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