urveying their camp, the grey-hooded figure would be
watching and waiting for them to move on. And sure enough, as the eager
eyes looked out over the snow and forest, the grim, silent figure was
there, watching, watching; but no nearer to them.

That night they came to the Moosefoot Reserve, and both men experienced
such nervous relief as they had never before known. They camped within
sight of the Indian teepees and log huts, but they waited for morning
before they approached the chief.

Over their fire they discussed their plans with seriousness. Neither of
them could speak the Moosefoot language, but they could talk both Sioux
and Cree, and they did not doubt but there would be interpreters about
the chief.

"We'll see him first thing, I guess," said the eager Nick. "Guess them
two black foxes'll fix him good. He'll git a goodish bit o' trade for
'em."

"An' we'll promise him powder, an' slugs, an' essences," said the
cautious Ralph. "We'll get his yarn first an' pay after," he added, as
he sipped his coffee.

Nick nodded.

"We'll fin' that crittur, sure," he said.

And he sat gazing upon the pictures his mind conjured up as he watched
the flaming logs. In every tongue of flame he beheld the glowing face
Victor had told them of, and, as the smoke rolled up into the black
vault of night, he seemed to see the elusive form of the White Squaw
floating in its midst. Ralph's slower imagination was less
fantastically, but no less deeply, stirred.

At daybreak they sought Man-of-the-Snow-Hill's lodge. They found him a
grizzled wreck of extreme age. He was surrounded by his medicine-men,
his young chiefs and his squaws. And by the gathering in the
smoke-begrimed hut they knew that their approach had been made known.

Perfect silence reigned as the white men entered. An Indian silence;
such silence as it would be hard to find anywhere but in the primitive
dwelling. The atmosphere of the place was heavy with the pungent odours
of Killi-ka-nik. Both men and women were smoking it in pipes of red clay
with reed stems, and they passed this sign of friendship from one to
another in solemn fashion. All were clad in the parti-coloured blanket,
and sat hunched upon their quarters more like beasts than human
creatures, yet with that perfect air of dignity which the Indian seldom
loses.

Man-of-the-Snow-Hill alone differed in his dress and attitude. He was
wrapped in a large buffalo robe, and was stretched out upon a pile of