It was broad daylight when Jean opened her eyes and looked curiously around. It was a still, frosty morning. The sun sifted down through the branches of the trees, and formed a fantastic net-work of light and shadow upon the ground. A deep silence prevailed, and as the girl looked dreamily at the lordly pines, birches, and maples, her eyes wandered far up among their overhanging branches. They reminded her of some majestic cathedral, with stately pillars and crowning arches, pictures of which she had at times seen. She remembered how her father had once told her that the forest was the original cathedral, and that along the silent woody aisles primitive people used to worship the Great Spirit. She understood now, as never before, how the designs for the first cathedral had been copied from the forest.
Lowering her eyes, they rested upon the Indian woman kneeling before the fire. It was a fascinating scene, and in keeping with the solemn grandeur of the place. There was the humble worshipper at the altar-fire, offering her devotions in a simple reverent manner. Jean smiled at this fancy, for she was certain that the idea of worship was not at all in the woman's mind. She was merely cooking the partridges her husband had brought in several hours before.
"Good morning," Jean at length accosted.
The woman turned quickly, and rose to her feet. She smiled as she stood and watched the girl lying there with her hair tossed in rich profusion over cheeks and shoulders.
"Plenty sleep, eh?" she asked.
"Yes, I have had a great sleep, and am much rested. It is very comfortable here."
"Hungry, eh?"
"Why, I believe I am," and Jean laughed. "What are you cooking?"
"Bird. Sam ketch'm. Good. Smell'm?"
"I certainly do, and it makes my mouth water."
The woman at once stooped, dipped a cup into the pot which was simmering over the coals, and handed it to Jean.
"Soup. Good," she said.
"It is good," Jean agreed after she had tasted it. "This will make me strong. You are a fine cook. What is your name?"
"Kitty."
"Kitty what?"
"Kitty Sam."
"Is that all?"
"A-ha-ha."
"But you have an Indian name, have you not?"
"Injun name long. Babby no spik Injun name."
After Jean had finished her breakfast, she felt much refreshed. She washed herself at a little brook which babbled through the forest, and arranged as well as she could her tangled hair. One little pool served as Nature's mirror, and in this she could see her face and the brooch at her throat. She again recalled the happy day it had been given to her. How long ago that seemed, and she wondered where Dane was now. No doubt he was frantically searching for her, his heart filled with grief and fear. She must get home as soon as possible, for she knew how her father's heart must be nearly broken. She would get the Indians to take her back at once. But when she mentioned this upon her return to the lean-to, Kitty shook her head.
"No go now," she said. "Cold bimeby. Snow come. Ribber freeze."
"Will we go then?" Jean eagerly asked.
"Mebbe, Sam come back soon. Sam know."
"Where is Sam now?"
"Sam dere," and she motioned off toward the river. "Sam watch white man. Sam track'm all sam' bear. White man no see Sam."
"What white man? Isn't he dead?"
"A-ha-ha, Seth dead. More white man."
"What, are there others?"
"A-ha-ha. Bad! Ugh! Hunt babby. No find babby. White man mad."
"Will they come here?" A new fear had now come into Jean's heart. So there were other men after her! Who were they? But she had confidence in her dusky friends, and believed that they would save her.
"White man come, mebbe," the Indian replied. "No ketch Injun, no ketch babby. All gone."
"Where shall we go?"
"Way off," and Kitty waved her hand to the right. "Beeg wood, see?"
"And you will take me there? But I want to go home."
"A-ha-ha, go home dat way, bimeby," and she pointed westward. "Beeg ribber, Wu-las-tukw."
"I never heard of that river. Where is it?"
"Way off dere. Wat you call'm?"
"The St. John?"
"A-ha-ha. Injun call'm 'Wu-las-tukw,' beeg ribber."
"And you will take me there?"
"Bimeby, mebbe. Sam know."
They were seated near the fire during this conversation, and the Indian woman was busy with a deer-skin garment. It was a warm looking jacket, and she was sewing on an extra string of bright-coloured beads. When this had been accomplished to her satisfaction, she held it forth for Jean's inspection.
"Good coat," she said. "Try'm on, eh?"
Jean at once stood up, and when she had slipped on the jacket, theIndian woman viewed her with pleasure.
"Wear'm, eh?" she queried. "Warm?"
"Indeed it is," Jean replied. "Is this for me?"
"A-ha-ha. Keep babby warm. Kitty mak' more bimeby. Babby no cold."
A mistiness came into the girl's eyes as she stood there. The kindness of this woman affected her deeply.
"Why are you so good to me?" she asked. "You never saw me until yesterday, and yet you are doing so much for me. I don't understand."
"Kitty tell, eh?"
"I wish you would," Jean replied as she seated herself upon the rugs and furs. "I want to know."
The Indian woman threw a couple of sticks upon the fire, and then faced the girl. She reached out and touched the little arrow-brooch with the forefinger of her right hand.
"Dane geeve babby dat, eh?" she asked.
"Why, yes, how did you know that?"
"Injun know much," and the woman smiled as she spoke. "Injun knowDane; Dane know Pete. See?"
"Did Pete tell you about this?" and Jean touched the arrow.
"A-ha-ha. Pete tell Injun. Pete, Sam, all sam' mamma. See?"
"What, are Pete and Sam brothers?"
"A-ha-ha, all sam' mamma."
A new light now began to dawn upon Jean's mind, and she understood certain things which had been puzzling her since yesterday afternoon. She also recalled Dane's words when he gave her the brooch. "It is Love's-Charm," he had said, "and it may mean more to you than you now imagine." She realised how much it had meant to her, and no doubt it had saved her from a terrible fate.
"You knew me by this?" she asked, again touching the arrow.
"A-ha-ha. Kitty see quick. Kitty know Dane geeve babby arrow. Pete tell Injun."
"Didn't those Indians who carried me away from home know? Didn't Pete tell them?"
"Dem bad Injun. Bah! Porkeepine! Fight King George!"
"What do you mean by porcupine?"
"Micmac; all sam' slasher. Fight King George."
"But all the Indians are not rebels."
"No, no. Plenty good Injun no fight King George. All sam' Dane."
"You have known Dane quite a while, I suppose!" Jean asked, while a conscious flush stole into her cheeks.
"A-ha-ha, long tam. Dane leetle babby, so beeg," and she spread out her hand, palm downward, about two feet from the ground. "Kitty know Dane; Kitty know Dane mamma."
"What, you know his mother?"
"A-ha-ha. Good woman. Dead now."
"Do you know his father?"
The woman turned suddenly toward the fire without replying. Jean noticed this, and wondered. She also remembered Dane's peculiar manner when she had mentioned his father. Her interest and curiosity were now aroused more than ever. There must be some mystery connected with Dane's father, she felt certain. She longed to know, and hoped to find out something from this woman. There was no opportunity, however, just then as Sam appeared unexpectedly before them. He was much excited, and addressed a few rapid words to his wife. Jean rose to her feet, her face pale with fear.
"Are the white men after me?" she asked in a trembling voice.
"A-ha-ha." Sam replied. "White man chase babby."
"Why?"
Jean knew why, but she wanted to hear what the Indian had to say.
"White man find Seff dead by ribber. White man act funny, much 'fraid.Bimeby find babby gone. White man much mad."
He paused, picked up his musket which he had laid aside, and examined the priming.
"Did you see them?" Jean asked.
"A-ha-ha. Sam see'm. White man no see Sam."
"Are they coming this way?"
"A-ha-ha."
"Will you shoot them?"
"Sam shoot bimeby, mebbe. White man no ketch babby."
Of this Jean had no doubt. What a tower of strength this Indian seemed to her just then. The day before she had given up all hope of earthly aid, yet here was one, and a native at that, who was ready to protect her. How wonderful it all appeared. And it was against men of her own race he would defend her. Of the savage Indian she had heard and read much. But here were two of the despised race putting white men to shame.
In the meantime the Indian woman had been very busy. She had gathered the few cooking utensils together, and was now rolling up the blankets and skins. Presently Sam assisted her, and in a remarkably short time they were ready for their journey.
Jean begged to be allowed to carry something, but Sam shook his head as he pointed to her shoulders and feet.
"No strong," he said. "Feet leetle. Bimeby Injun pack babby, mebbe, eh?"
"Oh, I hope not," the girl smilingly replied. "I must walk to-day."
With their packs strapped upon their backs, Sam picked up his musket, and Kitty the axe. With a final glance around to see that nothing was overlooked, Sam led the way among the trees, with Jean following, and Kitty bringing up in the rear.
All through the afternoon they pressed forward along the silent forest ways. Occasionally the Indians halted that the girl might rest. Their care of her was remarkable, and to them she seemed like a mere child. It was quite evident that they had taken her to their hearts, and that nothing was too good for her.
Jean was surprised at herself for standing the journey so well. Although very tired at times, she never once complained. She was not accustomed to moccasins, and the roots and stones bruised her feet. Up hill and down they moved, across valleys, swamps, and wild meadows. There was no trail, but Sam led the way with an unerring instinct. He chose the smoothest spots, but even these were hard for the girl's tender feet. Very thankful was she when at length he halted by the side of a little forest lake, and unstrapped his pack.
"Camp here," he announced. "Plenty water."
Jean dropped upon the ground, weary almost to the point of exhaustion. Her body ached, and her head throbbed with a dull pain. But after she had rested a while, and eaten the supper which Kitty speedily prepared, she felt better. Sam erected a cosy lean-to, and when the rugs and blankets had been spread out upon the fresh, fragrant spruce boughs, he insisted that Jean should occupy the choice place near the fire. So lying there, she watched her kind-hearted companions as they moved about making ready for the night.
It was a beautiful spot where their camp was built. The little lake, covered with a thin coating of ice, mirrored the great trees in its glassy surface. It was one of Nature's gems tucked away in the heart of the mighty forest, known only to the wandering Indians, and their feathered and furry kindred of the wild.
As day faded, and night cast its mantle over forest and lake, the stars appeared and twinkled down their welcome. As Jean watched them, she thought of the night she had been stolen from home, and how cold and cheerless those same stars had seemed. She also recalled the prayer she had uttered in her distress, and the sense of peace which had come upon her. In what a remarkable manner her prayer had been answered. A feeling of intense gratitude welled up in her heart, and almost unconsciously she began to sing an old familiar hymn.
The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want,He makes me down to lieIn pastures green; He leadeth meThe quiet waters by.
Her voice was not strong, but exceptionally sweet. Her singing attracted the Indians, who left their work, and squatting near her side, listened with rapt attention. Jean, seeing their interest, paused at the end of the second verse, and smiled.
"Do you like singing?" she asked.
"A-ha-ha," Kitty replied. "More, eh?"
Yea, though I walk through death's dark vale,Yet will I fear no ill;For Thou art with me; and Thy rodAnd staff me comfort still.
When Jean had ended singing this verse there was a mistiness in her eyes. How wonderfully true were those words in her own case. The Shepherd had been with her through death's dark vale, He had comforted her, and led her to this quiet woodland lake.
"Babby seek?" Sam asked, noticing her emotion.
"No, not sick, but very thankful," was the quiet reply. "My Great Father in heaven has sent you to save me and to take me home. Do you know Him?"
"A-ha-ha, me know'm. White man tell Injun long tam ago."
"Missionary?" Jean asked.
"A-ha-ha. Long black robe. Cross, all sam' dis," and Sam made the form of the symbol of salvation with his forefinger.
Jean knew that he referred to some French missionary who had visited the country.
"And he taught you about the Great Father?"
"A-ha-ha. Long black robe come up Wu-las-tukw in canoe. Sam no forget. Sing more, eh?"
Jean did as she was requested, and sang several of the hymns she remembered. At times she glanced at her dusky companions. Their eyes shone with pleasure, mingled with admiration as they watched the reclining girl, and listened to the words of hope and comfort. They were but unlettered natives of the wild, yet their hearts responded readily to the concord of sweet sounds. Often the good lying in such hearts needs but a gentle fanning to burst forth in the beauty of love, service, and devotion. Little did Jean realise the influence she was exerting upon those two friendly Indians in that quiet lodge in the depths of the great forest.
When Jean awoke the next morning she was stiff and sore. She longed to stay there all day and rest. But Kitty informed her that they must move on at once, for not only were the slashers hot upon their trail, but that a storm was coming, and they would need better shelter than their rude brush lean-to could give. In a short time Sam returned and reported that their pursuers were floundering about in a valley several miles away. They had evidently lost the trail, and it would take them some time to find it again.
"Will they keep on following us?" Jean asked.
"A-ha-ha," Sam replied. "Stop bimeby, mebbe. See?" and he laid his hand upon his musket.
"Will you shoot them?"
"Mebbe. Bimeby."
"Oh, you mustn't!" and Jean shuddered. "That would be murder."
"White man kill Injun all sam' dog. Ugh!"
"Would they?"
"A-ha-ha. Sam know."
"You killed one white man, remember. But you must not kill any more.Will you promise me?"
"Sam no say. See bimeby."
After Jean had eaten a hurried breakfast, the few belongings were again packed up, and once more they started forward. The morning was cold, and the trees were swaying and creaking like great masts at sea beneath a whipping wind. Jean shivered as she bravely and patiently followed Sam through that trackless wild. All through the morning they toiled onward, and the afternoon was waning when the rain swept down upon them. It froze as it fell, and ere long the ground was covered with a coating of ice. At times Jean slipped and would have fallen but for Kitty, who caught her by the arm and helped her over the rough and treacherous places. The clothing of the three wayfarers soon became stiff with the frozen rain, and resembled ancient armor. But still they pressed onward, and night was again shutting down when another and a larger lake burst suddenly into view.
On the shore of this fine body of water were several Indian lodges, completely deserted. To Jean they looked cold and forbidding, so very glad was she when Sam led the way to a dense thicket of young fir and spruce trees. Nestling in their midst was the cosiest lodge Jean had ever beheld. In fact, it consisted of a couple of lean-tos, facing each other, between which was an open space a few feet in width. This latter served as the fire-place, the smoke ascending through the opening above.
In a short time a bright fire was burning, and Jean comfortably ensconced upon the blankets and furs. Not a drop of rain touched her, for the roof of this abode was covered with long strips of birch bark. This, so Kitty explained, would be their home until the streams froze hard enough to carry them. How pleasant it was to Jean to lie there and rest. She felt that she could not endure another day of travel through the forest. She had been tired the night before, but it was little compared to now. Every bone in her body ached, and her feet were sore and blistered. It was good to lie there listening to the rain beating its tat-too upon the roof, and watching the smoke scurrying upwards. She could hear the wind howling among the trees, and vainly striving to force an entrance into their snug retreat.
Nearby Sam had his cache among the lower branches of four spruce trees, and high enough from the ground to be safe from prowling animals. From this he brought down some provisions, including a piece of moose meat, tea, and a little flour. With the latter Kitty baked several bannocks before the fire, which tasted especially good to Jean after her sole diet of meat. These were eaten with the honey of wild bees which the Indians had gathered during the summer.
"These are good," Jean remarked, as she helped herself to a second bannock. "Where did you get this honey?"
Kitty laughed as she pointed to her husband, who was dragging in several large sticks.
"Sam get'm last summer. Bees bite Sam, see?" and she put her hands to her face and neck. "Sam head beeg. Hurt." Again she laughed at the recollection of her husband's swollen face.
When Sam had finished his task of bringing in the wood, he squatted before the fire and ate his supper. Then he brought forth a plug of tobacco, whittled off several slices with his hunting-knife, filled his blackened pipe, and lighted it with a small brand from the fire. His wife did the same, and soon the two were smoking in great contentment. Jean, watching, thought how little it took to satisfy such people. Their belongings were few, and their places of abode many. She longed to know more about these two Indians, why they were living apart from their tribe, and whether they had any children. They must have mingled with white people, for they readily understood everything she said, although they themselves spoke in broken English.
She thought of these things the next morning as she and Kitty were comfortably seated near the fire. The rain had ceased during the night, the clouds had rolled away, and the ice-laden trees, touched by the sun, shone and sparkled with surpassing loveliness. It seemed like fairy-land to Jean when she first looked forth that morning, and she exclaimed with delight. From the lake to the high peak off toward the west millions of icy diamonds had caught the bright beams, and were scintillating their glory far and wide.
"I never saw anything like it" Jean told Kitty. "Have you seen it?"
"A-ha-ha, me see'm," the Indian woman replied without the least sign of enthusiasm. "Kitty see plenty. Trail bad. Ice heavy. Branch hang down. Bad. Ugh!"
"Perhaps it will keep back those men who are following us," Jean suggested. "They may not be able to get through the forest."
Kitty shook her head as she looked out upon the lake.
"Ice no stop white man. Trees beeg, no ice, trail good. Sam come bimeby. Sam know."
"Where is Sam now?"
"Sam watch slashers. Sam gone long tam. Come bimeby."
"What will he do if the white men come here?"
"White man no come."
The woman rose to her feet and looked off to the high peak in the distance. Then she sat down near the opening where she could watch the hill without too much trouble. Jean wondered at this, although she made no comment. No doubt she would understand in time.
"Have you lived long in this place?" she asked.
"Two, t'ree winter, mebbe."
"Where do you live in the summer?"
"Many place; Wá-sit-um-ó-wek; Wu-las-tukw; Beeg Lake, some tam."
"Where is Big Lake?"
"Way dere," and Kitty motioned westward. "Go dere bimeby."
"You often meet white people, I suppose?"
"A-ha-ha."
"Do you and Sam always travel alone? Are there other Indians around here?"
"Plenty Injun sometam'. See'm bimeby, mebbe." Again she glanced toward the distant hill.
"Have you any children?" Jean asked.
"No babby now. Babby all die."
"But Pete has children, has he not?"
"A-ha-ha. Pete plenty babby."
"Why, then, did he bring his baby to me when its mother died? Why did not you take care of it?"
Kitty looked quizzically at the girl before replying.
"Dane no tell, eh?" she queried.
"Tell what?"
"Why Pete leave babby."
"No, he never told me. Perhaps he didn't know."
"Pete know. Pete find out 'bout King George peep'l. See?"
Noticing the puzzled expression upon the girl's face, the woman smiled.
"Pete no sure 'bout white peep'l," she continued. "Pete leave leetle babby. All good t' leetle babby. Pete trust King George peep'l. Pete no forget."
A new light now came into Jean's mind, and she partly understood why the baby had been left at the settlement. It was simply a plan on Pete's part to learn whether the Loyalists were worthy of his trust and special attention. Never for an instant had she thought of such a thing. When that little waif had been brought to her home that night of the wild storm, she and old Mammy had taken it to their hearts, and had done all they could for its welfare. But how much it had meant to her. Pete had spread the word abroad among his own people, and because of the care of a little Indian child, she herself had been saved from a terrible fate. She thought of the arrow Dane had given her. She knew that it had a great deal to do with her rescue, but not all. The care of the baby was back of that. But did Dane know? Had he any idea that the baby and the arrow were so closely connected? Was that the meaning of his words when he had given her the arrow? Did he think that some day she might need protection, and that the Love-Token would prove of great value?
"Dane told you about this, didn't he?" and she touched the brooch.
"A-ha-ha. Dane tell Injun."
"And you knew me by this?"
"A-ha-ha. Injun know all sam' white woman take care babby."
She paused abruptly, sprang to her feet, and pointed excitedly to the high hill.
"See! See!" she cried. "Pu-kut! Pu-kut!"
Jean hastened to her side, and her eyes followed the woman's outstretched arm. Up on the dazzling, sun-crowned peak a wreath of smoke was ascending beyond the tops of the highest trees. It rose straight into the air like a tall shaft ere it spread and fell in wavy, fairy-like curls, and slowly disappeared from view.
"What is it?" the girl asked, feeling certain that it meant something important.
"Slashers come," Kitty explained. "Sam call Injun."
"Now I understand," Jean replied, while a great fear smote her heart."The slashers are near, and Sam wants help; is that it?"
"A-ha-ha. Smoke call Injun."
"Will the Indians see it?"
"A-ha-ha."
"Will they know what it means?"
"Injun know."
"But suppose there are no Indians near?"
"Plenty Injun see pu-kut. Beeg hill. Injun know."
"Will the Indians come?"
"Bimeby."
"In time to save us from the slashers?"
"Mebbe. Sam come bimeby. Sam know."
Curiously and anxiously Jean watched that signal flaring from the high hill. She asked Kitty many questions, and learned how in times of danger the Indians sent up the smoke-wreath from certain hill tops. At night a blazing fire was used, and in this manner news was carried many miles in a remarkably short time.
Several hours wore slowly away as the two anxious women kept watch upon the hill. When at length the smoke ceased to ascend. Kitty's face brightened.
"Sam come soon," she said. "Injun come bimeby."
"How do you know?" Jean asked.
"Injun mak' pu-kut. Injun say 'come.'"
"Did the Indians reply by sending up smoke? Is that what you mean?"
"A-ha-ha. Sam come soon. Injun bimeby."
And in this Kitty was right, for in less than an hour Sam appeared before them. He smiled as he entered the lodge, laid aside his musket, and helped himself to some meat from a pot near the fire. As he ate, he told about the slashers. They were not far away, and were waiting to make the attack that night. How he learned this he did not explain, and Jean asked no questions. It was sufficient for her that he knew, and she had great respect for his knowledge of the ways of the wild, and his practical common sense.
Slowly the afternoon edged into evening. The Indians were late in coming, and often Sam cast anxious glances along the shore of the lake. Several times he made short journeys into the forest, lest the enemy should come upon them unawares. Jean, too, was greatly agitated. Suppose the slashers should arrive, what could Sam do alone? What would become of her? She recalled Dane's words that night at Portland Point when he had saved her from Seth Lupin. "Do you know how beautiful you are?" he had asked. "If you don't, then you are not aware of your danger. That villain, Lupin, knows of your beauty, so he followed you here. The slashers and others will soon know, too, and I might not always be on hand." That was months ago, but she remembered every word. She thought then that Dane had spoken rather plainly, and had told him so. But she knew now how well he understood the risks she would run, and that he was speaking for her welfare. Oh, if Dane and the rangers were with her in the forest how soon they would put the slashers to rout, and take her home. But they were far off, so her only hope lay in the arrival of the Indians, from where she did not know.
Darkness came, and with it the long-expected Indians. They were a score in all, and they glided like spectres along the shore and up to the lodge in the thicket. It was a joyous greeting they received as they gathered around the fire, and for a few minutes there was a regular babel of tongues, although Jean did not understand a word that was being said. At length the visitors ceased talking and listened to Sam, who spoke with great earnestness, and motioned at times eastward. That he was speaking about the slashers, and why he had sent for assistance, Jean was certain.
These newcomers were a sturdy and formidable band of hunters. They were of powerful physique, in the prime of life, and their faces inspired Jean with hope and confidence. They were clad in buckskins, and armed with muskets, hatchets, and hunting-knives. They were warriors now, ready for the fray with the slashers, their enemies of years. They were King George's men, as well, true and loyal. Several of them had the proud distinction of kneeling at Fort Howe five years before and taking the oath of fidelity to the King. They never wearied of telling about that event, and of the grand pow-wow which followed the signing of the treaty. It had been a notable time for them. After they had taken the oath of allegiance, they delivered to Colonel Francklin a string of Wampum as a solemn confirmation of their deed. Following this there was great mirth when they had drunk the King's health, and received a liberal supply of presents. The next day they had been taken on board the man-of-war lying in the harbour, when they again drank the King's health, and were presented with a pound of gunpowder each. When they at last left for their wilderness homes, they were saluted by the cannon of Fort Howe and His Majesty's shipAlbany, and they in return had given three huzzas and an Indian war-whoop. Such attention and good will had made a deep impression upon those who had attended the peace-parley. After that they were ever ready to fight against King George's enemies, and they did all in their power to convert the Indians who still remained rebellious.
The story Sam now told the newly-arrived warriors about the capture of the girl by the two rebel Indians aroused their wrath, and they determined to punish the cowardly Micmacs as soon as possible. As for the slashers, they hoped to settle with them at once, which would prove a warning to others. Occasionally they glanced at Jean as she sat watching them. They knew her history now, and they admired her, for Sam had told them of her courage on the trail, and of her bright, cheerful disposition. They were much interested, too, in the little arrow at her throat, and when Jean handed it to them, they examined it intently, and talked to one another in quite an excited manner.
Not for long, however, could the Indians remain at the lodge. There was stern work ahead of them this night, and Sam was becoming uneasy. When he at length rose to his feet and picked up his gun, the visitors did likewise. They examined the priming of their weapons, the bullets in their pouches, and the quantity of powder in their powder-horns. Finding everything to their satisfaction, they were about to leave the lodge, when Jean sprang to her feet and laid a hand upon Sam's arm.
"Don't kill the white men," she pleaded. "Drive them away, but, please don't kill them."
Sam turned and looked at her in silence for a few seconds. His eyes were filled with an expression of admiration for this fair girl. He was willing to do anything for her, but he knew that she did not understand the importance of the mission upon which he and the other warriors were bent.
"You won't kill them, will you?" she asked, noting his silence.
"Slashers bad," Sam replied. "Slashers hurt babby."
"I know they would if they got the chance. But can't you drive them away without killing them? Oh, it would be terrible if you should shoot them! You killed one man, and isn't that enough?"
Sam was in a quandry. He longed for the blood of the slashers whom he hated. This was a great chance to wipe them out of existence. Never before had he had such a just cause against them, and why should he not make the most of it? But it was hard for him to resist the request of the white girl. He turned to the other Indians, and spoke to them in quick, short syllables. They replied, but what they said Jean did not know. She could only hope.
"No kill slashers, eh?" Sam queried, turning to the girl.
"Please don't. Drive them away; frighten them, but do not kill them."
"Sam no say now. See bimeby, mebbe."
To Jean Sam was the very embodiment of good nature and gentle care. And she had good reason for this high regard. But as a great bear has been known to bestow a remarkable affection upon a lost child, notwithstanding its savage nature, so it was with Sam. Could Jean have seen him that night as he led his score of followers against the slashers she would not have believed him to be the same Indian who had been so kind to her. The wild nature within him was aroused. He was on the warpath against a hated enemy. As he glided through the forest, his eyes glowed like living coals of fire, and his great body quivered with excitement. His companions, too, were intensely stirred. The slashers were against King George, and that was all-sufficient. Like weird spectres they moved through the night. Not a word did they speak, and not a twig snapped as their moccasined feet pressed the ground. Never did a girl have a more determined and thoroughly-trained body of men speeding forth on her behalf than did Jean Sterling that night in the heart of the great northern forest.
For a little over half an hour the Indians continued on their way, up hill and down, with no abatement to their speed. At length, after climbing a higher hill than usual, they paused on the eastern slope and held a low-whispered consultation. This took but a few minutes, and when they again advanced it was not in single file, but spread out to the right and left like two wings, with Sam in the centre. Down in the valley were the slashers, and toward them they moved, silently and stealthily as the panther stalking its prey. With bent, crouching bodies, and every sense keenly alert, they glided toward the unsuspecting slashers. Nearer and nearer they approached, and at length when the light of a camp fire winged its way into the forest depths, they lessened their speed, dropped upon their hands and knees, crept cautiously forward, and then stopped but a bow-shot away. Here they remained as silent and rigid as the great trees, keenly observing all that was taking place before them.
Near the fire about twenty-five men were gathered, talking in the most animated manner. They were an evil-looking group of creatures, dirty, unshaven, their clothes ill-fitting and torn. They formed the dregs of the wild, lower than the Indians and the dumb beasts of the trails. They were parasites, a menace to law and order. Honor was unknown among them, and the purity of such a girl as Jean Sterling only aroused the base passions within them. The rangers they feared, as well as the Indians who were loyal to King George. They were cunning woodsmen, subtle as the serpent, and sly as the fox. They were hard to catch, being in one place to-day, and miles away the next. When food was plentiful they were gluttons, but when it was scarce they starved for days. They had a craze for rum, and when drunk they were ugly, maudlin brutes. They were fond of a fight, and fought like demons on the slightest pretext.
Only one thing seriously affected them, and that was a superstitious fear. It hounded them wherever they went, as is so often the case with low, base minds. They had signs many, in the heavens above and the earth beneath, and to these were slaves. Therefore, when they saw Seth Lupin lying dead on the bank of the river with the marks of the clutching fingers upon his throat, some trembled with fear, and glanced apprehensively around. It was the work of the devil, so they said, and they were anxious to leave the place. Others, however, scoffed at them, declaring it was none other than Sam, the ranger, who had been seen lurking in the vicinity that very day. These latter by threats had induced the fearsome ones to accompany them into the wilderness where they knew the supposed murderer had his abode. They could easily overcome him, so they believed, and carry off the beautiful girl. But it had been a difficult journey. They had lost their way, and floundered about in valleys and swamps. Fear still possessed the hearts of more than half their number, and time and time again they were on the point of turning back. But as Sam and his followers watched from the darkness of the woods, the slashers were in better spirits. They were to attack at midnight, and carry off the girl. They discussed their plans for some time, and then curled up near the fire for a short sleep ere beginning the march.
The lurking Indians waited patiently until silence reigned around the fire. Then like unleashed hounds they swept forward, each with a musket in one hand and a hunting-axe in the other. With blood-curdling yells they leaped into the midst of the prostrate men, and as the slashers sprang to their feet, amazed and stricken with fear, they went down before the blows of their assailants like grain before the reapers. Only a few managed to escape by darting aside and losing themselves in the blackness of the forest. The others lay still where they had fallen, with their conquerors standing over them. The Indians had accomplished their task, so with grunts of satisfaction they stripped the slashers of their powder-horns, hunting-knives, muskets, and all the provisions they could find. Loaded with these, they sped back to their former place of waiting, where they cast their booty upon the ground. Here they squatted and watched the unconscious men near the fire.
For some time the Indians remained in this position, and when they began to think that their blows were heavier than they had intended, the slashers showed signs of life. First one and then another lifted his head and looked about in a dazed manner. Presently all but two or three were sitting bolt upright staring at one another. Then as the recollection of what had happened dawned upon their confused minds, they staggered to their feet and groped for their guns. Being unable to find them, they threw a few small sticks upon the dying fire. When their search for the muskets proved in vain, and when they also found that their powder-horns, knives, and provisions were also gone, they stared at one another in profound amazement. They paid no heed to their still prostrate comrades. Their only thought was for themselves. A wild insensate fear swept upon them as they huddled there, peering into the forest. This was something they had never before experienced, and it was beyond their comprehension. It could not have been the work of Indians, so they believed, for then not one of them would have been left alive. But the yells which had awakened them sounded like the yells of Indians, and several had faint recollections of dusky forms hovering over them.
"It was not Indians," one of the men declared. "It was a legion of devils which struck us. Who ever heard of Indians doing such a job? Why, they would have finished every man-jack of us. It's a warning to us to get out of this place and leave that girl alone. I said so at the first when I saw those marks upon Seth Lupin's throat. There's something d—— uncanny about this, and I'm done with it. Let's get away before anything else happens."
Seeing that the slashers were now thoroughly frightened, and would trouble them no more, Sam and his companions picked up their belongings and booty, and glided away silently among the trees. They were not altogether satisfied with their night's work, and so little was said as they sped onward. Their savage nature demanded complete revenge upon their old-time enemy. The partial knock-out blows were not to their liking. Little did the slashers realise that they owed their lives that night to the very girl whose ruin they had sought, who through her gentle influence upon her dusky defenders had caused them to stay their hands and temper their punishment toward their hated enemies.
Jean learned about her defenders' success upon their return to the lodge. She had been anxiously awaiting their coming, and when they did arrive and she saw the booty they carried with them, her heart sank within her. The slashers must all have been slain, so she imagined. When Sam, however, told her what had happened, she was greatly relieved.
"Will they trouble us any more?" she asked.
"No more now," and Sam smiled. "White man head hurt. Sore. Slashers much 'fraid. Go 'way queek."
"Oh, I am so glad," and Jean gave a sigh of relief. She felt quite secure now, and she looked with admiration upon the hardy Indians who had done so much for her. She thanked them, and they were pleased at her words. To see this white girl happy made up somewhat for their disappointment of the night.
The next day the visitors left for their own lodges, so once again Jean and her two companions were alone. The days that followed were busy ones for the Indians. There were many things to do before starting on their long journey overland of which Jean had no idea. First of all, there was a travelling-suit to be made for the white girl. From the cache Sam brought down some soft, tanned caribou skin, and upon this Kitty began to work. Jean watched her with great interest and admiration.
"What do you call that?" she enquired, pointing to the skin. "Will you teach me some of your words? I want to speak Indian."
Kitty looked at the girl and laughed.
"Injun talk hard," she said. "Babby spik Injun, eh?"
"Yes, will you teach me? Now, what do you call this skin?"
"Mu-ka-lip-we-u," was the reply.
"And what is the name of that sinew-thread?"
"Tun-u-wan."
Jean repeated these words, and so well did she speak them that Kitty was much pleased.
"Babby learn queek," she encouraged. "Babby spik all sam' Injun bimeby."
"I am going to learn Indian," Jean declared, "and I want you to tell me the names of many things."
The studying of the Maliseet language was a new pleasure to Jean, and she made excellent progress. She asked the names of various things about the camp, and in a few days she had stored up in her mind quite a stock of words. She now spoke of the fire as "skwut," firewood as "Skwut-o-e-to'tch," the mouth as "hu-ton," eyes as "u-si-suk," hair as "pi-es." There was no end to the words she learned, and both Sam and Kitty vied with each other in teaching her. When Sam brought in a rabbit he would hold it up and say "Ma-tu-kwes," or if a partridge, "se-se-ka-ti-ke-es." Then he would laugh as Jean tried to pronounce the words.
When the ice was firm enough to venture upon, Jean watched Sam as he cut a hole, dropped down a line, and brought forth a fine speckled trout. As the fish flopped about, he exclaimed, "Sko-tum! Sko-tum!"
One day he produced a piece of ash wood, and began to make the frames of a pair of snow-shoes.
"Ha-kum-mul," he said.
"What is that?" Jean asked.
"Snow-shoes for babby. Long trip bimeby."
"What! am I to use them?"
"A-ha-ha. When wast come."
"What is wast?"
"Snow. Plenty bimeby."
When Sam had finished the frames of the snow-shoes, Kitty set at once to work to weave the web of strips of dried caribou skin. Jean was even more interested in this than she had been in the making of her travelling-suit, and she was never tired of watching the woman's skilful fingers as she fashioned the warp and woof upon the frames until the perfect webs were completed. What strong snow-shoes they were, and how graceful! Jean was anxious to try them, and longed for the snow to come.
But during this time of waiting Kitty began the training of the girl for the hard march overland. Every day she would take her into the woods for a walk. At first Jean was quite tired when she returned to the lodge, but ere long she was able to travel much farther, and came back fresh and unwearied. She understood the meaning of these trips, and enjoyed them. The harder she trained the more fitted she would be to contend with the difficulties which lay ahead. Her body thrilled with excitement, and her cheeks glowed with animation whenever she thought of the joy of going home. Seldom were her loved ones out of her mind, and she pictured her father's delight when she opened the door and walked in, clad in her caribou-suit. How the people of the settlement would throng around her, and what a story she would have to tell. She wondered what had become of Dane. She believed that he was frantically searching for her, and the hope dwelt in her heart that he might find her and they would go home together.
After a week of steady training Jean was anxious to begin the journey. When she mentioned this to Sam he shook his head and looked up at the moon which was shining above the tree-tops.
"Pu-sa-nuts se-pa-wun-ok," he said.
Seeing the puzzled expression upon the girl's face, he laughed.
"Beeg snow soon."
"How do you know?"
"Ni-pauk-set—moon-tell Sam."
"How does the moon tell you?"
"Ring round moon, see? Bimeby no moon. Beeg snow."
And in this the Indian was right. Toward morning a wind sprang up and wailed through the forest. When Jean opened her eyes the next morning the trees were swaying beneath a strong nor'easter. The sky was leaden, and the air already flecked with fine snow. In another hour the storm was upon them in full intensity, driving across the lake, and blotting out the opposite shore from view. It beat against the thicket in its frantic efforts to reach the little lodge. To keep out the stray gusts which did occasionally escape the barricade of trees, Sam hung skins and blankets across the two ends of the abode. Thus within all was snug and warm. The fire burned brightly, and the smoke poured up through the wide space overhead. The roar of the storm in the forest sounded like the raging of the sea, and the waving of the tree-tops resembled the rolling and heaving of mighty billows. It was an exciting day to Jean. Never before had she witnessed such a storm. The fiercer it raged, and the more furiously it howled and beat against the sheltering trees, the more delighted she became. From a small opening on the south of the lodge she could see the snow swirling along the shore of the lake and piling up in long drifts against several fallen trees. It was good to be in such a cosy place where she could watch unharmed the trumpeting legions of the great nor'easter.
All through the day the storm continued, and night brought no abatement. It was still raging when Jean curled herself up in her blankets and lay there watching the dancing flames and the two Indians quietly and contentedly smoking on the opposite side of the fire. At length her eyes closed, and lulled by the tempest, she was soon fast asleep.
When she awoke the next morning the sun was shining brightly, and a great peace lay upon forest and lake. It was a new world upon which she opened her eyes, a world of dazzling glory, somewhat akin to the vision vouchsafed to the ancient seer in his lonely island when he beheld a new heaven and a new earth.
Jean was all eagerness now to assay her first venture upon her new snow-shoes. The simple breakfast ended, and clad in her woodland suit, Sam taught her how to arrange the magic slippers upon her moccasined feet. How Dane's heart would have thrilled could he have seen her standing before the lodge, her lithe, supple body drawn to its full height, her face aglow, her eyes sparkling, and her furry cap poised lightly upon her head surrounded by a wealth of soft, billowy hair. The rude lodge, the great trees, and the fair girl standing there formed a scene of surpassing charm which many an artist would have given much to capture.
At first Jean found the walking on the snow-shoes somewhat difficult, and many a tumble did she receive which caused Kitty much amusement. But directed by the Indian woman, she soon overcame her awkwardness and ere long was able to move forward gracefully and rapidly. In two days she was quite an expert, and could even run upon the springing snow-shoes, much to the delight of the two natives.
"Ka-lo-ut. Ka-lo-ut—Good. Good," was Sam's comment as he watched her coming off the lake at the end of the second day of training. "Babby walk all sam' Injun now."
The next morning the Indians began to pack up their few belongings, and Jean was delighted when they told her that at last the long overland journey was to begin. The streams were now frozen, and the travelling good.
"How long will it take us to make the journey?" Jean asked Sam.
"Long tam. Wan moon, mebbe. Two moon, mebbe."
"What! two months?"
"A-ha-ha, mebbe. See bimeby."
It was near mid-day when at last everything was ready and they left the little lodge by the lake and plunged into the forest. A pang of regret smote Jean's heart as she cast a backward glance upon the humble abode. She had spent happy days there, and it had been to her a place of refuge from her pursuers. She knew that she would never see it again. Suppose Dane should come to the lodge and find it deserted!
The journey through the forest was of necessity slow. With a pack upon his back, and drawing a small sled loaded with blankets and food, Sam went ahead and broke the trail. Kitty followed, also carrying a heavy load and the musket. Jean brought up the rear, and she found the walking quite easy owing to the excellent trail beaten down by her thoughtful companions. She had insisted upon carrying something, so a small pack had been made up for her and strapped in Indian fashion across her shoulders. This pleased her, as she felt that she was doing a little, at any rate, to help.
It was a wonderful region through which they moved. Up hill and down, across wild meadows and frozen swamps. Most of the time they travelled through great forest tracts, unharmed as yet by fire or axe. The trees, thick-set and tall, reminded Jean of great masts. A brooding silence reigned in these sombre depths, broken only by an occasional chatter of a surprised squirrel, the whirr of a partridge, or the cheepings of the little chickadees as they hopped from branch to branch. Once during the afternoon they stopped and ate a little of the cooked food Kitty had brought along. Jean was glad of this rest, for notwithstanding the training she had received, she was quite weary. She was most thankful when that evening Sam halted by the side of a little brook, unslung his pack and laid it upon the snow.
"Yut-ku-lo-wut," he said.
"What does that mean?" Jean asked.
"Good camp-place."
Then he turned to his wife.
"Mu-tu-o-to," he said, which the girl knew as the order to build a fire. She was pleased that she understood this command, and it encouraged her to continue the study of the native language.
While Kitty, with Jean's assistance, gathered some dry wood, and lighted the fire, Sam erected a lean-to. Thus by the time darkness enshrouded the land they were ready for the night. It was good to lie down and rest after the march of the day, and Jean soon feel asleep.
Thus for several days they continued their journey, travelling by easy stages. Jean was more accustomed now to the trail, and the stiffness of the first two days had worn away. It was welcome news to her, however, when Sam one night told her that by sundown on the morrow they should be at the big river, the Wu-las-tukw.
"Oh, I am so glad," she fervently replied. Once on the noble St. John it would seem almost home.
The next day they passed through a wonderful forest of great white pines. Never had Jean seen anything like them. They were as straight as arrows, and their tops seemed to her to reach the clouds drifting overhead. Ere long she noticed that many of them bore the axe blaze, and examining more closely, she saw the form of a broad arrow cut deep into the bark. "What is that?" she asked.
"King George arrow," Sam explained. "All King George tree," and he waved his hand in an eloquent gesture. "White man cut'm bimeby."
"Oh, I know," Jean exclaimed as she recalled what Dane had told her."These are for masts for the King's navy, are they not?"
"A-ha-ha."
"Are there mast-cutters near here?"
"Off dere," and Sam motioned westward.
"Will we see them?"
"No see'm now. Bimeby, mebbe."
"Where are they?"
Sam stopped, stooped and with his forefinger made two parallel lines in the snow several inches apart.
"A-jem-sek," he said, touching the nearer line. "Wu-las-tukw," and he touched the other. He next placed his finger between the two. "White man here," he explained. "Plenty King George tree."
"Is A-jem-sek a river?" Jean asked.
"A-ha-ha."
"Will we soon be there?"
"Wan sight, mebbe."
Jean had learned that these Indians measured short distances according to sight, and that they said "one sight," "two sights," "three sights," instead of miles. She now knew that the A-jem-sek, whatever that river might be, was not far away, and that it must be a branch of the St. John. And between the two, farther on, were the King's mast-cutters. Her hopes rose high. How good it would be to see white men she could trust. They would help her to reach home, she felt certain.
They were moving down a gentle slope now, and making fair progress. Suddenly Sam stopped, and examined strange straggling tracks in the snow. Kitty and Jean also looked, the latter asking what they meant.
"White man," Sam explained. "No snow-shoe."
"Are they slashers?" Jean anxiously enquired.
Sam shook his head, and examined the tracks more closely.
"No slasher, no snow-shoe," he said. "Funny track, all sam' lost."
As they proceeded, they came across other tracks, showing where men had been walking through the snow, wandering here and there, in an apparently aimless manner. Sam became very curious now, as well as cautious. He took the musket from Kitty, and carried it in readiness for any emergency. Jean was quite excited, and peered keenly ahead, not knowing what to expect next.
Except for the creaking of the snow-shoes, not a sound did they make as they sped onward, and in about half an hour the trees seemed suddenly to part and present an open space to their view. It was the A-jem-sek, a narrow stream connecting Lake K'tchi-kwis-pam with the Wu-las-tukw, so Sam explained to Jean. As they stepped out upon this river they saw two men but a short distance away, drawing a small sled loaded with wood, who stared with startled amazement at the sudden appearance of the three travellers.
As they advanced toward where the two men were standing, Jean was somewhat afraid lest they might be slashers. This fear, however, was at once removed when she beheld their pitiable condition. Their clothes were in tatters, and their bearded faces were drawn and haggard. They stared at her with eyes from which all hope had fled, and so weak did they seem that they could hardly stand. Their backs were bent as if through age, and they rested their hands upon the loaded sled for support. As Jean paused, smitten by a sudden feeling of awe, one of the men wearily lifted his hand and beckoned to her.
"Who are you?" she asked, when she had drawn near.
"We are as dead men," was the hollow reply. "But in God's name, who are you?"
"I am Jean Sterling, daughter of Colonel Sterling. I was carried away from home, but was rescued by these Indians, who are now taking me back to my father."
"Ay, we heard of you, did we not, James?" the man enquired, turning to his companion.
"Ay, we heard of you, Miss, on our way here, as William says," the other replied, "But so great have been our own cares and sorrows since then that we have forgotten about you."
"Do you live here?" Jean asked, wondering who these men could be.
"No, no, not living, but dying here, we and our wives and children. We are Loyalists, Miss, who arrived with the Fall Fleet. We came up the river in open boats, mistook this river one night for the main channel, and were frozen in here before morning. Our sufferings have been great. We are starving to death. Though," he added after a slight pause, "there are not so many to provide for now."
"What! have some died?" Jean asked.
"Seven, Miss, mostly little ones. They are all under the snow, and the rest of us will soon be with them."
"Come, come, you must not give up yet," the girl encouraged. "Sam andKitty will help you, I am sure. Where do you live?"
"Just over there," and the man motioned to the right. "It's a poor place, and the last storm was terribly hard on us."
"Take me there, then," Jean ordered. "I want to see your women and children."
A feeling of responsibility had suddenly come to her such as she had never before known. These two men before her were in the depths of despair, so something had to be done to arouse and stimulate them with courage. Hitherto she herself had been dependent upon others, and followed their guidance. But now it was different. Here were people in a strange land, and in difficult circumstances who had for the time lost their grip of things, and needed special assistance. It all came upon her in a flash, transforming her from a follower to a leader; from dependent girlhood to the glory of responsible womanhood.
Guided by the two men, they soon reached the encampment but a hundred yards away. At sight of this Jean stopped and stared in profound amazement. It was no wonder that the women and children huddled there were cold. The ones who had fashioned these rude abodes were evidently unacquainted with life in the open, so desolate was the place, and with very little protection from the driving storms.
There were about ten families in all encamped here, and at the first glance Jean could tell that they were actually starving. The women, who received her kindly, presented as brave an appearance as possible. But their faces were worn and haggard, showing plainly the sufferings they had endured. The children, especially the younger ones, looked better, having no doubt received extra food and attention.
The arrival of the visitors caused considerable excitement and interest among the Loyalists. Men, women, and children all crowded around one fire, and listened with wonder to the tale Jean related of her capture, and how she was rescued by the two good Indians. She in return heard the pathetic story of these unfortunate people from the time they left their old homes until the present.
"It was bad enough," one woman said, "when we were all well. But when the babies began to pine and die for want of proper nourishment, then it was terrible. We gave them the best of everything, and tried to keep them warm, even pressing them against our own bodies. But it was all in vain, so we laid the little darlings to rest one by one. They are better off, I suppose, but it was very hard on us."
Her eyes, and the eyes of all were brimming with tears. Jean was deeply affected, and her heart went out in sympathy to these unfortunate people. She glanced about the rough brush abodes, and noted how few and thin were the blankets.
"You have very little bedding, I see," she remarked.
"Not nearly enough," was the reply. "We had no idea that winter would come so soon, so sent most of everything on thePolly."
"Are you out of provisions, too?"
"We have been out of food for days, excepting the few rabbits the men caught. There are moose in the woods, but our men have not the skill or strength to get any."
During this conversation Jean's mind had been very active. She knew that something had to be done, and at once, if these people were to be saved from starvation. She turned away and walked over to where Sam and Kitty were erecting a little lean-to in the midst of a small thicket of fir and spruce trees.
"Sam, I want you to do something for those people," she at once began."They are starving."
"White man all sam' crazee," the Indian replied. "Camp bad, ugh!"
"I know that, Sam, so you must show them how to build good ones like your lodge by the lake. Will you?"
"A-ha-ha, bimeby, mebbe."
"They are starving, too, Sam, so I want you to get something for them to eat. Will you go at once? Kitty and I will finish this lean-to."
Sam, however, made no reply, but went on with his work.
"You will go, won't you?" she pleaded. "They are King George's people, and were driven out of their own country. I know you will help them."
These words had the desired effect, and electrified the Indian to keen interest. That they were King George's people was all-sufficient. He spoke to Kitty, who produced two wire snares from one of their bundles, and handed them to her husband. Sam then picked up his gun and turned to Jean.
"Me go now," he said. "Come bimeby. Get bird, mebbe."
In another minute he was away, and Jean turned her attention to the building of the lean-to. As the Indian woman began to prepare supper, Jean longed to take some of the meat to the needy ones. But it was so small that it would be of little use. She could only hope that Sam would return with a good supply of birds.
Neither was she disappointed, for shortly after dark the Indian appeared carrying several plump partridges he had snared. These were soon prepared and speedily cooked, so this night the Loyalists had a better supper than usual.
Sam now directed his attention to the rude abodes, and as he examined them he emitted several grunts of disgust. Early the next morning he found an excellent camping-spot, and took Jean over to see it.
"Good camp here," he told her. "Plenty tree, plenty wood."
"Will you help those people to build new lodges?" she asked.
"A-ha-ha, Sam help."
"And can you get more meat? Perhaps you can shoot a moose."
"Sam get feesh bimeby. Kai-u-hus, mebbe."
"What is that?"
"All sam' rat. Swim in water, build house."
"Do you mean muskrat?"
"A-ha-ha. White man call'm 'Injun turkey.' Good."
"You are a great man, Sam. You saved my life, and now you are saving the lives of those poor people."
"Sam glad," was the quiet reply. "Sam King George man. Sam help KingGeorge peep'l."
Jean went over and explained to the Loyalists Sam's idea about building the new abodes. They were much pleased at this suggestion, and the men at once followed Sam to the spot he had chosen, and began work. After he had given them full instructions, and helped them to make a start upon their new homes, he provided himself with a small supply of food, and started forth upon a hunting expedition. He took with him his sled and a single blanket.
"Will you be away all night?" Jean asked as she stood watching him ere his departure.
"Mebbe. See bimeby."
"Don't stay too long, Sam, for if you do we shall all starve. Kitty says that we have very little food left."