Chapter 24

THE FACTORY

Light snow was driving across the waste before a savage wind when the party sat at breakfast one morning a fortnight after Blake had shot the caribou. They had spent the first two days enjoying a badly needed rest, but the rest of the time had been passed in forced marches which severely taxed their strength. Part of their way, however, had lain across open country, for they were near the northern edge of the timber belt, and the straggling trees, dwarfed and bent by the wind, ran east and west in a deeply indented line. In some places they boldly stretched out towards the Pole in long promontories; in others they fell back in wide bays which Blake, steering by compass, held straight across and afterwards again plunged into the scrub. Three days were spent in struggling through the broadest tongue, but as a rule, a few hours' arduous march brought them out into the open. Even there the ground was very rough and broken, and they were thankful for the numerous frozen creeks and lakes which provided an easier road.

Pushing on stubbornly, camping where they could find shelter and wood, since they could hardly have survived a night spent without a fire in the open, they had made, by calculation, two hundred miles, and Blake believed they might by a determined effort reach the Hudson's Bay post about nightfall. This was necessary since their strength was nearly exhausted, and provisions had run out, but an Indian trapper whom they had met two days before had given them directions and landmarks, some of which they recognized.

Day had broken, but there was little light and Blake, looking out from behind a slab of rock in the shelter of which a few junipers clung, thought that three or four miles would be the longest distance that he could see. This was peculiarly unfortunate, because he understood that their course led across a wide untimbered stretch, on the opposite side of which one or two isolated bluffs would indicate the neighbourhood of the factory. Disastrous consequences might follow the missing of these woods.

A pannikin of weak tea made from leaves which had already been once or twice infused stood among the embers, and by and by Benson, who was dividing the last of the meat, held up a piece.

"I had thought of saving this, but it hardly seems worth while," he said. "If we make the factory, we'll get a good supper."

"You don't mention what will happen if we miss it," Harding remarked with grim humour. "Anyhow, that piece of meat won't make much difference. What do you think, Blake?"

Blake forced a cheerful laugh. "Put it all in; we're going to make the post; as a matter of fact, we have to. How's the leg this morning?"

"I don't think it's worse than it was last night," Harding answered. "If I'm careful how I go, it ought to stand another journey."

He made a grimace as he stretched out the limb, which was very sore, for during the last few days the strain the snowshoe threw on the muscles had nearly disabled him. Now he knew it would be difficult to hold out for another journey, but he had grown accustomed to pain and weariness and hunger. They were, he imagined, the lot of all who braved the rigours of winter in the northern wilds.

"Well," said Benson, "there's no use in carrying anything that's not strictly needful and the empty grub-bag may stay behind. Then here's a pair of worn out moccasins I was keeping as a stand by. I should be able to get new ones at the factory."

"It's still some distance off," Harding drily reminded him.

"If we don't make it, the chances are that I won't need the things. But what about your collection of gum?"

Nothing had been said on this point for some time, but Harding's face wore a curious look as he took up a bag which weighed three or four pounds.

"Some of the stuff might be used for low-grade varnish, but that's not what I'm out for. I've been trying to believe that a few of the specimens might prove better on analysis, but I guess it's a delusion."

With a quick resolute movement he threw the bag into the fire and when the resin flared up with a thick brown smoke the others regarded him with silent sympathy. This was the end of the project he had expected so much from, but it was obvious that he could meet failure with fortitude. Nothing that would serve any purpose could be said, and they quietly strapped on their blankets.

There was not much snow when they set off and fortunately the wind blew behind them, but the white haze narrowed in the prospect and Blake, who broke the trail, kept his eyes upon the compass. He was not quite sure of the right line, but he had the satisfaction of knowing that he was, at least, going straight. After a few minutes, Harding glanced behind. Their camping place had vanished, they were out in an open waste, and he knew that he had started on the last march he was capable of making. Where it would lead him he could not tell, though the answer to the question was of vital importance.

For a time he thought of his wife and wondered with keen anxiety what would become of her if his strength gave way before they reached the post, but he drove these cares out of his mind. It was dangerous to harbour them and served no purpose; his part was to struggle on, swinging the net shoes while he grappled with the pain each step caused him. He shrank from contemplating the distance yet to be covered; it seemed vast to him in his weakness, and he felt himself a feeble, crippled thing. Soft snow and Arctic cold opposed his advance with malignant force, but his worn-out body still obeyed the spur of his will, and he roused himself to fight for the life that had some value to another. He must march, dividing up the distance into short stages that had less effect upon the imagination; limping forward from the ice-glazed rock abreast of him to the white hillock which loomed up dimly where the snow blurred the horizon. Then he would again look ahead from some patch of scrub to the most prominent elevation that he could see.

The marks he chose and passed seemed innumerable, but the wilderness still ran on, pitilessly empty, in front of him. His leg was horribly painful, he knew he must break down soon, and they had seen nothing of a stony rise they were looking for. To find it would simplify matters, because the Indian had made them understand that the bluffs about the post lay nearly east of it.

Noon passed and they still pressed forward without a halt, for there was little more than three hours' daylight left, and it was unthinkable that they should spend the night without food or shelter. The horizon steadily narrowed as the snow thickened; there was a risk of their passing the guiding-marks or even the factory.

It was nearly three o'clock when Harding stumbled and falling into the snow found himself unable to get up until Benson helped him. In his attempt to rise he further strained his weakened leg and for a moment or two he leaned on his companion, his face contorted with pain.

"The fall seems to have hurt you," Benson said sympathetically.

"I'll have to go on," Harding gasped and, setting his teeth, strode forward, made a few paces with horrible pain, and then sank down on his knees.

The others stopped in consternation and Blake said, "If I've kept the right line, we can't be far from the factory."

"I'm played out," said Harding. "You'll have to leave me here. If you make the post, you can come back with a sledge."

"No," Blake answered shortly. "How are we to find you with our trail drifting up? Besides, you'd be frozen in a few hours. If you can't walk, you'll have to be carried. Get hold of him, Benson."

Benson lifted him to his feet, Blake seized his arm, and, both supporting him, they resumed the march. Leaning on them heavily, Harding was dragged along, and they silenced the feeble protests he made now and then.

"Stop talking that rot! We see this out together," Blake told him roughly.

None of them had much doubt as to what the end would be, but they stubbornly held on. Nothing further was said; Blake and Benson's pinched faces were set and stern and Harding's drawn up in a ghastly fashion by suffering. Still, their overtaxed muscles somehow obeyed the relentless call on them.

At length, when the light had almost gone, Benson stepped into a slight depression that slanted across their path.

"Hold on!" he cried hoarsely. "Look at this!"

Blake stooped while Harding, swaying awkwardly with bent leg, held on to him. The hollow was small, a smooth groove of slightly lower level than the rest of the snow.

"A sledge trail!" he said in an exultant voice. "Drifted up a bit, but they've been hauling lumber over it and that means a good deal to us." He indicated a shallow furrow a foot or two outside the groove. "That's been made by the butt of a trailing log. The Indian said there were bluffs near the post and they wouldn't haul their cordwood farther than necessary."

Then they were silent for a few moments, overcome by relief. They had now a guide to shelter and safety, but when they had gathered breath Blake steadied Harding, who found standing difficult, with his arm.

"We must make a move and hustle all we can," he said. "It will be dark in half an hour and the snow won't take long in filling up the trail."

The risk of missing the factory, which might be close at hand, was not to be faced, and they pulled themselves together for a last effort; Blake and Benson breathing hard as they dragged Harding along. The light was rapidly going, now they had changed their course the snow lashed their faces, making it difficult to see, and they plodded forward with lowered heads and eyes fixed on the guiding-line. It grew faint in places and vanished altogether after a while. Then they stopped in dismay, and Blake went down upon his knees scraping with ragged mittens in the snow.

"I can't see which way it runs, but it certainly doesn't end here," he said. "Go ahead and look for it, Benson, but don't get out of call."

Benson moved forward and when he faded into the cloud of driving flakes those he left behind were conscious of a keen uneasiness. They could only see a few yards, it was blowing fresh and the wind might carry their voices away, while if this happened the chances were against their comrade's being able to rejoin them. By and by Blake shouted and the answer was reassuring. They waited for a time and then when they cried out a hail came back very faintly: "Nothing yet!"

"Keep closer!" Blake shouted, but it seemed that Benson did not hear him, for there was no reply.

"Hadn't you better go after him?" Harding suggested.

"No," said Blake shortly. "It would make things worse to scatter." He raised his voice. "Come back before your tracks fill up."

The silence that followed filled them with alarm, but while they listened in strained suspense a minute or two later a faint call came out of the snow. The words were indistinguishable, but the voice had an exultant note in it, and Blake said with deep relief, "He has found the trail."

It was difficult to see the print of Benson's shoes and Harding could not move a step alone, but they called out at intervals as Blake slowly helped him along, and at length a shadowy object loomed in front of them. As they came up Benson pointed to a slight depression.

"We can follow it if it gets no fainter, but there's no time to lose," he said. "It might be safer if I went first and kept my eye on the trail."

He shuffled forward with lowered head while Blake came behind, helping Harding as best he could, and all three long remembered the next half hour. Once or twice they lost the trail and were seized with despair, but searching anxiously they found it again. At length a pale, elusive light appeared amidst the snow ahead and they saw it grow clearer with keen satisfaction. When it had changed to a strong yellow glow they passed a broken white barrier which Blake supposed was a ruined stockade, and the hazy mass of a building showed against the snow. Then there was a loud barking of dogs, and while they sought for the door a stream of light suddenly shone out with a man's dark figure in the midst of it.

Next minute they entered the house and Harding lurching forward across the floor of a large room, clutched at a table and then fell with a crash into a chair. After the extreme cold outside, the air was suffocatingly hot and, overcome by the change and pain, he leaned back with flushed face and half closed eyes. His companions stood still, with the snow thick upon their ragged furs, and the other man shut the door before he turned to them.

"A rough night," he said calmly. "Ye might as weel sit down. Where do ye hail from?"

Blake laughed as he found a seat. He imagined that their appearance must have been somewhat startling, but he knew it takes a good deal to disturb the equanimity of a Hudson's Bay Scot.

"From Sweetwater, but we have been up in the timber belt since winter set in. Now we have run out of provisions and my partner's lamed by snowshoe trouble."

"Ay," said the other, "I suspected something o' the kind. But maybe ye'll be wanting supper?"

"I believe, if we were put to it, we could eat half a caribou," Benson told him with a grin.

"It's no to be had," the Scot answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "I can give ye a good thick bannock and some whitefish. Our stores are no so plentiful the now."

They took off their furs and glanced about the place while their host was busy at the stove. The room was large, its walls of narrow logs chinked with clay and moss. Guns and steel traps hung upon them, the floor was made of uneven boards which had obviously been split in the nearest bluff, and the furniture was of the simplest and rudest description. It had, however, an air of supreme comfort to the famishing newcomers, and after the first few minutes they found it delightfully warm. They ate the food given them ravenously and afterwards the agent brought Harding some warm water and examined his leg.

"Ye'll no walk far for a while I'm thinking," he remarked. "Rest it on the chair here and sit ye still."

Harding was glad to comply and lighting their pipes they began to talk. Their host, who told them his name was Robertson, was a rather hard-featured man of middle age.

"I'm all my lone; my clerk's away with the breeds at the Swan lake," he said. "Where are ye making for?"

"For the south," said Blake. "We came here for shelter, badly tired, and want to hire a dog team and a half-breed guide if possible, as soon as my partner's fit to travel. Then we want provisions."

"I'm afraid I cannot supply ye. Our stores are low--we got few fish and caribou the year, and we have not a team to spare."

"Well," said Benson, "I don't suppose you'll turn us out, and we'd be glad to pay for our accommodation. We have no wish to take the trail again without food or transport."

Robertson looked thoughtful. "Ye might wait a week or two; and then we'll maybe see better what can be done."

He asked them a few questions about their journey, and by and by Harding took the piece of gum from its case.

"I guess you have seen nothing like this round here?"

"No," said Robertson, who examined it carefully. "I have made it my business to study the natural products o' the district, and it's my opinion ye'll find no gum of this kind in the northern timber belt."

"I expect you're right. Leaving furs out, if the country's rich in anything, it's probably minerals."

"There's copper and some silver, but I've seen no ore that would pay for working when ye consider the transport."

"I don't suppose you're anxious to encourage prospecting," Benson suggested.

Robertson smiled. "If there was a rich strike, we would no object. We're here to trade, and supplying miners is no quite so chancy as dealing in furs; but to have a crowd from the settlements disturbing our preserves and going away after finding nothing of value would not suit us. Still I'm thinking, it's no likely; the distance and the winter will keep them out."

"Did you ever see signs of oil?"

"No here; there's petroleum three hundred miles south, but no enough, in my opinion, to pay for driving wells. Onyway, the two prospecting parties that once came up didna come back again."

He left them presently, and when they heard him moving about an adjoining room, Harding said, "We'll stay here for a time and then look for that petroleum on our way to the settlements."

Blake, who agreed, thought this determination was characteristic of his comrade. Harding's project had failed, but instead of being crushed by disappointment, he was already considering another. While they talked about it Robertson returned, and shortly afterwards they went to sleep.

CHAFFER XXV

THE BACK TRAIL

Blake and his friends spent three weeks at the Hudson's Bay post, and throughout the first fortnight an icy wind hurled the snow against the quivering building. It was dangerous to venture as far as a neighbouring bluff where fuel had been cut, and one evening Benson and the agent, who were hauling cordwood home, narrowly escaped from death in the suddenly freshening storm. None of the half-breeds could reach the factory and Robertson confessed to some anxiety about them; there was little that could be done, and they spent the dreary days lounging about the red-hot stove, and listening to the roar of the gale. In the long evenings Robertson told them grim stories of the North.

Then there came a week of still, clear weather with intense frost, and when several of the trappers arrived Robertson suggested that his guests had better accompany a man who was going some distance south with a dog team. He could, however, only spare them a scanty supply of food, and they knew that a long forced march lay before them when they had left their guide.

Day was breaking when the dogs were harnessed to the sledge, and Harding and his companions, shivering in their furs, felt a strong reluctance to leave the factory. It was a rude place and very lonely, but they had enjoyed warmth and food there, and their physical nature shrank from the toil and bitter cold. None of them wished to linger in the North, and Harding least of all, but it was daunting to contemplate the distance that lay between them and the settlements. Strong effort and stern endurance would be required of them before they rested beside a hearth again.

There was no wind, the smoke went straight up and then, spreading out, hung above the roof in a motionless cloud; the snow had a strange ghostly glimmer in the creeping light, and the cold bit to the bone. It was with a pang they bade their host farewell, and followed the half-breed, who ran down the slope from the door after his team. Robertson was going back to sit, warm and well-fed, by his stove, but they could not tell what hardships awaited them.

Their depression, however, vanished after a time. The snow was good for travelling, the dogs trotted fast, and the half-breed grunted approval of their speed as he pointed to landmarks that proved it when they stopped at noon. After that they held on until dark, and made camp among a few junipers in the shelter of a rock. All had gone well the first day, Harding's leg no longer troubled him, and there was comfort in travelling light with their packs upon the sledge. The journey began to look less formidable, and gathering close round the fire they ate their supper cheerfully while the dogs fought over the scraps of frozen fish. Harding, however, had some misgivings about their ability to keep the pace up; he thought that in a day or two it would tell on the white men.

Nothing disturbed their sleep, which was sound, for the cold has less effect on the man who is fresh and properly fed. Breakfast was quickly dispatched, and after a short struggle with the dogs they set out again. It was another good day, and they travelled fast, over a rolling tableland on which the snow smoothed out the inequalities among the rocks. Bright sunshine streamed down on them, the sledge ran easily up the slopes and down the hollows, and looking back when they nooned Harding noticed the straightness of their course. Picked out in delicate shades of blue against the unbroken white surface surrounding it, the sledge trail ran back with scarcely a waver to the crest of a rise two miles away. This was not how they had journeyed north, with the icy wind in their faces, laboriously struggling round broken ridges and through tangled woods. Harding was a sanguine man, but experience warned him to prepare for much less favourable conditions. It was not often the wilderness showed a smiling face.

Still, the fine weather held and they were deep in the timber when they parted from their guide on a frozen stream which he must follow while they pushed south across a rugged country. He was not a companionable person, and spoke only a few words of barbarous French, but they were sorry to see the last of him when he left them with a friendly farewell. He had brought them speedily a long distance on their way, but they must now trust to the compass and their own resources, while the loads they strapped on were unpleasantly heavy. Before this task was finished dogs and driver had vanished up the white riband of the stream, and they felt lonely as they stood in the bottom of the gorge with steep rocks and dark pines hemming them in. Blake glanced at the high bank with a rueful smile.

"There are advantages in having a good guide, and we hadn't to face a climb like that all the way," he said. "Anyhow, we had better get up."

It cost them some labour and, after reaching the summit they stopped to look for the easiest road. Ahead, as far as they could see, small, ragged pines grew among the rocks, and breaks in the uneven surface hinted at troublesome ravines.

"It looks rough," said Benson. "There's rather a high ridge yonder. It might save trouble to work round its end. What do you think?"

"When I'm not sure," said Harding, "I mean to go straight south."

Benson gave him a sympathetic nod. "One can understand that; you have better reasons for getting back than the rest of us, though I've no particular wish to loiter up here. Break the trail, Blake; due south by compass!"

They plunged deeper into the broken belt, clambering down ravines, crossing frozen lakes and snowy creeks. Indeed, they were thankful when a strip of level surface indicated water, for the toil of getting through the timber was heavy. After two days of travel there was a yellow sunset, and the snow gleamed in the lurid light with an ominous brilliance, while as they made their fire a moaning wind got up. These things presaged a change in the weather, and they were rather silent over the evening meal. They missed the half-breed and the snarling dogs, while it looked as if the good fortune that had so far attended them was coming to an end.

Next morning there was a low, brooding sky, and at noon snow began to fall, but they kept on until evening over very rough ground and then held a council round the fire.

"The situation requires some thought," Blake remarked. "First of all, our provisions won't carry us through the timber belt. Now the shortest course to the prairie, where the going will be easier, is due south, but after we get there we'll have a long march to the settlements. I'd partly counted on our killing a caribou or perhaps a moose, but so far we've seen no tracks."

"There must be some smaller beasts that the Indians eat," Benson suggested.

"None of us knows where to look for them, and we haven't much time to spare for hunting."

"That's so," Harding agreed. "What's your plan?"

"I'm in favour of heading south-west. It may mean an extra hundred miles, or more, but it would bring us nearer the Stony village, and afterwards the logging camp on the edge of the timber, where we might get supplies."

"It's understood that the Indians are often half starved in winter," Benson observed. "For all that, they might have had good luck, and anyhow we couldn't cross the prairie with an empty grub-sack. My vote's for striking off to the west."

Harding concurred, though as his leg had threatened further trouble during the last day or two, he would have preferred the shorter route. Then Blake asked him: "What about the petroleum?"

"We can't stop to look for it unless we can lay in a good stock of food, and I don't suppose we could do much prospecting with the snow upon the ground." He paused a moment with a thoughtful air. "When we reach the settlement I must go home, but if the dollars can be raised, I'll be back as soon as the thaw comes to try for the oil. Clarke's an unusually smart man, and there's no doubt he's on the trail."

"We'll raise enough money somehow," Benson told him, and Blake signified his agreement with a nod. Then they dropped into casual talk which lasted until they went to sleep.

When dawn came it was snowing hard, and for a week they made poor progress with a bitter gale driving the flakes in their faces, while rations were cut down as the distance covered daily steadily lessened. Harding's leg was getting sore, but he did not mean to speak of this unless it was necessary. They were, however, approaching the neighbourhood of the Indian village and Blake began to speculate upon the probability of their finding its inhabitants at home. He understood that the Stonies wandered about, and realized with uneasiness that it would be singularly unfortunate if they were away on a hunting trip.

At length, after laboriously climbing the rough but gently rising slope of a long divide all one blustering day, they camped on a high tableland, and lay awake, too cold to sleep, beside a sulky, greenwood fire. In the morning it was difficult to get upon their feet, but as the light grew clearer, the prospect they looked down upon seized their attention. The hill summits were wrapped in leaden cloud, but a valley opened up below. It was wider and deeper than any they had met with since leaving the factory, the bottom looked unusually level, and it ran roughly south.

They gazed at it in silence for a time; and then Harding said, "I've a notion that this is the valley where Blake fell sick, and it's going to straighten out things for us if I'm right."

"That's so," Benson agreed. "We would be sure of striking the Stony village, and we could afterwards follow the low ground right down to the river. With the muskegs frozen solid, it ought to make an easy road."

Blake was conscious of keen satisfaction, but there was still a doubt.

"We'll know more about it after another march," he said.

No snow fell that morning, and as their packs were ominously light they made good speed across the hill benches and down a ravine where they scrambled among the boulders of a frozen creek. It was a grey day without the rise in temperature that often accompanies cloudiness, and the light was strangely dim. Rocks and pines melted into one another at a short distance, and leaden haze obscured the lower valley. Blake was, however, becoming sure it was the one they had travelled up and, dispensing with the usual noon halt, they pushed on as fast as possible. All were anxious to set their doubts at rest, for there was now a prospect of obtaining food and shelter in a few days, but they recognized no landmarks, and with the approach of evening the frost grew very keen. The haze drew in closer, the scattered pines they passed wailed drearily in a rising wind, and the men were tired, but they could see no suitable camping place and held on, looking for thicker timber.

It was getting dark when a belt of trees stretched across the valley, and they were thinking of stopping, when Benson, who led the way, cried out.

"What is it?" Harding asked.

Benson hesitated. "Well," he said, "the thing doesn't seem probable, but I believe I saw a light. Anyway, it's gone."

They stopped, gazing eagerly into the gloom. A light meant that there were men not far off, and after the grim desolation they had travelled through all were conscious of a longing for human society. Besides, the strangers would, no doubt, have something to eat and might be cooking a plentiful supper. There was, however, nothing to be seen until Blake moved a few yards to one side. Then he turned to Benson with a cheerful laugh.

"You were right; I can see a glimmer about a mile ahead. I wonder who the fellows are, though that's not important."

They set off as fast as they could go, though travelling among the fallen branches and slanting trees was difficult in the dark. Now and then they lost their beacon, but the brightening glow shone out again and when it was visible Blake watched it with surprise. It was low, and he thought hardly large enough for a fire, besides which it had a curious irregular flicker. Drawing nearer, they dipped into a hollow where they could only distinguish a faint brightness beyond the rising ground ahead which they eagerly ascended. Reaching the summit, they saw the light plainly, but it was very small, and there were no figures outlined against it. Benson shouted, and all three felt a shock of disappointment when he got no answer.

He ran as fast as his snowshoes would let him, smashing through brush, floundering over snowy stones, with Blake and Harding stumbling, short of breath, behind; and then stopped with a hoarse cry close to the light. There was nobody about, and the blaze sprang up mysteriously from the frozen ground.

"A blower of natural gas," said Harding in an excited tone. "In a sense, we've had our run for nothing, but this may be worth a good deal more than your supper."

"If I had the option, I'd trade all the natural gas in Canada for a thick, red moose steak, and a warm place to sleep in," Benson savagely rejoined. "Anyhow, it will help us to light our fire, and we have a bit of whitefish and a few hard bannocks left."

Blake shared his comrade's disappointment. He was tired and hungry, and felt irritated by Harding's satisfaction. For all that, he chopped wood and made camp, and their frugal supper was half eaten before he turned to the American.

"Now," he said, "you may as well tell us what you think about this gas."

"First of all," Harding answered good-humouredly, "it indicates that there's oil somewhere about; the two generally go together. Anyhow, if there were only gas, it would be worth exploiting so long as we found enough of it, but judging by the pressure there's not much here."

"What would you do with gas in this wilderness?"

"In due time, I or somebody else would build a town. Fuel's power and if you could get it cheap I expect you'd find minerals that would pay for working. Men with money in Montreal and New York are looking for openings like this, and no place is too remote to build a railroad to if you can ensure freight."

"You're the most sanguine man I ever met," Blake said, grinning. "Take care your optimism doesn't ruin you."

"I wonder," Harding continued, "whether Clarke knows about this gas, and on the whole I think it probable. We can't be very far from the Stony camp, and there's reason to believe he's been prospecting this district. It's oil he's out for."

"How did the thing get lighted?" Benson asked in an indifferent tone.

Harding smiled as he gave him a sharp glance. He had failed in his search for the gum and did not expect his companions to share his enthusiasm over a new plan. They had, however, promised to support him, and that was enough, for he believed he might yet show them the way to prosperity.

"Well," he said, "I guess I can't blame you for not feeling very keen, but that's not the point. I can't answer what you ask, and I believe our forest wardens are now and then puzzled about how bush fires get started. We have crossed big belts of burnt trees in a country where we saw no signs of Indians."

"If this blower has been burning long, the Stonies must have known of it," Blake remarked. "Isn't it curious that no news of it has reached the settlements?"

"I'm not sure," Harding rejoined. "They may venerate the thing, and anyway, they're smart in some respects. They know that where the white men come their people are rounded up on reserves, and I guess they'd sooner have the whole country to themselves for trapping and fishing. Then Clarke may have persuaded them to say nothing."

"It's possible," Blake said thoughtfully. "We'll push on for their camp first thing to-morrow."