ing these things together, he carefully gummed his canoe, put his
wife and child into it--also some of the provision which had been
supplied to him by Duncan McKay junior--and followed the settlers over
Lake Winnipeg to Jack River.

Here, finding that a new party of immigrants had arrived, who were
necessarily unacquainted with his little peculiarities, La Certe
attached himself to them and made himself agreeable. This he could do
very well, for the Switzers understood his bad French, as well as his
good tuneful voice, and appreciated his capacity for telling a story.

"Did you never," he said to Andre Morel, after his song was finished,
"hear of how my old mother saved her whole tribe from death one time in
the Rocky Mountains?"

"Never," Morel replied with a somewhat sceptical but good-natured smile.

"No! I wonder much, for every one in this land heard about it, an' I
thought the news must have spread over Europe and--and, perhaps Africa.
Well, I will tell you. Where is my baccy-bag?"

"Never mind, fill your pipe from mine," said Morel, tossing him a little
bag of the coveted weed.

"Thank you. Well, you must know that my mother had a beautiful voice--
O! much more beautiful than mine. Indeed, I do not joke, so you need
not laugh. It was so sweet that men were always forced to listen till
she was done. They could not help it."

"Did they ever want to help it?" asked Morel quietly.

"O yes--as you shall hear. Well, one day my mother was living with all
our tribe--I say _our_ tribe because my mother was an Indian--with all
our tribe, in a great dark gorge of the Rocky Mountains. The braves had
gone out to hunt that day, but my mother stayed behind with the women
and children. I was a little foolish child at that time--too young to
hunt or fight. My father--a French Canadian--he was dead.

"We knew--my mother and I--that the braves would be home soon. We
expected them every minute. While we were waiting for them, my mother
went into the bush to pick berries. There she discovered a war-party of
our enemies. They were preparing to attack our village, for they knew
the men were away, and they wanted the scalps of the women and children.
But they did not know the exact spot where our wigwams were pitched,
and were just going, after a feed, to look for it.

"My mother ran home with the news, and immediately roused the camp, and
made them get ready to fly to meet the returning men.

"`But, my daught