu'appelle and South Saskatchewan rivers. The letter was written by a Mr. Cromer, who promised to take care of the child the late Mr. Acland had left, until he heard from the uncle he was addressing. The brother and sister at Acland's Hut at once started the most capable man on their farm to purchase their winter stores and fetch the orphan child. Aunt Miriam looked back to the old letters to ascertain its age. In one of them the father rejoiced over the birth of a son ; in another he spoke of a little daughter, named after herself ; a third, which lamented the death of his wife, told also of the loss of a child — which, it did not say. Aunt Miriam, with a natural partiality for her namesake, decided, IN ACLANDS HUT. 16 soil, and and fine mestead. brought left him lepended who had remem- laymate. she was een sent Fter date of the 1 South n by a le child rom the at once arm to orphan letters father e spoke 1 third, of the Miriam, lecided, as she re-read the brief letter, that it must be the girl who was living; for it was then a baby, and every one would have called it " the baby." By using the word "child," the poor father must have referred to the eldest, the boy. " Ah ! very likely," answered her brother, who had no secret preference to bias his expectations. So the conjecture came to be regarded as a certainty, until Wilfred shook off the deer-skin and stood before his aunt, a strong hearty boy of thirteen summers, awkwardly shy, and alarmingly hungry. But her welcome was not the less kindly, as she heaped his plate again and again. Wilfred was soon nodding over his supper in the very front of the blazing fire, basking in its gen:al warmth. But the delightful sense of comfort and enjoyment was rather shaken when he heard his aunt speaking in the inner room. " Forgill has come back, Caleb ; and after all it is the boy." " The boy, God bless him ! I only wish he were more of a man, to take my place," answered the dreamy voice of her sick brother, just rousing from his slumbers. " Oh, but I am so disappointed ! " retorted Aunt Miriam. " I had been looking forward to a dear little niece to cheer me through the winter. I felt so sure — " " Now, now ! " laughed the old man, " that is just ^•v^*-*^-- H' 16 IN ACLANDS HUT. where it is. If once you get an idea in your head, there it wedges to the exclusion of everything else. You like your own way, Miriam, but you cannot turn your wishes into a coach and six to override every- thing. You cannot turn him into a girl." Wilfred burst out laughing, as he felt himself very unpromising material for the desired metamorphosis. " How shall I keep him out of mischief when we are all shut in with the snow ? " groaned Aunt Miriam. " Let me look at him," said her brother, growing excited. When Wilfred stood by the bedside, his uncle took the boy's warm hands in both his owr and looked earnestly in his bright open face. " He will do," murmured the old man, sinking back amongst his pillows. " There, be a good lad ; mind what your aunt says to you, and make yourself at home." While he was speaking all the light there was in the shadowy room shone full on Wilfred. " He is like his father," observed Aunt Miriam. " You need not tell me that," answered Caleb Acland, turning away his face. " Could we ever keep him out of mischief ? " she sighed. Wilfred's merry laugh jarred on their ears. They forgot the lapse of time since his father's death, and wondered to find him so cheerful. Aunt and nephew (303) IN ACLANDS HUT. 17 e was 111 were decidedly out of time, and out of time means out of tune, as Wilfred dimly felt, without divining the reason. Morning showed him his new home in its brightest aspect. He was up early and out with Forgill and the dogs, busy in the long row of cattle-sheds which sheltered one end of the farm-house, whilst a well- planted orchard screened the other. Wilfred was rejoicing in the clear air, the joyous sunshine, and the wonderful sense of freedom which seemed to pervade the place. The wind was whisper- ing through the belt of firs at the back of the clearing where Forgill had built his hut, as he made his way through the long, tawny grass to gather the purple vetches and tall star-like asters, still to be found by the banks of the reed-fringed pool where Forgill was watering the horses. Wilfred was intent upon propitiating his aunt, when he returned to the house with his autumn bouquet, and a large basket of eggs which Forgill had intrusted to his care. Wilfred rushed into the kitchen, elate with his morning ramble, and quite regardless of the long trail of muddy footsteps with which he was soiling the freshly-cleaned floor. " Look ! " cried Aunt Miriam ; but she spoke to deaf ears, for Wilfred's attention was suddenly absorbed by the appearance of a stranger at the gate. His horse and gun proclaimed him an early visitor. His (3G3) 2 n w 18 IN ACLANDS HUT. jaunty air and the glittering beads and many tassels which adorned his riding-boots made Wilfred wonder who he was. He set his basket on the ground, and was darting off again to open the gate, when Aunt Miriam, finding her remonstrances vain, leaned across the table on which she was arranging the family breakfast and caught him by the arm. Wilfred was going so fast that the sudden stoppage upset his equilibrium ; down he went, smash into the basket of eggs. Out flew one-half in a frantic dance, while the mangled remains of the other streamed across the floor. " Oh ! the eggs, the eggs ! " exclaimed Wilfred. Aunt Miriam, who was on the other side of the table when he came in, had not noticed the basket he was carrying. She held up her hands in dismay, exclaiming, " I am afraid, Wilfred, you are one of the most aggravating boys that ever walked this earth." For the frost was coming, and eggs were growing scarce. " And so, auntie, since you can't transform me, you have abased me utterly. I humbly beg your pardon from the very dust, and lay my poor bruised offering at your indignant feet. I thought the coach and six was coming over me, I did indeed I " exclaimed Wilfred. " Get up " reiterated Aunt Miriam angrily, her vexation heightened by the burst of laughter which greeted her ears from the open door, where the stranger now stood shaking with merriment at the ridiculous scene. *> 1 IN ACLANDS HUT. 19 y tassels I wonder und, and len Aunt 3d across e family Ifred was ipset his basket of while the the floor, fred. \e of the basket he dismay, •ne of the earth." growing me, you ir pardon offering and six Wilfred, rrily, her ier which stranger ridiculous " Yes, off with you, you young beggar!" he repeated, stepping aside good-naturedly to let Wilfred pass. For what could l fellow do but go in such dis- astrous circumstances ? " It is not to be expected that the missis will put up with this sort of game," remarked Petre Fleurie, as he passed him. Wilfred began to think it better to forego his breakfast than face his indignant aunt. What did she care for the handful of weeds ? The mud he had gone through to get them had caused all the mischief. Everywhere else the ground was dry and crisp with the morning frost. " What an unlucky dog I am !" thought Wilfred dolefully. " Haven't I made a bad beginning, and I never meant to." He crept under the orchard railing to hide himself in his repentance and keep out of everybody's way. But it was not the weather for standing still, and he longed for something to do. He took to running in and out amongst the now almost leafless fruit-trees to keep himself warm. Forgill, who was at work in the court putting the meat-stfLge in order, looked down into the orchard from the top of the ladder on which he was mounted, and called to Wilfred to come and help him. It was a very busy time on the farm. Marley, the other labourer, who was Forgill's chum in the little hut in the corner, was away in the prairie looking up the cows, which had been turned loose in the early n I V '■ i\ 1 1 J 20 IN ACLANDS HUT. summer to get their own living, and must now be brought in and comfortably housed for the winter. Forgill had been away nearly a night. Hands were short on the farm now the poor old master was laid aside. There was land to be sold all round them ; but at present it was unoccupied, and the nearest settler was dozens of miles away. Their only neigh- bours were the roving hunters, who had no settled home, but wandered about like gipsies, living entirely by the chase and selling furs. They were partly descended from the old French settlers, and partly Indians. They were a careless, light-hearted, dashing set of fellows, who made plenty of money when skins were dear, and spent it almost as fast as it came. Uncle Caleb thought it prudent to keep on friendly terms with these roving neighbours, who were always ready to give him occasional help, as they w^ere always well paid for it. "There is one of these hunter fellows here now," said Forgill. " The missis is arranging with him to help me to get in the supply of meat for the winter." The stage at which Forgill was hammering re- sembled the framework of a very high, long, narrow table, with four tall fir poles for its legs. Here the meat was to be laid, high up above the reach of the many animals, wild and tame. It would soon be frozen through and through as hard as a stone, and keep quite good until the spring thaws set in. Wilfred was quickly on the top of the stage, enjoy- IN ACLANDS HUT. 21 ing the prospect, for the atmosphere in Canada is so clear that the eye can distinguish objects a very long way off. He had plenty of amusement watching the great buzzards and hawks, w^hich arq never long out of sight. He had entered a region where birds abounded. There were cries in the air above and the drumming note of the prairie-hen in the grass below. There were gray clouds of huge white pelicans flap- ping heavily along, and faster-flying strings of small white birds, looking like rows of pearls waving in the morning air. A moving band, also of snowy white, crossing the blue water of a distant lakelet, puzzled him a while, until it rose with a flutter and scream, and proved itself another flock of northern geese on wing for the south, just pausing on its way to drink. Presently Wilfred was aware that Petre was at the foot of the ladder talking earnestly to Forgill. An unpleasant tingling in his cheek told the subject of their conversation. He turned his back towards them, not choosing to hear the remarks they might be making upon his escapade of the morning, until old Petre — or Pete as he was usually called, for some- how the " r " slipped out of his name on the English lips around him — raised his voice, protesting, " You and I know well how the black mud by the reed pool sticks like glue. Now, I say, put him on the little brown pony, and take him with you." " Follow the hunt ! " cried Wilfred, overjoyed. " Oh, may I, Forgill ? " i 11 ■' ji' i 1 CHAPTER II. HUNTING THE BUFFALO. ^HE cloudy morning ended in a brilliant noon. Wilfred was in ecstasies when he found him- self mounted on the sagacious Brownie, who had followed them like a dog on the preceding evening. Aunt Miriam had consented to Pete's proposal with a thankfulness which led the hunter, Hugh Bowkett, to remark, as Wilfred trotted beside him, " Come, you young scamp ! so you are altogether beyond petticoat government, are you ? " " That is not true," retorted Wilfred, " for I was never out of her Majesty's dominion for a single hour in my life." It was a chance hit, for Bowkett had been over the frontier more than once, wintering among the Yankee roughs on the other side of the border, a proceeding which is synonymous in the North- West Dominion with "getting out of the way." Bowkett was a handsome fellow, and a first-rate shot, who could accomplish the difficult task of hunt- ing the long-eared, cunning moose-deer as well as a HUNTING THE HUFFALO. 23 ninion born Red Indian. Wilfred looked up at him with secret admiration. Not so Forgill, who owned to Pete there wac no dependence on these half-and-half char- acters. But without Bowkett's help there would be no meat for the winter ; and since the master had decided the boy was to go with them, there was nothing more to be said. Aunt Miriam came to the gate, in her hood and cloak, to see them depart. " Good-bye ! good-bye, auntie ! " shouted "Wilfred. " I am awfully sorry about those eggs." " Ah, you rogue ! do you think I am going to believe you ? " She laughed, shaking a warning finger at him ; and so they parted, little dreaming of all that would happen before they met again. Wilfred was equipped in an old, smoked deer-skin coat of his uncle's, and a fur cap with a flap falling like a cape on his neck, and ear-pieces which met under his chin. He was a tall hoy of his age, and his uncle was a little, wiry man. The coat was not very much too long for him. It wrapped over fa- mously in front, and was belted round the waist. Pete had filled the pockets with a good supply of biscuit, and one or two potatoes, which he thought Wilfred could roast for his supper in the ashes of the camp- fire. For the hunting-party expected to camp out in the open for a night or two, as the bufialoes they were in quest of were further to seek and harder to find every season. iel fi .. 1-1 24 HUNTING THE BUFFALO. Forgill had stuck a hunting- knife in Wilfred's belt, to console him for the want of a gun. The boy would have liked to carry a gun like the others, but on that point there was a resolute " No " all round. As they left the belt of pine trees, and struck out into the vast, trackless sea of grass, Wilfred looked back to the light blue column of smoke from the farm-house chimney, and wdstfully watched it curling upwards in the clear atmosphere, with a dash of regret that he had not yet made friends with his uncle, or recovered his place in Aunt Miriam's good graces. But it scarcely took off the edge of his delight. Forgill was in the cart, which he hoped to bring back loaded with game. At the corner of the first bluff, as the hills in Canada are usually called, they encountered Bowkett's man with a string of horses, one of which he rode. There was a joyous blaze of sunshine glinting through the broad fringes of white pines which marked the course of the river, making redder the red stems of the Norwegians which sprang up here and there in vivid contrast. A light canoe of tawny birch-bark, with its painted prow, was thread- ing a narrow passage by the side of a tiny eyot or islet, where the pine boughs seemed to meet high over- head. The hunters exchancred a shout of recoernition with its skilful rower, ere a stately heron, with grand crimson eye and leaden wings, came slowly flapping down the stream intent on fishing. Then the little party wound their way by ripple -worn rocks, covered >>*.> HUNTING THE BUFFALO. 25 noe of read- ot or over- nition j:>Tand )ping little vered with mosses and lichens. At last, on one of the few bare spots on a distant hillside, some dark moving specks became visible. The hunt began in earnest. Away went the horsemen over the wide, open plain, Wilfred and the cart following more slowly, yet near enough to watch the change to the stealthy approach and the cautious outlook over the hill-top, where the hunter's practised eye had detected the buffalo. " Keep close by me," said Forgill to his young com- panion, as they wound their way upwards, and reached the brow of the hill just in time to watch the wild charge upon the herd, which scattered in desperate flight, until the hindmost turned to bay upon his reckless pursuers, his shaggy head thrown up as he stood for a moment at gaze. With a whoop and a cheer, in which Wilfred could not help joining, Bow- kett again gave chase, followed by his man Diome. A snap shot rattled through the air. Forgill drew the cart aside to the safer shelter of a wooded copse, out of the line of the hunters. He knew the infuriated buflalo would shortly turn on his pursuers. The loose horses were racing after their companions, and Brownie was quivering with excitement. " Hold hard ! " cried Forgill, who saw the boy was longing to give the pony its head and follow suit. " Quiet, my lad," he continued. " None of us are up to that sort of work. It takes yoin* breath to look at them." The buffalo was wheeling round. Huge and un- 2G HUNTING THE BUFFALO. i wieldy as the beast appeared, it changed its front with the rapidity of lightning. Then Bowkett backed his horse and fled. On the proud beast thundered, with lowered eyes flashing furiously under its shaggy brows. A bullet from Diome's gun struck him on the forehead. He only shook his haughty head and bellowed till the prairie . ?ng ; but his pace slackened as the answerini): cries of the retreating herd seemed to call him back. He was within a yard of Bowkett's horse, when round he swung as swiftly and suddenly as he had advanced. Wilfred stood up in his stiirups to watch him galloping after his companions, through a gap in a broken bluff" at no great distance. Away went Bowkett and Diome, urging on their horses with shout and spur. " Halt a bit," said Forgill, restraining Wilfred and his pony, until they saw the two hunters slowly returning over the intervening ridge with panting horses. They greeted the approach of the cart with a hurrah of success, proposing, as they drew nearer, to halt for dinner in the shelter of the gap through which the bufflilo had taken its way. Wilfred was soon busy with Diome gathering the dry branches last night's wind had broken to make a fire, whilst Bowkett and Forgill went forward with the cart to look for the fallen quarry. It was the boy's first lesson in camping out, and he enjoyed it immensely, taking his turn at the frying- pan with such success that Diom^ proposed to hand HUNTING THE BUFFALO. 27 it over to his exclusive use for the rest of their expedition. It was hard work to keep the impudent blue jays, with which the prairie abounded, from darting at the savoury fry, and pecking out the very middle of the steak, despite the near neighbourhood of smoke and flame, which threatened to singe their wings in the mad attempt. But in spite of the thievish birds, dinner was eaten and appreciated in the midst of so much laughter and chaff that even Forgill unbent. But a long day's work was yet before them, spurring over the sand-ridges and through the rustling grass. They had almost reached one of the westward jutting spurs of the Touchwood Hills, when the sun went down. As it neared the earth and sank amidst the glo- rious hues of emerald and gold, the dark horizon line became visible for a few brief instants across its blood- red face ; but so distant did it seem, so very far away, the whole scene became dreamlike from its immensity. " We've done, my lads ! " shouted Bowkett ; " we have about ended as glorious a day's sport as ever I had." " Not yet," retorted Diome. '' Just listen." There was a trampling, snorting sound as of many cattle on the brink of a lakelet sheltering at the foot of the neighbouring hills. Were they not in the midst of what the early Canadian settlers used to call the Land of the Wild '28 HUNTING THE BUFFALO. Cows ? Those sounds proceeded from another herd coming down for its evening drink. On they crept with stealthy steps through bush and buh'ush to get a nearer view in the bewildering shadows, which were growing darker and darker every moment. " Stop ! stop ! " cried Forgill, hurrying forward, as the light yet lingering on the lake showed the familiar faces of his master's cows stooping down to reach the pale blue water at their feet. Yes, there they were, the truant herd Marley was endeavouring in vain to find. Many a horned head was lifted at the sound of Forgill's well-known call. Away he went into the midst of the group, pointing out the great " A " he had branded deep in the thick hair on the left shoulder before he had turned them loose. What was now to be done ? " Drive them home," said the careful Forgill, afraid of losing them again. But Bowkett was not willing to return. Meanwhile Diome and Wilfred were busy prepar- ing for the night at the spot where they had halted, '*' when the presence of the herd was first perceived. They had brought the horses down to the lake to water at a sufficient distanc''' from the cows not to disturb them. But one or two of the wanderers began to "moo," as if they partially recognized their former companions. " They will follow me and the horses," pursued Forgill, who knew he could guide his way across the trackless prairie by the aid of the stars. HUNTING THE BUFFALO. 29 -- II ■!' CHAPTER V. AV THE BIRCH-BARK HUT. THE sqnaw was a very ugly woman ; starvation and old age combined had made her perfectly hideous. As Wilfred sat in silence watching the sim- mering kettle, he thought she was the ugliest creature he had ever seen. Her complexion was a dark red- brown. Her glittering black eyes seemed to glare on him in the darkness of the hut like a cat's. Her shrivelled lips showed a row of formidably long teeth, which made Wilfred think of Little Red Ridinghood's grandmother, and he hoped she would not pounce on him and devour him before Maxica returned. He wronged her shamefully, for she had been watching his limping movements with genuine pity. What did it matter that her gown was scant and short, or that her leggings, which had once been of bright-coloured cloth, curiously worked with beads, were reduced by time to a sort of no-colour and the tracery upon them to a dirty line ? They hid a good, kind heart. She loosened the English handkerchief tied over IN THE BIiiCH-BARK HUT. G.3 ien |ty. Ind of Ids, ihe )d, ler her Lead, and the long, raven locks, now streaked with white, fell over her shoulders. She was a wild-looking being, but her awakening glance of alertness need not have alarmed Wilfred, for she was only intent upon dipping him a cup of water from the steaming kettle. She was careful to taste it and cool it with a little of the snow still driving through the hole in the roof, until she made it the rio'ht dcGfree of heat that was safest for Wilfred in his starvino' freezing; condition. " What would Aunt Aliriam think if she could see me now ? " mused the boy, as he fixed his eyes on the dying embers and turned a^^■ay from the steaming cup he longed to snatch at. Yet when the squaw held it towards him, he put it back with a smile, resolutely repeating " After you," for was she not a woman ? He made her drink. A little greasy water, oh ! how nice ! Then he refilled the cup and took his share. The tottering creature smoothed the blanket from which she had risen on Wilfred's summary entrance, and motioned to him to lie down. " It will be all glove with us now," laughed Wilfred to himself — " hand and glove with the Red Indians. If any one whispered that in uncle's ear, wouldn't he think me a queer fish ! But I owe my life to Maxica, and I know it." He threw himself down on the blanket, glad indeed i 1 I f 1 !■ H 1 i i I - ? |. 64 IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT, of the rest for his swollen ankle. From this lowly bed he fell to contemplating his temporary refuge. It looked so very temporary, especially the side from which Maxica had abstracted his alpenstock, Wilfred becfan to fear the next disaster would be its downfall. He was dozing, when a sudden noise made him start up, in tlie full belief the catastrophe he had dreaded had arrived ; but it was only Maxica dropping the firewood he had with difficulty collected through the hole in the roof. He called out to Wilfred that he had discovered his atim digging in the snow at some distance. What his atim might prove to be Wilfred could not imagine. He was choosing a stick froui the heap of firewood. Balancing himself on one foot, he popped his head through the hole to reconnoitre. He fancied he too could see a moving speck in the distance. " The dog ! " he cried joyfully, giving a long, shrill whistle that brought it bounding over the crisping snow towards him with a ptarmigan in its mouth. After much coaxing, Wilfred induced the dog to lay the bird down, to lap the melting snow which was filling the hollows in the floor with little puddles. The squaw pounced upon the bird as a welcome ad- dition to the beaver-skin soup. Where had the dog found it ? He had not killed it, that was clear, for it was frozen hard. Yet it had not been frozen to death. The quick Indian perception of the squaw pointed to the bite on its breast. It was not the tooth of a dog. ( i' IN TIIK BIIICH-BARK HUT. 05 to was ad- dog )r it lath, to log, ' I but the sharp boak of some bird of prey which had killed it. The atim had found the cache of a great white owl ; a provident bird, which, when once its hunger is satisfied, stores the remainder of its prey in some handy crevice. The snow had ceased to fall. The moon was rising. The thick white carpet which covered all around was hardenin^f under the touch of the coniini>' frost. Another cup from the half-made soup, and Maxica proposed to start with Wilfred to search for the sup- posed store. The dog was no longer hungry. It had stretched itself on the ground at Wilfred's feet for a comfortable slumber. An Indian never stops for pain or illness. AVith the grasp of death upon him, he will follow the war- path or the hunting track, so that Maxica paid no regard to Wilfred's swollen foot. If the boy could not walk, his shoulder was ready, but go he must ; the atim would lead his own master to the spot, but it would never show it to a stranjxer. Wilfred glanced up quickly, and then looked down with a nod to himself. It would not do to make much of his hurt in such company. Well, he had added a word to his limited stock of Indian. "Atim" was Cree for dog, that at least was clear ; and they had added the atim to his slender possessions. They thought the dog was his own, and why should not he adopt him ? They were both lost, they might as well be chums. (303) 5 m [V} GQ IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT. This conclusion arrived at, Wilfred caught up the \vin the dog Aight ently I per- sisjns as as \ soon I way natu- bo do, sling this laxica and pole. \"ain that dread " Waufjh 01" rancj out, and then the breathless silence which followed was broken by half-suppressed screams, as of some one suffocating in the throttling grasp of an enemy. The dog, with his tail between his legs, crouched cowering at their feet. " The Blackfeet are upon us," whispered the Cree, with his hand on his bow, when a moving shadow became visible above the distant pine trees. The Cree breathed freely, and drew aside his half made trap, abandoned at the first word that broke from Wilfred's lips : " It is not human ; it is coming through the air." " It is the otowuck itself," answered Maxica. " Be off, or it will have our eyes out if it finds us near its roost." He was looking round him for some place of con- cealment. On came the dreaded creature, sailing in 68 IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT. W-! rapid silence towards its favourite haunt, gliding with outstretched pinions over the glistening snow, its great round eyes flashing like stars, or gleams of angry lightning, as it swept the whitened earth, shoot- ing downwards to strike at some furry prey, then rising as suddenly in the clear, calm night, until it floated like a fleecy cloud above their heads, as ready to swoop upon the sparrow nestling on its tiny twig as upon the wild turkey -hen roosting am">ng the stunted bushes. Maxica trembled for the dog, for he knew the special hatred with wliich it regarded dogs. If it recognized the thief at its hoard, its doom was sealed. Maxica pushed his alpenstock into an empty badger hole big enough for the boy and dog to creep into. Then, as the owl drew near, he sent an arrow whizzing through the air. It was aimed at the big white breast, but the unerring precision of other days was over. It struck the feathery wing. The bird soared aloft unharmed, and the archer, crouching in the snow, barely escaped its vengeance. Down it pounced, striking its talons in his slioulder, as he turned his back towards it to protect his face. Wilfred sprang out of the friendly burrow, snatched the pole from Maxica's hand, and beat off tlie owl ; and the dog, unable to rush past Wilfred, barked furiously. The onslaught and the noise were at least distasteful. Hissing fiercely, with the horn-like feathers above its glaring eyes erect and bristling, the bird spread i\ »ii' t ' IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT. 60 into. It aloft mow, Inced, k his >rani? I from (log, The :eful. ibove (read its gigantic wings, wheeling slowly and gracefully above their ambush ; for Wilfred had retreated as quickly as he had emerged, and Maxica lay on his face as still as death. More attractive game presented itself. A hawk flew past. What hawk could resist the pleasure of a passing pounce ? Away went the two, chasing and fighting, across the snowy waste. When the owl was out of sight, the Cree rose to his feet to complete the snare. Wilfred crept out of his burrow, to find his fingers as hard and white and useless as if they had turned to stone. He had kept his gloveless hands well cuddled up in the long sleeves of his coat during the walk, but their ex- posure to the cold when he struck at the owl had changed them to a lump of ice. Maxica heard the exclamation, " Oh, my hands ! my hands ' " and seizing a great lump of snow began to rub them vigorousl}^ The return to the hut was easier than the out- going, for the snow was harder. Tlie pain in Wil- fred's fingers was turning him sick and faint as they reached the hut a little past midnight. The gloves were reduced to jelly, but the state of Wilfred's hands troubled the old squaw. She luu.1 had her supper from the beaver-skin soup, but was quite ready, Indian fashion, to begin again. The three seated themselves on the floor, and the was cup passe( t m of the soup was drank. I ■ I : P ft II 70 IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT. The walk had been fruitless, as Wilfred said. They had returned with nothing but the key of the big owl's larder, which, after such an encounter, it would probably desert. The Cree lit his pipe, the squaw lay down to sleep, and Wilfred talked to his dog. " Do you understand our bargain, old fellow ? " he asked. "You and I are going to chum together. Now it is clear I must give you a name. Let us see which you will like best." Wilfred ran through a somewhat lengthy list, for nowhere but in Canada are dogs accommodated with such an endless variety. There are names in constant use from every Indian dialect, but of the Atims and the Chistlis the big, old fellow took no heed. He sat u]) before his new master, looking very sagacious, as if he quite entered into the important business of choosing a name. But clearly Indian w^ould not do. even Mist-atim, which Wilfred could now interpret as " big dog," — a name the Cree usually bestows upon his horse, — was heard with a contemptuous "Ach!" Chistli, " seven dogs " in the Sircie dial'^ct, which ap- peared to Wilfred highly complimentary to his furry friend, met with no recognition. Then he went over the Spankers and Ponys and Boxers, to which the numerous hauling dogs so often responded. No better succes.s. The pricked ears were more erect than ever. The head was turned awoy in positive indifference. *' Are you a Frenchman ? " asked W^ilfred, going ] IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT. 71 upon over all the old French names he could remember. Diome thought the dogs had a special partiality for French. It would not do, however. This parti- cular dog might hate it. There were Yankee names in plenty from over the border, and uncouth sound- ing Esquimau from the far north. Wilfred, began to question if his dog had ever had a name, when Yula caught his ear, and " Yula chum- mie " brought the big shaggy head rubbing on Wilfred's knee. Few dogs are honoured with the choice of their own name, but it answered, and " Yula chummie " was adhered to by boy and dog. This weiijhtv matter settled, Wilfred was startled to see Maxica rouse himself up with a shake, and look to the man-hole, as the Cree called their place of exit. He was going. Wilfred sprang up in alarm. " Don't leave mc ! " he entreated. " How shall I ever find my way home without you ? " It might bo four o'clock, for the east was not yet gray, and the morning stars shone brightly on the glistening snow. Maxica paused, regarding earth and sky attentively, until he had ascertained the way of the wind. It was still l)lowino- from the north-east. More snow was surelv comiiinf. His care was for his canoe, which he liad left in safe mooring by the river bank. No one l)ut an Indian could have hoped, in his forlorn condition, to have recoveiffl the lost path to the running stream. His one idea was to grope about until he did find it, with the wonderful persist- / / 72 IN THE BIRCH -BARK HUT, 1 -x ency of his race. The Indian rarely fails in anything he sets his inind to accomplish. But to take the lame boy with him was out of the question. He might have many miles to traverse before he reached the spot. He tried to explain to Wilfred that he must now pack up his canoe for the winter. He was going to turn it keel upwards, among the branches of some strong tree, and cover it with boughs, until the spring of the leaf came round again. " Will it be safe ? " asked Wilfred. " Safe ' perfectly." Maxica's own particular mark was on boat and paddle. No Indian, no hunter would touch it. Who else was there in that wide, lone land ? As for Wilfred, his own people would come and look for him, now the storm was over. " I am not so sure of that," said the poor boy sadly, remembering Bowkett's words. — "My aunt Miriam did not take to me. She may not trouble herself about me. How could I be so stupid as to set her aorainst me," he was thinking", " all for nothino: ? " " Then," urged Maxica, " stay here with the Far-ofF- Dawn" — for that was the old squaw's name. In his Indian toni^'ue he called her Pe-na-Koam. " Will not the Good Spirit take care of you ? Did not he guide us out of the snowdrift ? " Wilfred was silenced. " I never did think much of myself," he said at last, " but I believe I grow worse and worse. How is it that I know and don't know — il!: m )ff- lot Ide IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT. 73 that I cannot realize this love that never will forsake ; always more ready to hear than we to ask ? If I could but feel it true, all true for me, I should not be afraid." Under that longing the trust was growing stronger and stronger in his heart. " I shall come again for the moose," said Maxica, as he shook the red and aching fingers which just peeped out from Wilfred's long sleeve ; and so he left him. The boy w^atched the Indian's lithe figure striding across the snow, until he could see him no longer. Then a cold, dreary feeling crept over him. Was he abandoned by all the world — forgotten — disliked ? Did nobody care for him ? He tucked his hands into the warm fur which folded over his breast, and tried to throw off" the fear. The tears gushed from his eyes. Well, there was nobody to see. He had forgotten Yula. Those unwonted rain- drops had brought him, wondering and troubled, to Wilfred's side. A big head was poking its way under his arm, and two strong paws were brushing at his knee. Yula was oaying, " Don't, don't cry," in every variety of doGfO'ie lana'uaixe. Never had he been so lovino*, so comforting, so warm to hug, so quick to understand. He was doing his best to melt the heavy heart's lead that was weighing poor Wilfred down. He built up the fire, and knelt before it, with Tula's head on his shoulder ; for the cold grew sharper in the gray of the dawn. The squaw, now the pangs of / Hi p' It :i 1 I U ! f! Ml 74 IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT, hunger were so far appeased, was sleeping heavily. But there was no sleep for Wilfred. As the daylight grew stronger he went again to his look-out. His thoughts were turninof to For^ijill. He had seen so much more of Forgill than of any one else at his uncle's, and he h d be so careful over him on the journey. It was v-^ •' ^o think they would all forget him. He would tru dxiO. ^lope. He filled the kettle with fiesh snow, and put it on to boil. The sun was streaming through the hole in the roof when the squaw awoke, like another creature, but not in the least surprised to find Maxica had departed. She seemed thankful to see the fire still burning, and poured out her gratitude to Wilfred. Her smiles and gestures gave the meaning of the words he did not understand. Then he asked himself, " What would have become of her if he too had gone away with Maxica ? " She looked pityingly at Wilfred's unfortunate fingers as he offered her a cup of hot water, their sole break- fast. But they could not live on hot water. Where was the dailv bread to come from for them both ? Pe-na-Koam was making sio^ns. Could Wilfred set a trap ? Alas ! he knew nothing of the Indian traps and snares. He sent out Yula to forage for himself, hoping he might bring them back a bird, as he had done the night before. Wilfred lingered by the hole in the roof, watching him dashing through the snow, I IN THE BIRCH-BARK HUT. 75 and casting many a wistful glance to the far-away south, almost expecting to see Forgill's fur cap and broad capote advancing towards him ; for help would surely come. But there are the slow, still hours, as well as the sudden bursts of storm and sunshine. All have their share in the making of a brave and con- stant spirit. God's time is not our time, as Wilfred had yet to learn. i! : li ■I 1. li CHAPTER VI. SEARCHING FOR A SUFFER. PE-NA-KOAM insisted upon examining Wilfred's hands and feet, and tending to them after her native fashion. She would not suffer him to leave the hut, but ventured out herself, for the storm was fol- lowed by a day of glorious sunshine. She returned with her lap full of a peculiar kind of moss, which she had scraped from under the snow. In her hand she carried a bunch of fine brown fibres. " Wattape ! " she exclaimed, holding them up before him, with such evident pleasure he thought it was something to eat ; but no, the moss went into the kettle to boil for dinner, but the wattape was laid carefully aside. The squaw had been used to toil from morning to night, doing all the work of her little world, whilst her warrior, when under shelter, slept or smoked by the fire. She expected no help from Wilfred within the hut, but she wanted to incite him to go and hunt. She took a sharp-pointed stick and drew a bow and arrow on the floor. Then she made sundry figures. Hi' i SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER. 77 '7 n which he took for traps ; but ho could only shake his head. He was thinking of a visit to the owl's tree. But when they had eaten the moss, Pe-na-Koani drew out a piece of skin from under her blanket, and spread- ing it on the floor laid her fingers beseechingly on his hunting-knife. With this she cut him out a pair of gloves, fingerless it is true, shaped like a baby's first glove, but oh ! so warm. Wilfred now discovered the use of the wattape, as she drew out one long thread after another, and began to sew the gloves together with it, pricking the holes through which she passed it with a quill she produced from some part of her dress. Wilfred took up the brown tangle and examined it closely. It had been torn from the fine fibrous root of the pine. He stood still to watch her, wondering whether there was anything he could do. He took the stick she had used and drew the rouoh fioui-e of a man fishing on the earthen floor. He felt sure they must be near some stream or lakelet. The Indians would never have left her beyond the reach of water. The wrinkled face lit up with hopeful smiles. Away she worked more diligently than ever, Wilfred built up the fire to give her a better blaze. They had wood enough to last them through to-mor- row. Before it was all burnt up he must try to get in some more. The use was returning to his hands. He took up some of the soft mud, made by the melt- ing of the snow on the earthen floor, and tried to stop '!ii I Hi ! il ■■ : 'ilu B '!:. i ( : ! 'li: , ! U 1. ^ iL 78 SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER. up the cracks in the bark which formed the walls of the hut. They both worked on in silence, hour after hour, as if there were not a moment to lose. At last the gloves were finished. Tlie Far-off-Dawn considered her blaidvet, and decided a piece might be spared oif every corner. Out of these she cut a pair of socks. The Indians themselves often wear three or four pairs of such blanket socks at once in the very coldest of the weather. But Wilfred could find nothing in the hut out of which to make a fishing line. The only thing he could do was oO pay a visit to the white owl's larder. He was afraid to touch Maxica's trap. He did not think he could manage it. Poor boy, his spirit was failing him for want of food. Yet he de- termined to go and see if there was anything to be found. Wilfred got up with an air of resolution, and beo;an to arrano-e the slins; for his foot. But tlie Far- off-Dawn soon made him understand he must not go without his socks, which she was hurrying to finish. " I believe I am chanmnor into a snail," thought Wil- fred; " I do nothing but crawl about. Yet twenty slips brought the snail to the top of his wall. Twenty slips and twenty climbs — that is something to think of." The moon was rising. The owl would leave her haunt to seek for prey. " Now it strikes me," exclaimed Wilfred, " why she always perches on a leafless tree. Her blinking eyes are dazzled by the flicker of the leaves; but they I i : i SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER. 70 are nearly gone now, she will liave a good choice. She may not go far a-tield, if she does forsake her last night's roost." This reflection was wondrously consolatory. The squaw had kept her kettle filled with melting snow all day, so that they could both have a cup of hot water whenever they liked. The Far-ofl-Dawn was as anxious to equip him for his foraging expedition as he was to take it. The socks were finished ; she had worked hard, and Wilfred knew it. He began to think there was somethino- encouracfinix in her very name — the Far-off-Dawn. Was it not what they were waiting for ? It was an earnest that their night would end. She made him put both t\9i blanket socks on the swollen foot, and then persuaded him to exchange his boots for her moccasins, which were a much better protection against the snow. The strip of fur, no longer needed to protect his toes, was wound round and round his wrists. Then the squaw folded her blanket over his shoul- der, and started him, pointing out as well as she could the str amlet and the pool which had supplied her with water when she was strong enough to fetch it. Both knew their lives depended upon his success. Yula was by his ,side. Wilfred turned back with a great piece of bark, to cover up the hole in the roof of the hut to keep the squaw warm. She had wrapped the skin over her feet and was lying before the fire, .,1 '! f-^ ;i Mi IH \i ■■.:*, 1,:! 80 SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER. trying to sleep in her diiml) despair. She had dis- covered there was no line and hook forthcoming from any one of liis many pockets. How then could he catch the fish with which she knew the Canadian waters everywhere abounded ? Pe-na-Koam had pointed out the place of the pool so earnestly tliat Wilfred tliought, " I will go there first ; perhaps it was there she found the nioss." The northern lio-hts were flashino- overhead, shoot- ing long lines of roseate glory towards the zenith, as if some unseen anfjel's hand wei'e strin^ino- heaven's own harp. But the full cliord which flowed beneath its touch was light instead of music. Wilfred stood silent, rapt in admiring wonder, as he gazed upon those glowing splendours, forgetting ever' thino; beside. Yula recalled him to the work in hand. He hobbled on as fast as he could. He was drawing near the pool, for tali rushes bent and shivered above the all-covering snov/, and pines and willows rocked in the niMit wind overhead. Another V . ry step, and tlie pool la}- stretched before him like a silver shield. A colony of beavers had made their home in this quiet spot, building their mounds of earth like a dam across the water. But the busy workers were all settling within doors to thoir winter sle » — drawbridges drawn up, and gates barred against in- truders. "You arc wisehcads," tliought Wilfred, "and I almost wish T could do the same — work all sum- ( SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER. 81 in md im- A mer like bees, and sleep all winter like dormice ; but then the winter is so loncs'." " Would not it be a grand thing to take home a beaver, Yula ? " he exclaimed, suddenl^A remembering his cfloves in their late reduced condition, and lomx- ing for another cup of the unpalatable soup ; for the keen air sharpened the keener appetite, until he felt as if he could have eaten the said gloves, boiled or unboiled. But how to get at the clever sleepers under their well-built dome was the difficult}', almost the im- possibility. " Yula, it can't be done — that is by you and me, old boy," he sighed. " We have not gob their house-door key for certain. We shall have to put up with the moss, and think ourselves lucky if we find it." The edge of the pool was already fringed with ice, and many a shallow basin where it had overflowed its banks was already frozen over. Wilfred was brushing aw^ay the crisp snow in his search for moss, when he caught sight of a big white fish, made prisoner by the ice in an awkward corner, where the rising flood had one day scooped a tiny reservoir. Making Yula sit down in peace and quietness, and remember manners, he set to work. He soon broke the ice with a blow from the handle of Ivis knife, and took out the fish. As he expected, the hungry dog stood ready to devour it; but Wilfred, suspecting his intention, tied it up in the blanket, and swung it >' M f I ill i '■ ^f' ■ i! . I 1 I- ^ ' ■ : ■ fJ 1 111 ! ^ 1! ! i' ili it J ; ! I 82 SEARCHING FOR A SUPPER. over his shoulder. Fortune did not favour him with such another find, although he searched about the edge of the lake until it grew so slippery he was afraid of falling in. He had now to retrace his steps, following the marks in the snow hack to the hut. The joy of Pe-na-Koam was unbounded when he untied the blanket and slid the fish into her hands. The prospect of the hot supper it would provide for them nerved Wilfred to go a little further and try to reach the big owl's roost, for fear another snow should bury the path Maxica had made to it. Once lost he miMit never find it a