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coziness. Then, he crawled stealthily forward, until within ten feet of the big hollow pine. The air-holes, he noticed now, were not made on the north and west sides of the tree. Evidently, she counted on the suction of the wind to draw out the smoke and foul air. The noise of the storm easily drowned any sounds the observer might make, and he moved with considerable freedom, now that the woman could not see him. Plainly, the air-holes had been made by other hands than hers, for they were higher than her head; in fact Donald himself would have to stretch to look down. He selected a hole about three inches in diameter, and peered in. The smoke filled his eye, but he saw enough to know that the old squaw was seated on the floor of her habitation, nursing her little fire. He could not quite see all her actions, so he moved to a larger hole. Presently, the fire burned brightly, and Maria began to rock back and forth, and sing to herself. Suddenly, she burst out into a weird laugh, and cried: "Ha! The fool! The fool! If he only knew I almost showed him!" Chuckling and muttering incoherently, she put a stealthy hand into her bosom, and drew forth a little bag of muskrat skin. Donald, cursing softly the smoke that filled his eyes, did his best to stand on tiptoe. The bag was suspended around Maria's neck by a leathern thong, and was operated by pull-strings. Still rocking back and forth, the crone loosened the strings, and opened the bag. Then, she drew forth a paper, old and dirty and yellow. It was so worn in the creases that it almost fell apart, but over it ran fine writing, in a good hand. Donald, strain his eyes as he might, could not make out a single word of it. Now came the impulse to rush inside, seize the paper, jerk loose the bag, and make away with both. Donald had indeed slipped off his snowshoes preparatory to entrance when a great yelling and hallooing in the forest near by caused him to change his plan of action. Slipping on his _rackets_ again, he sped swiftly back toward the camp. He had hardly disappeared, when the old squaw pushed aside the home-made doorway of her strange dwelling, and looked curiously in the direction of the noises. CHAPTER XXIII THE BROTHERS One by one, exhausted, but joyful, the trappers of the Free-Traders' Brotherhood straggled into their long-sought camp. Nearly all had small packs on their backs, as though the provisions secured had been distributed around
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