what
she said to his father, but he heard him reply in a voice that sounded
strangely far away and weak, "Yes, soon; very soon, wife."

Then all was silent. With his back still turned to them he waited for
his father to call him; but the seconds sped on and the silence
continued. At last he turned. His father was kneeling on the floor
with his arms around her and his head lying on the pillow close to
hers.

"Come, father," he said softly, as he tried to raise him. There was no
reply. He bent over and peered into the two quiet faces. The legend of
the loup-garou had no place in the land they had entered.

* * * * *

A Christmas Adventure.

How vividly do I remember the Christmas eve and Christmas day of 1882!
Ten years make great changes in our lives. To-day I am a well-to-do
business man, and expect to spend Christmas in my cozy home, with wife
and family, and not on the wild, bleak prairies, expecting every
moment a dreadful railway catastrophe.

But I had better tell my story from the beginning. Back in 1882 the
liberal pay offered by the Canadian Pacific Railway to telegraph
operators induced a friend of mine and myself--as I have related
elsewhere--to leave Montreal and try our fortunes in the great
North-West. We were given free passes as far as Winnipeg. There was a
station which needed two operators, some fifty miles up the line, and
we were both sent there, arriving on Christmas eve. The train stopped
just long enough for us to jump on the platform, and then sped on.
There was not a human being to meet us. The station had been without
operators for three days, and was bitterly cold. We soon had a big
fire started in the telegraph room, and were sitting beside it,
discussing the loneliness of the place and the wildness of the night.

While we were talking, the busy little telegraph instrument began
busily ticking for our station. The call was answered and a message
received, saying that a weather report received by the dispatcher
stated that the night would likely be stormy, and my friend was asked
to stay up till about one o'clock in the morning, as he might be
needed to take a crossing order for two trains at his station. We did
not mind staying up, and whiled away the hours in pleasant
conversation as we sat as near as we could get to the glowing coal
fire. The storm increased and finally settled down into a blizzard. By
midnight it was something appalling. There