moment all the dogs of the settlement were in an
uproar, for the packet had arrived.

With a final rush the gaunt, travel-worn dogs galloped through the
driving snow, and, eager for the shelter of the trading room, bolted
pell-mell through the gathering at the doorway, upsetting several
spectators before the driver could halt the runaways by falling
headlong upon the foregoer's back and flattening him to the floor.

All was excitement. Every dog at the post dashed in with bristling
hair and clamping jaws to overawe the strangers. Amid the hubbub of
shouting men, women, and children, the cracking of whips, and the
yelping of dogs, the packet was removed from the overturned sled and
hustled into the Factor's office, where it was opened, and the mail
quickly overhauled. While the Factor and his clerk were busily writing
despatches, a relay of dogs was being harnessed, and two fresh runners
were making ready to speed the mail upon its northward way.

Before long the Factor's letters were sealed and carefully deposited in
the packet box, which was lashed on the tail of the sled, the forepart
of which was packed with blankets, flour, tea, and pork for the
packeteers, and frozen whitefish for the dogs. Then amid the usual
handshaking the word "_Marche_!" was given, and to the tune of cracking
whips, whining dogs, and crunching snow, the northern packet glided out
upon the lake with the Indian track-beater hurrying far ahead while the
half-breed dog-driver loped behind the sled. Thus for over two
centuries the Hudson's Bay Company had been sending its mails through
the great wilderness of Northern Canada.

THE DOG BRIGADE

That afternoon five dog-trains arrived from outlying posts. They had
come to join the Dog Brigade that was to leave Fort Consolation first
thing in the morning on its southern way to the far-off railroad. As I
wished to accompany the brigade, I had arranged with Oo-koo-hoo that we
should do so, as far as we could without going out of our way, in
returning to his hunting grounds. So to bed that night we all went
very early, and at four o'clock in the morning we were astir again.
Breakfast was soon over, then followed the packing of the sleds, the
harnessing of the dogs, the slipping of moccasined feet into snowshoe
thongs, the shaking of hands, and the wishing of farewells. Already
the tracker, or track-beater, had gone ahead to break the trail.

"_M-a-r-r-che_!" (start) shouted the guide--as