the
erring rifle in his own language, and then said to me, "Good! good! You
white-man very big shoot--ugh!" We joined Mallory and the other Indian
soon after. They had only killed a fox. Together we made two
sled-drags of the thickest, heaviest hemlock boughs, and loading the
game--the panther-cat and fox on one sled, and the moose on the other--
pulled them to the Indian camp.

The weather was too bitterly cold for hunting. Even the wild animals
seemed not to go about any more than their wants required. So Mallory
and I decided to buy some more meat from the Indians, and get them to go
with us back to our lumbering station and help to carry the game on
hand-sleds, which we could do with comparative ease on the river. The
bargain was made, and Ollabearqui and two other Indians started with us
the next morning, that we might reach our camp on the twenty-fourth, or
on Christmas morning. No doubt the hope of getting whisky from our men
induced the Indians to assent so readily to the proposition. The sled
enabled us to take plenty of heavy furs and blankets for protection
against the intense cold. Mallory and I also made a gallon of strong
coffee before leaving the Indian camp; that we were able to heat three
or four times a day, and would prove the greatest ally against the cold.

We made a long march the first day--nearly thirty miles--but suffered
greatly from the unusually severe weather; and if our red friends had
not taken us to an Indian mound to pass the night--which we used as a
hut, packing all our furs against its stone sides and keeping up an
immense fire in the centre, the smoke escaping where we removed a stone
on the top--and had we not had the coffee to heat and drink continually,
I really believe we should all have been frozen to death that terrible
night. As it was, I remember it as the most painful and comfortless
night I ever passed.

The morning came, and we could stir about; but the sun seemed to give no
warmth, and a light wind was blowing to make the cold more searching.
For some reason I could not explain to myself, I felt strangely anxious
to get home. In the fitful naps I had caught during the night I had
suffered from most painful dreams; but all I could remember of them were
the faces of Guyon Vidocq and John Bar, and no sight of the camp or of
the other men, only heaps of cinders where the log-houses stood. As
soon as we had had our breakfast I urged my companions to get under wa