it up, every bit. You see, it had on
a caribou coat, and it was alone at the time. The dogs killed it and
ate it. Sometimes they eat little dogs, too. They'll eat anything and
never get enough. But I suppose they have to have dogs here the same
as they have to have Indians, else they could have no fur trade."

"The old trader up at the post is mighty crusty, it seems to me,"
complained Jesse, after a time. "He won't let me go up in the
fur-loft, where he keeps his silver-gray foxes and all that sort of
thing, to make any pictures. What's the reason he won't?"

Rob smiled as he answered: "The Hudson's Bay Company is a big monopoly
and it keeps its own secrets. You'll have to ask a good many questions
before you find out much about its business. And if you should try to
buy even one skin of an ermine or a marten or a fox or a mink in here,
you couldn't do it. They wouldn't sell you anything at all. Perhaps
some of the independent traders who are coming in might sell you some
furs for yourself--at a very good price. But the old Company stands
pat and runs its affairs the way it used to. It doesn't tell its
secrets."

The boys stood, hands in pockets now, toward the close of their
interesting day at Chippewyan, looking in silence at the squared logs
of the whitewashed Company buildings. A certain respect came into
their minds.

"It's old," said John, after a time. "They don't seem to rustle very
much now, but they have done things--haven't they?"

VII

THE WILD PORTAGE

According to Rob's diary, it was on Friday, June 13th, that the
steamer _Grahame_ left the ancient trading-post of Chippewyan on the
rocky shores of Athabasca Lake. Rob also made the curious entry that
as the boat left shore two ravens flew across its bow, and that the
Indians and half-breeds were very much distressed over what they
considered a bad omen. Uncle Dick and his two companions, Jesse and
John, laughed with Rob at this, and, indeed, no ill fortune seemed to
attend them.

By this time the great brigade had begun to thin and scatter. Several
scows were unloaded and left at Chippewyan. Yet others were despatched
for the post at the eastern side of the lake. The legal party and the
Indian Commissioner now parted company with our travelers. But
occasionally, as the steamer swept away from the high and bold shores
on which the old trading-post lay, and passed the vast marshes where
the wild-fowl nest in millions every year, they found