A NIGHT'S WATCH

Winter began unusually soon and a blizzard raged about the shack one
evening when Scott and Thirlwell sat near the stove. The small room
smelt of hot-iron and the front of the stove glowed a dull red, but the
men shivered as the bitter draughts swept in. Thirlwell watched the skin
curtain he had nailed across the window bulge while the snow beat
savagely against the glass, and then picked up a book. Presently Scott
hung a bearskin on the back of his chair.

"It's a pretty good hide although the forequarter's cut away," he said.
"Still I don't know that I wanted the thing and reckon the half-breed
who sold it me got its value in cartridges and food. Now transport's
difficult, I hope he and his Indian friends won't bring us any more of
the damaged stock they can't sell to the Hudson's Bay."

Thirlwell nodded. The rivers were frozen and canoeing was stopped, while
the bush was deep in fresh, loose snow. It would be a long and strenuous
business to break a trail to the south, and in winter the mine was often
cut off from the settlements. Provisions sometimes ran short, but Scott
found it hard to refuse the starving Indians a share of his supplies.

"You bought a fine skin," he resumed. "I haven't seen the thing since.
What have you done with it?"

"I sent it away," said Thirlwell. "Old Musquash said he'd try to make
the settlements and took it out for me."

"He'll probably get through, though I don't think a white man could. But
I didn't know you had friends in Canada."

Thirlwell did not reply. He had bought the skin for Agatha and now
wondered what she would think about his present, or whether she might
feel he ought not to have sent it. Still he doubted if the skin would
arrive, because the old half-breed would meet with many dangers on the
way. Thirlwell pictured him hauling his sledge up thinly frozen rivers,
crossing wide lakes swept by icy gales, and plunging into tangled
forests smothered in snow. The thought of it emphasized the sense of
isolation one often felt at the mine, but while he mused there was a
knock at the door.

"I expect it's an Indian come to beg for food," Scott remarked and the
door swung open.

The flame of the lamp leaped up and then nearly flickered out as a
shower of snow blew in. The stove roared and the room got horribly cold,
and for a moment or two a shaggy, white figure, indistinct in the
semi-darkness, struggled to close the door. Then there was a sudden calm