Read Ebook: Ungava Bob: A Winter's Tale by Wallace Dillon Palmer Samuel M Illustrator

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Ebook has 991 lines and 52951 words, and 20 pages

over the head, turning it inside out in the process. In the tilt were a number of stretching boards, that Douglas had provided, tapered down from several inches wide at one end until they were narrow enough at the other end to slip snugly into the nose of the pelt. Over one of these, with the flesh side out, the skin was tightly drawn and fastened. Then with his knife Bob scraped it carefully, removing such fat and flesh as had adhered to it, after which he placed it in a convenient place to dry.

Bob felt very much elated over this first catch of fur, and was anxious to get at the real trapping. It was only Tuesday, and Bill would not be at the river tilt until Friday of the following week, but he decided to start back the next morning and set all his traps. So on Wednesday morning, with a quarter of venison on his flat sled, he turned down over the trail.

Everything went well. Signs of fur were good and Bob was brimming over with anticipation when a week later he reached the river.

Bill did not arrive until after dark the next evening, and when he pushed the tilt door open he found Bob frying venison steak and a kettle of tea ready for supper.

"Ho, Bob, back ahead o' me, be un? Where'd ye get th' deer's meat?"

"Knocked un over after you left me. 'Tis fine t' be back an' see you, Bill. I've been wonderful lonesome, and wantin' t' see you wonderful bad."

"An' I was thinkin' ye'd be gettin' lonesome by now. You'll not be mindin' bein' alone when you gets used to un. It's all gettin' used t' un."

"An' what's th' signs o' fur? Be there much marten signs?"

"Aye, some. Looks like un goin' t' be some. An' be there much signs on th' Big Hill trail? Dick says there's a lot o' footin' his way."

"Not so bad."

"Well, you be startin' fine, gettin' th' first marten an' th' first deer."

Bill had taken off his adikey and disposed of his things, and they sat down to eat and enjoy a long evening's chat.

With every week the cold grew in intensity, and with every storm the snow grew deeper, hiding the smaller trees entirely and reaching up towards the lower limbs of the larger ones. The little tilts were covered to the roof, and only a hole in the white mass showed where the door was.

The sun now described a daily narrowing arc in the heavens, and the hours of light were so few that the hunters found it difficult to cover the distance between their tilts in the little while from dawn to dark. On moonlight mornings Bob started long before day, and on starlight evenings finished his day's work after night. His cheeks and nose were frost-bitten and black, but he did not mind that for he was doing well. Two weeks before Christmas he brought to the river tilt the fur that he had accumulated. There were twenty-eight martens, one mink, two red foxes, one cross fox, a lynx and a wolf. These last two animals he had shot. Bill was already in the tilt when he arrived, and complimented him on his good showing.

Christmas fell on Wednesday that year, and Bill brought word that Dick and Ed were coming up to spend the day with him and Bob. They would reach the tilt on Tuesday night and use the remainder of the week in a caribou hunt, as there were good signs of the animals a little way back in the marshes and they were in need of fresh meat.

"An' I'll not try t' be gettin' here on Friday," said Bill. "I'll be waitin' till Tuesday."

"I'll be doin' th' same, but I'll be here sure on a Tuesday, an' maybe Monday," answered Bob.

So it was arranged that they should have a holiday, and all be together again. It gave Bob a thrill of pleasure when he thought of meeting Dick and Ed and proudly exhibiting his fur to have them examine and criticise the skins and compliment him. It would make a break in the monotonous life.

The day after Bob left the river tilt on his return round, the great dream with which he had started out from Wolf Bight became a reality. He caught a silver fox. It was almost evening when he turned into a marsh where the trap was set. He had caught nothing in it before, and he was thinking seriously of taking it up and placing it farther along the trail. But now in the half dusk, as he approached, something moved. "Sure 'tis a cross," said he. When he came closer and saw that it was really a silver he could not for a moment believe his good fortune. It was too good to be true. When he had killed it and taken it out of the trap he hurried to the tilt hugging it closely to his breast as though afraid it would get away.

In the tilt he lighted a candle and examined it. It was a beauty! It was worth a lot of money! He patted it and turned it over. Then--there was no one to see him and question his manhood or jibe at his weakness--he cried--cried for pure joy. "Tis th' savin' o' Emily an' makin' she well--an' makin' she well!" He had prayed that he would get a silver, but his faith had been weak and he had never really believed he should. Now he had it and his cup of joy was full. "Sure th' Lard be good," he repeated to himself.

It was starlight two evenings later when he neared his last tilt. Clear and beautiful and intensely cold was the silent white wilderness and Bob's heart was as clear and light as the frosty air. When the black spot that marked the roof of the almost hidden shack met his view he stopped. A thin curl of smoke was rising from the stovepipe. Some one was in the tilt! He hesitated for only a moment, then hurried forward and pushed the door open. There, smoking his pipe sat Micmac John.

MICMAC JOHN'S REVENGE

"Evenin', Bob," said Micmac.

"Evenin', John. An' where'd you be comin' from now?"

"Been huntin' t' th' suth'ard. Thought I'd drop in an' see ye."

"Glad t' see ye, John."

After an awkward pause Bob asked:

"What un do wi' th' stove, John?"

"What stove?"

"From th' river tilt. Ye took un, didn't ye?"

"No, I didn't take no stove. I weren't in th' river tilt, an' don't know what yer talkin' about," lied the half-breed.

"Some one took un an' we was layin' it t' you. Now I wonders who 'twere."

"Who may th' Mingen Injuns be, now?"

"Mountaineers as belong Mingen way up south, an' hunts between this an' th' Straits."

"I were thinkin' 'twere th' Nascaupees took th' stove if you didn't take un."

"Th' Nascaupees are back here a bit t' th' west'ard. I saw some of 'em one day when I was cruisin' that way an' I made tracks back fer I didn't want t' die so quick. They'll kill anybody they see in here, an' burn th' tilts if they happen over this way an' see 'em. Ye have t' be on th' watch fer 'em all th' time."

"I'll be watchin' out fer un an' keep clear if I sees their footin'," said Bob as he went out to bring in his things.

When he returned to the tilt Micmac John asked:

"Gettin' much fur?"

"Not so bad," he replied. "I has one silver, an' a fine un, too."

The half-breed showed marked interest at once.

"Let's see him. Got him here?"

"No, I left un in th' third tilt. That's where I caught un."

"Where's yer other fur?"

"I took un all down t' th' river tilt There's a cross among un an' twenty-eight martens."

"Um-m."

Micmac John knew well enough the fur had been taken to some other tilt, for when he arrived here early in the afternoon his first care was to look for it, but not a skin had he found, and he was disappointed, for it was the purpose of his visit. Bob, absolutely honest and guileless himself, in spite of Dick's constant assertion that Micmac was a thief and worse, was easily deceived by the half-breed's bland manner. Unfortunately he had not learned that every one else was not as honest and straightforward as himself. Micmac's attempt upon his life he had ascribed to a sudden burst of anger, and it was forgiven and forgotten. The selfish enmity, the blackness of heart, the sinister nature that will never overlook and will go to any length to avenge a real or fancied wrong--the characteristics of a half-breed Indian--were wholly beyond his comprehension. He had never dissembled himself, and he did not know that the smiling face and smooth tongue are often screens of deception.

"We'll be havin' supper now," suggested Bob, lifting the boiling kettle off the stove and throwing in some tea. "I'm fair starved."

After they had eaten Micmac filled his pipe and lounged back, smoking in silence for some time, apparently deep in thought. Finally he asked, "When ye goin' back t' th' river, Bob?"

"I'm not thinkin t' start back till Wednesday an' maybe Thursday, an' reach un Monday or Tuesday after. Bill won't be gettin' there till Tuesday, an' Dick an' Ed expects t' be there then t' spend Christmas an' hunt deer."

"Hunt deer?"

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