After the wolverine was killed trapping had improved for a time. Then the catches began to dwindle, growing smaller and smaller. Louis and Neil agreed that they must either change their hunting grounds or go back to Pembina. They had promised to return early in March. Now March had come, with a thaw that suggested an early spring. The ducks and geese would soon be flying north, spring fishing would begin, and food be plentiful again in the settlement. And perhaps both boys were a bit homesick.

“We go back with less food than we came away with,” said Louis, “but we have not been forced to eat wolf yet. Not once have we been near starving, and we have a good catch of pelts. We will make the rounds of our traps once more, spend the night in the hut near Tête de Boeuf, and start from there.”

The morning was fine and the sun already high, when the boys left the overnight shelter in the rolling hills below Buffalo Head. Neil went ahead to break trail. The two dogs, fresh and eager, pulled willingly. The sled was well loaded with a good store of skins: rabbit, squirrel, raccoon, red fox, and mink, a few otter and beaver, two wildcats, three wolves, a couple of marten, the elk hide, and a fine and valuable silver fox pelt.

The weather was springlike, too springlike for good traveling. The soft, sticky snow clung in sodden masses to the snowshoes, making them heavy and unwieldy. It formed wet balls on the dogs’ feet. Moccasins, warm and comfortable in colder weather, became soaked. The sun glare, reflected from the white expanse, was almost unbearable. Before noon, Walter’s eyes, squinted and screwed nearly shut to keep out the excess of light, were smarting painfully. Neil’s were even worse. He was so snow blind that he dropped behind, following his comrades by hearing instead of by sight. Louis, less troubled by the glare, had to do all the trail breaking.

They had hoped to reach the Red River by night, but the usual four miles an hour were impossible in the sodden, soft snow. Having made a later start than they intended, they permitted themselves no stop at noon. At sundown they made a perilous crossing of a prairie stream on water-covered, spongy ice, that threatened at every step to go down under them, and reached a clump of willows.

“We stop here and have a cup of tea and dry our moccasins,” Louis announced.

The others, tired, hungry, with chilled feet, aching legs, and smarting, swollen eyes, were only too glad of a halt. A fire was soon burning and the kettle steaming over it. The boys, seated on bales of furs, took off their moccasins and held their feet to the blaze. The tired dogs lay in the snow near by, tongues hanging out and eager eyes watching the supper preparations.

The meal was a scanty one. For the boys there was tea and a very small chunk of pemmican, saved for the return trip. One little fish each remained for the dogs. Yet everyone felt better for the food, so much better that Louis proposed going on.

“It will be easier by night,” he asserted. “The snow will freeze over the top.”

“I’m for keeping on,” Neil agreed, “if I can see to find the way.” His reddened eyelids were swollen almost shut. “How about you, Walter?”

When Walter had sunk down on the furs before the fire, he had not dreamed of traveling farther that day. If the question had been put to him then he would have answered no. But now that his feet were warm and he was fortified with food and hot tea, going on did not seem so impossible. He felt strangely anxious to reach Pembina. His thoughts, ever since morning, had been turning to the Periers. It was more than two months since he had heard from them. How had things been going with them? Surely there were letters awaiting him at the settlement. “Let’s go on by all means,” he replied to Neil’s question, “as far as we can. It won’t be so bad when the snow hardens and there isn’t any sun glare.”

Louis nodded. “We will rest till darkness comes. The wind has changed. It will soon be much colder, I think.”

There was no doubt that the weather was turning colder. Thawing had ceased with the setting of the sun, and the wind came from the northwest. By the time the journey was resumed, a crust had formed on the snow. The going was much easier, but the dogs were tired and footsore. Gray Wolf showed strong disinclination to pull. Askimé, however, did his best, and dragged his reluctant comrade along. The average half-breed driver would have lashed and beaten the weary beasts, but Louis used the whip sparingly. He pulled with them or encouraged them by running ahead.

In spite of weariness the travelers made good progress. After midnight they paused in a willow clump for another cup of hot tea, and then went on again. The night had turned bitterly cold, and there was no sheltered spot nearer than the banks of the Red River. The river was now only a few miles away, so they forced themselves and the reluctant dogs forward. There was no lack of light, for the moon was at the full in a clear sky. The surface of the snow was frozen so hard that no obscuring drift was carried before the wind. The waves of the prairie were motionless. The three boys and two dogs might have been at the north pole so alone were they. Except for their own voices and the slight noises of sled and snowshoes, as they sped forward over the crust, there was not a sound of living creature in a world of star-strewn sky and endless snow.

A brisk pace was necessary for warmth, and, in spite of their weariness, they kept it up. Reaching the woods bordering the river, they made their way among scattering, bare-limbed trees, creaking and clashing in the wind. In search of a sheltered camping ground, they descended a stretch of open slope to an almost level terrace about a third of the way down to the stream. And there they came upon the trail of human beings.

Stooping to examine the tracks, Louis gave a low whistle of amazement. “Ma foi, but this is strange! Those men had no snowshoes. Why should anyone travel without them at this time of year?”

“Do you see any sled marks?” queried Neil. His own eyes were hardly in condition to distinguish faint traces by moonlight.

“I find none. Even on the crust a tabagane would leave some marks. Those men without snowshoes broke through the crust.”

“Perhaps it is nothing but an animal trail,” Walter suggested.

“No, no. Men without snowshoes came this way.” Louis followed the tracks a little distance, then returned to his companions and the dogs, who had stopped for a rest. “There were three people,” he said positively, “two men; or a man and a boy, – and a woman.”

“How can you tell it was a woman?” demanded Neil sceptically.

“Where she broke through into soft snow there are the marks of her skirt.”

“Maybe it was a man wrapped in a blanket. They were probably Indians,” the Scotch boy suggested.

Louis shook his head. “Why should Indians travel without snowshoes?”

“Well, it’s no affair of ours how they traveled or why. What we want is a camping place. The wind strikes us here.”

“Yes,” Louis agreed, “we will go on and look for a better place.”

Along the terrace the dogs needed no guidance. Nose lowered, Askimé followed the human tracks. Where the terrace dipped down a little, the husky paused, raised his head, and howled. Louis ran forward and almost stumbled over something lying in the snow in the shadow of the slope. He uttered a sharp exclamation.

“What’s the matter?” called Neil.

“Have you found a good place?” asked Walter.

“I have found a man,” came the surprising reply.

“A man? Frozen?”

Neil hurried to join Louis, who was on his knees trying to unroll the blanket that wrapped the motionless form lying in the snow. Neil stooped to help.

“His heart beats. He still breathes,” Louis exclaimed. “But he is cold, cold as ice. Make a fire, you and Walter. I will rub him and try to keep the life in.”

Neil snatched the ax from the sled. Walter kicked off his snowshoes and set to work digging and scraping away the snow. As soon as he had kindled some fine shavings and added larger wood to make a good blaze, he helped Louis to carry the unconscious man nearer the fire. As they laid him down where the firelight shone on his face, Walter gave a cry of surprise and horror.

“Monsieur Perier! It is Monsieur Perier, Louis!”

He recalled Louis’ certainty that the tracks were those of a man, a boy, and a woman. “Where are the others?” he cried. “Where are Elise and Max?”

Without waiting for an answer, he sprang up and began to search. In a hollow in the snow in the lee of a leafless bush, completely hidden in deep shadow, he found another huddled heap wrapped in blankets; Elise and Max clasped in each other’s arms. Between them and the place where their father had lain were the ashes of a dead fire.

XXVI
ELISE’S STORY

Both children were alive. When Walter and Neil tried to separate them, they aroused Max. The little fellow was stupid with cold and heavy sleep, but seemed otherwise to be all right. Walter carried Elise nearer, but not too near, to the fire. Kneeling beside her, he rubbed her ice-cold feet, legs, and arms to restore circulation. The rubbing brought her back to consciousness, dazed and wondering, to find her big brother – as she called Walter – bending over her. As soon as the daze of her first awakening passed, she asked for her father. Assuring her that Louis was looking after him, Walter made her stay near the fire and drink some of the strong, scalding tea.

Restoring Mr. Perier to consciousness was more difficult. Louis’ unceasing efforts aroused him at last, but his mind seemed confused and bewildered. He struggled with Louis as if he thought the boy was trying to do him some injury. He stared blankly at Walter and did not appear to recognize him.

Throwing off the blanket Walter had wrapped around her, Elise went to her father and put her arms about his neck. “Father, Father, it is all right,” she cried. “Walter found us, and we are all safe.”

The wild look left Mr. Perier’s eyes and he ceased struggling. When Walter brought him a cup of strong tea, he drank it obediently. The hot drink seemed to clear his brain. After more rubbing, he was able to sit up, nearer the fire. Elise and Max wrapped him in most of the blankets. Attracted by the heat, the tired dogs snuggled close to the children and added their animal warmth.

Louis was anxious to find a less exposed spot in which to spend the night. “Stay here and keep the fire going,” he ordered his comrades. “I will find a better camping place.”

In a few minutes he was back with word that he had found a much better camping ground, a dry gully protected from the bitter wind. “You and I, Neil,” he said, “will go over there and prepare a place, while Walter keeps the fire burning here. Then we will come back and move our camp.”

Elise and Max were now wide awake and ready to talk, but Mr. Perier seemed inert and drowsy. After Walter had cut more wood and fed the fire, he crouched at Elise’s side and began to question her.

“How did you come to be here all alone?” he asked. “Why did you leave Fort Douglas?”

“We were on the way to Pembina,” she replied. “A man with a sled was taking us. It was warm when we started. Max and I rode on the sled, but we didn’t like riding because the man abused the dogs and we were sorry for them. Father tried to make him stop being so cruel, but he just laughed. When Father tried to reason with him, the man grew so angry and ugly that Father didn’t dare say anything more. We stopped once and had pemmican and tea, then we came on again. It was hard for Father to keep up, he had no snowshoes. He dropped behind. At sunset we stopped again, and the man made a fire. Father caught up with us, and we had some more tea.

“After that it turned cold. Max and I were very cold riding on the sled. We wanted to walk a while to warm up, but the man wouldn’t let us. He said we were too slow. We got so cold we were afraid we should freeze, and Father told our guide we must stop and get warm. Father had promised him his watch – ”

“His watch?” interrupted Walter.

“Yes. We have very little money left, and the man didn’t want money anyway. He said he would take us to Pembina for the watch.”

Walter grunted wrathfully, and Elise went on. “When Father said we must stop and make a fire, we weren’t far from the woods. Our guide said we could go down to the river bank and camp, but that would delay us. It would take longer to reach Pembina, and he would have to have more pay. He wanted the chain as well as the watch. Father agreed and we came into the woods and stopped. Max and I ran around and tried to get warm. Our eyes hurt and Father was almost blind. The man made Father give him the watch and chain at once. He put them in the pouch where he carried his tobacco and flint and steel. Then he whipped the dogs and jumped on the sled, and they ran away and left us.”

“The miserable brute!” cried Walter.

“He ran away and left us,” Elise repeated, “without any food or snowshoes. Everything we owned, except the blankets Max and I had been wrapped in when we were riding, was on the sled. It was a cruel way to treat us.”

“Cruel? Why even the meanest Indian – ” Walter’s wrath choked him.

“He is an Indian. They call him a bois brulé, but he looks just like an Indian. No one but a savage could be so cruel.”

“He’s worse than a savage. He must be a fiend. Why did Kolbach let you come with such a fellow?”

“Monsieur Kolbach didn’t know we were coming,” Elise explained. “The Indian said he was a friend of Monsieur Kolbach’s brother.”

“Fritz? That’s not much of a recommendation.”

“Do you know Monsieur Fritz? Has he been at Pembina? I have never seen him.”

“I think I have seen him, and I have heard about him. He and his brother aren’t very friendly, are they?” Walter questioned. “I have been told that they weren’t.”

Elise shook her head. “I know nothing about that. Monsieur Kolbach has never said. He is not a man who talks much anyway. Monsieur Fritz has been away from Fort Douglas most of the winter. He has been trading with the Indians.”

A sudden thought struck Walter, an unpleasant thought that made him shudder. “What was that fellow’s name, the one who deserted you?” he demanded.

“He has an English name,” Elise replied. “I’m not sure I understood it right. Mauray or something like that.”

“Murray? Elise, he is the very man I wrote you about, the one who was steersman of our boat when we came from Fort York. It was the Black Murray himself, the fiend! If ever I – ”

The voice of little Max interrupted. “I’m cold,” he complained.

Walter had forgotten the fire. He sprang up to replenish it. He found Mr. Perier dozing, roused him, and warned him against dropping off to sleep. Then he heaped on fuel until the blaze was so hot the others were forced to move back from it. As for Walter himself, he was so boiling with anger against the inhuman Murray that he gave no heed to cold. He wielded the ax savagely, and sent the chips flying far and wide.

In a surprisingly short time Louis returned to guide the rest of the party to the camping place. Mr. Perier was unable to walk, so he was placed on the sled, warmly wrapped. The dogs protested piteously at being aroused and harnessed. Even Askimé refused to pull until Louis took hold also. Elise and Max bravely asserted that they were able to walk, and Walter knew it would be better for them to do so if they could. He gave his snowshoes to Elise, – she had learned during the winter to use snowshoes, – and helped Max when the little fellow broke through the crust.

The gully was only a short distance away. They soon reached the camping place, to find Neil tending a blazing fire. Between the fire and a steep, bare, clay slope that reflected the heat, beds were made with bales of pelts, blankets, and robes. The toboggan, turned on its side, furnished additional shelter. There the Periers could sleep safely and comfortably. The boys had no intention of sleeping at all. Their task was to keep the fire going until daylight, which was not far away.

There was a little tea left, but no food. At dawn Neil went down to the river, chopped a hole in the ice, and with a hook baited with a bit of rawhide, caught two small fish. The little fish made a scanty breakfast for Elise and Max. Mr. Perier and the boys refused to touch them. Their meal consisted of tea alone, and they used the last of that.

Both of Mr. Perier’s feet had been badly frozen and were swollen and very painful. He was placed on the sled again, and Elise and Max took turns riding with him. To make room for the passengers, part of the furs were taken off and made into packs, which the boys carried on their backs. Even then, the load on the sled was a heavy one for two tired, hungry dogs. One, and sometimes two, of the boys had to help pull.

By way of the gully they left the river bank and went up to the prairie. There they found and followed a well defined trail, the usual route between Pembina and Fort Douglas. More than one dog train had traveled that way since the last fall of snow. The morning was cold and the crust firm, but the party had to make the best possible speed before the sun softened the surface. With one or the other of the children walking, it was not possible to go very fast. Cold though the wind was, even the beaten track grew soft under the direct rays of the sun, as the day advanced.

With soaked moccasins, and red, swollen eyes, the tired, half-starved travelers reached Pembina some time after noon. Mr. Perier was the only one with dry feet. He was not suffering so much from snow blindness either as the others, for he had been able to keep his eyes covered. But his feet and right hand and arm were paining him severely.

The arrival caused much excitement in the little settlement, but the boys did not linger to explain how it happened that they returned from their hunting trip bringing three strangers. They went at once to Louis’ home. His mother received the Periers with almost as warm a welcome as she gave her own son. The little cabin would be crowded indeed, but that did not disturb her in the least. There was always room for travelers in distress, and Elise and Max, cold, weary, hungry, and motherless, appealed to her motherly heart.

Mrs. Brabant and her younger children were thin, much thinner than when Walter had seen them last. Food had been scarce in Pembina for weeks, but they did not hesitate to share what little they had with the newcomers. Kinder, more generous people never lived, thought the Swiss boy, as he remembered all they had done for him and saw how eager they were to share their last bite with his friends. He could never do enough to repay their kindness. That they neither expected nor wanted repayment, he knew well. Their hospitality was a matter of course with them.

XXVII
WHY THE PERIERS CAME TO PEMBINA

Before starting for the hills, Walter had written Elise that he expected to be back by the first of March. So when Mr. Perier decided to leave Fort Douglas, he felt very sure that he would find his apprentice at Pembina. “I was anxious to get away,” he said when he told his story. “The weather was mild and favorable for the journey, and – well, I had other reasons. At St. Boniface I learned of a man with a dog team who was coming this way.”

Walter interrupted to ask if the man was really Murray.

“Yes, that is his name,” Mr. Perier replied. “He said he knew you and your friend Louis Brabant. Murray had not intended to leave for another day or two. He was waiting to see Sergeant Kolbach’s brother, who had gone to Norway House.”

At first the half-breed had refused to take the Periers to Pembina. While he was arguing his case, Mr. Perier had taken out his watch and glanced at it; a nervous habit of his when worried or distressed. Murray pointed to the watch. He would go for that he said. As nothing else would satisfy him, Mr. Perier agreed. Murray furnished toboggan and dogs, and they started early the next morning.

Before they had been out an hour, the Swiss began to regret his bargain. Murray’s brutality and his insolent, overbearing manner filled the quiet, gentle-natured apothecary with apprehension. The trip proved far from pleasant, but, knowing that the wild bois brulés were apt to appear more savage than they really were, he did not think his children and himself in any real danger. What really happened Elise had already told. Before the journey was over, Murray demanded his pay. Mr. Perier had been forced to hand over his watch and chain. As soon as the coveted articles were in the half-breed’s possession, he had whipped up his dogs, jumped on the sled, and left the Periers to freeze or starve.

Mr. Perier knew that if they followed the river it would lead them to Pembina. They tried to keep going but they had no snowshoes and were continually breaking through the crust. All three were very cold and tired. When they came to a spot a little sheltered from the wind, they camped, intending to go on in the morning. With his pocket knife, the father hacked off a few dead branches. He kindled a fire, and Elise and Max lay down beside it, wrapped in one of the blankets. They insisted that their father should use the other.

“I didn’t intend to go to sleep,” he confessed. “I was utterly exhausted and had to rest a little. I lay down, meaning to get up in a few minutes and cut more wood. What happened was all my fault. I should have kept awake and moving.

“Even now I am at a loss to understand,” he concluded, “how Murray dared to desert us. To have taken us on, as he promised, would have delayed him but little. He must have known that, whether we ever reached here alive or not, he was responsible for us. He would be charged with the crime of deserting us and stealing our belongings. Surely the Company cannot overlook such a crime. He must suffer for it.”

Louis shrugged. “It is not at all certain that he will suffer for it, though Walter and I will do our best to see that he does. This is not le Murrai Noir’s first crime, and always, so far, he seems to have escaped punishment. He thinks he will always escape. He stole the Company’s property, he and Fritz Kolbach attacked and robbed one of the Company’s hunters, yet he has not been punished, it seems, for either of those crimes. He was bold to go to St. Boniface and stay there, after that last affair.”

“Perhaps he lay low and did not let the Company at Fort Douglas know he was there,” suggested Walter.

“Or he lied himself free of the charge,” Louis added, “with witnesses bribed to say he spoke the truth. But this last crime is more serious.” The boy rose from the hearth, where he had been sitting cross legged. There were not stools enough to go around. “I go now,” he announced, “to learn whether le Murrai really came to Pembina, and if he is still here.”

“I’ll go with you,” cried Walter springing up, tired though he was. “The sooner we lay charges against Murray the better. Already he has had time to take warning from our coming, and be gone.”

A little questioning of the people of Pembina brought the information that Murray had arrived at the settlement before daybreak, had rested a few hours, and had gone on, with a fresh team for which he had exchanged his exhausted dogs. His only answer to the question whither he was bound had been “Up river.”

At Fort Daer and Pembina House the boys learned that Murray had avoided the posts. The clerks in charge did not even know that the half-breed had been in the neighborhood until the lads brought the news. The man at the Company post listened gravely to the story, but was inclined to blame Mr. Perier for leaving Fort Douglas.

“Why didn’t the Swiss stay where he was?” he asked impatiently. “He was better off there than he will be here. What did he want to come to Pembina now for? He will only have to go back again with the rest of the colonists in a few weeks. It will soon be time to break ground and sow crops.”

To this Walter had no good answer, for he himself did not understand just why Mr. Perier had decided so suddenly to make the change. Not until night, after Madame Brabant and the girls were in bed in the main room and Walter lay beside his master on a skin cot in the lean-to, did the boy learn the real reason for the journey to Pembina.

“Sergeant Kolbach turned us out,” said Mr. Perier.

“What?” exclaimed Walter. “I thought he had been so kind to you.”

“He was until recently, but he and I had a disagreement. He asked me for Elise’s hand in marriage.”

“Why she is a mere child!” Walter was both surprised and distressed.

“So I told him. I said she was far too young to marry. He replied that she was old enough to cook his meals and keep his house, and that was what he wanted a wife for.”

Walter grunted angrily.

“It is true,” Mr. Perier went on, “that some of our girls not much older have married since coming to the Colony. You know the Company encouraged young women to come over because wives were needed in the settlement, especially by the DeMeurons. But Elise came to be with me, and I have other plans for her. She shall not marry Kolbach or any other, now or ten years from now, unless he is the right kind of a man and she wants him.”

“I hope she’ll never want a DeMeuron.” The thought of his little sister married to one of that wild crew horrified Walter.

“I hope not indeed,” agreed the father. “I would prefer one of our own people for her; when she is several years older of course.” He paused a moment then went on. “Elise never liked Kolbach. Even though he was kind to us and she felt she ought to be grateful, she disliked him and was a little afraid of him. I could see it. If I had dreamed that he had any such idea in his head, I would not have stayed in his house a day.”

“Does she know he wants to marry her?” Walter inquired.

“I think not. I told him I would not consent to his speaking to her. He declared he would do as he thought best about that, but he has had no chance. We left his house that very day.”

“Did he really turn you out?”

“It amounted to that. He was angry at my refusal to consider his suit. He said he was willing to wait a year, if, at Easter, Elise was formally betrothed to him. When I would consent to no betrothal, he said that we could not stay in his house longer unless she was promised to him. I have been working at the buffalo cloth mill, and have been paying him what I could for our lodging, and Elise has done all the housework. Yet he spoke as if we were beggars. I answered that we had no wish to remain in his house. We went to a neighbor, – Marianne Scheidecker she was before she married. I told her, as I told Elise, that Kolbach and I had quarreled. The next day I found Murray and hired him to bring us here.”

“Do you suppose Kolbach could have put him up to deserting you?” Walter questioned suspiciously.

“Oh no. I doubt if Kolbach knew we were going. The Sergeant would not do such a thing, however angry he might be. He is a rough, domineering man, but not bad at heart. No, no, he wouldn’t be capable of anything like that. In his way he is really fond of Elise. I think he would be as kind to her as he knows how to be, but he is not good enough for her, and she is far too young.”

“She certainly is,” Walter agreed emphatically.

It would be years yet before little Elise need think of such things, the boy decided. Then perhaps he would have something to say about the matter. The idea had never occurred to him before, but why should he not marry Elise himself some day? What other girl was there in the new land or the old to equal her? Of course it would be years from now, but in the meantime he must keep guard over her and see that no DeMeuron, or Scotchman, or French bois brulé tried to take her away. None of them should bother Elise if he could help it, and he thought he could. It was with a new and not unpleasing sense of responsibility that, the boy fell asleep that night.