In the woods back from the beach, the castaways built a rough wigwam. Even in the partial protection of the trees, it was hard work in the driving rain and sleet, but all three were soaking wet and bitterly chilled. They had to have shelter and warmth. Fortunately the roll of apakwas had been saved. Poles were set up, and Nangotook and Jean, beginning at the bottom, wrapped the apakwas around the framework, each strip overlapping the one below, so that the water could not run down between. More poles and branches were tied with withes over the bark covering to hold it in place.
In the meantime Ronald had been cutting fuel. The wood was wet and coated with ice. Even the Indian might have striven in vain for a blaze had he not been lucky enough to find a small, dead birch, that contained, within its protecting bark, dry heart wood that crumbled to powder. With this tinder he succeeded in kindling bark and fine shavings. Then he added dead limbs split into strips, and finally larger birch wood and resinous spruce. On one side of the fire, which had been made within the lodge, Ronald piled the wood he had cut, and on the other the three crouched to dry their soaked clothes and warm their chilled bodies. They had nothing to eat, and no way of getting anything in the bitter, driving storm, which was continually growing worse.
A miserable night they spent in that rude shelter, huddled together on damp evergreen branches, under their one remaining blanket, which they had dried before the fire. Surf lashed the beach, and the wind roared in the tree tops, that swayed and clashed together, the trunks creaking as if they must snap off and be hurled down on the wigwam. Sleet and frozen snow rattled on the bark covering. It was lucky indeed for the treasure-seekers that they had been cast ashore before the storm reached its height. Long before nightfall it had grown so violent that there was not one chance in a thousand for a canoe to live through it.
The northeaster continued to rage with varying degrees of fury for two more days. Rain, sleet and snow did not fall constantly, but came in showers and squalls, with intervals between, while the gale blew unceasingly, though not always with equal violence, and the sun never showed itself. In the quieter intervals Nangotook and the boys cut fuel for the fire and sought for food, but during the more furious spells they were compelled to remain under shelter. Even if the canoe had not been too badly damaged to float, they could not have gone on the water to fish, and all efforts to catch anything from the shore failed. If there were any animals in the vicinity, they were not abroad in the storm, but remained snug in their holes and lairs, and, the ground being covered with icy snow, no tracks revealed their hiding places. Nangotook dug down through snow and ice for some roots he knew to be edible, and the boys found a few hazelnuts. It was too late for berries; they had all fallen or been eaten by birds and animals. So little could the castaways find that was eatable that they were even glad of alder seeds. Under-nourished as they were, they felt the chilling cold all the more severely, and both boys agreed that they had never put through so miserable a period as those three nights and two days.
It was no wonder that Nangotook felt this to be the final and unmistakable warning of the manito that they must give up the search for the treasure that belonged to him. On the second night of the storm he had a dream that strengthened his conviction. Very seriously and impressively he related the dream to the lads in the morning.
“While my body slept,” he said, “Amik, the Great Beaver, appeared to me. He was larger than the greatest moose. His body filled the wigwam. There was no room for his tail, so it stuck out of the door. He looked at me sternly, and in a voice that drowned the clashing of the trees in the wind and the rattling of the sleet against the bark, he asked me why I had not heeded the warnings. I tried to answer, but could not, for my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Then he spoke again, and forbade me, and the white men with me, to go farther out into the lake. We must turn back to shore, he said, and again he asked why I had not gone back when I had been warned the first time, and the second time, and the third time. Then I loosened my tongue from the roof of my mouth, and answered that the white youths were young and rash and would not turn back. ‘The manitos of the waters and the islands are angry with you,’ Amik replied. ‘If the white youths will not turn back, they must be destroyed. I warn you because you are of my blood. Leave them to their fate, and return to the shore before it is too late.’ But I gathered up my courage and answered Amik. ‘Grandfather,’ I said, ‘I cannot leave them. It was I who led them on this adventure, and if I should leave them and go back without them, I should be a coward and dishonored. If they must perish, I too must perish.’ The Great Beaver looked at me, and was silent a long time. ‘If you will not leave them, make them turn back,’ he said, and his voice was like thunder rolling in the wigwam and his look was even sterner than before. ‘Make them turn back. The manitos are angry. They lose patience. I have warned you.’ And then he disappeared and I woke, and the flesh stood up in little points all over my body, and my tongue was dry, and my hair prickled at the roots, and I knew I must heed Amik’s warning. Turn back, my brothers, before it is too late!”
Even Ronald felt no inclination to laugh at Nangotook’s vision. While he had no faith in such a creature as the Great Beaver, the dream itself impressed him deeply. Belief in the mysterious character and meaning of dreams was common among all men at that time. The boy was not less superstitious than the average man of his period and race. From childhood he had heard the Scottish tales of dreams and warnings and second sight, and to these old world superstitions had been added others native to the new world. He had refused to regard the northern lights or the sudden appearance of the Sleeping Giant as a warning, but such a dream as this was a different matter. In spite of its fantastic form he felt, with the superstitious feeling of the time, that it might be a real warning or foreshadowing of disaster to come. He strove to shake off the impression the dream had made upon him, but found he could not. Indeed it affected him even more than it seemed to affect Jean.
The storm could not last forever, and when, on the third morning, the castaways found that the wind had abated and the sun was breaking through the clouds, they were encouraged to believe that the worst was over. They had thought themselves on a point of the main island, but soon discovered that their refuge was in reality a narrow island about two miles long. Other land lay close by, but before they could reach it or even fish successfully, they must repair the canoe. So Etienne set about the task, replacing the broken ribs and sheathing, sewing on patches and gumming the strained seams. During the storm it had been impossible to do such work in the open, and the hut had been too small to hold both the canoe and its crew.
While Etienne worked on the canoe, the boys made another search for food. Through the icy snow, which was disappearing rapidly wherever the sun could reach it, they tramped and scrambled about among the trees and along the pebbly beaches, rocks and boulders, but obtained nothing except a few hazelnuts and one squirrel that Ronald killed with a stone.
Jean caught sight of the glossy brown, rat-like head of a mink swimming near shore, saw the head go under suddenly, and waited to see if the small fisher would secure its prey. In a moment the head reappeared, and the slim-bodied little animal swam to shore, a small fish in its mouth. It laid the fish down to kill it by biting it through the neck, but at that instant Jean sprang forward. A mink is very fierce and brave for its size, and this one stood over its catch for a moment snarling, then, with an almost incredibly swift movement, seized the fish, turned and took to the water. Farther along the bank it landed again, and, like a brown streak, it was away and out of sight, long before the boy had gone half-way to its landing place. His plan to frighten it, so it would leave its catch, had failed completely.
The canoe having been repaired, and a slender meal of squirrel broth and hazelnuts eaten, the three set out from the south shore of the little island. To the southwest, separated by a very narrow channel, was more land. The water was quiet, and they paddled slowly along, fishing lines out. Soon they discovered that they were in a bay, the land closing in ahead of them. Lake herring were jumping about them, and, with a bark scoop attached to a pole, Ronald succeeded in taking a few to be used as bait for larger fish. The fishermen circled the bay, and rounded a point almost opposite the southern end of the island where they had been storm-bound. They found themselves in a very narrow cove, scarcely a quarter of a mile broad in its widest part and perhaps two miles long. In that narrow harbor they caught in quick succession, with the herring bait, three large pickerel, each one giving them a lively fight before it was landed. Another they lost when it snapped the line. Elated over their good luck, they returned to their camp to clean and cook their fish.
The hearty meal put new strength into the boys, and for the first time since they were cast ashore in the storm they felt equal to making plans for the future. The prospect was serious enough. October, “the moon of the falling leaf,” as the Ojibwa called it, had come, and the storm and snow of the last few days had given the wanderers a foretaste of winter. There might be, probably would be, many good days before winter set in in earnest, but on the other hand, they knew that genuine winter might come at any time, for the autumn season on Lake Superior is a very uncertain one. Real winter might hold off until well into November or December and give them time to reach the Sault in safety, but it had been known to arrive in October. They could put little trust in the weather, and the way back to the River Ste. Marie was long. Moreover if they were to make the journey with any show of speed, they must be provisioned for it. The first necessity was a supply of food.
Even Ronald had given up hope of finding the Island of Yellow Sands that year. They could spend no more time in seeking for it. The risk of the search, in the autumn storms and rough weather, had become too great even for him. The adventurers had been almost miraculously saved three times, from thunder storm, fog and northeaster, but surely it would be tempting Providence to undertake any more such rash voyages. He did not admit that Nangotook’s dream had anything to do with his decision, but in reality the dream had not been without influence. Had conditions been favorable, the warning alone would not have turned him back, though it might have made him apprehensive and uneasy, but all the conditions were unfavorable, and common sense and superstition both urged abandonment of the search.
Nangotook emphatically declared that he would have nothing to do with any further search for the island that autumn. He could never look Jean’s father in the face again, he said, if he did not take the boy back safe. The Indian showed such determination that the boys realized nothing could move him from his decision. He would find some means of preventing the others from making another attempt, if they showed any disposition to do so. “He would knock us over the head to keep us quiet, and paddle off with us in the opposite direction, if he could not handle us any other way,” Ronald confided to Jean later.
So, with reluctance, but from a necessity they could not blind their eyes to, the boys postponed the search for the golden island, and turned their thoughts to getting back to the Sault. To strike out directly for the north shore seemed as perilous as seeking the island. Yet they must reach the mainland some way. Nangotook counseled that, instead of traveling to the north, they try to reach the northwest shore, Grande Portage, if possible, by going west. They were now somewhere on the northwest side of Minong. A number of years before, Nangotook, with others of his tribe, had crossed to the island from a point on the shore a little to the north of Grande Portage. They had steered southeast, he said, and making the journey between sunrise and noon, had reached Minong at its lower end. From there they had gone northeast along the shore of the island to a cove with a narrow entrance, where they had obtained a store of copper. The band or bracelet, decorated with a pattern of incised lines, which he wore on his arm, was made from that copper, he said. Returning the same way, they had again crossed safely. The leader of the party had said that his tribe, from times long past, had always taken that route to Minong, because the distance from the shore was shortest that way. If the weather turned bad, the trip from the lower end of the island to the cove, where copper was so plentiful, could be made overland. The Ojibwa advised accordingly that the three try first to make their way along shore, by water if they could, by land if necessary, to the southwest end of the island, and then across to Grande Portage. There they could get a supply of food and ammunition, blankets and other things for the long trip to the Sault, or, if winter came early, they might remain at the Portage until spring. His plan seemed a wise one, and the lads readily agreed to it. There was something cheering in the thought that the trading post at the Grande Portage lay no farther away. Surely there was a good chance of reaching it before winter set in. The Sault de Ste. Marie seemed terribly remote.
Because of the necessity of obtaining food, it was not likely that the trip to the southwest end of Minong could be made continuously, but Nangotook and the boys agreed to start in that direction on the following morning and go as far as they could. They paddled up the bay they had named Pickerel Cove, but the fish were not biting. The head of the cove was separated from the open lake by a narrow bit of land, so they went ashore and carried the canoe across. Jean remarked that there was one advantage in having no food or equipment. Portaging was made easy.
When they reached the lake they found the water rough, but they managed to go on along the shore, and across the mouth of a small bay. Rounding a point beyond, they came to the entrance of another larger bay. After one swift glance about him, Nangotook gave a grunt of satisfaction.
“Know this place,” he said over his shoulder. “Place where copper is. We get some for arrow-*heads.”
The boys were ready to agree to the proposal, especially when the Indian explained that beyond the bay lay a stretch of steep, continuous cliffs, affording no shelter and perilous to skirt in the increasing north wind. Entering the bay was difficult enough, for treacherous reefs and rocks surrounded and extended into its mouth. Nangotook picked the channel wisely, however, and piloted the canoe safely through the dangerous entrance. He had said that copper stones could be picked up from the beaches, so a landing was made on a stretch of gravel protected by the point they had just rounded.
The beach was disappointing. Bits and grains of pure copper were strewn about, both above and below the water line, but they were all so small that a great many would have to be melted together to make one arrowhead. After searching for larger pieces and failing to find them, the Ojibwa shook his head, muttered the one word “Ka-win-ni-shi-shin,” “no good,” and turned back to the canoe.
Jean and Ronald followed him, and they paddled along the beach, rounded another point and landed on the other side of it, on the north shore of a little inlet that opened from the large bay and ran at right angles to it. This place was evidently an old camping ground, for bleached and decaying lodge-poles were standing a little back from the shore. Nangotook was sure they were the remains of the wigwam he and his companions had built on his former visit to the island. After examining the ground carefully, he said he did not think any one had camped there since. The summit of the hill, that rose to the north of the camping ground, had been a good place for hares, he added. He would go and set some snares, while the boys fished.
The lads were disappointed at not being shown at once the rich stores of copper that Nangotook had led them to believe were to be found in this place, but food was always a necessity. When the canoe had been overturned in the surf, they had saved the gun and one bow, but they had no ammunition and no arrows. So they went to fishing cheerfully enough. By the time the Indian returned from setting his snares, they had caught two small lake trout. They cleaned and cooked their catch, but to their surprise Nangotook refused to touch the food. He did not want anything to eat, he said.
After the meal, the three took to the canoe and went on up the bay. It proved to be a long and narrow cove, which cut at an angle through alternating wooded ridges and valleys. The long bays they had visited before had lain between ridges, that stretched parallel with the waters, but this one occupied a break in the hills, as if it had been cut through them. Landing on the west side, the Indian led the boys up a thickly forested ridge. As they neared the top, Jean caught sight of something that aroused his interest. He turned from Nangotook’s trail, and began pushing through a thicket. Suddenly he gave a sharp cry and disappeared. Ronald, who was only a few paces ahead of his friend, turned back at once. Making his way through the underbrush more cautiously than Jean had done, Ronald found himself balancing on the very edge of a deep hole. At the bottom Jean was just picking himself up, more surprised than hurt.
“Tonnerre,” he exclaimed indignantly, “who would have looked for such a pit on the side of a hill? I was going along all right, and then, all of a sudden, I was down here.”
“You are in too much haste to dig for the red metal, little brother,” Nangotook called to him. The Indian had reached the edge of the hole almost as quickly as Ronald, and stood grinning down on Jean.
“What do you mean by that, Etienne?” the lad answered, as he began to climb up the steep and ragged slope. “What has digging for copper to do with my falling into this pit?”
The Ojibwa made no answer until Jean had reached the top. Then with a gesture that embraced the hole and its sides, he asked abruptly: “What think my brothers of this place?”
Puzzled by his question, the boys glanced around. The pit was roughly oval in shape, and perhaps thirty feet deep. Its steep sides were of rock, bare in some places, in others clothed with bushes and moss. In the bottom grew a clump of good sized birch trees, that partly concealed the opposite side of the depression.
“’Tis a queer looking hole to be found on the side of a hill as Jean says,” Ronald remarked, as his eyes took in the details. “It looks almost as if it had been dug by the hand of man.”
“And so it was,” Nangotook replied, “by the hand of man or manito, I know not which. This is one of the pits where, many winters ago, my people took out the red metal that the white man calls copper.”
“Do you mean this is a savage mine?” cried Jean excitedly. “Surely no one has worked it for years. See how the trees and bushes have covered it.”
“That is true, little brother. I can show you many such holes on the hills around this inlet of the waters, and I know of but one where copper has been taken out either in my time or in my father’s. They are very old, these holes, and no one knows surely who first made them. There is a tale that they were dug by the manitos of the island. One of my people, many winters ago, did a service to the manitos, and in return they showed him how to break up the rock and take out the red metal. Then they gave to him and to those who should come after him the right to carry it away. The good fathers say that such tales are not true, but I know not. This I know, only a certain brotherhood of my people has the privilege of breaking off the copper, though any one may gather the pieces that lie about the shores. Of that brotherhood I am a member.”
It occurred to Jean to wonder what the manitos, if there were such beings, would think of Nangotook’s bringing to the copper mines two white men, who according to the Indian opinion had no right whatever to touch the metal. But he did not put his thought into words. If the idea had not occurred to Nangotook, the lad certainly did not wish to put it into his head. Instead he asked: “But how do your people work these mines without tools?”
The Ojibwa picked up from the edge of the pit a smooth, rounded boulder and handed it to Jean. It was hard and heavy, weighing about ten pounds. “This is one of the tools,” he remarked briefly.
“You make game of us,” Jean retorted. “How can you mine copper by means of a stone like this?”
“That I will show you to-morrow.”
“To-morrow?” cried Ronald. “Why wait so long, when we need copper for our arrowheads? Isn’t there some place about here where we can dig out or pick up enough at once, so we can be on our way to-morrow?”
The Indian shook his head. “Pieces on the shore all little and no good,” he said. “I will show you more holes like this. Then we go back to camp. I will make ready, and to-morrow we come again for copper.”
The boys knew from his tone that he had made up his mind, and that argument would be of no use whatever, so they followed him silently around the edge of the pit. He led them up the ridge and across the summit, calling their attention to other holes, varying in size and depth. Many were mere shallow depressions almost filled with soil, and all were more or less overgrown with trees and bushes. The boys would not have recognized most of these places as ancient mines, if Nangotook had not pointed them out. In some of them grew spruces of a height and girth to prove that the pits had not been mined for at least a hundred, perhaps several hundred, years. Round boulders, more or less embedded in earth and leaf mold, showed here and there among the underbrush, and the boys dug up several to examine them. They found them all of the same hard, dark stone. Many were broken and chipped, and the lads concluded that they must have been used as hammers to break up the rock.
The pits seemed to run in rows across the ridge top, following veins of metal, and the boys marveled at the patient labor that had been spent on them. With the primitive tools the savages had used, many, many years must have been consumed in excavating the holes, especially if, as Nangotook had said, mining operations had been confined to some one brotherhood or society of medicine men. It seemed unlikely that even the chosen clan had ever spent all of its time in mining. Probably its members only visited the island occasionally and stayed for a few days or weeks, taking out a little of the metal and carrying it away in their canoes. Utensils and ornaments of copper were not uncommon among the Indians, and the metal must have been much more in demand before the white man introduced iron kettles and steel knives.
The explorers did not go down the other side of the ridge, which was steep and abrupt, but turned back and descended the more gradual slope they had come up, finding old pits most of the way to the base. The place was of great interest to the boys and they were reluctant to leave it, but Nangotook seemed to have some urgent reason for getting back to camp. When they arrived there, he borrowed the knife he had given to Ronald, saying he wanted to make something, and then told the lads that he wished to be left alone and that they had better go fish.
Understanding that his preparations for mining, whatever they might be, were of some secret nature, connected undoubtedly with the superstitions and ritual of the mining clan, Ronald and Jean launched the canoe again and paddled up the cove. Their fishing was successful, and, after they had caught enough for supper and breakfast, they decided to explore the cove to its head. A little beyond the place where they had landed with Nangotook, Jean called Ronald’s attention to a big, white-headed eagle perched on a dead limb of a tall, isolated pine near the shore. While they were watching the bird, it suddenly spread its great wings, left its perch and sailed away. As the boys drew near the spot, they could see, far up in the tall tree, a solid mass of something. “An eagle’s nest,” cried Ronald. “I never had a good look at one.” And he turned the canoe towards shore.
“There will be no young. They have flown long ere this,” Jean answered, “and the nest is only a collection of sticks.”
“I’m going to have a look at it though,” was Ronald’s reply. And he did, climbing at least fifty feet up the tall pine to examine the nest of sticks and moss. He found it to be five feet or more across the top and at least as many deep, and he guessed from its construction that it had been used for several years, additions having been built on every year. Before he descended, he took a long look from his high perch over water, shore and woods. As he glanced about, his eye was arrested by something that surprised him greatly. From a clump of birches at the foot of a slope across the cove, a slender thread of smoke was ascending. It was a very faint wisp of white, as if from a small, clear flamed cooking fire, but the lad’s eyes were keen and he was sure he could not be deceived. As soon as he had made certain that it was really smoke he saw, he descended quickly and told Jean of the discovery.
“It may be merely an Indian or two come here for copper,” he said.
“And it may be Le Forgeron Tordu still on our track,” Jean added.
“If it is, he’ll gain nothing by following us now,” Ronald replied. “We shall not lead him to the Island of Yellow Sands this year, that is certain.”
“No,” answered Jean with a laugh, “if he is following us for that, we have cheated him sorely. We may take that much comfort for not having found the island ourselves. He will be in a fine rage when he discovers he has had his journey all for nothing.”
“He will surely,” Ronald chuckled, “but,” he added more seriously, “he’ll seek some way to make us smart for the trick we’ve played him, we may be sure of that. He’ll hate us more deeply, and Le Forgeron’s hate is not to be despised.”
“It were best for us to keep out of his way then,” the French youth replied soberly. “It may be that he does not know yet that we are anywhere near. Instead of going on to the end of this bay, we will return and tell Etienne what we have seen. If he chooses, he can spy upon that camp. We had best leave such spying to him, who is more skilled at it than we are.”
For once Ronald agreed to the more cautious course. As they returned down the cove, they caught a glimpse of three caribou on an open slope, and the sight almost drove the thought of the Twisted Blacksmith out of their heads. The hillside was probably a regular feeding ground, for, even from the water, the light colored patches of reindeer moss could be seen plainly among the dark green trailing juniper. A caribou would furnish a good supply of meat for the three, as soon as they had the means to shoot it. To secure such large game with bow and arrow would not be easy, for they would have to creep up very close for a good shot, but they had confidence in Etienne’s skill with the bow, if not in their own.
The lads reached their camping ground just as the sun was setting, eager to tell the Ojibwa of the wisp of smoke and the caribou, but they did not have a chance that night. He was nowhere to be seen when they landed. On searching for him, they came upon a small lodge of bark and poles concealed behind a clump of birches, several hundred yards from their camp. The lodge was tightly closed, and steam was issuing in wisps from little interstices between the bark sheets. The Indian had built a sweating lodge, and had sealed himself up in it. On red hot stones he had thrown water to make a steam bath. His tunic, leggings and moccasins hanging on a tree were further proof of what he was about.
“This is why he would not eat,” said Jean. “He was fasting, and now he is purifying himself after the savage custom. That is what he meant by preparing for the mining. It is doubtless part of the ceremony performed by the savage miners whenever they come to Minong.”
Ronald shook his head. “If all the savages, who pretend to be Christians, go back to their old heathen customs whenever occasion offers, as Etienne does, I fear they’re not very well converted,” he said.
Jean nodded. “The good fathers thought him one of the best,” he replied, “and indeed he is. My father says Etienne comes nearer to living a Christian life than any other savage convert he has ever known. But I am afraid it takes many years and much care and teaching to purge out the old heathen notions from the heart of a savage. Their people have been heathens for so long, you see, and they have so many customs and ceremonies and traditions that have come down from generation to generation. Perhaps we need not wonder that they are not made into new men in a few years.”
When Etienne emerged from the sweating lodge, he took a swift dip in the lake, but refused to eat, and went at once to his couch of balsam branches. It was not until morning that the boys told him about the smoke wisp Ronald had seen and the caribou on the ridge. He made no comment and again refused food. While the lads were preparing breakfast, he went to examine his snares, and returned with two hares. The appearance of the animals was a strong reminder that winter was not far off, for they had begun to change their grayish-brown summer coats for the winter white. The feet, ears, nose, front of the head and part of the legs of one of them were conspicuously white, though the rest of its fur remained brown. The coats of the others did not show so much change.
After the lads had finished their breakfast, the three launched the canoe, putting into it a cedar shovel and three large birch buckets the Indian had made. They went ashore not far from their former place of landing, and Nangotook led them to the foot of a ridge, where a stream flowed through a narrow, swampy valley. There they filled the buckets, and then climbed up a well defined and partly cleared trail to the summit. Close to the edge they came upon a pit that showed plain signs of having been worked in recent years. It was without trees or bushes, though the sides were partly covered with moss and trailing plants. On the bottom, surrounded by leaves, sticks and earth, and standing in shallow water, which, that morning, bore a thin coating of ice, was a detached mass of rock that might have weighed two tons. Even from the edge of the hole, Jean and Ronald could see that the rock was composed largely of copper. A primitive ladder, made of a single pole with cross pieces tied on with strips of rawhide, rested against the side of the pit. Though grayed and stained by the weather, the ladder seemed perfectly sound, and the boys scrambled down, eager to examine the rock mass.
They found that the copper rock rested on poles, and was held away from the farther wall of the pit by the trunk of a tree wedged behind it. Around it, in the shallow water and leaves, were many stone hammers, most of them broken, and heaps of charred and blackened sticks. Jean, poking about in the rubbish to get out one of the round stones, uncovered a large bowl of cedar wood, that had been almost entirely buried. Nangotook had not followed the lads down into the pit. Looking up, they noticed that he had kindled a small fire almost on the edge, and was carefully placing something in the flames.
“He is making a sacrifice,” whispered Jean to Ronald, “that is what he brought the fish head for.”
Nangotook had carried with him from camp a fish’s head carefully wrapped in a bit of birch bark. From the odor that drifted down to them, the boys knew he had also offered up some of his precious kinni-kinnik, tobacco mixed with bearberry leaves. Standing on the edge of the pit as the burnt offering was consumed, he gazed down at the copper rock and said a few words in his own language. Then, apparently satisfied that the required ceremonies had all been performed, he climbed down the ladder and prepared to begin work.
With the cedar shovel, he scraped off the rubbish that had accumulated on top of the rock. The pure copper showed plainly in a number of places, but it was evident that much work had been done on the mass, for all the knobs and projections had been hammered away, leaving the surface almost smooth. There seemed to be no place where any of the metal could be broken off, and the boys wondered how Nangotook would manage without steel tools. The Indian did not seem concerned, however. He examined the surface carefully, then ordered the lads to collect kindling and fuel. One side of the mass was composed of what appeared to be a thin sheet of dark rock. On top, just where the free copper and this dark rock came together, Nangotook made a fire, feeding it until it burned hot and clear. When he thought the surface had been heated sufficiently, he hastily scraped off the embers, and picking up a bucket of water he had placed within reach, dashed it quickly over the hot rock. A cloud of steam arose, there was a sharp, cracking report, and a thin piece of rock split off from the mass and fell into the puddle below. Seizing the second pail, which Ronald swung up to him, the Indian emptied it, then followed with the third. The cold water striking the hot surface had split off a part of the sheet of dark rock, but had not exposed enough of the copper to satisfy the Indian miner. Twice he repeated the process, making a hot fire, raking it off when the rock was thoroughly heated, and throwing cold water on it. After the third operation he gave a grunt of satisfaction. A ledge of copper lay exposed.
Raising one of the heavy stones, he struck it against the exposed metal and broke off a small corner. Pure copper is a comparatively soft metal, and heating and dashing with cold water anneals or softens it still more. With a heavy stone maul and, part of the time, with the aid of a wedge-shaped piece of hard rock used as a chisel, Nangotook hammered and split off pieces of the metal. The boys would gladly have helped him with his laborious mining, but he would not let them take part in the actual operations. They might carry water from the stream, gather fuel for the fire, find and hand him another stone sledge when he splintered the one he was using, but the actual processes of fire making, rock splitting and beating off copper, he would not permit them to share. Evidently by Ojibwa tradition, this peculiar mining had something of a sacred or mysterious character, and, to his mind, must be performed by one of his own medicine clan, duly appointed, initiated and trained for the work. The boys knew enough of Indian customs to understand this, so they did not urge their help upon him, but merely obeyed orders.
Such mining was slow work. The rock had to be heated and cooled several times, and the wielding of the stone maul was heavy labor, but at last Nangotook obtained copper enough for his immediate purpose. As they were returning down the cove, he told the boys that the pit where they had been working was the same he and his companions had taken metal from on his previous visit to the island, and the only one he knew of that had been worked in recent years. Jean had picked up a stone hammer with a groove around it, and he showed it to the Indian and asked him what the groove was for. Nangotook answered that a handle of some sort had been attached to the boulder. One of the party he had come to the island with had used such a hammer, he remembered, with a withe twisted about it to hold it by, but he had broken the stone and had thrown it aside. Nangotook thought this might be the very stone. It was not customary to use handles, he said, but he did not know why. Ronald asked how the copper mass came to be in the bottom of the pit. Had it been split off from the side, or was it found by digging down? Nangotook could not answer the question. The rock had been in the same place when he was there before, though then it was well covered with moss and earth, as if it had not been disturbed for a number of years. The tree trunk wedged behind it had been there too, but he and his companions had made the ladder.
No wisp of smoke, was to be seen where Ronald had noticed it the day before, but caribou were again discovered feeding on the ridge, near the spot where the lads had caught a glimpse of them.
The rest of the day and evening were spent in bow and arrow making. Laying a piece of copper on a hard, smooth stone, Nangotook hammered it out with another stone, heating the metal and plunging it in water from time to time, to keep it soft enough to be worked without cracking. When it was hammered out thin at the edge, he could cut it with a knife. After an arrowhead had been properly shaped, he went over it carefully with light, quick blows, to harden it as much as possible without getting it out of shape. Even at the best, copper heads were somewhat soft, but they did not split and warp like bone tips. Their main advantage over stone ones was that they could be made in much less time. Moreover flints suitable for arrowheads were difficult to find. Nangotook made a few sharp pointed bone tips in addition to the copper ones. The latter were attached to shafts of serviceberry wood in the same way as the flint and bone heads, and the shafts were straightened by being pulled through the hole in the piece of bone the Indian had used in his former arrow making. A gull, which Jean caught in a snare, baited with a piece of fish and set on the rocks, furnished feathers for the arrows. Hawk or eagle feathers would have been better, Nangotook insisted, but he had no way of obtaining either without ammunition or finished arrows. He also made another bow, using hare sinew well twisted and braided.
The weather next day was favorable for continuing the journey, but the lads were eager for a caribou hunt, not only for the sake of the sport, but because they sorely needed the nourishing meat. So departure was postponed. When the three reached the place where the animals had been seen the day before, they found distinct trails running in two directions. As they had guessed, the rocky ridge, where the reindeer lichen grew in abundance, was a favorite caribou resort. The hunters decided to separate, Nangotook following one trail and the boys the other. They had only two bows, so Ronald was without a weapon.
Along the top of the ridge, the lads followed the trail, going quietly and cautiously not to disturb the game, if it should happen to be near by. As Jean, who was in advance with the bow, rounded a thicket of leafless bushes, he came upon a place where fire, kindled perhaps by lightning striking a tree, had swept the ridge summit. Small birches, alders and low bushes had grown up among the fallen and standing skeletons of the evergreens, and, scratching about among the underbrush and fallen leaves, were a flock of birds. With a backward gesture, Jean motioned to Ronald, who was just behind him, to stand still. Creeping forward a little to get within range, he fitted an arrow to the string, drew it back and let fly. So swiftly and noiselessly did the arrow pierce the bird, that the rest of the flock did not take fright, and Jean had a chance to make a second shot. That time the whistling of the shaft alarmed the birds. Some of them ran off into the brush, while three rose with a loud whirring noise and a swift direct flight that carried them out of range in a moment. However, Jean had secured two plump, full grown, sharp-tailed grouse. The hunting expedition had begun well.
Not far beyond the spot where Jean killed the grouse, the boys came to a fresh caribou trail, made that morning they were sure, which crossed the older one. They followed the new track, going more cautiously than ever, for the beast might be just ahead. The trail led them down the side of the ridge, and across a bog covered with sphagnum moss stiff with the frost of the night before. There the animal had stopped several times to feed. After a somewhat winding course through the bog, it had climbed another hill beyond.
Jean had a feeling that, when he came to the top of that hill, he would find his game sunning itself in the open. So he bade Ronald keep back, and went very carefully. Through a leafless bush he caught sight of spreading antlers. Cautiously he crept around the bush. He could see the animal’s head and horns above a clump of tiny balsams, but the little trees hid the body. Moreover the range was too great for Jean’s skill and strength. Etienne might have sent a shaft from that distance with a strong enough pull to pierce his game, but Jean felt sure that he could not do so. He must go nearer. Fortunately the wind was blowing towards the hunter, and the beast was wholly unaware of the danger threatening. It lowered its head to graze, and Jean crept forward towards the clump of balsams. He reached them safely, without betraying himself by so much as a snapped twig or the rustle of a dry leaf. Crouching behind the little trees, he peeped around them.
The caribou’s body was plainly exposed, and so close that the boy felt he could not miss. Straightening himself suddenly but noiselessly, he drew back his bowstring and let fly. He struck the beast squarely, but though he had aimed for the heart, his arrow evidently did not pierce that vital spot. The caribou felt the sting of the wound, sprang into the air and was off at a great pace. After it sped Jean, his moccasined feet scarcely seeming to touch the rocks, moss and intervening low bushes, as he cleared them.
Had the caribou not been badly wounded, pursuit would have been hopeless, but it was bleeding freely, as its trail showed. Nevertheless it led the boys a long chase, down the hillside, along thickly wooded, low ground, through a gap between ridges and to the edge of a brook. There, exhausted by loss of blood, it sank down among the thick underbrush. But when it caught sound or scent of the hunters, the beast struggled to its feet again, and attempted to cross the stream. Jean, pushing through the bushes, caught sight of it, and let fly another arrow. He hit his mark, and the caribou fell before it could reach the other side.
After the lads had recovered their breath, they pulled the dead animal out of the shallow water. To take such a load up the ridge would be hard work, and Ronald suggested that they try following the brook.
“It empties into the cove of course,” he said. “When we reach there, one of us can go back along shore for the canoe.”
The banks of the brook were thickly covered with trees and bushes. With their heavy load tied to a pole and carried between them, the boys made slow progress. More than once they wished they had turned back the other way. At last they came to a place where the brook rippled down a slope into a marsh, and joined a larger stream that wound sluggishly, in many turns and twists, through the tall, ripe grass and sedges. On the farther side of the larger stream was a dense belt of leafless shrubs that appeared to stand almost in the water, and beyond them thick cedar woods.
“Now where are we?” exclaimed Ronald disgustedly. “It seems I guessed wrong about this little brook. I never thought of its emptying into another stream.”
“I’m not sure you were so very wrong,” Jean replied. “We could see when we paddled up the cove that it was low and swampy at its head. This may well be the very swamp. If we follow it we can soon discover.”
Accordingly, turning to the north, they made their way along the higher ground. The marsh was roughly triangular in shape and, as they went on towards its base, they soon found that Jean was right. Beyond a belt of rushes and other aquatic plants, the waters of the cove came in view. When the boys reached the shore, Jean offered to go for the canoe while Ronald kept watch over the game. Ronald did not like inaction, but he knew his friend was the better woodsman, and could make his way through the forest and over rough ground almost as rapidly and tirelessly as Nangotook himself. So the Scotch lad set himself to wait as patiently as he could.
The cove was longer, and the distance from the head to the place where the hunters had first landed was considerably farther, than Jean had thought. He had supposed that he might have half a mile to go, but it was really two or three times that far. He found the canoe safe, and saw no sign of the Indian’s having returned from the hunt.
To let Nangotook know who had taken the canoe and when, the boy left an Indian sign. He drove a straight stick in the ground in an open place and scratched a line in the earth along the shadow the stick cast. When Nangotook returned, he would be able to tell, from the difference in the position of the shadow at that time and the mark on the ground, how far the sun had traveled in the meantime. On a piece of birch bark Jean scratched with the point of his knife a large J and beneath it two arrows pointing opposite ways. This bit of bark he pegged to the ground beside the stick, with one arrow pointing up the cove, the other down, signs of the way he had gone and that he would return.
When the two lads reached the rendezvous again with their game, they rather expected to find Nangotook waiting for them. He was not there, so they decided to go on to camp. Ronald helped Jean to dress and cut up the caribou. Then, leaving his companion to begin the drying process, he went back for the Ojibwa.
The hunter had not arrived, and there was nothing to do but wait. Ronald occupied the time in fishing, paddling about where he would be in plain sight from shore and could be easily hailed. The afternoon drew to a close, and still Nangotook did not return.
“He must have followed his game a long way,” thought Ronald, “or else he missed the caribou entirely and is looking for other tracks. We’ll have the laugh on him if he fails to get anything.”
The sun had set behind threatening clouds, and, as darkness deepened, Ronald became a little uneasy. Could anything have happened to Nangotook, he wondered, but he put the idea out of his head. The Indian was abundantly able to take care of himself. He had merely gone far in pursuit of game. It was slow work coming back in the darkness, especially if he were heavily loaded.
Ronald went ashore, kindled a cooking fire and broiled a fish for his supper. He was sorry he had not brought some of the fresh meat with him, but he had not expected to stay so long. After he had finished his meal, he sat down on a fallen tree beside his little fire and waited as patiently as he could.
Time dragged slowly. Ronald was meditatively chewing a wintergreen leaf and thinking back over the search for the golden sands, when he was startled by an owl that hooted from a tree above his head, the long-drawn, blood-chilling, hunting cry of the great horned owl. The big bird swooped down suddenly and flew out over the water with noiseless wings. A little later he heard its call again from far away. There was a scratching on the bark of a tall tree near by, and for a moment a red squirrel broke out in peevish chattering. Ronald half rose from his seat, thinking the little animal’s excitement might mean Nangotook’s approach. But no one appeared and all was silent again, except for the faint lapping of the water and the monotonous rustling of the spruce needles in the light breeze.
The night was growing very chilly, and the boy replenished his fire, regretting that he had not gathered more fuel while he could see to get it. Clouds covered the sky and the darkness was thick. He fell into a doze, from which he woke suddenly, as a small, slim, black form glided by his feet and disappeared in the water. The mink had made no sound, but its mere presence had somehow served to arouse his suspicious senses. The fire was almost out. As the boy stooped to put on the last of his wood, he heard in the distance the snarling, cat-like screech of a lynx. He made an instinctive movement of disgust. He loathed lynxes more than any other animal, the treacherous, cruel cats. Most beasts had something noble about them, however fierce they might be, he thought, but in the lynx he could see no good whatever. He remembered the time the cat had fallen through the roof of the shelter, and the scrimmage he and Jean had had with the beast. That was the night Etienne had heard Le Forgeron and had found his footprints and those of his companion. Then a disturbing thought flashed into the boy’s mind, and he sat upright on his log, wide awake.
Could it be that Le Forgeron was preventing Etienne’s return? Had it been the smoke from the Blacksmith’s fire he had seen, and had Le Forgeron by some trick waylaid the Indian and killed him or badly injured him? Ronald had no doubt of the fight Nangotook would put up if attacked. But if he had been taken by surprise and attacked two to one——A dash of rain interrupted the lad’s thoughts. He had no idea how far advanced the night was, for the stars were all obscured. He sprang up, groped his way to the canoe, turned it over, propped up one side with the paddles, and crept under it. By the time he had settled himself, the rain was coming down hard.
Ronald slept no more that night. His mind was too full of anxiety, his apprehensions and imagination too wide awake. He tried to convince himself that Nangotook had gone too far in pursuit of game to get back before dark, so had camped and waited for daylight. The lad could convince his reason of all this but not his imagination. It kept picturing to him how the Ojibwa might have been ambushed or waylaid by his enemies, and left dead in his tracks. He began to worry about Jean alone in the camp. If the evil Frenchman had made way with Nangotook, would not the next move be to steal upon the camp at night and get Jean also? At that point in his imaginings, common sense reasserted itself. What possible reason could the Frenchman have for destroying them all? If he knew why they had come back to the lake, and was following them, he would surely not want to put them out of the way until they had led him to the golden sands. “But,” whispered his imagination, “he might work to separate you and get rid of you two boys. He did try to get rid of you when he knocked you over the cliff. He might think he could force or bribe Nangotook to lead him to the island.” In such manner the lad’s thoughts and feelings argued with one another through the rest of the night, which seemed to him well-nigh endless.
Dawn came at last, and Ronald crawled out of his shelter. The rain had ceased, but the morning was cold and raw, and he was stiff and shivering. He had made up his mind to return to camp first and see if Jean was safe. Then they would cache their meat supply, come back, and follow Nangotook’s trail, to find out what had become of him.
Ronald paddled back to the camping ground at his best speed. When he entered the little bay he was relieved to see Jean.
Jean turned at Ronald’s shout. Seeing the latter returning alone, he stared in amazement, and then ran down to the water calling out questions. When he had heard Ronald’s story, his anxiety was even greater than his comrade’s, for Nangotook had always been a devoted friend to him, and Jean was very fond of the Indian. Hurriedly the two took the meat from the fire, wrapped it in bark, and hung it in a tree for safe keeping. Then, waiting only long enough to eat a little of the broiled meat, they launched the canoe and made speed back to the place where Ronald had passed the night. Before taking to the trail, however, they carried the canoe some distance from the landing place, hid it in a thicket, and did their best to erase all signs that might lead to its discovery. If Le Forgeron Tordu were anywhere about, the lads had no intention of letting him steal the canoe while they were searching for Nangotook.
Jean and Ronald went first to the spot on the ridge where the three hunters had separated. From there they attempted to trace the caribou trail Nangotook had set out to follow. It was a well traveled track, which had evidently been much used by the animals, and was not difficult to follow for a mile or more. Then the boys lost it in a bog, where the rain of the night before had soaked the spongy moss and had caused it to expand and blot out all tracks. There were plenty of evidences that caribou had visited the place more than once. Here and there plants and bushes had been nibbled and cropped, and small trees had been stripped of bark and branches far above where hares could reach. Evidently the caribou had wandered about all over the bog to feed, but had made no well defined trail through it.
When the lads tried to determine which way the animals had gone, and Nangotook after them, they encountered a difficult problem. In the woods that encircled the wetter and more open part of the bog, there were half a dozen breaks where caribou might have gone through and where the Indian might have followed their tracks. Jean and Ronald examined all of the openings, and tried to decide which one Nangotook had probably used. The ground was still spongy, and the rain had obliterated all footprints. The trees and bushes around one of the openings showed signs of recent nibbling, however, and the boys decided to try that one. But they had not gone far when they lost all trace of the trail, if trail it really was. There were no more nibbled trees, and no indications that any animal had ever been through the thick tangle of standing and fallen cedar and black spruce.
The two retraced their steps to the bog, and tried another of the openings, to meet with a similar disappointment. The third attempt was more successful. The track was faint indeed, so faint that Ronald could never have followed it if he had been alone, but Jean was a better woodsman, with a surer instinct for a trail. He led the way, through swamp woods, and up rising ground, partly wooded, partly open, until they reached a spot where they could look out over the lake to the north. There, along the ridge, the reindeer lichen had been cropped close in many places, proving beyond a doubt that caribou had been there, whether they had come the way the boys had just traveled or not. From the ridge top the descent to the lake was steep, with broken cliffs and a rough, inhospitable, stony beach at the base. After Jean had climbed a jack pine to get a better view of the surroundings, the two followed along the ridge to the southwest, noting the cropped moss and nibbled bushes as they went.
Reaching a gully, which bore signs that the animals might have gone that way, the boys scrambled through it and down over the rocks to the narrow, stony beach. A rocky, wooded island, perhaps a quarter of a mile out and almost parallel with the shore, served as a slight windbreak and had probably aided in the formation of the beach, which was about a mile in length. Beyond it on either hand the cliffs rose straight from the water.
Finding nothing to indicate that Nangotook had visited the beach, the lads climbed up the broken cliffs, and followed the shore to the northeast for a couple of miles until they came out on a point across the cove from their camp. There they saw a caribou feeding, but the beast took alarm before Jean was within range, and made off so rapidly that pursuit was useless. They had found no trace of Nangotook.
Worried and puzzled, but still hoping that while they were searching for him, the Indian might have returned to the rendezvous, the two boys made their way along the west shore of the cove, to the place where they had left the canoe. The boat was undisturbed, and there were no signs of the Ojibwa.
All that day and the two following, they searched for Nangotook. They explored all the tracks and suggestions of tracks that led from the bog where the caribou fed. They went along the cliffs beyond the gully, where they had descended to the shore, until they came to an indentation in the coast line, a great open bay, only partly protected by islands. Several times they saw caribou, but were not able to approach near enough for a successful shot.
The two also explored the whole western side of the cove to its head, and went up the stream to its source, a long, narrow, crook-shaped lake. On the third day of their search, they examined the east shore of the harbor, although it did not seem likely that Nangotook had been there. It was possible, however, that he might, in his pursuit of game, have been led around the head, across the marsh and stream and down the east side. The boys crossed the little inlet where their camp lay, and examined, as thoroughly as they could, both the lower ground and the ridge that ran at an angle with the cove. Along that ridge, and down its southeastern slope they came across a number of old pits, but all overgrown and showing no signs of having been mined for many years.
At the base of the ridge, a little back from the shore, in a grove of birch trees, the lads found the remains of a camp. It was from this place that Ronald had seen the thin wisp of smoke ascending. The camp had evidently been a temporary one, for no lodge had been built. Probably the campers had used their canoe for shelter, though there were no marks in the ground to show where it had rested on paddles or poles. Neither were there any foot-*prints, but that was not surprising, for the ground was rocky, with only shallow soil that would not take deep imprints. The ashes and charred sticks of the fire remained, and stumps, with the ax marks plain upon them, indicated where wood had been cut. A large birch had been partly stripped of its bark, doubtless for the purpose of repairing the canoe, or making utensils of some kind. Bones, bits of skin, fish scales and heads, and the uneatable parts of hares, squirrels and birds, were strewn about the ground in the Indian manner. The untidiness did not prove that the camp was necessarily an Indian one, however, for the white forest-wanderers were usually quite as careless of neatness and cleanliness as the savages themselves. Jean and Ronald, who piled fish and game refuse in a heap a little distance from the camp, and out of sight and smell, were far more particular than most of the wilderness travelers.
Though they could find no direct evidence, the lads were certain in their own minds that this camp had belonged to Le Forgeron Tordu and his Cree companion. They could not have explained why they were so sure, but they were sure nevertheless. They were convinced, too, that there was some connection between the camp and the disappearance of Nangotook, although they had not come upon the slightest evidence of foul play. After examining the place closely, they concluded that the camp ground had not been used for several days. Jean thought, from the appearance of the ashes, that the fire had not been burning since the last rain, and no rain had fallen since the night Ronald had spent waiting for the Ojibwa to return from the hunt. There was no discernible trail that led any distance from the camp. Very likely the campers had come to the spot by water and had departed in the same way. So the finding of the place, instead of helping to solve the problem of Nangotook’s disappearance, only increased the boys’ perplexity as well as their uneasiness.
Late in the afternoon of the same day, they saw something else that troubled them. Having searched everywhere for some trace of their companion, they were in a state of puzzlement over what to do next, but too restless to remain quiet. So they paddled to the entrance of the cove, and made their way out among the reefs, and along the base of the steep cliffs to the southwest. As they were going slowly along, with a line and hook attached to the stern paddle, Jean, who was in the bow, caught sight of some bright red thing gleaming among the green of evergreen trees on an outlying rocky island. With an exclamation, he pointed out the bright spot to Ronald, who had but a glimpse of it before it disappeared.
“There’s a man on that island,” said Jean excitedly. “That was a bit of his toque.”
“It looked like it,” Ronald admitted, “but it may have been only the autumn red of a rowan tree.”
“No, no,” Jean replied quickly. “That was no mountain ash tree. It would not have disappeared that way. We should still be able to see it. The red spot moved quickly and disappeared among the green. Yet there is no wind. I tell you it is a man. It is Le Forgeron, I am sure.”
“That may be true,” Ronald answered. “At any rate we must find out. If we can get on the track of the Blacksmith we may discover what has become of Etienne. I have little hope that he still lives, but at least we may find out how he died. We can’t be leaving this place to make our way to the Grande Portage while there’s any chance that he may return. Yet if we do not go soon, winter may catch us and hold us prisoner.”
Jean nodded gravely. “We cannot rest till we find out what that red thing is,” he said. “But if it is Le Forgeron’s toque, it would not be wise to approach too closely now. We will go back to our camp again, as if we had noticed nothing, and after darkness comes, we will paddle across to that place and look for what we may find.”
Ronald agreed at once. Not to excite suspicion if any one was watching from the island, they went on a little farther before turning, then paddled slowly back, as if their whole attention were devoted to their fishing.
After darkness had come, the two lads embarked again, made their way out among the rocks at the mouth of the harbor, and paddled towards the island. They wielded their blades silently, but darted as rapidly as they could across the open water. In spite of the fact that the moon had not yet risen, they were afraid their canoe could be seen by any keen-eyed person who might be looking that way. As they approached the island, they watched closely for the gleam of a camp-fire or for any sign of life, but no light glowed through the trees that clothed the central part of the rock island, and no movement was visible. Drawing near to land, the boys slowed their stroke and crept quietly along shore, searching the shadows for a landing place. A little cove in the rocks appeared to be a likely place, and, running in, they found a bit of pebble beach where they succeeded in making a safe landing. They concealed the canoe in a cleft of the rocks, where the shadows lay black, and then started to reconnoiter.
Cautiously and noiselessly they climbed the rocks to the patch of woods. An owl flew out on silent wings, and sailed down so close to Ronald’s head that it startled him for a moment. No sound, but the rustling of evergreen needles in the light breeze and the low rippling of the water in the crannies of the rock shore below, disturbed the utter stillness. With the exception of the ghostly owl, there seemed to be no life whatever on the island.
In the darkness of the trees and bushes, they had to proceed very carefully. They did not attempt to go through the center of the wooded patch, but made their way along its edge, on the alert every moment for some sign of a camp. So cautiously did they move, stopping every few paces to listen and peer into the shadows, that it took them a long time to go the short distance to the southern end of the island, and before they reached it, the moon had risen and was lighting up the bare rocks and the water beyond.
So far the two had come upon no traces of either man or beast, but there, in the moonlight, Jean discovered a bent and broken serviceberry bush, where something, man or animal, had pushed through. He dropped on his knees to look for tracks, but could find no trace of footprints in the thin soil that only partly covered the rock. As he rose to his feet, he sniffed the air like an animal that catches a scent.
“Smoke,” he whispered to Ronald.
Ronald, who had been examining a patch of moss at his feet, trying to make out whether it had been trodden on or not, turned his head in the direction of the wind and sniffed also. “Yes,” he whispered back, “some one has a fire over there in the woods. We must be finding out about it.” And stepping in front of Jean, he pushed through the bushes.
As the two made their way among the trees, going very cautiously over the rough ground, where broken rocks, cropping out everywhere and hidden in the shadow of the stunted and twisted spruces, made progress difficult, the smell of smoke came more and more strongly to their nostrils. Though as yet they could not see it, the camp-fire must be close at hand, they thought, and they went carefully that no sound might betray their presence. A faint, crackling noise reached their ears. It grew rapidly louder. Gleams of red appeared through the tree trunks ahead. Ronald stopped short, stared a moment, then turned to Jean, who had come up to him.
“That is no camp-fire,” he exclaimed, with a note of alarm in his low pitched voice.
Jean looked where the other pointed and gave a little gasp. “The woods are on fire,” he whispered. “The canoe, quick! Out of the trees to the rocks and around that way.”