tent by an early hour. Their fire was re-kindled, and they were
making preparations for a fresh pot of rock-tripe, when they were
startled by the note of a well-known bird. On looking up, they beheld
seated upon the point of a rock the creature itself, which was the
"cinereous crow" (_Garrulus Canadensis_), or, as it is better known, the
"whiskey Jack." The latter name it receives from the voyageurs,
on account of the resemblance of its Indian appellation,
"whiskae-shaw-neesh," to the words "whiskey John." Although sometimes
called the "cinereous crow," the bird is a true jay. It is one of the
most inelegant of the genus, being of a dull grey colour, and not
particularly graceful in its form. Its plumage, moreover, does not
consist of webbed feathers, but rather more resembles hair; nor does its
voice make up for the plainness of its appearance, as is the case with
some birds. On the contrary, the voice of "whiskey Jack" is plaintive
and squeaking, though he is something of a mocker in his way, and
frequently imitates the notes of other birds. He is one of those
creatures that frequent the habitations of man, and there is not a fur
post, or fort, in all the Hudson's Bay territory, where "whiskey Jack"
is not familiarly known. He is far from being a favourite, however, as,
like his near relative the magpie, he is a great thief, and will follow
the marten-trapper all day while baiting his traps, perching upon a tree
until the bait is set, and then pouncing down, and carrying it off. He
frequently pilfers small articles from the forts and encampments, and is
so bold as to enter the tents, and seize food out of any vessel that may
contain it. Notwithstanding all this, he is a favourite with the
traveller through these inhospitable regions. No matter how barren the
spot where the voyageur may make his camp, his tent will hardly be
pitched, before he receives a visit from "whiskey Jack," who comes, of
course, to pick up any crumbs that may fall. His company, therefore, in
a region where all other wild creatures shun the society of man, endears
him to the lonely traveller.

At many of their camps our voyageurs had met with this singular bird,
and were always glad to receive him as a friend. They were now doubly
delighted to see him, but this delight arose from no friendly feelings.
Their guest was at once doomed to die. Francois had taken up his gun,
and in the next moment would have brought him down, had he not