the dogs," he remarked when the operation was
completed.

"Waugh!" exclaimed the Indian by way of assent, while he busied himself
in preparing food.

It was indeed lucky, for if they had dragged the provision-sled
themselves, as Macnab had once thought of doing, it would have fallen to
Big Otter's lot to haul his comrade during the remainder of the journey.
As it was, the dogs did it, and in the doing of it, despite the
red-man's anxious and constant care, many a severe shake, and bump, and
capsize in the snow did the unfortunate man receive before that journey
came to a close. He bore it all, however, with the quiet stoicism
characteristic of the race from which he sprang.

CHAPTER FIVE.

THE WOUNDED MAN.

It is needful now to return to Fort Dunregan.

The long winter is not yet past, but there are symptoms, as I have said,
that it is coming to a close. Snow and ice are still indeed the
prevailing characteristic of the region, but the air is no longer
intensely cold. On the contrary, a genial warmth prevails, inducing the
inhabitants to discard flannel-lined leathern capotes and fur caps for
lighter garments. There is a honeycombed look about the snow-drifts,
which gives them an aged appearance; and, above all, there is an
occasional dropping of water--yes, actual water--from the points of huge
icicles! This is such an ancient memory that we can scarce believe our
senses. We sniff, too, as we walk about; for there are scents in the
air--old familiar smells of earth and vegetation--which we had begun to
fancy we had almost forgotten.

The excitement caused by the arrival of the winter packet had also by
that time passed almost out of memory, and we had sunk back into that
calm state of patient waiting which may probably be familiar to the
convict who knows that some months of monotonous existence still lie
before him; for, not until the snow and ice should completely clear away
and the summer be pretty well advanced could we hope for the blessed
sight of a new face and the cheering sound of a fresh human voice. Of
course we had the agreeable prospect of hearing ere long the voices of
wild-fowl in their noisy northern flight, but such a prospect was not
sufficient to satisfy poor secluded humanity.

"Oh that I were a bird!" exclaimed Spooner, one morning as we were
seated round the Carron stove in our hall.

"No need to wish that," said Lumley, "for you're a goose already!"

"Well, I'd even conse