The Gaunt Gray Wolf. Dillon Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ trails of the far interior wilderness; for Bob Gray, though but seventeen years of age, was already an experienced hunter and trapper.

      Suddenly, as he looked over the troubled sea, a small black object rising upon the crest of a wave far to leeward caught his eye. The small black object was Shad's canoe, and one with less keen vision might have passed it unnoticed, or seeing it have supposed it belated debris cast into the bay by the rivers, for the spring floods had hardly yet fully subsided. But Bob's training as a hunter taught him to take nothing for granted, and, watching intently for its reappearance from the trough of the sea, he presently discerned in the moonlight the faint glint of a paddle.

      "A canoe!" he exclaimed, as he sat down. "An' what, now, be an Injun doin' out there this time o' night? An' Injuns never crosses where this un be. I'll see, now, who it is, an' what he's up to, whatever," and, suiting the action to the resolve, he shifted his course to bear down upon the stranger.

      The hunter instinctively attributes importance to every sign, sound, or action that is not in harmony with the usual routine of his world, and by actual investigation he must needs satisfy himself of its meaning. This is not idle curiosity, but an instinct born of necessity and life-long training, and it was this instinct that prompted Ungava Bob's action in turning from his direct course homeward.

      "'Tis no Injun," he presently said, as with a nearer approach he observed the stroke.  "'Tis too long an' slow a paddle-stroke."

      This puzzled him, for he knew well every white settler of the Bay within a hundred miles of his home, and he knew, too, that only some extraordinary mission could have called one of them abroad so late in the evening, and particularly upon the course this canoe was taking at a season of the year when all were employed upon their fishing grounds.

      Gradually he drew down upon the canoe, until at length he could make out its lines, and observed that it was not a birch bark, the only sort of canoe in use in the Bay by either Indians or white natives. The canoeist, too, was a stranger in the region. Of this he had no doubt, though he could not see his features.

      He was well within hailing distance, though it was evident the stranger in the canoe had not yet discovered his approach, when a black cloud passed over the face of the moon, plunging the sea into darkness, and when the moon again lighted the waters canoe and canoeist had vanished as by magic.

      Like a flash, realising what had happened, Bob seized a coil of rope, made one end fast to the stern of his boat, grasped the coil in his right hand, and, tense and expectant, scanned the sea for the reappearance of the unfortunate stranger.

      Presently he discovered the submerged canoe directly ahead, and an instant later saw Shad rise to the surface, strike out for it, and catch and cling to the gunwale.

      Bob poised himself for the effort, and as he scudded past, measuring the distance to a nicety, deftly cast the line directly across the canoe and within the reach of Shad's hand, shouting as he did so:

      "Make un fast!"

      Without looking for the result, he sprang forward, lowered sail, shipped the oars, pulled the boat about, and Shad, who had caught the rope, had scarcely time to thrust it under a thwart and secure it before Bob, drawing alongside, caught him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him aboard the boat. Seizing the oars again, and pulling safely free from danger of collision with the canoe, Bob hoisted sail, brought the boat before the wind, and resuming his seat astern had his first good look at his thus suddenly acquired passenger.

      Shad, amidships, was engaged in drawing off his outer flannel shirt, from which he coolly proceeded to wring, as thoroughly as possible, the excess water, before donning it again.

      Not a word had passed between them, and neither spoke until Shad had readjusted his shirt, when, by way of opening conversation, Bob remarked:

      "You'm wet, sir."

      "Naturally," admitted Shad. "I've been in the Bay, and the bay water is surprisingly wet."

      "Aye," agreed Bob, "'tis that."

      "And surprisingly cold."

      "Aye, 'tis wonderful cold."

      "And I'm profoundly grateful to you for pulling me out of it."

      "'Twere fine I comes up before your canoe founders, or I'm thinkin' you'd be handy t' drownded by now."

      "A sombre thought, but I guess you're right. A fellow couldn't swim far or stick it out long in there," said Shad, waving his arm toward the dark waters. "I'm sure I owe my life to you. It was lucky for me you saw me."

      "'Tweren't luck, sir; 'twere Providence. 'Twere th' Lord's way o' takin' care o' you."

      "Well, it was a pretty good way, anyhow. But where did you drop from? I didn't see you till you threw me that line a few minutes ago."

      "I were passin' t' wind'ard, sir, when I sights you, an' not knowin' who 'twere, I sails close in till I makes you out as a stranger, an' then you goes down an' I picks you up."

      "That sounds very simple, but it was a good stunt, just the same, to get me the line and come around in this chop the way you did, and then haul me aboard before I knew what you were about–you kept your head beautifully, and knew what to do–and you only a kid, too!" added Shad, in surprise, as the moonlight fell full on Bob's face.

      "A–kid?" asked Bob, not quite certain what "kid" might be.

      "Yes–just a youngster–a boy."

      "I'm seventeen," Bob asserted, in a tone which resented the imputation of extreme youth. "You don't look much older'n that yourself."

      "But I am–much older–I'm eighteen," said Shad, grinning.   "My name's Trowbridge–Shad Trowbridge, from Boston. What is your name? Let's get acquainted," and Shad extended his hand.

      "I'm Bob Gray, o' Wolf Bight," said Bob, taking Shad's hand.

      "Not Ungava Bob?" exclaimed Shad.

      "Aye, they calls me Ungava Bob here-abouts sometimes."

      "Why, I was on my way to Wolf Bight to see you!"

      "T' see me, sir?"

      "Yes, I came up from Fort Pelican to Porcupine Cove with two trappers named Blake and Matheson, and they told me about you. They said I might induce you to take a trip with me."

      "A trip with you, sir?"

      "Yes. I want to take a little canoe and fishing trip into the country, and Blake and Matheson suggested that you might have two or three weeks to spare and could go along with me. I'll pay you well for your services. What do you think of it?"

      "I'm–not just knowin'," Bob hesitated. "I leaves for my trappin' grounds th' first o' August t' be gone th' winter, an'–I'm thinkin' I wants t' stay home till I goes–an' my folks'll be wantin' me home."

      "Well, let's not decide now. We'll talk it over to-morrow."

      "You'm cold," said Bob, after a moment's silence, reaching into a locker under his seat and bringing out a moleskin adicky. "Put un on. She's fine and warm."

      "Thank you. I'm thoroughly chilled," Shad admitted, gratefully accepting the adicky and drawing it on over his wet clothing.

      "Pull th' hood up," suggested Bob. "'Twill help warm you."

      "There, that's better; I'll СКАЧАТЬ