he
morning of the sixth day after the wreck of the Speedwell--I was on my
way to Fort Royal. Our party numbered eight, as follows: Jim Gummidge
and his wife, Miss Hatherton and myself, Baptiste, and three trusty
voyageurs. Gummidge was a companionable fellow, and his wife was a
hardy, fearless little woman of the woods.

Our course was to the west, across a seventy-mile stretch of waterway,
formed of connecting lakes and streams, that would bring us to the
Churchill River, at a point a few miles above Fort Royal--the Churchill,
it may be said, empties into Hudson Bay more than a hundred miles to the
northwest of Fort York. We traveled in one long, narrow canoe, which was
light enough to be portaged without difficulty, and on the evening of
the second day we were within thirty-five miles of our destination.

CHAPTER XII.

A WARNING IN WOODCRAFT.

That night we pitched our camp on a wooded island in a small lake,
erecting, as was the usual custom, a couple of lean-tos of bark and fir
boughs. Gummidge owned the traveling outfit and the factor of Fort York
had provided Baptiste and myself with what we needed in the way of
weapons and ammunition. We were all well armed, for none journeyed
otherwise through the wilderness in those days. But at this time, and
from the part of the country we had to traverse, it seemed a most
unlikely thing that we would run into any peril. However, neither
Gummidge nor I were disposed to relax the ordinary precautions, and when
we retired we set one of the voyageurs to watch.

This man--Moralle by name--awakened me about two o'clock in the morning
by shaking my arm gently, and in a whisper begged me to come outside. I
followed him from the lean-to across the island, which was no more than
a dozen yards in diameter. The night was very dark, and it was
impossible to make out the shore, though it was less than a quarter of a
mile away. A deep silence brooded on land and water.

"What do you want with me?" I asked sharply.

"Pardon, sir," replied Moralle, "but a little while ago, as I stood
here, I heard a low splash. I crouched down to watch the better, and out
yonder on the lake I saw the head and arms of a swimmer. Then a pebble
crunched under my moccasins, and the man turned and made off as quietly
as he came."

"You have keen eyes," said I. "Look, the water is black! A fish made a
splash, and you imagined the rest."

"I s