-the last one this way, I
don't know how far back. It was there I traded my boots to an Indian
for these." He extended a moccasined foot.

"'Tis a good job ye traded. But even at that--thirty-foive moile
t'rough th' snow widout webs!" The Irishman looked at him in open
admiration. "An' on top av that, killin' th' werwolf wid a knoife, an'
choppin' her pack loike so much kindlin's! Green, ye may be--an'
ignorant. But, frind, ye've done a man's job this day, an' Oi'm pr-roud
to know yez."

Again he extended his hand and Bill seized it in a strong grip.
Somehow, he did not resent being called green, and ignorant--he was
learning the North.

"Fallon's me name," the other continued, "an' be an accident av birth,
Oi'm called Oirish, f'r short."

"Mine is Bill, which is shorter," replied Carmody, smiling.

For just a second Irish hesitated as if expecting further
enlightenment, but, receiving none, reached down and grasped the tail
of the white wolf.

"'Tis a foine robe she'll make, Bill, an' in th' North, among white min
an' Injuns, 'twill give ye place an' shtandin'--but not wid
Moncrossen," he added with a frown.

"Come on along. Foller yez in behint, f'r th' thrail'll be fair
br-roke. Phwat wid two thrips wid th' rackets an' th' dhrag av th'
wolf, 'twill not be bad. 'Tis only a mather av twinty minutes to phwere
Frinchy'll bether be waitin' wid th' harses."

CHAPTER XVI

MONCROSSEN

They found LaFranz waiting in fear and trembling. The heavy snow-plow
was left in readiness for the morrow's trail-breaking, and the horses
hitched to a rough sled and headed for camp.

"An' ye say Misther Appleton sint ye up to wor-rk in Moncrossen's
camp?" The two were seated on the log bunk at the back of the sled
while the Frenchman drove, keeping a fearful eye on the white wolf. For
old man Frontenelle had been his uncle.

"Yes, he told me to report here."

"D'ye know Moncrossen?"

"No."

"Well, ye will, ag'in' shpring," Irish replied dryly.

"What do you mean?" asked Bill.

Irish shrugged. "Oi mane this," he answered. "Moncrossen is a har-rd
man altogether. He hates a greener. He thinks no wan but an owld hand
has any business in th' woods, an' 'tis his boast that in wan season
he'll make a lumberjack or a corpse out av any greener.

"An' comin' from Appleton hisself he'll hate ye worse'n ever, f'r he'll
think ye'll be afther crimpin' his bird's-eye game. Take advice, Bill,
an' kape on th' good side av um