heart to do murder.

The night was pitchy black and a drizzling rain was falling, but Eli
had often travelled on as dark nights, and he was determined. He chose
a light skiff rigged with a leg-o'-mutton sail. The wind was against
him and with the sail reefed and the mast unstepped and stowed in the
bottom of the boat, he slipped a pair of oars into the locks and with
strong, even strokes pulled away, hugging the shore, that he might
take advantage of the lee of the land.

Presently the drizzle became a downpour, but Eli, indifferent to wind
and weather, rowed tirelessly on. There was a dangerous turn to be
made around Flat Point. Here for a time he lost the friendly shelter
of the land, and continuous and tremendous effort was called for in
the rough seas; but, guided by the roar of the breakers on the shore,
he compassed it and presently fell again under the protection of the
land.

With all his effort Eli had not progressed a quarter of the distance
toward The Jug when dawn broke. With the first light he made a safe
landing, cut a stick of standing dead timber, chopped off the butt,
and splitting it that he might get at the dry core, whittled some
shavings and lighted a fire. His provision bag was well filled. No
Labradorman travels otherwise. A kettle of hot tea sweetened with
molasses, a pan of fried fat pork and some hard bread (hardtack)
satisfied his hunger.

The wind was rising and the rain was flying in blinding sheets, but
the shore still protected him, and the moment his simple breakfast was
eaten Eli again set forward. Presently, however, another long point
projected out into the Bay to force him into the open. He turned about
in his boat and for several minutes studied the white-capped seas
beyond the point.

"I'll try un," he muttered, and settled again to his oars.

But try as he would Eli could not force his light craft against the
wind, and at length he reluctantly dropped back again under the lee
of the land and went ashore.

"There'll be no goin' on to-day," he admitted. "I'll have to make camp
whatever."

Under the shelter of the thick spruce forest where he was fended from
the gale and drive of the rain, he cut a score of poles. One of them,
thicker and stiffer than the others, he lashed between two trees at a
height of perhaps four feet. At intervals of three or four inches he
rested the remaining poles against the one lashed to the trees,
arranging them at an angle of fifty-five degrees