ergetically when his master appeared, but without raising his nose
from between his forepaws.

Duke pranced out, eager to go, but was called back by Mrs. Orde and
ignominiously held. Bucephalus got under way. Bobby hugged the cold
barrel of his little rifle between his knees. He had on his "pull-down"
cap, and his shortest and heaviest cloth over-jacket, and knit woollen
mittens. The actual temperature was not as yet very low, but the wind
from the Lake was abroad, and growing in strength every minute. From the
flag-pole of the Ottawa they could see the square red storm-flag with
the black centre standing out like a piece of tin.

Bucephalus made surprising time. His gait on the open road was a long
awkward shamble, but it seemed to cover the ground. Mr. Kincaid humped
his shoulders and drove in a sociable silence, his short pipe empty
between his teeth. Curly retained his flattened attitude on the bottom
of the cart; only occasionally rolling up his yellow eyes, but without
moving his head. The wind tore by them madly.

About half a mile beyond the last mill Mr. Kincaid left the main road to
turn sharp to the right directly across the broad marshes. Here a
makeshift road had been constructed of poles laid in the corduroy
fashion. The cart pitched and bounced along at a foot pace. Bobby had no
chance to look about him, and could see only that on both sides
stretched the wide cat-tails and rush flats; that near them was water.
The sun was setting cold and black in hard greasy-looking clouds.

By and by the cart gave one last bump and rose to a little dry knoll
like an island in the marshes. Bobby saw that on it grew two elm trees,
beneath which stood a rough shed. Beyond a fringe of bushes he could
make out the roof of another small structure. Mr. Kincaid stopped at the
shed, and began to unharness Bucephalus. Bobby descended very stiffly.
Curly hopped out and expressed delight over his arrival by wagging
himself from the fifth rib back. You see he had not tail enough for the
job, so he had to wag part of his body too. In a moment or so Bucephalus
was tied in the shed and supplied with oats from a bag.

"Well, we're here," said Mr. Kincaid, picking up one of the valises and
the lunch basket. "Bobby, you carry the guns."

He led the way through the bushes to the other structure.

It was a cabin of boards, long and narrow, about the size and shape of a
freight car. The upper end of it rested on dry land, but the lowe