ble, the wolverine, the musk-ox, parka, babiche,
tump-line, giddes,--these and others sang like arrows cleaving the
atmosphere of commoner words. In the distant woods the white-throats and
olive thrushes called in a language hardly less intelligible.

There scarcely needed the row of glistening birch-barks below the men,
the warehouse with its picketed lane, the tall flag-staff, the
block-house stockade, the half-bred women chatting over the low fences
of the log-houses, the squaws wandering to and fro in picturesque
silence, the Indian children playing noisily or standing in awe before
the veranda of the white house, to inform the initiated that this little
forest- and river-girt settlement was a post of the Honourable the
Hudson's Bay Company. The time of sunset and the direction of the
river's flow would have indicated a high latitude. The mile-long meadow,
with its Indian camp, the oval of forest, the immense breadth of the
river identified the place as Conjuror's House. Thus the blue water in
the distance was James Bay, the river was the Moose; enjoying his Manila
cheroot on the Factory veranda with the other officers of the Company
was Galen Albret, and these men lounging on the river bank were the
Company's post-keepers and runners, the travellers of the Silent Places.

They were of every age and dressed in a variety of styles. All wore
ornamented moccasins, bead garters, and red sashes of worsted. As to the
rest, each followed his taste. So in the group could be seen bare heads,
fillet-bound heads, covered heads; shirt sleeves, woollen jerseys, and
long, beautiful blanket coats. Two things, however, proved them akin.
They all possessed a lean, wiry hardness of muscle and frame, a
hawk-like glance of the eye, an almost emaciated spareness of flesh on
the cheeks. They all smoked pipes of strong plug tobacco.

Whether the bronze of their faces, thrown into relief by the evening
glow, the frowning steadiness of their eyes, or more fancifully the
background of the guns, the flag-staff and the stockade was most
responsible, the militant impression persisted strongly. These were the
veterans of an hundred battles. They were of the stuff forlorn hopes are
fashioned from. A great enemy, a powerful enemy, an enemy to be
respected and feared had hardened them to the unyielding. The adversary
could almost be measured, the bitterness of the struggle almost be
gauged from the scars of their spirits; the harshness of it, the