ighly exasperating to the white man. "You've got to go home,
I tell you," he cried.

"I not go home," the native said with strange apathy. "Gaviller kill
me now."

"Nonsense!" cried Ambrose. "He has got to respect the law."

Alexander was unmoved. "He not give me no grub," he said. "I starve
here."

This was unanswerable. Ambrose, divided between annoyance and
compassion, fumed in silence. He himself had only enough food for a
few days. The breed wore him out with his stolidity.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" he asked at last.

"Give me little flour," said Alexander. "I go to Moultrie."

"What will you do with your family?"

"I tak' them."

"How many?"

"My woman, my boy, my two girl, my baby."

"Good Lord!" cried Ambrose. "Have you a boat?"

"_Non_! There is timber down the river. I mak' a raf, me."

"It would take you two weeks to float down," cried Ambrose. "I have
only thirty pounds of flour."

Alexander shrugged. "We ongry, anyway," he said. "We lak be ongry on
the way."

Ambrose swore savagely under his breath. This was nearly hopeless. He
strode up and down, thrashing his brains for a solution.

Alexander, squatting on his heels, waited apathetically for the
verdict. He had shifted his burden to the white man.

"Where is your family?" demanded Ambrose.

Alexander looked over his shoulder and spoke a word in Cree. Instantly
four heads appeared over the edge of the bank. Job barked once in
startled and indignant protest, and went to Ambrose's heels.

Ambrose could not forbear a start of laughter at the suddenness of the
apparition. It was like the genii in a pantomime bobbing up through
the trapdoors.

"Come down," he said.

A distressful little procession faced him; they were gaunt, ragged,
appallingly dirty, and terrified almost into a state of idiocy. First
came the mother, a travesty of womanhood, dehumanized except for her
tragic, terrified eyes.

A boy of sixteen followed her, ugly and misshapen as a gargoyle; he
carried the baby in a sling on his back. Two timorous little girls
came last.

They lugged their pitiful belongings with them--a few rags of bedding
and clothes, some traps and snowshoes, and cooking utensils. The
smaller girl bore a holy picture in a gaudy frame.

Ambrose's heart was wrung by the sight of so much misery. He stormed
at Alexander. "Good God! What a state to get into. What's the matter
with you that you can't keep them b