which song, the natives solemnly aver, is sung by those birds on all occasions of festivity, the birds sitting round in a ring with one bird, presumably the leader, standing in the centre.

Roy hummed it over several times before completing his task. A small, square package of cardboard containing a photograph seemed to cause him much hesitation, and he paused to lay it beside the letters, then again to take it up and lay it on the newspapers, but eventually he gave it a place of honor by itself, apart from the rest of the mail.

By the time the last letter was sorted the heap had grown to a respectable size. This fact Roy comprehended with manifest satisfaction.

The letters were addressed to him in several different hands, but the greater number were in the hand-writing of one person—evidently that of a lady. After these letters had been separated from the others he arranged them according to a mystic sign, or number, which was visible in the left hand corner of each envelope, then suddenly, without any apparent cause, he dropped them on the table to snatch up the cardboard package. Cutting the string that bound it together, he discovered a photograph of a young girl, or rather, young woman, for it was the picture of a person about twenty years of age.

The photograph was of the size known as a “cabinet.” The lady’s costume, what could be perceived of it, was shadowy and indistinct. The features were those of a young, healthy-looking maiden neither beautiful nor even pretty, but the expression of the girl’s face was pleasant, and the eyes which looked fearlessly out from it were large and good. The figure as far as could be judged from the photograph was short, and, to use a vulgar expression which aptly describes it, stocky.

Roy held the photo tenderly, gazing rapturously at the face pictured there. Presently he withdrew his eyes and glanced cautiously across at his companion.

Broom’s face was hidden by the newspaper, in the reading of which he was apparently absorbed. Taking advantage of the other’s abstraction, Roy hastily pressed the photograph to his lips.

A crisp, crackling sound peculiar to paper brought a blush to Roy’s cheek, and with guilty haste he laid the cardboard on the table, then he looked up with what nonchalance he could muster. His companion’s attention was still absorbed in his reading, and Roy concluded with a feeling of relief that his late proceedings had passed unobserved. For although the act of kissing a photograph was in no way a grave offence, yet it was not an act he cared to commit before witnesses.

But Roy was wrong in his conjectures. By a skilful manipulation of the newspaper, Broom had seen Roy’s every act, and now sat behind the paper with a supercilious smile upon his face.

Opening the first letter, Roy scanned it eagerly. “Well, my dear boy,” it ran, “you will be pleased to hear that Papa has at last received his commission as Inspecting Chief Factor. The letter that he received from the directors in London acquainting him with the appointment was eulogistic in the extreme. The following extracts will give you some idea of the nice things they said:

Roy read this letter through twice before laying it down to take up another, which was written in a different key.

“A terrible calamity has happened here. Young Mr. College got into a quarrel with a native and shot him dead. Papa declares that he was quite justified, as it was in self-defence, but I think it was horrible. I shall never look on the young fellow without a shudder. It would be impossible for me to take his hand; in my imagination it is covered with blood. For in my opinion it is murder for a man to take another man’s life, no matter what the circumstances that seem to extenuate it.”

For perhaps five minutes Roy pondered over this letter and when he laid it down it was with a very solemn face. The words stirred him strangely, and he sat absent-mindedly fingering the next letter for some moments before cutting the envelope, but when he did so and his eye caught the opening lines, he started erect in his seat and a slight exclamation of surprise escaped him. Broom glanced at him inquiringly, but Roy was absorbed in his occupation and quite oblivious of Broom’s presence.

“My dear boy,” the letter ran, “you must not be frightened when I tell you that I have been ill. Not seriously ill, dear, but what we Canadians call ‘under the weather,’ and papa, after eager solicitations from myself, has promised to allow me to accompany him on his visit to Fort Future. Is not that most beautiful? I am sure I shall never get another good night’s sleep till the time comes for us to start. It is three years since we saw each other. I wonder if I shall find you changed in appearance? If you will think that I have grown old-looking or ugly? . . . You may rest assured that, if I am alive and well, at the earliest possible chance after open navigation you will have the life plagued out of you by

Your ever loving

Lena.”

This being the last letter necessary to the construction of our romance, we will leave Roy Thursby to his letters while I digress in my story to say something about the writer of the billet doux.

The first few years of Roy Thursby’s employment in the Hudson’s Bay Company’s service were spent in the Mackenzie River District. The officer in charge of the Fort at which Roy was stationed was Factor James McLeod, a widower with one child, Lena—Roy’s fair correspondent. After a short time spent in the constant society of the Factor’s daughter the young clerk became enamored of her and she in return favored his aspirations. Perceiving the upright character of the young fellow and the zeal he displayed in the Company’s service—which augured well for his future success—Mr. McLeod consented to their being engaged, but stipulated that Roy should be in the possession of his Chief Trader’s commission before they entertained any thoughts of marriage. Then Roy had been transferred to York Factory, and from there to Fort Future, as we have seen.

Roy Thursby laid down the last of his correspondence with mixed feelings of pleasure and strange forebodings. The delight he was feeling, since learning that Lena McLeod was to accompany her father on his trip of inspection, was tempered in a large measure by the words contained in the letter announcing young College’s fatal encounter with the Indian—“For in my opinion it is murder for a man to take another man’s life no matter what the circumstances that seem to extenuate it.” This was a strange decree from one so young, and the words rang in Roy’s brain, try how he might to forget them. Yet why they should so disturb and influence him he could not for the life of him imagine.

Mechanically he caught up a newspaper and ran his eye over its pages till dinner was pronounced ready.

During the meal Broom’s manner appeared sullen and taciturn, and after a few minutes of desultory talk Roy lapsed into silence. But when they rose from the table the trader appeared to suddenly guess the cause of the other’s moodiness, for after gaily exhorting Hopkins to come forward, he brought forth the “comfort,” and at this Broom’s face immediately cleared, while Hopkins entered the room blithely and took the stiff dram offered him.

The arrival of the “packet” was now celebrated by Broom with more fervor, and entirely unsolicited he refilled his glass and drank success to “George Hopkins.”

Roy noted the circumstance with displeasure, but suppressed his inclination to draw Broom’s attention to it, and drank the toast with as much grace as he could assume. Then, unceremoniously, he whipped the bottle off the table.

No whit abashed, the loquacious Broom told a number of pithy stories, which he related in his inimitable manner. These and other merry quips kept Hopkins in a constant fit of laughter, in which Roy, despite his annoyance, was at length forced to join.

Suddenly a gust of wind struck the house, shaking it to its foundations. The trader and the dog-driver glanced simultaneously at the window, then at each other with an accompanying nod, as if to say that their prognostications of a blow were proving correct.

At once Roy thought of Kasba, for he had been told that she had gone for meat. Had she returned? Had anyone seen her pass the house? Where was her father, Delgezie?

Receiving no answer to his questions from Broom or Hopkins, neither of whom knew the whereabouts of the girl or her father, Roy called in Sahanderry and again put the questions. The Indian entered with a face that clearly betrayed the anxiety he was feeling, but he could give no satisfactory information. He was almost certain Kasba had not returned, but as it was possible that she might have passed while they were at dinner he was unable to speak positively. He then spoke of his own doubts and fears regarding the girl’s safety.

But the trader checked these voluble premonitions by commanding Sahanderry to go to Delgezie’s hut and find out the truth of the matter, while he struggled into his “hairy coat.”

Without waiting for further directions the Indian rushed from the room. Fears for Kasba’s safety animated his movements. But he was stopped short in his impetuous haste before he had crossed the kitchen, the door being suddenly thrown open by Delgezie himself, who hastily entered, pulling the door to after him.

Delgezie’s entrance was the signal for the greatly perturbed Sahanderry to begin a string of confusing questions interlarded with much advice and dire prophecies of evil, but Roy came to the rescue of the distracted old man by peremptorily ordering the young Indian to hold his tongue, and then by a few direct questions the trader elicited the fact that the girl and boy left the Fort at seven o’clock that morning and had not yet returned.

“Seven o’clock! They had left at seven o’clock! Then they should have been back long ago! It is now two! What can have happened to them?” The trader spoke sharply and with evident anxiety.

In a bewildered fashion the old Indian stood gazing at the speaker, leaning a little forward as if to better read the expression on Roy’s face. He had the most implicit faith in the trader’s superior judgment, and with the simplicity of a child waited to be told what he was to do. His features worked in a nervous, agitated manner and a pipe that he had been unconsciously holding fell from his hand to the floor. Suddenly he seemed to be aware of Roy’s perturbed manner, and made for the door, but at once Roy called after him, demanding what he was about to do.

But the old man made no answer. He was fumbling at the door, which he presently opened and went hastily out.

Those left in the room looked askance at one another.

“Follow him, Sahanderry,” cried Roy; “bring him back; he cannot go like that. Be quick, man.”

Sahanderry hastened to the door, but a sharp cry without caused him to pause with his hand on the latch. The cry was followed by the howling of dogs; a peculiar long-drawn howl which the listener instantly recognized as proceeding from dogs that had become entangled or whose progress was in some measure impeded. The trio in the inner room again looked at one another, but this time it was with a smile of relief.

“That’s them,” asserted Sahanderry from the kitchen, “the dogs have found their way home and the sled has got stuck against something.” With this information he hurried outside.

But when he opened the door and stepped out, Sahanderry could see nothing; everything was obscured by the drifting snow. The wind rushed round the buildings from all points at once and seemed to gather additional impetus at every corner. The Indian paused, half blinded by the cutting wind and nipped by the intense cold. But the dogs, as if to baffle discovery and thereby prolong his apprehensions, became suddenly quiet. Taking a step forward he called to them in a loud voice. Just then a bulky object loomed suddenly out of the gloom and he came in violent contact with something which, although sufficiently substantial to cause him a shock and nearly send him off his feet, was at the same time curiously soft. Sahanderry recoiled from it with a thrill of apprehension and the thing, whatever it was, instantly passed into the house.

The dazed and vastly astonished Indian remained for a moment staring after the object. Then an idea of what it was struck him and he swiftly followed it. When he entered the house he found Roy Thursby bending over something which lay stretched upon a table, over which a blanket had been thrown. Delgezie was standing apart, nervous yet confident in his master’s power to restore animation to the apparently lifeless body he had just given into his charge.

After bending over the object for a moment longer, Roy looked up with a slight exclamation and a quick glance at Delgezie.

The old man’s quiet demeanor led Roy to suppose that he was laboring under the delusion that the body was that of Kasba. The mistake was very possible, for the object was enveloped in a “hairy coat,” and was covered with snow when Delgezie discovered it. He had evidently caught it from the sled without closely inspecting it and rushed into the house with the senseless David in the belief that it was Kasba he was carrying. Roy was debating how best to acquaint Delgezie with the error when the matter was taken entirely out of his hands by Sahanderry, who had drawn nigh and was now hurling a volley of questions at the unconscious boy.

Delgezie started as if electrified when the import of Sahanderry’s importunate questions dawned upon him. He glanced suspiciously around as if to perceive whether by any possibility the body could have been changed, then rushed to the table, where he gazed long and searchingly at David, whose existence he had evidently forgotten in his great despair for Kasba. Then wildly he turned, and, holding up his hands, cried in accents of direst agony: “She is my all, O God! Take not the tender branch and leave the old trunk standing!” Then, dropping his hands, he added as if to himself, “But I will find her or never return alive!”

Uttering these words, he was again about to rush from the room when Roy caught his arm and so prevented him. With the fury of a wild animal the old man turned on his captor; then, perceiving whom he was struggling with, he instantly desisted. The trader, however, held him for a moment longer in order to allow time for his habit of discipline to assert itself, then commanded him, with a harshness he was far from feeling, to seat himself and so remain until he was told to move. The poor old man seated himself mechanically with bowed head and dazed, resigned manner pitiful to witness. The sight of the Indian’s profound despair went to the heart of the trader, who had a singular affection for the aged; but the moment was too pregnant of danger both to the boy on the table and the girl out in the drifting snow to allow him to engage in sentiment.

Meanwhile Broom with commendable dexterity had removed all of David’s clothing.

“Snow! Bring snow!” he cried.

Sahanderry and the little dog-driver, who had been present during these proceedings, quickly fetched the required snow.

The unfortunate boy’s hands and face were literally frozen. His eyes were closed, and his lips pressed tightly together.

Broom and Hopkins now gave the boy a vigorous rubbing with snow to restore the circulation, which had been arrested by the intense cold. This was no soft, agreeable massage, but a lustily performed rubbing that almost took the skin off.

After a time these exhausting efforts had the desired effect. David sighed and opened his eyes.

Whereupon the garrulous Sahanderry again bombarded him with questions, but a peremptory: “Be quiet and fetch me some hot water,” from the trader, sent him post-haste to the kitchen.

Hastily diluting some brandy, Roy, after a little difficulty, got it down the boy’s throat and almost immediately he seemed much revived. The light expression returned to his eyes, and he tried to articulate, and the trader began to hope that he might have an explanation before he left on his search for the missing girl; and while the boy had been undergoing his severe course of friction Roy had been by no means idle, as two neatly rolled bundles enveloped in blankets testified. He had tied up what necessaries he judged likely to prove useful to the distressed Kasba, making them into two bundles, each ready to sling across a man’s shoulder. He intended to carry one himself and give the other to Delgezie to carry; thereby guarding against any possibility of either of them coming upon the girl without the recuperating necessaries; for in their hazardous hunt for the missing girl the two men might become separated. Then, bending over the prostrate boy, Roy earnestly adjured him to tell where he had last seen Kasba.

David’s attempts to articulate were pitiful to behold; the name of the girl he loved as a sister stimulated him to heroic efforts to speak, but he could only moan in reply, while large tears ran down his burning cheeks.

Roy soon perceived that he would be unable to get an explanation from the boy in the usual way, and resolved to acquire the desired information by the intricate means of signs.

Again he bent over David and this time he spoke in Chipewyan.

“Now, David,” he said, speaking slowly, “I see that you are unable to talk, but you can hear me speak and by doing what I desire, you will make yourself understood just as well. If you wish to answer ‘yes’ close both your eyes, if ‘no’ keep them open. You understand me, don’t you?”

The boy’s bright eyes shut instantly.

“That’s right!” said Roy. “Now, was Kasba walking ‘before’ the dogs when you last saw her?” Those bright eyes shut again.

“Good! You were coming to the Fort and were somewhere near the ‘little hill’?”

The boy’s eyes closed quickly.

“You were on this side of the ‘hill’?”

David stared at him.

“You were on the other side?”

David shut his eyes in the affirmative.

For a moment Roy hesitated, then, as if deciding he could not get any further information, he turned to go. But as he did so he saw such a look of profound despair pass over David’s face that he turned to him again. The mute appeal in the boy’s eyes gripped at his heart.

“You want me to search in some particular place for Kasba?” he said.

The eyes shut instantly.

“At the ‘saw pit’?” David stared at him.

“Sandy Ridge?” There was no response.

Roy mentioned all the likely localities by name, but those haunting eyes only watched him feverishly.

Tenderly he patted the boy’s head. “You have done your best, David,” Roy said, “but it is impossible for me to understand where you mean and I must go and look for the girl without further delay.” With this he turned away. But David, after lying perfectly still as if to collect all his failing energies for one mighty effort, partly raised himself and called out something in a hoarse shriek, but with such vehemence as to cause the first part to be quite unintelligible.

The sound of David’s voice brought Roy round on his heel with a swing. His quick ear had caught the word “gully.” The boy was lying on the table breathing fast and hard, his keen black eyes watching the trader with an eagerness that told that he was anxiously waiting to be further questioned.

“Gully! gully!” said Roy to himself; “What does he mean?” Then, in a flash it came to him. About a mile from the “little hill” was a gully, Peter’s gully.

Again he essayed an explanation from David.

There was now a glad, happy look on the boy’s face as if by some means he had discovered that Roy was in possession of the name he had tried so very hard to utter. Probably Roy’s look of relief, or, what is more likely, the movement of his lips, as he repeated the words to himself, had given the boy his cue.

The question was scarcely put before it was answered by those black eyes, which closed several times in as many flashes. Then, as if the excited boy’s unnaturally pent-up feelings had suddenly broken bonds he gave a horrible, ghastly laugh that sent an unpleasant thrill through all within hearing.

Delgezie, who had remained perfectly impassive while Roy was interrogating David, jumped excitedly to his feet at the sound of this unnatural laughter.

“What’s that?” he demanded, gazing around him in a scared, bewildered fashion.

Roy touched the old man’s arm softly. “Come, Delgezie,” he said, cheerfully. “We will now go and find Kasba; David thinks she might be sheltering in Peter’s Gully. I think we can find that even in this drift, eh, old man?”

The old Chipewyan started suddenly at hearing his daughter’s name. He gazed at Roy for a moment in doubt, then, perceiving a smile on his face, he smiled pathetically in return.

“I think so,” he replied, and at once started for the door.

“Wait! Catch hold of this,” cried Roy, pitching one of the bundles to him, then slipping the other over his own shoulder. “We must go equipped or we may as well stay at home.”

The distracted father was now all impatience to be off. But Roy paused to give Broom a few instructions for the proper disposal of David. Then, carrying a small compass in his hand, he walked outside, closely followed by the old Indian.

Closing the door, Roy paused to take his bearings by the compass, then started after Delgezie, who was already some yards in front. He did not seek to overtake the old man, but followed close behind, keeping him in sight except, occasionally, when a snow-cloud enveloped him for a few moments. The force of the wind was terrific. It swept over the plain howling like a pack of wolves, and drove the men before it at a great pace.

After scudding along at this unusual speed for some time the air became literally filled with snow-flakes and the darkness thickened. It was with utmost difficulty that Roy was able to consult the compass. But feeling assured that he was going in the right direction he allowed the wind to blow him forward.

Suddenly the darkness lifted and Roy gazed about him in search of Delgezie, but nowhere could he be seen. A ridge of rocks loomed out of the gloom and caused Roy to consult the compass anew. “You’re a bit of a liar, my friend,” he murmured, slipping the offending instrument into his mitten in token of his disgust, for he knew by the character of the rocks that he had come directly south and not south-west as he had intended—the compass had proved incorrect, as compasses frequently do in the Far North.

“Well,” thought Roy, “I may as well have a look now that I am here,” and with this determination he steered his way to a small ravine which he knew ran through the rocks before him.

And there he lustily shouted the girl’s name, but there was no response, and after a time he turned and left the ravine in an attempt to reach Peter’s Gully, his original destination. However, he had not walked far into the open before he stumbled and fell, and picking himself up he found that he had tripped over a pair of snowshoes. These he eagerly scrutinized. From their size he perceived that they belonged to Kasba, and with a terrific yell that fairly outrivalled the howling of the wind he recommenced his search for their owner.

After searching for some time, Roy discovered an object huddled in a hollow of the rocks and sprang forward with a low cry of eagerness, but in his impetuosity he tripped and fell heavily. The noise and ejaculation occasioned by the fall apparently awoke the object into life. For a little cloud of snow arose as a covering was suddenly thrown back and the girl’s face appeared. Roy struggled to his feet with a laugh, but it was with a sobered air that he approached Kasba.

“Are you all right, Kasba?” he inquired, anxiously peering down at her.

The girl nodded; she was too cold to articulate, and unable to rise from the same cause.

Perceiving this, Roy caught her up in his arms to transport her to another part of the ravine where, as he knew, there was plenty of dry wood for a fire.

Thus Kasba was brought into the closest possible contact with the man she loved, and, despite her resolution to think of him no more, she nestled in Roy’s strong embrace with a little sigh of complete contentment; she felt that the severe hardships she had undergone in the blizzard were proving blessings in disguise now that they had given her these moments of rapturous happiness. Her little brown hand stole to his shoulder caressingly and she pressed closer to him.

He could feel the beautiful form of the young girl pressing against his breast. She was such a child, and was so little and dainty, that the temptation to respond to her caress was not to be withstood, and lowering his head a little he kissed her on the full lips.

The instant he did it he felt a pang of conscience for his act. It seemed like a sacrilege after just receiving letters from Lena.

But he had done it more thoughtlessly than otherwise, besides he was overjoyed at finding the girl safe and well. She had had a miraculous escape. Still, he realized he had done wrong.

Kasba sighed rapturously. He could feel her heart throbbing, and for a moment she clung to him passionately.

At this display of passion, he more than ever doubted the wisdom of his act. He had not intended playing the lover to this half-savage child. He felt he had played the villain. He knew she had more than ordinary intelligence and that if he went on in that way he would break her heart.

He disengaged himself kindly and stood her upon her feet, but she still clung to his arm, hugging it to her bosom. Her face was flushed and joyous: he had kissed her, and all eternity could not take from her the memory of that moment.

As for Roy, in my opinion, he was certainly skating over very thin ice.

During the next few days the sufferers from exposure and travel quickly recuperated, and in a week all were once again in their accustomed good health. Kasba had luckily escaped Jack Frost’s most tenacious embrace, and a few hours had been sufficient to enable her to throw off the lethargy occasioned by her perilous adventure. David, on the other hand, had suffered painfully. The parts of his body that had been frozen became swollen and inflamed to an alarming degree, but as the blood regained its accustomed circulation the swelling slowly subsided. After two days of careful nursing the boy had been removed to Delgezie’s hut, where he had quickly recovered the use of his limbs and elasticity of spirits, while any fatigue the little dog-driver and his partner might have felt by their long journey had been entirely shaken off after several good nights’ rest.

Roy had traded with the few Eskimo encamped at the Fort and sent them about their business. A large seamless sack, whose sides bulged alarmingly, standing behind the counter in the trading store, had been the cynosure of their oblique eyes. This was the damning evidence of Ocpic’s cupidity, the sack he had filled with goods during the time he was in possession of Roy’s store key, but had been prevented from transporting from the premises for some unaccountable reason—probably some sound had alarmed him and caused him to leave the store post-haste.

The Eskimo spoke among themselves respecting the incident, and from the fragmentary conversation Roy overheard whilst engaging in trading with them he gathered that they felt more regret at Ocpic’s failing to take the goods away than at his behavior. And this was not to be wondered at, for they were acquainted with Roy only as a man who gave “nothing for nothing,” while Ocpic was of their own race, and truly blood is thicker than water.

The trading-store was a small, unpretentious building of undressed plank. It contained every imaginable commodity likely to be required for the Eskimo trade: cloth of red and blue, white capotes, blankets, scalpy knives, dags (snow-knives), pocket-knives, white seed beads, telescopes, tin and copper kettles of various sizes and a large stock of firearms, etc. First of all an Eskimo handed his bale of furs over the counter to Roy, who counted and valued them. Having done this, the trader handed the native a number of pins (pieces of wood), which the native with great deliberation arranged upon the counter, first in tens, then into little piles according to how much he wanted to buy of any one article. Each of these pieces of wood represented a “skin,” or, as it is sometimes called, a “made beaver,” the standard valuation by which trade is carried on between the Hudson’s Bay Company and the natives in that northern country. Having selected an article valued at, say, eight skins, the native handed over eight of his pieces of wood in exchange, and continued this method of doing business till all were gone.

As each native finished his bartering he fell out of the gang which thronged before the counter, and retired to the particular iglo he inhabited to gloat over his purchases. After untying the bundle which he had tied up in the store with such security as to lead one to imagine that he never again intended to unloose it, he took each purchase in hand separately, felt the edges of the knives, admired their workmanship and shape, closely scrutinized the large tin kettles and went into raptures over their shining brightness.

The trading done and the Eskimo away from the Fort, Roy gave his attention to the accounts and letters he wished to send by the return “packet.” The packet-train’s stay at Fort Future was limited to one week by the hard-and-fast rules governing the Company’s “packets,” and Roy’s search for Kasba and his trading with the natives had occupied several days of this time, but at an isolated post like Fort Future the official correspondence was not heavy and he was easily able to accomplish that part of his duties in due season. The work of writing his private letters, however, was more protracted. It was only in the evenings, after the loquacious Broom had retired, that Roy could apply himself to these. But by continuing his labors into the small hours of the morning he arose from the table on the last day of the allotted time with his work completed.

With the “packet” off his mind, Roy turned his thoughts to giving Hopkins and his companion a good send-off, and accordingly he arranged for a dance to take place that evening. Sahanderry was told to make a large supply of raisin cakes and to coax his dilapidated fiddle into tune. And the delighted Indian proceeded to carry out these orders with much jubilation. Soon little squares of dough, spotted with raisins, lay on top of the stove, and the pleasant smell of newly-cooked cakes filled the house all morning. During the afternoon the Indian brought out his fiddle and started to tune it. At this Broom uttered fearful imprecations and threatened to throw various objects at the fiddler’s head, but Roy, greatly amused, allowed Sahanderry to go on with his tuning, and the Indian continued the nerve-racking process with diabolical ingenuity.

As soon as supper was over, Sahanderry and Hopkins prepared the kitchen for the coming ball, and when everything was in readiness and the guests assembled Roy was apprised of the fact. There was a short delay occasioned by Broom, who at the last moment decided to groom his hair and unkempt whiskers, then the trader and his companion put in an appearance.

Kasba’s face at once filled with delight. She had not forgotten the caress she had received from Bekothrie; her lips where his had pressed them tingled still. And when he stood up for the first dance with her, thereby elating her into a seventh heaven of happiness, the crimson flew to her cheeks and brow. She tossed her head and smiled very prettily, her heart glowing in her eyes, and I must confess she clung to his hand, as they went through the figure dances, a good deal longer than was necessary; also, I may as well tell you at once, she put up her lips, when she bade him good-night, standing on tip-toe that she might reach his face. He received her salute with a little laugh of embarrassment, and in truth was too much worried over what she had done to allow of his sleeping after he turned in.

Kasba was the only woman present at this singular entertainment, but the absence of lady partners seemed in no wise to detract from the jollity of the evening. Hopkins, Poo-koo and David faced Broom, Delgezie and Minnihak, while Roy had Kasba for partner, as we have just described, and jigs, country dances, figures of eight, duck dances and rabbit dances were one and all performed with commendable spirit. There was a little confusion in the set dances caused by an occasional mix-up of partners or a dancer jigging alone down the perspective, but these mistakes only added to the fun of the evening.

At first solemnity and much perspiration marked these performances, but as pint after pint of “sugar beer” was swallowed by the thirsty dancers, their solemnity wore away, a gayer humor prevailed and some most intricate steps were ventured upon and accomplished with more or less success by the juvenile members of the party.

As the evening progressed, Broom suddenly burst into a song, much to Roy’s astonishment, for the sailor had often declared himself incapable of singing a note. The comic expression of Broom’s face created much amusement, and when he ended his performance by shuffling a few steps after the orthodox manner of the music-hall artists the delight of his audience knew no bounds, and the fun waxed fast and furious till the clock pointed to the hour of midnight. At the striking of the hour, Roy shook hands with all present, and then, led by Broom, three cheers were given for “the master,” and the party quickly dissolved.

Despite their terpsichorean efforts of the previous evening they were all up betimes next morning. Even Broom arose much before his wonted hour to see the packet men start on their return journey.

“Well, good luck, George!” cried Roy, grasping the little dog-driver by the hand. “May you have a good trip!”

“Thank you, sir,” returned the little man, who hastily proceeded to shake hands with all within sight, which act of courtesy was closely imitated by Poo-koo. And while it was yet dark the packet-train started on its hazardous journey south. The dogs, greatly refreshed by their rest, bounded after the rapidly disappearing Eskimo in front, who, unlike most of his race, was a good and fast walker, and the last link to the outside world was quickly swallowed up in the gloom of the early morning.

With an unconscious sigh of regret Roy turned to go indoors. To be sure Churchill was as much out of the world as Fort Future, but there were more people—possibly a dozen—and four mails a year there. Four mails a year looked good to Roy. Truly all things are judged by comparison.

Roy’s naturally buoyant spirits seemed to have departed with the packet and he appeared dull and listless, remaining preoccupied during the whole of breakfast, and returning only monosyllabic answers to Broom’s airy remarks. The interesting occupation of letter-writing gone, there seemed nothing to occupy his mind, and it was with something of an effort that he forced himself to take up the old monotonous life and to revive the interest he had hitherto felt in his work. But these feelings, this hankering after the unattainable, was soon dispersed by his strong will, and he was again the zealous officer the Company had ever found him. He was inwardly longing for the time when the ice would be out of the river, and Chief Factor McCall would arrive on his trip of inspection, and the knowledge that Lena was to accompany her father only made the enforced wait the more exasperating. But Roy knew from bitter experience that the only way to make time fly was to be fully occupied, and he therefore decided to make a trip to the camp of his Eskimo trader Acpa.

Roy and Broom spent the evening following in desultory conversation. The latter was feeling in one of his best moods, but a strange presentiment of coming evil beset the trader; that peculiar instinctive feeling of some approaching calamity with which we are all more or less acquainted; the shadowy, indistinct sensation that some catastrophe is nigh and about to overwhelm us.

As Roy’s naturally buoyant spirits were not prone to fits of depression he felt irritated with himself and attempted to throw it off, but the feeling was so persistent, so singularly distinct, that it caused him to hesitate about making the journey. It was only by a supreme effort that he suppressed these premonitions of evil and bent his mind on the business before him.

He had arranged for Minnihak to accompany him as guide, and Delgezie to follow with a second train of dogs. Consequently the charge of the Fort fell to Sahanderry, who was summoned to the inner room to receive his orders. Roy made a point of giving these instructions in the presence of Broom, so that he might perfectly understand his position and that he remained at the Fort merely as a guest, and that except for the preparing of his meals the Chipewyan was in no wise under his direction or supervision. After establishing this fact beyond any possibility of doubt, Roy dismissed Sahanderry.

“And now we’ll take a last horn together,” he said, little thinking how prophetic his words would prove.

“Thanks, old man,” returned the sailor. Then, as if the thought had suddenly flashed upon him, he added: “By the way, you might leave a drop with me, old chap; the time will be deuced long while you’re away.”

Roy shot him a quick glance and remained silent for some moments as if debating within himself. He turned and lingered over the spirit chest, and then, alas, against his better judgment, he produced two bottles of whiskey which he handed to the sailor. There was nothing in these innocent black bottles to warn him that they would be chiefly instrumental in bringing about the catastrophe his gloomy forebodings had foreshadowed—the imp of evil was there.

“I shall be away only four days if the weather holds good,” said Roy. Then looking the other straight in the eyes he added a little more seriously, but with a smile: “Of course I depend upon you behaving yourself, Broom. You’ve given your word that you will try no more foolishness with Kasba, and I trust you. I have given you the liquor you asked for, but I don’t expect you to make an ass of yourself.”

Broom smiled broadly while engaged in stowing the bottles under a pillow of his bunk.

“Dear me, what a doubting Thomas you are!” he said. Then, with the theatrical manner he was so fond of assuming, he added: “You may proceed on your hazardous journey, my good Samaritan, with the greatest confidence in your humble servant’s future exemplary behavior. He will conduct himself in the most approved manner during your absence.”

After this virtuous assurance, Broom partly filled an enamelled mug with whiskey from a bottle on the table, and, raising it in the air, drank to “a successful trip.” “May you return with your sleds loaded down with furs,” he cried, in a more friendly spirit than he had shown for some time past.

Thanking him for his wishes, Roy drank the liquor he had mixed for himself, and prepared for bed.

“You must excuse me,” he said, “for I am making an early start in the morning. But don’t let my going to bed interfere with your enjoyment. There is not much in the bottle, you might as well finish it.”

Broom muttered something about the other’s generosity and drew the bottle toward him, while Roy made haste to bed.

The trading party left the Fort long before daylight next morning and were many miles away when the “day-sky” crept over the horizon, for the dogs were going well. Neither of the com-it-uks was loaded very heavily, although they appeared to be so from their bulk, but this was caused by the amount of bedding, changes of clothing, and other useful gear that trippers in the Far North are compelled to take with them when making a trip, it does not matter how short, in winter; for a blizzard, like that in which Kasba was lost, easily protracts a short trip into one of several days’ duration.

The day passed all too quickly for the little party, who, keenly alive to the changeableness of the weather at that time of the year, endeavored to push on with the greatest speed possible. With this end in view, only one short stop was made “to boil the kettle,” as the phrase goes. Beyond this there was no stopping, and each of the men was aware of sundry severe promptings from an empty stomach long before the approaching dusk compelled them to camp for the night.

At a word from Roy the guide selected a suitable spot, and the dogs were brought to a halt in a little bluff of trees. The place chosen was not an ideal one, for the brush was poor and dry wood scarce, but, as the men well knew, there was no better for some miles, and they lost no time in idle speculation or useless regrets. Silently, and with the skilful precision and dexterity of men well accustomed to the work, they went about their several duties, each to his own task, knowing what was expected of him. To Delgezie fell the task of “making camp.” Having picked a spot free from underwood and where there were no holes, he slipped off his snowshoes and using one as a spade proceeded to clear the ground of snow, while Roy, acting as the old man’s assistant, cut and brought suitable spruce trees which Delgezie “branched” as soon as he had cleared a space some ten feet square, strewing the small branches thickly over the uncovered ground, and at the same time making a three-sided barricade some four feet high out of the robbed trunks. The back of the camp was toward the wind, while the front, or open side of the square, was reserved for the fire.

The camp built, Roy stopped cutting “brush” and joined Minnihak in procuring “dry wood,” which Delgezie cut into lengths as soon as brought.

Then the trader and the Chipewyan turned their attention to the dogs, which were unharnessed, tied to adjacent trees and bedded down with brush. A terrific clamoring ensued, for long experience told the dogs that these acts betokened the feeding hour. Four pounds of venison were now thrown to each of them, as a reward for the faithful efforts of the day, and on a tree near by a bag containing a night’s feed for men and dogs was cached for the return journey. Thus the com-it-uks were lightened by many pounds’ weight the first day out.

By this time Minnihak had a fire blazing fiercely and throwing its glare all about them, making the camp appear a comfortable haven indeed, as compared to the cold, bleak surroundings, and Roy and Delgezie stepped into its warm radius and knocked the snow from their moccasins and trousers with their thick deerskin mittens, smiling the pleased smile of weary men satisfied.

The duties of cook fell upon the guide, Minnihak, according to the rules of tripping. But although the Eskimo had acquired the elements of civilization he was sadly remiss in the nicer details of cleanliness, which made his services in that capacity quite undesirable. Therefore Delgezie cooked the food, while Minnihak carried out the more menial labors of cook’s mate, in pursuance of which he had already gone to a near-by river and brought back several large blocks of ice for the kettle, and these lay ready to the cook’s hand, glistening in the firelight.

Supper over, the men gave themselves up to a few minutes’ smoke and reverie—the most delightful time of the tripper’s day—and their thoughts naturally turned to sleep. Delgezie, who always held prayer before retiring, began a hymn, which he sang alone, for Roy was unable to follow the old man’s peculiar intonation, and Minnihak was ignorant of both language and tune.

In a reverie Roy’s gaze wandered from the bright glow of the fire, through the few sparse spruce trees and out to the cold, desolate region beyond. The moon was shining brightly, illuminating the surrounding solitude which stretched into the far distance on either side like a terrestrial eternity, having no visible beginning or end.