The Wendigo

espective families with the best excuses the facts of their imaginations could suggest. Dr. Cathcart, among others, came back without a trophy; but he brought instead the memory of an experience

n for the simple reason (so he confided once to a fellow colleague) that he himself pla

s before, and had got caught in Rat Portage when the Canadian Pacific Railway was a-building; a man who, in addition to his unparalleled knowledge of wood-craft and bush-lore, could also sing the old voyageur songs and tell a capital hunting yarn into the bargain. He was deeply susceptible, moreover

out of respect for his old "hunting boss," Dr. Cathcart, whom of course he addressed after the fashion of the country as "Doc," and also because he understood that young Simpson was already a "bit of a parson." He had, however, one objection to Défago, and one only-which was, that the French Canadian sometimes exhibited what Hank described as "the output of a cursed and

r hunting trips in previous years, and who acted as cook. His duty was merely to stay in camp, catch fish, and prepare venison steaks and coffee at a few minutes' notice. He dressed in the worn-out clothes bequeathed to him by former patrons, and, except for his coarse black

thin' but a petered-out lie," that the Frenchman had finally subsided into a sulky silence which nothing seemed likely to break. Dr. Cathcart and his nephew were fairly done after an exhausting day. Punk was washing up the dishes, grunting to himself under the lean-to of branches, where he later also

suddenly with

he observed with energy, looking across at his employ

always a man of few words

se, now, you and I strike west, up Garden Lake way for a c

with

to Fifty Island Water, and take a good squint down that thar southern shore. The moose 'yarded' th

nothing by way of reply. He was still offen

r knowing. He looked over at his partner sharply. "Better take the little silk tent and stay away a couple o' nights," he concluded,

thing more than ordinary disapproval, and across his sensitive dark face there passed a curious expr

hcart made no immediate reply, although the look had interested him enough at the time for him to make a ment

odd thing was that instead of becoming explosive or angry ov

h in his tone; "not the reason you mean, anyway! Las' year it was the fires that kep' folks out, and thi

blaze. Dr. Cathcart again noticed the expression in the guide's face, and again he did not like it. But this time the nature of the look betra

son, too sleepy to notice this subtle by-play, moved off to bed with a prodigious yawn

h something less tha

some ole feery tale! That's all, ain't it, ole pard?" And he gave Dé

ed reverie, a reverie, however, that had not p

hat can skeer Joseph Défago, and don't you forget it!" And the natural energy with which

round. A sound close behind them in the darkness made all three start. It was old Punk, who had moved u

od on. "That was a mighty good feed you give us an hour or two back," he continued heartily, as though to set the man's thoughts on another scent, "and it ain't Christian to let you stand out there freezin' yer ole soul to hell while we're gettin' all good an' toasted!" Punk moved in and warm

l stage picture of Western melodrama: the fire lighting up their faces with patches of alternate red and black; Défago, in slouch hat and moccasins in the part of the "badlands" villain; Hank, open-faced and hatless, with that reckless fling of his shoulders, the honest and deceived hero; and old Punk, eavesdropping in the background, supplying the atmosphere of mystery. The doctor smiled as he noticed the details; but at the same time something deep within him-he hardly knew what

e swearing of "affection." The ridiculous oaths flew freely now that the cause of their obstruction was asleep. Presently he put his arm almost tenderly upon his comrade's shoulder, and they move

ad scared Défago about the country up Fifty Island Water way,-wondering, too, why Punk's presence had prevented the completion of what Ha

hs of the forest, with messages from distant ridges and from lakes just beginning to freeze, there lay already the faint, bleak odors of coming winter. White men, with their dull scent, might never have divined them; the fragrance of the wood fire would h

like the animals, he possessed other senses that darkness could not mute. He listened-then sniffed the air. Motionless as a hemlock stem he stood there. After five minutes again he lifted his head and sniffed, and yet once again. A tingling of the wonderful nerves that be

e direction in which he had stared, and it passed over the sleeping camp with a faint and sighing murmur through the tops of the big trees that was almost too delicate to be audible. With it, down the des

st about this time, though neither of them woke. Then the ghost of that unforgettably