ton hovered over the pile, after it was completed, his eyes half
shut, naming over its items again and again, assuring himself that
nothing lacked. At his side MacDonald made suggestions.

"Got a copper pail, Sam? a frying-pan? cups? How about the axe? Better
have an extra knife between you. Need any clothes? Compass all right?"

To each of these questions Sam nodded an assent. So MacDonald, having
named everything--with the exception of the canvas square to be used as
a tarpaulin or a tent, and soap and towel--fell silent, convinced that
he could do nothing more.

But Dick, who had been drumming his fingers idly against the window,
turned with a suggestion of his own.

"How're we fixed for shoe pacs? I haven't got any."

At once MacDonald looked blank.

"By George, boys, I ain't got but four or five pairs of moccasins in the
place! There's plenty of oil tan; I can fix you all right there. But
smoke tans! That Abitibi gang mighty near cleaned me out. You'll have to
try the Indians."

Accordingly Bolton and Herron took their way in the dusty little
foot-trodden path--there were no horses in that frontier--between the
Factor's residence and the Clerk's house, down the meandering trail
through the high grasses of the meadow to where the Indian lodges lifted
their pointed tops against the sky.

The wigwams were scattered apparently at random. Before each a fire
burned. Women and girls busied themselves with a variety of camp-work. A
tame crow hopped and fluttered here and there just out of reach of the
pointed-nosed, shaggy wolf-dogs.

The latter rushed madly forward at the approaching strangers, yelping in
a curious, long-drawn bay, more suggestive of their wolf ancestors than
of the domestic animal. Dick and Sam laid about them vigorously with
short staffs they had brought for the purpose. Immediately the dogs,
recognising their dominance, slunk back. Three men sauntered forward,
grinning broadly in amiable greeting. Two or three women, more bashful
than the rest, scuttled into the depths of wigwams out of sight. A
multitude of children concealed themselves craftily, like a covey of
quail, and focussed their bright, bead-like eyes on the new-comers. The
rest of the camp went its way unmoved.

"Bo' jou', bo' jou'," greeted Sam Bolton.

"Bo' jou', bo' jou'," replied the three.

These Indians were of the far upper country. They spoke no English nor
French, and adhered still to their own tribal customs and relig