start, and I'll lay the course for the others."

In a few moments the decoys were stacked to prevent drifting, and the
boat covered so that no snow could penetrate. A pair of small oars were
first, however, removed, which were set upright at either extremity of
the boat, and in direct line with the keel.

"There is our proper direction," said La Salle. "Now, Creamer, take your
birds, gun, and one decoy, and align yourself with these oars when you
have counted one hundred paces. When you have done so, face about and
turn the beak of the decoy towards the boat. Now, Ben," continued he,
when this was done, "walk up within twenty yards of Creamer, and let me
align you; Kennedy will go with you, and, counting one hundred paces
beyond Creamer, will be aligned by you. You will then be relieved by me,
and placing yourself behind Kennedy, will direct Creamer to the right
position, when he has paced one hundred yards farther. At every other
hundred yards an iron decoy must be placed, pointing towards the boat."

The plan thus conceived was carried out until thirteen hundred paces had
been counted, when La Salle, begging all to keep their places, hurried
to the front. It was now nearly dark, and nothing but driving snow was
anywhere visible. Creamer was at the lead, but disconsolate and
terrified, having utterly lost his reckoning.

"We're astray, sir, completely," he said, hopelessly. "Mother of
Heaven!" he ejaculated, as a dim radiance shone through the scud a
little to their rear, "there's the 'Packet Light,' and we are lost men."

Buffeted by the heavy gusts and sharp sleet which froze on the face as
it fell, La Salle felt for a moment a thrill of the superstitious fear
which had overcome the usually stout nerves of his companion; but his
cooler nature reasserted itself, although he knew that no house stood in
the direction of the mysterious light, which seemed at times almost to
disappear, and then to shine with renewed radiance.

"There is nothing earthly about that thing, sir. Macquarrie's house is a
long piece from the shore, and Lund's is hidden by the woods. See; look
there, sir, for the love of Heaven!" and the stout sailor trembled like
a child as the light, describing a sharp curve, rose ten or twelve feet
higher into the air, where it seemed to oscillate violently for a few
seconds, and then to be at rest.

"Let us hail it, any way," said La Salle; "perhaps we have made some
house on the opposite shore."

"We