the sledge--and saw no sign of
Indians, or, indeed, of any human beings. We all wore heavy winter
clothing, so suffered no hardships on that score; and the second night
we built huge camp fires in a rocky gorge among the hills. But our stock
of provisions was running short, and this fact caused us some
uneasiness.

As the sun was setting that second day--it was the third day's journey
in all--we glided from the depths of the virgin forest and saw what had
been Fort Beaver on the further side of a shallow clearing. I had been
thinking with strange emotions of the past since morning--since we began
to draw near the neighborhood--and at sight of my old home, close to
which both my father and mother were buried, my eyes grew dim and a
choking lump rose in my throat.

"I have never been this way before," remarked Captain Rudstone, "but I
know the place by repute. It was of importance in its day; now it is a
mass of crumbling ruins."

"Is this really where you were born, Denzil?" Flora asked me.

"Yes," I replied; "here I spent my early years and happy ones they
were."

"Ah, this is interesting," Christopher Burley said, thoughtfully. "And
here your father, Bertrand Carew, lived from the time he left England
until his death?"

"Until a treacherous Indian killed him, sir," I said. "And the murderer
was never discovered. It is too late to go any further, men," I added,
wishing to turn the subject. "We will put up here for the night, and
enjoy resting between walls and beside a fireplace."

We crossed the clearing, and entered the stockade by the open gateway,
which was half filled in with drifted snow. We went on, past crumbling
outbuildings, to what had been the factor's residence. The house was in
a fairly good state of preservation, and a push sent the door back on
its hinges.

We were on the threshold of the main room, where I so well recalled my
father sitting musingly by the great fireplace evening after evening
smoking his pipe. Now the apartment was dreary and bare. Snow had
filtered in at the windows, and the floor was rotting away. There were
ashes in the fireplace, and near by lay a heap of dry wood--signs that
some voyageur or trapper had spent a night here while journeying through
the wilderness.

"This is like civilization again," said Christopher Burley, with a sigh.

"We are sure of a comfortable night, at all events," replied Captain
Rudstone.

"The first thing will be supper," said I. "Baptiste