on, as the boat rounded a bend in the river,
"there's the river tilt, an' she looks good."

"That she do," agreed Dick Blake. "I hopes, now, Bob's there an' has a
fire on. I'm wet t' th' last rag."

"So be I. This snow an' rain comin' mixed always 'pears t' make a
wetter wet 'n just rain alone," observed Ed.

"Bob's there now," broke in Bill Campbell. "I sees smoke comin' from
th' tilt pipe."

The voyageurs were returning from Eskimo Bay with their second cargo
of winter supplies for the trails. Five weeks had elapsed since the
morning Ungava Bob and Shad Trowbridge had watched them disappear
around the river bend, and returning to camp had found Sishetakushin
and Mookoomahn awaiting them at the edge of the forest.

Since early morning there had been a steady drizzle of snow and rain,
accompanied by a raw, searching, easterly wind, a condition of weather
that renders wilderness travel most disheartening and disagreeable.

This was, however, the first break in a long series of delightfully
cool, transparent days, characteristic of Labrador during the month of
September, when Nature pauses to take breath and assemble her forces
preparatory to casting upon the land the smothering snows and
withering blasts of a sub-Arctic winter.

Despite the pleasant weather, the whole journey from Eskimo Bay had
been one of tremendous effort. With but three, instead of five, as on
the previous journey, to transport the boat and carry the loads over
portages, the labour had been proportionately increased.

It was, then, with a feeling of intense satisfaction and relief that
the voyageurs hailed the end of their journey, with its promised rest,
when they finally ran their boat to the landing below the river tilt
of the Big Hill trail.

"I'll be tellin' Bob an' Shad we're here now, an' have un help us up
with th' outfit," said Ed Matheson cheerily, stepping ashore and
striding up the trail leading to the clearing a few yards above, in
the centre of which stood the trail.

But at the edge of the clearing he stopped in open-mouthed amazement.
Before the open door of the tilt stood a tall, comely Indian maiden,
perhaps seventeen years of age. She was clad in fringed buckskin
garments, decorated in coloured designs. Her hair hung in two long
black braids, while around her forehead she wore a band of dark-red
cloth ornamented with intricate beadwork. From her shoulder hung a
quiver of arrows, and resting against the tilt at her side