en Rockies. Yet forty and
fifty degrees below zero is cold, after all, and July strawberries in this
wild Northland are hardly compensation for seven months of ice and snow,
no matter how clear and blue the sky, how sweet the sun during its short
journey in the day. Some days, too, the sun may not be seen even when
there is no storm, because of the fine, white, powdered frost in the air.

A day like this is called a _poudre_ day; and woe to the man who tempts it
unthinkingly, because the light makes the delicate mist of frost shine
like silver. For that powder bites the skin white in short order, and
sometimes reckless men lose ears or noses or hands under its sharp caress.
But when it really storms in that Far North, then neither man nor beast
should be abroad--not even the Eskimo dogs; though times and seasons can
scarcely be chosen when travelling in Athabasca, for a storm comes
unawares. Upon the plains you will see a cloud arising, not in the sky,
but from the ground--a billowy surf of drifting snow; then another white
billow from the sky will sweep down and meet it, and you are caught
between.

He who went to Athabasca to live a generation ago had to ask himself if
the long winter, spent chiefly indoors, with, maybe, a little trading with
the Indians, meagre sport, and scant sun, savages and half-breeds the only
companions, and out of all touch with the outside world, letters coming
but once a year; with frozen fish and meat, always the same, as the staple
items in a primitive fare; with danger from starvation and marauding
tribes; with endless monotony, in which men sometimes go mad--he had to
ask himself if these were to be cheerfully endured because, in the short
summer, the air is heavenly, the rivers and lakes are full of fish, the
flotilla of canoes of the fur-hunters is pouring down, and all is gayety
and pleasant turmoil; because there is good shooting in the autumn, and
the smell of the land is like a garden, and hardy fruits and flowers are
at hand.

That is a question which was asked William Rufus Holly once upon a time.

William Rufus Holly, often called "Averdoopoy," sometimes "Sleeping
Beauty," always Billy Rufus, had had a good education. He had been to
high-school and to college, and he had taken one or two prizes _en route_
to graduation; but no fame travelled with him, save that he was the
laziest man of any college year for a decade. He loved his little
porringer, which is to say that he ate