e
never reached the settlement. She and the child were afterwards found
dead within a quarter of a mile of Pembina. From the report of the
party she had left, this poor creature must have travelled upwards of a
hundred miles in three days and nights before sinking in that terrible
struggle for life.

Warder and his companion did not require to diverge in order to follow
these tracks. They all ran one way, straight for Red River--for home!
But there were _many_, very many, who never saw that home again.

One exception they overtook on their fourth day. She was a middle-aged
woman, but her visage was so wrinkled by wigwam smoke, and she had such
a stoop, that she seemed very old indeed.

"Why, I know that figure," exclaimed Warder, on sighting her; "it's old
Liz, Michel Rollin's Scotch mother!"

So it turned out. She was an eccentric creature, full of life, fire,
and fun, excessively short and plain, but remarkably strong. She had
been forsaken by her nephew, she said. Michel, dear Michel, would not
have left her in the lurch if he had been there. But she would be at
home to receive Michel on his return. That she would! And she was
right. She reached the settlement alive, though terribly exhausted.

Warder and Winklemann did not "come across" anything except one raven,
but they shot that and devoured it, bones and all. Then they travelled
a day without food and without halt. Next day they might reach the
settlement if strength did not fail, but when they lay down that night
Warder said he felt like going to die, and Winklemann said that his
"lecks" were now useless, and his "lunks" were entirely gone!

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

TO THE RESCUE.

Elsie and Cora Ravenshaw were seated at a table in Willow Creek, with
their mother and Miss Trim, repairing garments, one night in that same
inclement January of which we have been writing.

Mr Ravenshaw was enjoying his pipe by the stove, and Louis Lambert was
making himself agreeable. The old man was a little careworn. No news
had yet been received of Tony or of Victor. In regard to the latter he
felt easy; Victor could take care of himself, and was in good company,
but his heart sank when he thought of his beloved Tony. What would he
not have given to have had him smashing his pipe or operating on his
scalp at that moment.

"It is an awful winter," observed Elsie, as a gust of wind seemed to
nearly blow in the windows.

"I pity the hunters in the plains,