Читать бесплатно онлайн книгу автора  A Boy of the Dominion: A Tale of Canadian Immigration

Frederick Brereton

Brereton F. S. Frederick Sadleir
A Boy of the Dominion: A Tale of Canadian Immigration

CHAPTER I
Finding a Profession

It was just past ten o'clock on a chilly morning in the early spring when Joe Bradley emerged from the shop door of the little house which had been his father's, and stepped, as it were, abruptly into life. The banging of the door and the turning of the key were a species of signal to him, as if to warn him that the past, however fair or foul it may have been, was done with, and that the future alone stared him in the face.

"There it is," he said, somewhat sadly, handing the key to a man who accompanied him. "You've paid me the money, and have arranged about your lease. The business is yours."

"And you can wish me success," came the answer. "Hope I'll do better than your father."

"I hope it, with all my heart," said Joe, his lip a little tremulous. "Goodbye! Good luck!"

He could hardly trust himself to say even that; for Joe was but seventeen years of age, and changes are apt to prove trying to one so youthful. Moreover, there are few, fortunately, who at the age of seventeen find themselves face to face with the future all alone.

Joe pulled the collar of his overcoat up over his ears, for the wind was keen and cutting, and thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets. For a little while he watched the retreating figure of the man to whom he had sold his father's business, and then glanced aimlessly up and down the single street of which this little northern town boasted. Let us declare at once that hesitation was not a feature of Joe's character; but there was an excuse for such a display on this cold morning. For, as we have just said, when he stepped out of his shop he, as it were, stepped into this big world; he cut himself adrift from the past and all its pleasant memories, and faced the wide future.

"What to do, that's the knotty question? Can't stay here, that's quite certain. Then where do I go? It's a corker!"

If one puts oneself in the place of Joe Bradley for a few moments, thoroughly understanding his position, it will be admitted that there was good cause for hesitation, and that a dilemma such as he found himself in would puzzle anyone, and even one gifted with greater age and discretion. For beyond the fair education which he had contrived to pick up, and some knowledge of mechanics and cycle fitting, Joe could boast of no special training; in any case, he knew of nothing in this little northern town which could give him employment.

"I've simply got to move away – only where, that's the question," he repeated to himself for perhaps the fiftieth time that day. "I've sixty pounds in my pocket. That's my capital. If I do nothing I live on that money, and the day draws nearer and nearer when I must work or starve; so work is the thing I want. Exactly so – work. What work? Where?"

He pursed his lips up and whistled – a little habit of his – then he looked up and down the street again, his brows furrowed, evidently thinking deeply. And while he stands there before the cycle shop which had been in his father's possession, we may as well take advantage of his indecision to take a careful look at Joe.

Seventeen he called himself, and the face was that of a lad of about that age, though perhaps, if anything, just a trifle too serious for one so young. But it was unlined, save for the wrinkles which were now upon his brow while he was thinking. It was a frank, open face, and when one caught him smiling, which in other days was often enough, there was something particularly taking about Joe Bradley. Indeed, he was a gay, light-hearted fellow, just the one, in fact, who, finding his fortunes suddenly darkened, might very likely mope and pine and suffer from a severe attack of the blues. But Joe had too much character for that. The shrill whistle he had given broke into a jaunty tune, while he plunged his hands even deeper into his pockets. No, there was no sign of the blues about him, but merely a show of anxiety clearly reflected on a face which bade fair, one of these days, to be handsome. There was grit, too, about Joe's features; there was budding firmness about the jaw and lips, while the eyes belonged to one who could look friend or foe in the face without flinching. Otherwise he was rather tall for his age, squarely built, and decidedly active.

"Hallo!" called someone to him, and swinging round Joe found himself facing the doctor's assistant.

"Hallo!" he responded, smiling.

"Where away?" came the question, while the doctor arrested his bicycle and balanced it with one foot on either side.

"That's just it," said Joe, looking serious. "I was just asking myself the same thing. It's a conundrum."

"A conundrum, eh? Don't understand, Joe."

"Then it's like this," explained our young friend, while the doctor regarded him closely. "I've just handed over the key of the shop to Mr. Perkins. He's paid me sixty pounds for the business as a going concern. So I'm out of work and homeless. I'm just wondering what to do and where to go. I've sent my box to the station, but exactly in which direction I shall travel is a toss up."

"In fact, you've the world before you, and find it hard to say which part shall be honoured with your presence," smiled the doctor. "Well, Joe, one thing's certain – this place is no good to you. You'd collect dust here, and that's no good to anyone. Make for London, or – George! – why shouldn't you – why not emigrate?"

"Emigrate?"

"Yes; go to Canada or Australia. Strike out a line for yourself. There are thousands who are doing it – thousands who haven't got so much as sixty shillings in their pockets. Think it over."

"I will," declared Joe, his eyes shining.

"Then come and see me to-night and we'll have a talk. Must move along now; I've a patient to visit."

The doctor was off within a few seconds, leaving Joe still standing outside the shop so recently vacated, still with his ears well within his collar and his hands deep in his pockets. But there was a new expression on his face, while the eyes were distinctly brighter. For here was a suggestion; here was a way out of the dilemma which for the past three weeks had faced him. Till then he had hardly known the meaning of the word trouble. He had been content to work in the cycle shop with his father. But the latter's sudden death, the necessity to sell the business and move away had thrown our young friend into a whirl that was bewildering. And this suggestion that he should emigrate was the first solid one that had been made to him.

"Why not?" he asked himself. "Others have done so. Of course I could, if I liked, take the other course Father points out to me. Supposing I were to open the letter?"

He withdrew one hand from his trouser pocket and plunged it into an inner one. When he brought it into the light again there was a long sealed envelope between his fingers. Joe turned it round and read some writing on it carefully.

"To my son, Joe Bradley," he read. "The contents of this letter will explain to you many things which I have never cared to refer to. But I beg of you never to open it till you are in direst need, or have earned the right to do so. Make your way in the world; gather riches. Then you can open and read."

"Make your way in the world and then open. I will," declared Joe aloud, forgetful of his surroundings.

"Will what? Eh? You ain't ill, Joe?" asked a man who had approached from between the houses. In fact, he had suddenly emerged from an alleyway that cut in between the shop which Joe had so recently vacated and the next one, belonging to the nearest grocer. Swinging round, our young friend found himself face to face with the local constable. A huge, hairy face was grinning at him from beneath an absurdly small helmet.

"Will what?" demanded the constable, his smile broadening till he showed an uneven array of teeth, from the centre of the upper row of which one was missing. Joe's eyes were attracted by the gap, and in a flash he remembered that Constable Near had come by the injury during a contest with some poachers. "Will what?" demanded the hairy fellow again. "It's a queer thing to hear a young fellow saying as you spring out upon him. There was you, Mister Joe, standing all alone, wool-gathering I should reckon, and holding out a paper before you. 'I will!' you cries, as if you was gettin' married. What's it all about?"

Joe told him crisply. "I'm wondering what on earth to do with myself," he said. "Doctor Tanner suggests emigrating."

"And why not?" exclaimed the constable. "Why not, me lad? If I was young again, same as you, I'd go. Don't you make no error, I'd hook it termorrer. And I'll tell yer fer why – this country's too full of people. Out there, in Canidy, there's room for me and you, and thousands like us. There's free grants of land to be had; there's labour fer all, and good wages."

"And no failures?" asked Joe shrewdly.

"In course there's failures. In course there's people too tired to work when they do get out, and there's others taken in and robbed by those who should know better; but there's success fer most, Mister Joe. There's better than that; there's indipendence – indipendence, me lad! For two twos I'd sell up and be going. Now look you here, come along to the station, where I'll show you a few figures."

Here was a treasure; Joe snatched at the opportunity, and accompanied his old friend the constable to his own cosy little cottage. Nor was he there for long before he learned that it was possible to obtain an assisted passage to Canada, with the definite promise of work on landing. Moreover, with the money he had he could easily pay his way and still have enough to make him independent when he arrived.

"You jest think it all over," said Constable Near, when he had shown Joe various papers. "You're young enough, and supposing you don't like Canada, why, you could go along on to Australia. But like it you will; I've heard tell of it often."

"Then I'll go into the matter," Joe answered. "If I want more particulars I'll call in again. Thanks, constable; I already feel that I have fewer difficulties."

It was with a lighter and a brisker step that he emerged into the street again. Cramming his hat down on his head, Joe tucked his collar about his ears again – for it was very cold outside – and went striding off towards the country.

"Can't think in this town," he told himself. "I always get back to the shop, as it were, thinking of Father and of his letter. That letter's a temptation to me. I won't open it; I swear I'll make my way before I venture to break the seals. Now about Canada – or shall it be Australia?"

It was a sensible idea of Joe's to clear out of the town and all its old associations. For, recollect, he was young, and almost up till that moment had had a father to refer to in all his youthful difficulties. But Mr. Bradley, never a very robust man, had died somewhat suddenly some three weeks earlier, and Joe was now an orphan. As to his parentage, he was even then somewhat vague. His mother he had never known. She was not even a memory to him, having died shortly after his birth. Of his father he knew little more. Obviously he was one who had been born to better things than a cycle shop. There were many in this northern town who wagged their heads when speaking of Mr. Bradley, and the doctor, a shrewd judge of character and of men, had long ago decided the point; only, being a discreet fellow, had mentioned it to none other than his wife.

"There's something about that Mr. Bradley that bothers me, my dear," he had said. "He's a gentleman through and through, while his personal appearance, his reserve, and his manners generally proclaim that he has seen better days. He never grumbles; but I know there is a history behind his reserve. The boy takes after him, too; he keeps much to himself, and is obviously superior to boys of a similar station."

That was the general opinion of the keeper of the cycle shop, and seeing that Mr. Bradley gave himself no airs, and was always pleasant to all and sundry, he was, in his quiet, retiring way, a popular character in the town. His death had been followed by the usual gossip. Then a buyer for the business had speedily turned up, and with his help and that of a local solicitor Joe had had no difficulty in settling all his affairs and in paying all debts. As we have said, here he was with sixty pounds in his pocket, good health, good temper, and good appearance, and the world before him. But he had no fixed purpose in life. He was like the man who enters upon business without a plan of action; like the general without a settled scheme of campaign, and likely enough to expend his whole strength in useless and profitless skirmishes. Joe, without a plan to work with, was certain to see his little fortune slip from between his fingers before he found remunerative work.

"Must get out of the place and think," he told himself. "Here's for a sharp walk."

Head buried in his collar still, and hands deep in his pockets, he went striding away into the country, nodding to those acquaintances who gave him good day. It was a little later when he heard in the far distance the echo of a motor horn.

"Big car," he told himself, for his father had dabbled in motor-car repairs, and Joe had learned more than a smattering of those useful and wonderful machines. "Coming along fast, too. Fellow's in a hurry. They'd better pull up soon, for the corner yonder is a sharp one, and there are cattle on the road."

His eyes followed the long greasy ribbon ahead, winding in between the hedges till it was cut off at an abrupt angle where the road doubled almost upon itself. The corner was, in fact, one similar to those to be found so often in England, perhaps a relic of the early days when roads were first constructed, and some selfish owner declined to allow their passage, save and except they passed round the confines of his property. Whatever the reason, here was a greasy strip of macadam doubling upon itself, with a herd of cattle ambling aimlessly along it. Boom! The horn sounded again, while the whirr of machinery died down a trifle.

"Driver has seen the triangle marking a dangerous corner and is slowing," Joe told himself. "He'll have a surprise when he gets round; it'll be a case of brakes hard on."

Boom! Boom! The car was up to the corner. It came shooting round, not necessarily at too fast a pace; for your modern, low-hung car can legitimately attack curves at a speed of twenty or more miles an hour. But the careful driver allows for the unexpected. Wagons are to be discovered often enough at a corner, and invariably on the wrong side of the road. Pedestrians, gifted with wonderfully thick heads and, one suspects, with a degree often enough of stupid obstinacy, insist on adhering to the centre of the road. Yes, there are often unexpected obstacles, and here there were cattle. Round the car came – a big red one – its glass wind shield flashing in the light. Burr! Screech! The brakes went on instantly, and the scream of metal came to Joe's ear.

"Old car," he told himself again, with the air of one who has had experience. "New cars don't make a sound with their brakes. My! He's put 'em on hard; he'll skid if he isn't careful."

He just had time to observe the fact that there was a single individual in the car, seated in the driving seat, and then what any experienced motorist might anticipate happened. The car skidded; its nose shot to one side, and Joe got a glimpse of it broadside. Then it swung round again, slued across to the side of the road, turned completely till its back passed before his eyes and was again replaced by the front. Whereupon, with irresistible impulse behind it, it charged the bank, ran up it and turned over with a thud, coming to a stop within ten feet of the nearest beast, with its four wheels still spinning. Joe jammed his hat firmly on to his head and raced towards the scene of the accident.

"Chap killed, I expect," he said. "Anyway, he's under the car. I saw it come down over him; beastly place that corner! Besides, the fellow was going too fast. His own fault; inexperienced, perhaps."

It took him a matter of three minutes to reach the scene of the upset, when he found the drover gazing at the upturned car as if spellbound, his mouth wide open, his small store of intelligence utterly gone.

"Drive the cattle into that field and then give me a hand," cried Joe, seeing that he must give a lead. "Quick with it! The driver is under the car, and we must get him out. Don't stand gaping, man! Bustle! Bustle!"

He pointed to a gate near at hand giving entrance to a grass field, and ran on to the car. The wheels were still spinning, at least those in front were, while the back ones had come to a rest. A man's cloth cap was lying just outside the car, while the lifting trap, which often enough is fitted to the floor of the back part of cars, had swung downward. Joe leaned over, thrust his head through the opening, and peered beneath the car. There was a man's arm just beneath him, and farther along he could see the rest of the unfortunate fellow's body.

"Hallo!" he called. "Hurt?"

A groan answered him. He heard the late driver of the car gasping, then he was answered in a weak voice, the words interrupted by gasps.

"Wind knocked clean out of me," he heard. "Can't move; I'm pinned down by the top of the front seat. Get the car off me."

Joe moved rapidly; slowness was not one of his failings. He vaulted to the other side of the car and peered beneath it; then he lifted his head and gazed around.

"Hallo!" he called again, going to the opening he had used before. "Where's the jack? Can I get at it?"

"Back of the car," came the gasping answer. "Don't be long. I can scarcely breathe; the whole weight of the thing seems to be on my chest."

Joe raced to the back of the upturned car, wrenched at the brass handle which operated the lock of the cupboard usually to be found there, and, tearing the door open, discovered a jumbled mass of rags, spare motor parts, an inflator pump, and a lifting jack. He whipped the latter out in the space of a few seconds, and darting round to the side of the car, looked shrewdly at it. Then, careless of the damage he might do to the coachwork, he placed the jack beneath the lowest edge, pushed it into position and rapidly worked the lever which operated it. Slowly he managed to raise the side of the car a matter of some three inches.

"How's that?" he called.

"Better," came the answer, in what seemed to be a tone of relief. "There's not so much pressure on me now. But I'm pinned fast; I think my trousers are under the other side. What'll you do?"

"Leave it to me," called Joe. "I'll not go away till you are released. Still the car is a heavy one, and there are only two of us here. I've told the drover to put his cattle into the field near by and then come and help. Stay still, or you may jerk that jack out of place. I'll get hold of the drover, and we'll see what can be done."

"Be he killed, maister?" he heard, as he lifted his head. "He were coming that tremendous fast, that I knew he'd smash. I hollered; but it warn't no sort o' good. He just come round like a rocket."

"He's alive, but pinned down by the car," Joe explained. "We must have something to use as a lever. Look for a strong rail."

They went together along the hedge seeking for something to suit their purpose, and presently came upon two lengths of timber beside a stack of hay. Joe led the way back to the car, running as fast as he could.

"Now, we want something to use as a point for our levers," he said. "A pile of bricks would be best, but there are none hereabouts."

"How'll stones do?" asked the countryman, his mouth still agape. "There be plenty jest here."

Close to the gate there were quite a number of squared blocks which had probably at one time been built as a support for the gate post. Joe seized upon one, while the lusty drover brought a couple.

"Now, let's consider the matter," said Joe. "With these long poles we shall be able to lever the car up; but that isn't enough. We want to turn her clean over. We want a rope."

The driver had that, for a wonder. "I be one of those careful sort," he explained, with a giggle. "Most times there ain't no need fer a rope. But still I carries one, 'cos you never do know, now do yer? I carries one in case there's a fretful beast. And here it is."

Joe already had his plans made. There was a tree on the opposite side of the road, within five yards of the upturned car. He took the rope and made it fast to the far edge of the car. Then he carried the other end to the tree, passed a loop round it, and beckoned to the countryman.

"Hold on," he said. "As I lever the car up, take in the slack and hold fast. Mind you don't bungle, or that poor chap may be killed."

A minute later he had his long lever in position, with the end well beneath the edge of the car, and a pile of stones some fifteen inches from the point of leverage. With such a pole as he had – for it was fourteen feet long, perhaps – he had now tremendous power, and firm pressure at the end first caused the pole to bend, and then lifted the car with ease.

"Hold on!" he shouted, and, obedient to the word, the drover hauled in the slack of his rope. "Again! Once more! Now stand fast; that's enough for the moment."

By dint of careful effort Joe had now raised the edge of the car a matter of two feet, and having built his stone fulcrum still higher, he soon had the space beneath even greater. Waiting to see that the drover had firm hold of his rope, he then dropped his lever, and, stepping under the car, dragged the imprisoned driver out.

"Much damage?" he asked.

"Shaken, that's all. Nothing broken, I believe. I've been feeling myself all over. Arms all right, you see; legs ditto. Chest, er – yes. No ribs broken, I imagine, though I feel as if I had been under a steam roller. You're a fine fellow; I owe you a heap."

"Then you rest there for a little," said Joe, dragging him to the hedge, and well out of harm's way. "We'll turn the car right side up if we're able."

It was fortunate that at that moment two men came along the road in a trap. Dismounting, they assisted in the work, and very soon the car was righted, coming down on to her four wheels with a bump which might have been expected to shake the engine out of her. But no harm was done; beyond badly-bent mud guards, there seemed to be no damage. Even the steering gear was unharmed. Joe busied himself with the engine, threw the gear lever into neutral, and soon had the motor running.

"I'll take you along to the doctor," he said, going to the damaged stranger. "Like to come?"

"You can drive? Got a licence?" came the questions – and then, as Joe nodded – "Right! Here's something for the men who helped; please thank them for me."

Two minutes later Joe was driving the car back into the town he had so recently left. His first day's battle with the world had resulted in an adventure.

CHAPTER II
An Ocean Voyage

"Not a single bone broken, I assure you," declared Dr. Tanner, when he had thoroughly examined the stranger, to whose help Joe had so opportunely come. "Bruises, of course; plenty of them. There's a swelling here on the back of your head almost as big as a turnip. You'd better rest quietly for the night."

"But – but I have business to attend to," declared the stranger, who we will at once introduce by his correct name of Hubbard. "I'm due in Manchester to-morrow, then in Birmingham, and later in Coventry. I can't sit down and rest."

"You must, or take the consequences," answered Dr. Tanner, smiling. "Come and have some tea. Joe, you join us; I've that yarn to have with you about Canada. Now, Mr. Hubbard, what do you advise a young fellow like this to do? He's not on his beam ends; far from it. He has a little capital; but he's adrift as it were. Has no occupation, and no means at present of earning a living."

"Then I'll offer him work at once, work to last a week," declared Mr. Hubbard. "Only a week, though, mind that, my young friend and rescuer. I'm no great hand at driving a car, and after this accident I feel that my nerve is shaken. Come along and drive the car. You managed beautifully this afternoon. Come as a friend; I'll pay all expenses, and give you three pounds into the bargain."

"Done, sir!" It was characteristic of Joe that he accepted the post at once. In fact, he leaped at it; for it was exactly to his liking.

"But don't forget it's not a permanency, Joe," sang out the doctor, lifting a warning finger and shaking it at him. "Permanent jobs are the only posts for young fellows. They learn then to be useful, to manage things. Temporary jobs lead to unsettlement. Besides, you know the old adage, "a rolling stone gathers no moss". Moss is wealth and position, all that makes for happiness, and you want to gather it with both hands. Eh, Mr. Hubbard?"

"Spoken like a wise counsellor," came the laughing rejoinder. "But you began to speak of our young friend."

"Well, there he is," said the doctor, pausing in the act of pouring out a cup of tea, and pointing to Joe with the spout of the teapot, "there he is, employed at this moment as chauffeur to yourself, but likely to be without a job in the course of a week. What are his prospects in this country? Fair, we will say; for he is one of the steady lads. What are his prospects in Canada or Australia?"

"Depends; he's a worker, you say?"

Joe flushed as he listened to this conversation that reflected on himself, then he laughed good-humouredly.

"A worker, yes; steady, certainly," replied the doctor.

"Then Canada will brighten his prospects. I know the country; I'm doing business for a firm out there, and so can speak with some knowledge. Certainly Canada will improve his prospects. He's got capital?"

"Sixty pounds," said Joe, who was listening eagerly.

"Then forget it. Buy your ticket for the crossing, and then earn your way. Forget the dollars till you've learned experience, then invest them as you'll soon ascertain how to do. Bless us, but I wish I was in his shoes! Think of the interest of such a life; think of the enjoyment of working one's way up, of climbing higher! This humdrum existence we most of us lead is tame beside such an opportunity for flattering one's ambition."

"In fact," asked the doctor, "you advise emigration?"

"Indeed I do," came the prompt answer, while Mr. Hubbard stirred his tea. "Mind you, I don't say that there is no opportunity in this country for youth and ambition. What I do say is this. Where a man has no ties, where a young fellow has lost his parents, and has little or no influence to start his career, then Canada calls loudly to him. There he will make new ties, new friends, new hopes. There he can have land for the asking, if farming is what he wants; and success is assured, one way or the other, if only he will put his back into the work. Of course, I know what you're going to say, Doctor," he went on, arresting the latter's interruption with uplifted teaspoon. "Men come back again; men fail. Of course they do; the lonesomeness of the long winter gives the half-hearted the blues. Others attempt to follow a vocation for which they were never suited. Weak men break down under the strain. Slackers get deported; but young active fellows, with pluck behind them, and with grit and strength and health, they make good every time, sir. They help to form the backbone of Canada."

Joe's eyes glowed as he listened. His cheeks took on a colour to which they had been a stranger of late, since trouble had come upon him. He began to wonder what life in Canada would be like. He leaned forward, one hand at his cup, his eyes shifting from the doctor to this voluble stranger. Moreover, Mr. Hubbard was no ill-looking man to watch; there was eagerness and keenness written on every feature of his face. Perhaps he was thirty-five years of age, perhaps even younger. But he was shrewd and level-headed without a doubt, also he gave one the impression that he was a man who had travelled far and seen much, and who ventured his opinions only when he knew his subject. It was plain that Canada was an open book to him.

"The long and the short of the matter then is this," smiled the doctor, vastly interested in his visitor, "you advise Joe to go."

"I advise him to go, and I'll put him up to the ropes. There!"

Mr. Hubbard helped himself to cake, fixing his eyes sharply on our hero; and Joe returned the glance unflinchingly. "You'll make good, or I'm right out of my calculations," declared Mr. Hubbard, after quite a long scrutiny of his features. "Then's the time when a man finds life enjoyable, for he knows he's done well; he ain't got much to regret."

That evening Joe heard more of Canada from his friend the constable. He supped at the local hotel with his employer, and turned in early. The following morning, after bidding farewell to the doctor and a few others, he brought the car out of the yard, ran to the station, there to pick up his box, and then came to a halt opposite the hotel door.

"Been at work, I see," said Mr. Hubbard, surveying the car. "You've straightened those mud guards and cleaned her. That's push; some fellows wouldn't have thought of it. Others would have been too proud to do the cleaning. Now let her hum."

It does not require that we should follow the two on their trip about the country. Suffice it to say that, thanks to previous experience, Joe drove the car with ease and dexterity, a fact which his employer had already noted.

"And mighty lucky I am to have hit upon you," he laughed, as they buzzed on their way to Manchester. "First, for the fact that you dragged me out of my prison after that upset, and now because you were free to come with me. I'm so stiff to-day that I couldn't have driven had I wished, and I rather expect it will be a few days before I am quite fit again. So it's a huge convenience, for my business wouldn't wait."

A week later the two ended their trip at Liverpool.

"Where we see to this passage of yours to Canada," said Mr. Hubbard. "Now, if you'll be advised, you'll go steerage. As you're emigrating, best start in right at the beginning with the people who'll be alongside you. I shall pay for your passage."

In spite of Joe's protests, Mr. Hubbard insisted on doing this, and did not finally say goodbye to our hero till he had seen him aboard the Canadian Pacific liner which was to bear him to his destination. Moreover, his gratitude to Joe took the form of an outfit as well as a passage.

"Clothes of every description are very dear out there," he said, "so you'll want a kit with you. Everything warm, mind. That's the way. In the hot weather you can leave off what you don't need; but in the winter warm things are wanted."

In the end Joe found himself with a strong box containing several flannel shirts and underwear, a pair of high boots and two pairs of strong nailed ones, socks in abundance, a suit of corduroy and one of strong tweed, two neck handkerchiefs, a slouch hat, and various other articles, not to mention a kettle, a teapot, a tin mug, basin, and plate, with the necessary portable knives, forks, and spoons, and a canteen containing tea and sugar and a tin of condensed milk.

"Looks stupid to be taking all that rig, don't it?" asked Mr. Hubbard, with a quizzical smile. "But then, you see, I've been through the mill. You'll get to Quebec and then go aboard the train. Well, food doesn't grow by the wayside nor on the cars. You've got to take it along with you and cook whatever you want; so don't forget to buy up a tin or so of sausages and such things. With those and the kit you've got here you'll be in clover. Now, lad, there's the bell for landlubbers to get ashore. Don't forget to give me a call one of these days when you're round by Ottawa; and always remember to make good. Goodbye!"

Their hands met, they looked keenly into one another's eyes, and then he was gone. Joe was alone again, alone upon the deck of a ship swarming with people, but alone for all that; for everyone about him seemed to have friends. He plunged his hands deep into his pockets and whistled a merry tune; for if he were alone, Joe felt happy. The fingers of his right hand nursed the banker's draft for those sixty pounds he had banked; the fingers of his left handled the cash which his liberal employer had paid him. His coat bulged to the right where his father's letter was secreted, and somewhere on the ship was the steel trunk which contained his kit. Alone! Joe scoffed at the thought, and went on whistling merrily.

"All ashore!" someone bellowed, while sailors ran past him on some errand. The steam siren of the ship sent a wide spray of water over the passengers, and then, as if thereby it had cleared its throat, it set up a deep, reverberating roar that deafened all other sounds. The deck thrilled and throbbed; the water right astern was churned into milk-white foam, while the shore seemed to be moving. Joe leaned over the side and waved frantically to Mr. Hubbard. Down below, he could see a thousand faces. A thousand handkerchiefs waved frantically up at him. Alone! Why, they all seemed to be friends; they all seemed to be wishing him good fortune. Even the tall, stern waterside policemen seemed to unbend and smile.

"Hooray! Hooray!" shouted Joe, unable longer to restrain his enthusiasm. "We're off."

"Hooray!" came back from the throng on the landing stage. Then, as the ship's head paid off to the pull of a tug, and another thrill went through her as her turbines turned, the blaring notes of a trombone came to the passengers. It was "Auld Lang Syne", and the tune sent people sobbing. Joe watched a big fellow close beside him, and saw the tears stream down his face. But the scene changed with the tune, and that in an instant. It was "Rule Britannia" now, and the man was standing erect and as stiff as a poker.

"Old soldier," thought Joe. "Going out?" he asked.

"To Canidy, yessir," came the answer. "Going out along with the missus and the youngsters. Couldn't get work here in the old country. I don't grumble, mind you. I'm not the one to shout out about aliens crowding the likes of me out. It's the training that's wrong. I've none; I'm good only for casual work and unskilled jobs, and there's thousands more for 'em. But Jim – he's my brother – he went out this five years ago, and he's made a pile already – a pile, sir, enough to pay a passage for me and the missus and the children."

There was hope in the honest fellow's face; he was looking with a glad heart to the future, and no doubt at that moment was bidding farewell to a past which, if not too pleasant and uncrowded with thoughts of plenty and of enjoyment, at least had its touches of colour, its memories, and its faces.

By now the steamer was well in midstream, and the throb of the engines was better felt. Not that your turbine leads to much vibration; but still, with the horse-power possessed by these leviathans, it is only reasonable that there should be some commotion. Joe walked to and fro along the deck, and then began to feel hungry. He went to the companion, a wide gap leading to the lower deck, and descended. There was a woman halfway down vainly attempting to escort four children, all of small stature.

"Allow me," said Joe, and promptly picked up two of them. "Going out to Canada?" he asked, though the question was hardly necessary, seeing that that was the ship's only destination.

"Winnipeg, sir," came the answer. "Husband went out a year ago; I'm going to join him. Thank ye, sir!"

Joe dived still lower into the depths of this monster ship, and found himself in a huge hall with long tables set along the length of it. Cloths were already laid, and there were mugs and plates in unending rows, while dishes containing sliced cold meat were placed at intervals. Already a number of people were seated, and Joe at once took a place close to a respectable-looking couple.

"Pardon," he asked, bumping the man as he sat down.

"Eh?"

"I apologized for knocking your arm," said Joe, flushing at the bluntness of this individual.

"Ah, me lad, thank ye," came the hearty answer. "Only it sort of took me by surprise. I ain't used to overmuch politeness; we don't seem to get much time where I come from. Been out before?"

Joe shook his head, and asked for the plate of meat and bread and butter.

"Then you're green?"

Joe smiled. "As grass," he said briskly.

"Going to work or to play?" asked this stranger, as he stuffed a huge piece of cake into his mouth.

"Work – got to; I'd rather, any day."

"Farming?"

"That's my intention," declared Joe, helping himself liberally.

"Then you'll like it. I'll be able to put you up to the ropes. You're going out just at the right time, too, for it'll be fine weather. Tea, me lad?"

Joe accepted with pleasure, and began to look about him. People were beginning to swarm down into this species of dining-hall, and they presented all sorts and descriptions. There was a party of men shepherded by an official of the Salvation Army, a dozen or more young married couples, and as many women going out to join their husbands. A small regiment of Scandinavians passed by, and were followed by a crew of Russians.

"Don't look as if they'd had so much as a bath between 'em, do they?" grinned his neighbour. "But they've been travelling these many days, and most like have crossed over from the continent during the night. They're the boys fer work. Give me a Russian or a Scandinavian on the farm. They earn their dollars and don't grumble. Now, lad, if you've not been aboard one of these ships afore, you'd do well to settle your bunk and take possession of it. There's a couple of likely youngsters along here that we know of. They've come from our part of the world in England, and they're decent fellows. Maybe you could pitch upon a cabin fer three. If not, you'll have to sleep in the bunks out in the open. Jim and Claude," he called, "here's a mate fer ye; get right along and fix your bunks."

Joe liked the look of the two young fellows instantly. They were about his own age, and better dressed than many. He exchanged a smile with them, then, having finished a meal which was excellent, to say the least of it, and undoubtedly plentiful, he accompanied his two new friends to the sleeping deck. Here were rows of canvas bunks suspended on steel uprights and cross pieces, the whole looking clean and compact and comfortable. At the vessel's sides were cabins of considerable size, and, since they were amongst the first on the scene, they had no difficulty in securing one to accommodate the three.

"We'll be fine and comfortable in there," said one of the young fellows named Claude. "We'll bring our things along just to prove possession. Shouldn't leave anything about if I were you; for there might be a thief aboard."

Joe took the warning to heart, and so that there could be no danger of a robbery where he was concerned, went to the purser promptly and there deposited his banker's draft, his father's precious letter, and the majority of the loose cash he possessed.

"Now let's have a look round, and see if we can do anything to help," said Jim, leading the way to the upper deck. Here they found a seething crowd, for the ship was packed with emigrants, to say nothing of her complement of first- and second-class passengers. She presented, in fact, a good-sized township, with facilities for dealing with every class of business, of which catering was not the least important. In the centre of the crowds of emigrants our hero was soon attracted to a railed-in space wherein was a mass of sand, and in this a number of children were digging. Elsewhere men lounged and smoked, while women sat on their worldly possessions, many of them looking forlorn and lost.

"Give them two days to settle down, and all will be happy and contented," said one of the stewards who happened to be passing. "We're going to have a smooth crossing, so that will help."

He pushed his way through the throng and dived down below. A stewardess followed him, and others came bustling after her. Officials now were engaged in inspecting the tickets of the passengers, while a summons brought the emigrants in a long waiting queue to a table set in the dining-hall, where one of the doctors with an assistant took careful stock of them, particularly to observe whether or no each person had been recently vaccinated.

Joe was glad to creep into his comfortable bunk that night, as it had been a day of movement; but a good sleep did wonders for him, and when he rose on the following morning he was as fresh as paint.

"How do yer like it?" asked the pleasant fellow, close to whom he had sat on the previous day when he descended for a meal; for, following a habit on emigrant steamers, he took the same place at table.

"There's something interesting all the time," said Joe. "This sea air gives one an appetite."

"Then peg in, lad," came the hearty advice. "Here's tea; help yerself. Here's eggs and bacon, or will you have sausages?"

The meal was an eye opener. No doubt there were many poor fellows aboard who had not sat down to such a breakfast for many a long day, for we must recollect that emigrants are not always prosperous when they set out from the shores of Old England. It made Joe wonder of what size was the storeroom on this ship, and how it was that the purser or his assistants managed to gauge what would be required en route.

"Now you jest come along on deck with me and the missus and have a yarn while I smoke. Do yer smoke?" asked the man who had been so friendly.

"Not yet," was Joe's blushing answer.

"And a good thing too. Not that I'm against it, seeing that I smoke hard, and most of the day. What's yer name?"

"Joe Bradley."

"Mine's Sam Fennick. Sam's enough, and Joe'll do fer you. You ain't been out before, you say. Who's sent you?"

Joe was a confiding fellow, and told him his story; for Sam seemed an excellent friend and listened with interest.

"What'll you do?" he asked. "You'll land up in seven days, or perhaps eight, at Quebec. There you'll go before the emigration authorities, and will be examined again by the doctor. If all's well, you can start right off on your own, providing you've sufficient dollars in your pocket to make 'em sure you won't be a pauper. Paupers ain't what Canada wants. She wants men with a little cash, not much – just enough to keep the wolf away for a few days. But above everything, they must be workers. And the Government over there won't have slackers. She deports 'em double quick. Well, what'll you do?"

"Look out for a farm," said Joe; "but where, beats me."

"Then jest you think of New Ontario. It's the coming country. Now, see here, mate; I'll give yer a piece of advice. You get along down from Montreal. Accept a job on a farm, and stay there till the winter. Then have a turn with the forest rangers. They don't do much in the winter, it's true; but a few are kept going. Or you might go along with a gang to a lumber camp. It'll keep you from rusting. Next spring you could work again on a farm, and come the following cold weather you ought to be able to look to yourself. We're off to seek a location in this here New Ontario."

"Then why couldn't I come with you?" asked Joe, for he liked the look of this Sam Fennick.

"And so you shall, but not at first. It'll take us best part of two months to find a likely location. Then we've to make a heap of arrangements, so I doubt our getting to at the job till late in the year. So you'd better fix elsewhere; you can come along when we're ready."

It may be imagined that Joe spent many an hour discussing matters with Sam, and soon began to long for Canada to heave in sight. However, there were many miles of sea stretching between the ship and the Gulf of St. Laurence, and they were not passed before he was involved in another adventure.

CHAPTER III
Volunteers called for

It was rather late on the third morning of the voyage when Joe had his attention attracted to one particular portion of the huge ship in which he had taken passage to Canada. Not that this one particular portion had escaped his notice; for, like the majority of young fellows nowadays, our hero was certainly quick at observation.

"Them things hum and squeak and flicker most of the day," said Sam Fennick, withdrawing a somewhat dilapidated brier pipe from his mouth and pointing the bowl at a deck house situated on the upper deck. "What's it all about, youngster?"

"Marconigrams coming and going," answered Joe; for the little house alluded to was given up to that recent wonderful invention which allows of messages being sent across space, without the aid and intervention of the customary wires. "The young officer there used to live in our neighbourhood. I once thought of becoming an operator myself, and, in fact, had many lessons from him."

"You had?" asked Sam, staring at Joe; for every hour that the two conversed revealed to Sam that Joe was a little better than the ordinary. Indeed, it is only reasonable that we should be fair, and admit that in coming to such a conclusion Sam was strictly right. After all, emigrants are not made up of the most intelligent or of the highest educated of our population. Too often they are men and women seeking a new life because of the failure of that which they had previously followed; or they are young people with a fair education, and with little else. In Joe's case, thanks to his own restless ambition, and to the fact that his father had devoted many an hour to him, the lad was acquainted with much unknown to the average emigrant. And here was something. To Sam a marconigram was neither fish, flesh, nor fowl; he didn't precisely know what it was, whether it had actual shape, nor what was its colour.

"Eh?" he asked. "You know the chap as works up there? And you've had lessons? What's a marconigram, anyhow?"

Joe explained with enthusiastic lucidity.

"I've sent 'em, too," he said. "There was a station not so far from us, and that's where I met Franc. It's nice having him aboard the same ship. But he is busy, isn't he? There must be something happening out of the ordinary. Wish I could go up there and join him; but it's forbidden. He told me that particularly."

It was only natural that our young hero should wish to see something of a chum associated with former days. But Franc, the young Marconi operator, was never get-at-able when on duty. It was only between the spells of work in his office that he met Joe down on the emigrant deck for'ard. Now, at the time when Sam and Joe were together, Franc was undoubtedly busily engaged. Moreover, there was a subdued air of mystery, if not of anxiety, about the officers who occasionally passed amongst the emigrants.

"What's up?" demanded Sam bluntly of one as he passed. "That thing yonder" – and he again withdrew his pipe and pointed the bowl at the Marconi office – "that thing's busy, I guess. Sending messages as fast as the air'll take 'em. What's up, mister? Revolution back in the Old Country, eh? What?"

He received merely a curt answer; the officer hurried on, leaving Sam none the wiser.

"All the same, there's a ruction stirring somewhere," he said; "I can see it with half an eye. The captain's walking up and down his bridge as if there was lions after him. What's it all mean?"

It became clearer, as the hours passed, that there was something seriously wrong in some direction, though where or what the trouble might be none could guess. Joe descended with his friend to dinner, and it was not till he mounted to the deck again that he gained tidings of what was happening. A huge column of pungent smoke was rising from the fore hold of the ship as he gained the deck, while sailors were moving about with wet cloths tied round their mouths.

"A fire down below," said Sam, with a catch in his voice. "Lor'!"

"Fire!" shrieked one of the passengers, a woman, as her eyes lit on the smoke. Then the alarm was echoed from a hundred quarters. Men came rushing up into the open. Women screamed, and one huge fellow, a Russian by his appearance, came rushing across the deck and cast himself into one of the boats.

"Silence!" commanded the captain through his megaphone, coming to the front of the bridge. "Quartermaster, turn that man out of that boat."

"Aye, aye, sir!" came from a burly individual, already advancing on the spot in question. "Now then," he said, when he had reached the boat, "you hop out, quick."

But the Russian was not inclined to do so. Terror had taken firm hold on him, and he sat clutching the thwarts, heedless of the quartermaster and of the fact that the boat sat firmly upon its guides on the deck, and offered as yet no sort of protection. But he remained there for only a minute, for the quartermaster hopped over the thwarts, seized the Russian by his coat and by the seat of his trousers, and threw him out without ceremony.

"Passengers," called the captain, in a voice so steady that he might have been inviting them to dinner, "there is nothing as yet to be alarmed at. Please go on with your work or your pleasures as if nothing were happening. I call upon every man and woman to set a good example, remembering that there are children amongst us."

That was enough. Men who had run forward with alarm written on their faces went back to their wives and children at once. Others gathered into anxious knots and went on with their pipes, while the children, unconscious of their danger, romped about the decks.

"All the same, it's a ticklish business," said Sam, after a while. "They've got the hatches off, and I expect they're trying to clear out the stuff that's afire. That looks bad, for as a rule they'd leave the hatches on and turn steam sprays on to the burning cargo. Perhaps the sprays can't get at the stuff that's afire."

"In any case, the crew won't be able to continue for long at the work unaided," added Joe. "Look! There's one overcome by the smoke; they've carried him off along the deck to the doctor."

In the course of the next hour four men were rendered incapable by the pungent smoke issuing from the hold, while the smoke itself had become even denser. Huge clouds arose through the hatchway and, caught by the breeze – for all this while the ship was forging ahead at her fastest pace – went billowing out behind her. So dense, in fact, was it, that the passengers for'ard could not see the bridge nor any other part of the giant vessel.

"Want volunteers?" asked Joe of an officer hurrying along the deck.

"Eh?" came the curt and hurried answer.

"Do you want any help?" repeated Joe. "There are plenty of us who would be eager and willing. That would free the men who are needed for the usual work of the vessel."

"Well now, that's a fine idea. See here," said the officer hurriedly, "I'll get along to the skipper and ask him what his wishes are. Of course he may say he's right as things are, but then the 'Old Man' may think differently. Meanwhile, you get a few likely chaps together. If they're wanted, everything'll be ready."

He went off at a quick pace, striding over the deck, and Joe saw him clambering to the bridge, where he sought the anxious captain.

"Well?" demanded Sam, for the idea of volunteers being called for had never occurred to him. "What'll you do?"

"Get a few men together at once," said Joe. "You stop here, and I'll send 'em over to you. That'll allow them to gather without creating a fuss. Anything is likely to increase the uneasiness of the passengers, and we don't want to add to the alarm they already feel."

He left Sam smoking heavily by the rail and went off amongst the passengers, who, in spite of their efforts to remain calm, were obviously filled with alarm. For if huge clouds of smoke had been coming from the open hatch before, it was billowing out now in vast volumes, smoke, too, which set everyone on the bridge choking, for there was a slight headwind, and the breeze the ship herself made in her rapid passage through the air helped to carry the smoke backward. As to the first- and second-class passengers, they had been driven to take shelter on the lower deck right aft, and were therefore entirely invisible. Joe accosted Jim and Claude, the two young fellows who were his cabin companions, and, whispering to them, sent them over to Sam. In the course of some ten minutes he had selected a couple of dozen young fellows, all of whom he had chatted with at various times during the past two days. That, indeed, is one of the curious results of travel aboard a ship. One becomes acquainted with one's fellow passengers during the first day; their inner history is often known by the evening of the second; while, long before the trip is ended, often enough their innermost thoughts, their ambitions, and their hopes are the property of one or other of the many friends they have made on board. In any case, Joe was the sort of lad who makes friends quickly. Free from that stupid side which sometimes afflicts the youth of this and other countries, he had a welcoming smile for everyone, and was ready to exchange his views with Dick, Tom, or Harry. It was not remarkable, therefore, that he had already become acquainted with a number of young fellows, bachelors like himself.

"I'll choose them in preference to the married men," he told himself. "The latter have pluck and dash enough, I know; but they have wives and children, and their services will be required by the families. Hi, Bill!" he called to another of his chums, beckoning him, "volunteers are likely to be wanted to help the sailors. Are you – "

"Right!" declared the man abruptly.

"Then get across to Sam Fennick; he's away over there at the rail. Just go on smoking as if nothing out of the way were happening. Got a good-sized handkerchief in your pocket?"

"No, no; I ain't got that," admitted Bill, after hunting about his person.

"Then get off to the cabin steward, or to the purser, if you can find him, and ask for three dozen towels. We can easily get a bucket of water up on deck, and that will give us the right thing to put round our mouths."

It was perhaps five minutes later when Joe went sauntering back to Sam. Quite a couple of dozen men had already congregated about him, and stood for the most part lolling against the rail and smoking contentedly; but there was not one who was not watching the smoke issuing from the hatchway critically.

"Seems to me as there's more of it, and it's kinder hotter," said Sam, almost in a whisper, as Joe came to his side. "Well, you've got the boys together, and the right sort too. Now, if I'd been asked, I'd have been flummoxed from the very beginning, and as like as not I'd have chosen the wrong sort."

"They're all single men," answered Joe. "Married men will be wanted to set an example of coolness to the passengers and allay their fears. Has that officer come along again? Ah, here's Bill! Well?" he demanded, as the latter came over to him with a bundle beneath his arm.

"Got 'em easy," panted the latter. "A steward gave 'em to me right off. Now?"

He asked the question in excited tones and in a loud voice.

"Keep cool, and don't speak too loud," Joe cautioned him. "We want a bucket of fresh water. Who'll get it?"

Jim went off promptly, and when he returned some three minutes later it was to meet the officer coming towards the group.

"Ah," said the latter, singling Joe out, "you're the young fellow that spoke about volunteers. Well, now, the skipper says that he'd be glad of 'em, but they must be carefully selected – single men only, you know."

"How'll these do then, mate?" asked Sam, swinging his open palm round so as to embrace the little band of men Joe had selected. "This here young chap" – and he pointed to our hero – "seems to have the right ideas always tucked away at the back of that head of his. You'd no sooner gone than he was away selecting his men. Every one of 'em single, too, 'cos he says as the married 'uns must be calm, and set all the rest an example. And he's got towels for every man, and a bucket o' water here to soak 'em in. Spry, ain't it?"

For perhaps a whole minute the officer looked Joe coolly up and down. Indeed, at any other time his open inspection might have been interpreted as a rudeness. But there was something more than mere curiosity in his eye. He stretched out a hand sailor fashion and gripped our hero's.

"You're young," he said bluntly, "but you've the right sort of pluck, and a headpiece with which to back it. Bring your men along; I like the look of 'em. But first to explain. This fire's been going ever since two in the morning. It's somewhere in a lot of cotton goods right under a heap of other cargo, and try as we have we can't stifle it. Nor can we get at it with our sprays. So we're attempting to move the other stuff, and then we'll pitch what's alight overboard or swamp it with water from the hoses. It's the smoke that's the trouble. You come right along."

He led the way to the hatchway, Joe and his men following, while almost at once a crowd of steerage passengers massed themselves along the rail which cut them off from that part of the deck, and detecting the object of the little band, and realizing that they were volunteers, sent up a hoarse cheer of encouragement.

"Just you skipper the lot, youngster," said the officer, turning when close to the hatchway. "Keep those not at work below well to windward, then they'll be able to breathe easily. You can see that the skipper's put his helm over, so as to blow the smoke more abeam, for the people aft could hardly breathe. Now, you come down with me and I'll show you what's wanted; then you can set your men to at it."

Joe damped a towel in the bucket of water and tied it round his mouth and nose. Then he followed the officer over the edge of the hatchway, and gripping the iron ladder which descended vertically, soon found himself standing some thirty feet below on a pile of huge boxes.

"Machinery, and heavy stuff too," said the officer, taking him across to a part where there was little smoke. "Now, you can see for yourself whereabouts the fire is. The smoke tells you. Ah! there's another man done for!"

Joe's surroundings were indeed sufficient to cause more than the usual interest, for the scene was filled with movement. Overhead the square of the open hatchway framed a beautiful if confined area of blue sky, across which a few white clouds were scudding. But it was not always that one could see this view, for huge columns of smoke issued from the hold in front of him and went swirling up, to cease entirely at moments and then to gush forth again, for all the world as if someone were stationed in the depths amongst the cargo and were using a gigantic bellows. For the rest, a couple of huge reflectors threw the light from a number of electric bulbs into the hold, though without any seeming effect, for the dense smoke made the darkness almost impenetrable. Here and there a man rested well to one side, his mouth bound up with a handkerchief, while deeper in, entirely invisible, were other men. One heard a shout now and again and the clatter of moving boxes. Overhead, too, dangled a rope swinging from a derrick. It was at the precise moment when Joe's quick eye had gathered these details, that a couple of men came into sight staggering across the boxes and bearing a man between them.

"Dropped like a rabbit, he did," gasped one of them, as they placed the man on his back on one of the boxes. "Went down jest as if he'd been shot. Above there! Lower away."

A head appeared in the opening of the hatchway, while a second later a cloud of smoke shot upward, hiding the head and setting the owner coughing. But the derrick above swung over promptly, and the rope descended.

"You two men get to one side and rest," said the officer. "I and this friend here will see to the man. Now," he went on swiftly, "lend a hand while I pass the rope round this poor chap. That's the way. Now steady him while I go aloft. You'll get your men down as you want 'em."

He had already spoken to an officer on duty down below, and now went clambering upward. A moment later Joe was guiding the unconscious body of the sailor as he was hoisted upward. Then, cramming the towel close round his nose and mouth, he dived into the clouds of smoke till, aided by the electric light, he saw an officer.

"Shall I bring some of the men down now, sir?" he asked. "I've two dozen up above, all ready to lend a hand. I thought it would be best to employ them in two batches."

The officer, a young man of some twenty-five years of age, rose from the box he was helping to lift, coughed violently, and then accompanied Joe back to the part directly under the hatchway.

"My word," he gasped, when at length a violent attack of coughing had subsided and allowed him to speak, "we'll be glad to have you. That's hot work in there. You've two dozen, you say? Then bring along half of them; they'll be mighty useful."

Joe went swarming upward at once and, arriving on the deck, promptly told off twelve of the men. He was down again with them within a few seconds, at once leading them forward to where the work was in progress.

"That you?" asked the officer, peering at him through the smoke and coughing. "Then get to at these boxes. We're pulling them aside, and till we've got a heap more away we shan't be able to reach the spot where there's fire. When we do, things won't be so easy. There'll be a burst of smoke and flames, I should imagine."

"Then we'd better have the other half of this gang ready with sacks and blankets damped with water," cried Joe. "A hose wouldn't stop the fire, and the water would do a heap of damage. Eh?"

"You're the boy!" gasped the officer. "That's an idea; will you see to it?"

Joe nodded promptly, and then set his gang to work to help the sailors already employed in moving the cargo. Dashing away as soon as he saw that they understood what was required of them, he swarmed up to the top of the hatchway and called loudly to one of the gang above.

"Find one of the officers if you can, or, better still," he said, "go along to the purser. Ask for twenty or thirty old blankets. Take a mate or two with you and bring the lot along here; then swamp them with water. When you've got them ready have them slung down into the hold. You've followed?"

The young fellow nodded eagerly. "Got it pat," he declared, swinging round. "I'll be back inside ten minutes."

Joe slid down below without further waiting, and, joining his men, attacked the cargo with energy. Half an hour later, perhaps, after a bulky parcel wrapped in matting had been dragged from its place, a sudden burst of smoke drove the workers backward. It was followed by a hot blast of air and then by tongues of flame.

"Looks bad," declared the officer, rising to his feet from the box on which he had been seated; for he was taking a well-earned rest. "There's stuff below there that's well alight. Look at that! There's smoke and flames for you."

"And we'll need to drown the fire at once," cried Joe. "I'll bring the other gang down and set them to fight it."

Once more he clambered over the boxes from the dark depths of the hold and, gaining the open space beneath the hatchway, shouted loudly. At once a head appeared, and another call brought the second half of his gang tumbling downward.

"Each of you take one of the damped blankets," said Joe, standing beside them. "See that the towels are well over your mouths and noses, and then follow me. We've got to the seat of the fire, and have to do our best to damp it out. Now, follow one after the other."

Seizing a blanket himself, he led the way till within twenty feet of the spot where the last bale had been torn out of its position. The workers whom he had left had been driven backward to that point, and were crouching down with their heads as low as possible, coughing and choking as dense masses of smoke swept about them. Joe saw red tongues of flame, and at once, without hesitation, advanced on the spot, holding the blanket before him. But if he imagined he had an easy task, he was quickly to learn that he was mistaken. The choking clouds of pungent smoke which swelled past him and hid him from the men was the least part of the difficulty. It was the heat which threatened to defeat his efforts. For a hot blast surrounded him. He felt of a sudden as if he had plunged into a furnace, while his nostrils burned as if he were inhaling flames. Then the blanket, in spite of its soaking, steamed heavily and began to shrivel.

"Forward!" Joe commanded himself. "This is not the time to give back. Push on and get your blanket down right on the spot where the cargo is alight."

Pulling himself together, as it were, and summoning all his energies, Joe dashed forward over the uneven flooring, the heat wave about him increasing in intensity. A gust of hot air, an intensely burning breath gripped him, while lurid flames swept past him on either hand. Even the wetted blanket showed signs of giving way before such an ordeal, for one corner curled upward and then burst into flame. But Joe was a stubborn fellow. He was not the one to be beaten when so near the goal, and half stifled and roasted he pushed on, cast his blanket over a spot which appeared to be white with heat, and trod it down manfully. He retreated then as fast as he could, followed by a dense smoke which made breathing impossible.

"Next!" he shouted, when he could speak. "Don't stop. We must pile the blankets on as thick as possible."

It says much for the courage of those steerage passengers that not one of the volunteers hesitated. Helped by the members of the crew, to whose aid they had come, they rushed forward pell-mell, casting the wetted blankets over Joe's; then, having trodden them down, they retreated before the dense smoke which drove them out. They sat in groups and anyhow, gasping beneath the open hatchway, some of them even having to beat the fire from their clothes.

"We've fixed that fire, I think," gasped the officer at last, for the smoke seemed to be less intense. "If so, it's the luckiest thing I've ever encountered."

"Wait," cautioned Joe. "That smoke's more pungent. That looks as if the fire were still burning."

Five minutes later it was clear that he was right; for flames suddenly shot out at the gang of workers, scorching their hair and driving them backward. Nor was it possible to advance again with wetted blankets. For an hour the gallant workers struggled to subdue the blaze by throwing water from a couple of hoses into the hold. But that effort too proved useless. It was clear that the fire had got beyond control, and that the safety of the passengers depended on the ship reaching a port very soon, or coming in with another vessel. Then, and then only, did the news circulate that Franc, the young Marconi operator and Joe's friend, had been placed out of action.

"It's just broken up our chances," groaned the officer who had been working beside our hero. "That fellow has been calling for four or five hours so as to get in touch with another vessel. But there was none within reach fitted with the Marconi apparatus. Now he's fallen down the gangway, and lies in the doctor's quarters with one leg broken and himself unconscious. It's a regular bad business."

CHAPTER IV
Joe Gathers Credit

"All passengers come aft," shouted the captain as Joe and his gang, together with the sailors, clambered out of the reek of heat and smoke and ascended from the hold. "All passengers must collect their belongings at once and come aft of the bridge. Be quick, please; we can allow only ten minutes."

Blackened and singed by the heat, with their clothing scorched and actually burned in some places, Joe and his helpers came up through the hatchway and almost fell upon the deck, for they were exhausted after their long fight in a stifling atmosphere. Then the hatches were thrown on and wedged down.

"We've got to leave things like that," said the officer to whom Joe had first of all suggested that volunteers should be called for. "We shall turn on the steam sprayers and hope that they, together with the want of air, will kill the fire. You've done well, young fellow. The captain's been asking for your name. But just you hop along right away and gather your traps, else you'll lose everything."

In a little while it began to look as if our hero might lose even more than his belongings, or rather that the loss of his kit would be of little moment to him; for the fire in the hold, which perhaps had been little more than smouldering before, now blazed out with redoubled fury. Indeed, it was not long after the steerage passengers had gone scampering aft, dragging their children and their belongings with them, that the deck right for'ard became almost too hot to walk on, while the sides of the ship were red-hot.

"The deck'll fall in soon if this goes on," said the same officer, accosting Joe as he came aft. "I've known a steamer afire keep moving till she reached port, and then she was red-hot from end to end. But we've a steel bulkhead just on a level with the bridge, and I guess that's keeping the blaze forward. So it'll be the fo'c'sle that'll be burned out, and that deck'll fall in before long. Then the blaze'll become worse. You fellows were grand; you did your best for us. Now you come along to the captain."

They found that anxious officer striding up and down the bridge, as if there were nothing to disturb him. But there were perhaps a thousand eyes upon this chief officer of the vessel, and, knowing that, he set an example of wonderful sangfroid.

"I thank you greatly," he said, as the officer brought Joe on to the bridge. "Mr. Henry has told me how you raised volunteers, and likely volunteers too, and Mr. Balance has reported how well all behaved. I thank you, sir, in the name of the ship's owners and her crew and passengers. It's a nasty business."

"Thank you, sir," answered Joe, blushing at the receipt of such praise. "I was wondering whether I could be of further service."

"Eh? Why, yes; but how?" asked the captain.

"I was thinking of your Marconi operator, sir."

"Eh? Ah, poor chap! That's the most unfortunate thing that could have happened. But – I don't quite follow," said the captain, looking closely at Joe.

"Only I knew him well, sir, and often worked with him. I've frequently sent a Marconi message. There's no great difficulty if you are fond of mechanical things and have learned the code. I worked hard at it, as I thought once of going into the Marconi service."

"The deuce you did!" came the sharp answer, while the skipper of this huge ship, with so much responsibility on his shoulders, turned a deep red colour beneath his tan and whistled shrilly. "You can – but you don't mean to tell me that you could handle his apparatus, that you could call up and talk with a ship if she happened to be within reach of us?"

"Let me see the things and I'll soon tell you," said Joe quietly, feeling nevertheless somewhat nervous lest his recent lack of experience should have resulted in forgetfulness. For it must be remembered that although a code such as is used by Marconi and other telegraphic operators becomes second nature, and is as easy to them as is writing to the average individual, yet such codes with want of practice soon become forgotten. Joe might have forgotten; want of practice might have stiffened his wrist. His "transmitting" powers might be now so cramped and slow, that an operator "receiving" aboard some other ship would not pick up his message; also, the converse might well be the case. His ear, unaccustomed now for some little while to the familiar sounds so particular to a telegraph instrument, might fail to pick out the meaning of dot and dash coming across the waves of ether so rapidly.

"Let me have a look into the office and also a talk with Franc. He'll tell me what is the company's usual call. I'm not so cocksure of being able to send and receive for you, sir; but I can try, and I think I'll succeed."

"That's fifty times better than being dead sure and failing miserably," cried the captain. "I'd sooner by a lot have a fellow tell me he'd try, than go off full of assurance and conceit. Of course you can see the operator. But he's hurt badly; they tell me he was stunned. Take him along, Mr. Henry."

It was a fortunate thing for the passengers aboard the vessel that Joe found his friend able to speak and understand. Indeed, the unfortunate Franc was fuming and fretting on account of the injury that had come to him; not because of the damage he had suffered, or of the pain, which was considerable, but because of his helplessness and the ship's dire need help. He raised his head as Joe entered, then called out gladly.

"Why, I'd forgotten you entirely, Joe!" he almost shouted. "I might have remembered that you knew the code and had worked the 'transmitter'. Get right along to the office and call up help. We want a ship to come over and take off the passengers, and then stand by while we run on into port. Here, I'll give you the company's call."

A few minutes with his friend told Joe sufficient to send him along to the Marconi office full of assurance, and within a quarter of an hour the apparatus, silent since Franc came by his damage, was flicking and clicking again, causing a thousand and more anxious pairs of eyes to be cast upward at the raking masts and at the web of wires suspended between them.

"There's an answer," he told Mr. Henry, when he had sent the call across the water on a dozen and more occasions. "Wait till I can say who it is. What am I to tell them about our position?"

The officer at once wrote down the ship's approximate position on a piece of paper, while Joe tapped on the key and listened to the receiver.

"Tell 'em we've fire in number one hold, and are almost roasted," he said. "Ask 'em to come along and take off our passengers, unless she happens to be steering the same course, when, if she'll run on beside us, there may not be need to transfer the passengers. Ah, she's calling you."

Rapidly did Joe get accustomed to the apparatus. No doubt he could neither send nor receive a message at the same rate as his injured friend; but if the messages were slow and laboured, and not always too correct, they were accurate enough for his purpose. Indeed, it was not long before he was able to send a long dispatch to the captain.

"S.S. Kansas City answered us," he wrote. "She's steering west-north-west, and on a line to intercept us. Doing fifteen knots and a little better. She's a hundred miles away, and will look out for us. She sends that she's bound for Halifax."

"That'll suit well," said Mr. Henry, coming back from the bridge and the captain. "She ought to fall into company with us about midnight or early in the morning, and, of course, if there's need, we can slow down or stop altogether, while she turns north and runs direct up to us. But we can see this thing through till morning. By then the fo'c'sle'll be little better than an ash heap. It'll be a case of clearing the passengers and then fighting the flames, or the ship'll go to the bottom. See over here; it's worth looking at, if only to remember."

He took Joe out of the office to the rail of the vessel and then drew his attention to the steel plates for'ard. If they had been of a dull red heat before, they were now of a bright redness, while flames were actually issuing from some of the lower portholes. As for the deck, it was a smouldering mass of blackness, to which a thin cloud of smoke clung tenaciously.

"You'd want thick boots on to walk across it," said Mr. Henry, "and then you'd never know when it might fall in and take you into a furnace. I tell you, a fire aboard ship is almost as bad as one in the forests of Canada. Ever heard tell of them?"

"Never," replied Joe, shaking his head.

"Then they're bad, real bad, and you've to move quick if you want to live through one. Now aboard a ship you can batten things down, just as we've done; or you can rouse up some of the cargo, get a hold of the stuff that's alight, and heave it into the water. That's what we tried and failed to do. Now there's nothing more but to wait till we join company with the Kansas City. Reckon there's a crowd of people will be glad to say goodbye to this vessel."

A saunter between decks proved that rapidly to our hero. Not that there was any great alarm or any marked sign of uneasiness. People congregated in little bunches; men stood lounging and smoking together, talking in eager, low voices. Here and there a woman was weeping; but there were few who showed less courage than the men, and, indeed, not a few displayed noble devotion.

"How's things going?" asked Sam, accosting our hero and whispering his question. "They tell me you've been up with the captain and have been working the Marconi office. You'll come in for something, me lad. Guess the skipper of this ship did a lucky thing when he booked you as a passenger. But what's happening?"

Joe told him in a few words. "We've got into contact with another ship," he said.

"Which means that you have," answered Sam, catching him up abruptly. "Give things their right names, lad. But there, I've seen it with you afore. It's jest like Joe Bradley to leave himself out of the question. So you've got talking with another vessel?"

"The Kansas City," Joe explained. "She's steering a course south of us and almost parallel. She's coming north a little of her course, and should reach us early in the morning. If need be, and we cut off steam, she could come due north and get alongside before midnight even."

"Then that's a bit of news that'll help people," said Sam, satisfaction in his voice. "I'll go and tell folks about here. Truth is, there's a few got the jumps bad, but we've give 'em a lesson. Jim and Claude and me, when we all came aft, saw that one or more of them foreigners was likely to prove troublesome. We found some of 'em packing their kit in the boats and pushing agin the women; but I fetched one of 'em a smack that'll make him sit up fer a fortnight, while when a bunch of 'em – low-down rascals, as I should name 'em – got out o' hand and went howling along towards the officers' quarters with the idea, it seems, of putting their dirty hands on the skipper and forcing him to quit the ship and put 'em aboard the boats, why, me and some of the boys you got together went for the beggars. There was a proper turn-up between us, and there's a few nursing their heads at this moment; but it jest settled matters. You see, the best of the foreigners came in and joined with our party, and what with that and the hiding we gave these fellows, why, things has quieted down wonderful. Only, of course, there's anxiety; a chap can't be altogether easy when he's sailing on a red-hot furnace, with miles of sea about him."

There was, in fact, wonderful order and coolness displayed on the ship, and nowhere more than amongst the emigrant passengers. Indeed, all vied in endeavouring to keep up the courage of the women and to leave the officers and crew of the vessel to carry out their work unimpeded. As for Joe, he spent the next few hours in the Marconi office, keeping in constant touch with the Kansas City, and every hour he was able to report that she was nearer.

"You'd better send along and ask her to make slick up here," said Mr. Henry, as darkness closed about them. "Some of the plates for'ard have burned through, and the air rushing in is making the fire blaze up terribly. The skipper is going to shut off and lie to. It's the only way of saving the vessel."

He handed Joe a written message, which the latter transmitted through his instrument, reporting in turn that the other ship had now changed her course and was coming direct toward them. Meanwhile the burning vessel was brought to a standstill, the throb of her engines ceasing save for an occasional thrill, as one or other of the screws was rotated so as to keep the stern always before the wind. The bugles rang out for tea almost at the accustomed hour, and, to the amazement of many, the emigrants found food and drink ready for them, but not in the same quarters. They were now huddled together, without cabins and without bunks to lie in, except in the case of the women and children, who, thanks to the unselfishness of the first- and second-class passengers, were accommodated in the cabins previously occupied by single gentlemen.

It was near midnight when at length a loud booming in the distance, and the turning of a brilliant light upon them, intimated to the people aboard the burning ship that the Kansas City was within reach of them. A deep cheer broke from a thousand lips, while many people burst into tears. Then Joe and his little band were again requisitioned.

"The captain's compliments," said Mr. Henry, "and he wishes that you will organize the men again, so that there may be no confusion when embarking the women. Get double the number this time if you can, and place them in batches near every boat. The stewards will help, and between you it ought to follow that there will be no confusion. But there's never any saying when you have to deal with foreigners."

"Then Sam's my man this time," thought Joe, going in search of that worthy. "If between us, as Mr. Henry says, we can't keep order, why, what's the use of us at all? Ah, there he is! Sam!" he called loudly.

"Going to tranship us?" asked the latter.

"Yes; women and children first. They've asked me to organize double the number of helpers. Let's call out the old lot. We can select the others very quickly; a few Russians and Scandinavians amongst them would help greatly. Ah! There's Jim, and Claude with him. Boys!" he called, waving to them.

It may be imagined that the work of selection was not accomplished in a minute; for with the coming of the relief ship there was huge confusion amongst the emigrants, as also amongst the first- and second-class passengers. The courage of many, bravely shown through a number of trying hours, broke down suddenly. Men, and women too, who had set a fine example to their fellows, were seen to lose their heads and their coolness. Passengers dashed to and fro, bumping into any who crossed their path, while one or two became absolutely violent in their efforts to push nearer to the spot where the gangway would be lowered. However, Joe and his friends were soon collected together, and then, with Sam's help, a body of forty or more was rapidly selected.

"You tell 'em off; you've the orders and hang of what's wanted," said Sam, lighting his pipe for perhaps the twentieth time.

"Then break up into parties of five," said Joe. "Now get along to the boats, five to each. Don't let a soul enter unless you have the captain's orders. Sam, you and I will help the stewards; I see that they are already ranging the women and children into lines. Some of the poor things look half-distracted."

The ordeal was indeed a severe one for many on board, and rendered not a few of the women completely helpless. However, what with the help that the stewards gave, aided by the stewardesses and Sam and Joe, the long lines were soon quieted. Then, beneath the flare of huge electric lamps, the work of transferring women and children to the Kansas City was conducted, the latter ship lowering her boats for that purpose, while those aboard the burning vessel were reserved for a future occasion.

"Men now," shouted the officer standing at the top of the gangway; and at the order the men aboard filed slowly downward and were taken off, till none but the crew, the stewards, and Joe and his gang remained.

"Now," called Mr. Henry, seeing our hero and his party, "your turn."

Joe walked directly up to him, with Sam at his side, while the captain descended from the bridge at that moment and joined them.

"We volunteer to stay," he said. "We've talked it over. It seems that now that the passengers are gone, particularly the women and children, you will tackle the fire again. You will want help for that. We're game to stay. We'd like to stand by till this job is finished."

"And, by George, so you shall!" cried the captain, bringing a hand down on our hero's shoulder and almost flooring him. "By James, sir, so you shall stand by us! A pluckier lot I never hope to run across, and I've never seen men better handled. You, sir, Mr. Joe Bradley, I understand is your name, and this other gentleman whom you call Sam, have behaved with conspicuous gallantry. I can tell you, gentlemen, it means much to the officers and crew of a vessel such as this is if, when a pinch comes, when danger faces them, there are men at hand to quieten the foolish, to reduce the would-be rioters to subjection, and to fight the danger side by side with the crew. It means a very great deal. Often it means the difference between security and disaster. Stay, gentlemen – we are about to fight those flames again, and you can help us wonderfully."

By now the Kansas City had sheered off a little, lying to some three or four hundred yards from the blazing vessel, which presented a truly awful appearance, for in the darkness her red-hot plates shone conspicuously. Lurid flames belched from her lowest ports forward, while at one part, where the plates had burned through, there was a wide ragged gap through which a veritable furnace was visible.

"We've got to flood the fo'c'sle," said Mr. Henry, as he stood beside Sam and our hero. "The carpenter, 'Chips', as we call him, is hammering up a staging at this moment, and when that's popped into a boat a man will be able to reach that opening where the plates have gone. We couldn't do it by lowering a seaman over the side, for the simple reason that the deck away for'ard is far too hot to allow anyone to walk on it. So we shall try from the sea. At the same time, we shall pull off the hatches and pour water in amongst the stores till they're flooded. You come along to the hatchway. It's not likely that we'll be able to go down. But later on, if we're fortunate, we might be able to do so, and so get closer to the fire."

Working without confusion, and indeed in no apparent haste, the crew soon pulled the hatches off the hatchway. Meanwhile a pinnace had been lowered, and into her the carpenter had built a species of platform raised some ten feet above the thwarts. Peeping over the side, Joe saw that there was a crew already aboard her, while men were paying out a ship's hose over the rail, where there was no heat and therefore no danger of the hose burning. In a little while two lusty fellows were perched on the top of the staging, and, operating the nozzle of the hose together, were directing a stream of water in through the ragged gap which existed for'ard, and which we have already mentioned. By then, too, Joe and his friends had contrived to get three hoses going through the hatchway, though their efforts seemed to be little rewarded.

"We're not reaching the actual seat of the fire, and the place is so huge that even a flood of water fails to swamp the flames," said Joe, as Mr. Henry came along to see how they were progressing. "There's one thing helping us, and that is the absence of smoke. I suppose the stuff which sent out that pungent smoke has got burned, and there is no more of it."

"Shouldn't wonder," came the answer. "As to reaching the fire, you must just keep at it. This hatchway is too hot yet to allow a man to clamber down the ladder."

It was decidedly hot, for when Joe put his hand on the iron ridge which surrounded the open hatch he withdrew it with a sharp cry. Indeed, the metal was almost red-hot, while a fiery heat as from a furnace ascended, cooled a little perhaps by the sprays of water sousing in from the hoses.

"I believe a fellow could reach the fire if only he could get below there and bear the heat," said Joe, perhaps half an hour later. "Look here, Sam, I'm going to make an effort. I'll tie a noose in the rope from the derrick, sit in it, and then get lowered. The men can play a hose on me while I'm descending, and even when I'm down below. Let's see if I can bear it."

A shout from Sam brought Mr. Henry, and an order from the latter soon secured a long length of steel cable with strong electric lamps at the end of it. At his suggestion this was made fast to the wire rope, in which a wooden seat was fastened. Then Joe stepped into the noose, gripped the rope and the hose, and called on the engineman to lower slowly.

"You don't need to trouble about the electric lights," called out Mr. Henry. "They're well insulated and perfectly watertight. The only thing that will damage the cable is the heat. Raise your arm if it's too great for you. We'll haul you up in a jiffy."

Out swung the rope, and Joe with it. For a while he was dangled well above the open hatchway, with a sheer fall of forty feet beneath him, and a glowing furnace somewhere in the hold for'ard. Whisps of smoke curled up about him, while the heat was almost stifling, but not so severe as it had been when he and his helpers had attacked the flames at closer quarters.

"Lower away," he shouted, and then nodded to Sam to turn his hose on him. "Keep the water going, and start my hose," he called to those at the edge of the hatchway. "Now, slowly does it."

Very gently the engineman slacked out the rope running over the top of the derrick, causing Joe to slowly disappear within the open mouth of the hatchway. Meanwhile those in charge of the hoses paid the one out which Joe carried, and Sam, as if he were bent on doing his young friend an injury, sent a stream of water squirting against our hero till the latter was drenched, and till the force of the impact of the stream caused him to sway and twist at the end of the sling.

"Steady!" he shouted. "Less water; you'll drown me!" and, obedient to the order, Sam shouted to the men and saw that the stream was reduced. He sent a cascade downward now, for Joe had descended still lower, causing the water to fall on his shoulders and then go tumbling and hissing to the floor beneath. And, thanks to this deluge, and to the water spouting from the hose he carried, Joe was able to prepare the way before him. He could hear the fluid actually hissing, and see it rising in thick clouds of steam as it fell on iron and woodwork. It bubbled as it tumbled in a heavy cascade on huge masses of tightly-packed machinery directly beneath him, and then it began to settle into quiet pools.

"Steady!" he shouted again. "Hold on till things get a little cooler."

But ten minutes later he called to them to lower away, and in a little while had stepped from the sling and was actually advancing into the hold. A sailor joined him, and then Sam, both filled with enthusiasm. There were five hoses going within the hour, while another was all the while directing a powerful stream through the gap forward. Smoke gave way in time to steam, while the clouds of the latter, which had risen from every heated surface, and particularly from the vessel's plates, became far less in quantity. When three hours had passed, the atmosphere in the hold was almost pleasant, and certainly not too hot for safe working, while the fire appeared to have been conquered entirely. Then the ship's head was turned towards the west, and once again her turbines sent the decks throbbing. They came to Sam and Joe in the bunks which they occupied and told them of it; for the intense heat which they had faced, the stifling smoke, and the strenuous fight they had made had had their natural effect. Both had been hoisted from the hold in an insensible condition.

"Eh?" asked Sam. "She's right? Fire under? Then call me late in the morning. I've never yet travelled first class aboard a ship, and this bunk's just lovely. Hallo! That Joe? Eh? He's unconscious? Well, I am sorry; guess there's many a one will say he helped a heap to save this vessel."

They slept profoundly side by side, and the sun was high in the heavens before either opened his eyes. When Joe looked round, it was with a groan of recognition and remembrance. His hands were blistered all over and in bandages. His face was smeared with some greasy preparation, while there no longer trace of eyelashes, eyebrows, or hair. He was bald – a terrible object – with lips and tongue hugely swollen.

"My word," exclaimed Sam, staring at him, "what a sight!"

Joe giggled. After all, however tired, however sore with a struggle, he could look on the queer side of things. "My eye!" he gurgled, for speech was almost impossible. "Just you take a look at yourself; it'll make you feel downright faint, I do assure you." Then he went off into a laugh, which ended in a cry of pain and tribulation, for cracked and swollen lips make laughing painful. As for Sam, he rose in his bunk, leaned outwards, and stared into the mirror. It was with a groan of resignation that he threw himself backward, for, like Joe, he was wonderfully disfigured.

"The wife wouldn't know me," he said. "What a sight! No wonder you giggled."

But time does wonders for sore hearts and sore heads. Five days later, when the ship put into Quebec, both were moderately presentable, though Joe still had his hands in bandages. But think of the reward! A thousand and more disembarked passengers from the steamship Kansas City awaited their arrival and cheered them to the very echo as they landed. It was Joe's welcome to Canada, the land wherein he trusted to make his fortune.

CHAPTER V
One of the Settlers

"Now we get right in to business," said Sam, two days after the ship had brought them to Quebec, and he and Joe had gradually recovered their usual appearance. For, till then, they were hardly presentable, both having had every hair singed from their heads, while Sam, who wore a moustache, as a rule, merely retained a few straggling ends of that appendage. As for Joe, his hands were so blistered, that even now he was able to do little for himself.

"But you've got something inside there in your pocket that'll make amends," grinned Sam, as they sat in the parlour of the little hotel to which Sam had taken his wife, and whither Joe, Jim, and Claude had accompanied them. "You've got notes in that 'ere pocket that'll make you ready and eager to get burned again. There! Ain't I speaking the truth? I'm fair jubilant."

A cockney from his birth upward, Sam had not, even now, lost touch with the Old Country and its manner of speech, though into his conversation there was now habitually pressed many a Canadian slang expression, many an Americanism which to people of the Old World is so peculiarly fascinating. He pulled a huge leather wallet from his own hip pocket, a capacious affair that accommodated quite a mass of material, and was fellow to one on the far side harbouring a revolver. Not that Sam was of a pugnacious frame of mind; on the contrary, he was just one of the numerous citizens of Canada whose daily thoughts were centred in "making good". Indeed, as is the case with all in the Dominion, with few exceptions, Sam was out, as he frankly admitted, to make a pile, to build up a fortune.

"And I'll tell you for why," he had once said to our hero. "It ain't only because dollars look nice and can buy nice things. It ain't only because I'd like to be rich, to put by a heap and feel and know that me and the missus needn't want when the rainy day comes along, and we're took by illness or old age. Don't you go and believe it. There's people will tell you that Canadians think and dream of nothing but dollars, and jest only for the sake of the dollars. Don't you go and believe it. They're jest like me; they've been, many a one of 'em, down on their beam ends in the Old Country – couldn't get work, for one cause or another. Then they've emigrated, fought their way through, nearly gone to the wall maybe, and then made good. It's making good that fascinates us, young feller. Making good! Jest that and mostly only that. I'd be a proud man if I could put by a pile; for, don't yer see, it shows as I've succeeded. That's what I and many another are after. We've been failures, perhaps. We want to show the world that we're good for something. Dollars spells success – that's why we're after them all the time."

But Sam was not pugnacious, as we have observed. He dragged his huge leather case from one hip pocket and his revolver from the other, laying both on the table.

"I always carry a shooter," he said to Joe, "and so'll you after a bit. The usual run of fellow you come across is a decent, hard-working man. But this here country's full of 'bad men', as we call 'em. Ne'er-do-weels, remittance men, as some are known, loafers, and thieves. A chap as shows he's got sommat to defend himself with has a good chance of sendin' 'em off; so I carry a shooter. But we was talking of the stuff you'd got in your pocket, same as me. That makes up for burned hands."

Very deliberately he began to count out the values of the flimsy, blue-backed money notes rolled in his wallet, while Joe dived into an inner pocket and did likewise. He drew out quite a respectable bundle and counted the amounts also.

"Two hundred and fifty dollars," said Sam solemnly. "Reward for work done aboard the burning ship."

"Seven hundred and fifty dollars," murmured Joe, blushing when he thought of the amount.

"Jest so – reward for pluck and fer gumption," declared Sam. "My, wasn't you bashful up in the office when we was called in! You was for refusing almost. Said as you'd done nothing. That ain't the way of Canadians, lad. You did do good work; it was you who organized the volunteers and led 'em. That's a deal. It ain't nothing! It helped a whole heap, and therefore a reward was earned. That's the way in Canada – but let's get to business. What'll you do?"

"Act on advice you've already given," said Joe, pocketing his money. "My idea is to learn farming out here, and some day to take up a quarter section of land. But I'm going to learn the work first. I couldn't so much as milk a cow at this moment."

"Jest so," observed Sam dryly. "That's sense, that is. There's prosperity in this country, as I've told you often enough, but only for the workers. There's millions of acres, too, and no fear that if you wait you'll find none left for you. But where men fail is if they come out ignorant like you and pitch upon a quarter section when they ain't got the knowledge to choose their country. Their difficulties would often enough kill a man with farming knowledge; but, bless you! without even that knowledge, often enough with precious little money, they goes under almost afore they've had time to look round. So I say it's sound advice to you to say, 'Learn the farming work first'. Then take up your quarter section; for you'll be eighteen by then. Now, New Ontario's booming. Me and the missus will make there and prospect for a little. A single man can take a hundred acres in New Ontario for nothing. So can a married man; while, ef he's got a child under sixteen years of age, he can have two hundred fer the asking. Any more that's wanted costs two shillings and a halfpenny an acre. Cheap, ain't it? Wall, now, we comes again to you. You learn farming this summer. In the winter, get along into the towns and take most any job; next summer come right along to us. We'll have fixed a location by then, and you can take up a holding close handy. We'll get Claude and Jim in too, with one or two others, and we'll run co-operative farms. That is, instead of each man having a bunch of hosses, we'll keep enough for all, and help plough each other's holdings. We'll buy seed in bulk and get it cheaper fer that reason. And we'll sell our stuff in the same market, making one doing of the transport – so you come along next summer."

"I will," agreed Joe. "I've thought it over a lot, and will do as you advise; meanwhile, I shall bank most of the money."

"And mighty wise of you; only, see here," said Sam, his face wrinkling. "There's money to be made often enough by a wise fellow if only he has a little capital. With the sixty pounds you brought along, and the hundred and fifty you've been given, you've a tidy nest egg. Now you bank most of it, keeping twenty pounds for emergencies. One of these days, along where you're working, you'll drop on a site where the railway's approaching, and where there's likely to be a town. Towns spring up in new countries like mushrooms. Acres bare now, and worth perhaps two shillings, are worth twenty and thirty and more pounds in English money within a few years if they gets covered by a town. So, likely enough, you may drop on sich a place. Then draw the money you've banked, buy your land, and sit down to wait. Only, don't put all the money into one holding. Spread it about, young fellow. Don't put all the eggs into one basket."

There was little doubt that Sam was perfectly right, indeed, the experience of huge numbers in the Dominion goes to prove that. Towns do spring into being almost with the rapidity of mushrooms. A tiny settlement composed of wooden huts, called "shacks", and perhaps a log church, may, in the matter of three or four years, develop into a town, and, later on, even into a city. Those with knowledge and experience, and possessed of far-seeing eyes, may, by a fortunate purchase in the early days reap a big reward, and many a one has done so.

"So that's fixed," said Sam. "And now fer orders. We leaves here to-morrow fer Sudbury – that's beyond Ottawa. There me and the missus gets off the train. We'll buy a "rig", as a cart and horse are known, and we'll make off to the north-west looking fer a holding. You'd better come along with us to Montreal, where you can switch off fer Toronto, and look out in that direction fer a farm job, or you can come right along to or beyond Sudbury. Round Toronto you get Old Ontario, the country that's been known and settled this many a year. They're mostly fruit and dairy farmers about Toronto. North-west Ontario, New Ontario as it's called, is a different country. People kinder missed it till lately. It wasn't known that it was jest as good as many another, and no colder. But it's booming now, and there's where you'll find heaps of men jest wheat-growing. You could, of course, go right along to Manitoba, getting off at Winnipeg or somewheres close. But it's wheat-growing land there also; so ef you're going to join up with us later on you might jest as well stay somewheres near in Ontario."

Joe put on his cap and went out for a sharp walk. He clambered up the steep, old-fashioned streets of Quebec, still preserving their old French houses, to the Plains of Abraham, once the scene of a fierce engagement between English and French, when the gallant Wolfe won Canada for our Empire from the equally gallant Montcalm. He looked out from the heights across the flowing St. Lawrence River to the Isle d'Orleans, where Wolfe's batteries once thundered against the forts of Quebec, and past which the fierce Irroquois Indians, in days long since gone by, paddled their war canoes and kept the French colonists from crossing. And all the while he debated his future movements, for with the practical mind that his father had helped to train in him, Joe wanted to see his way clear. He had his future to make; a false step now might delay that success at which he aimed, at which, according to the worthy Sam, all newcomers and old colonists of the Dominion aim. Let those who would sneer at the seemingly grasping methods of many in Canada not forget what Sam had to say. Dollars do not spell happiness; they spell success. The immigrant who has few, if any to speak of, on arrival, and who fails to make wealth, is a failure, and failure causes a man to become despondent and to lose self-esteem. But gain, riches to one who was poor, who broke from old paths, left home and friends and all to start a new life, dollars in his case spell success, success that raises his head and his own self-esteem.

"I'll go along to Sudbury," Joe told himself. "Then I'll look out for a farm, and I'll bank all the money save fifty dollars. That's it; pay for my transport, and then bank all but fifty dollars, keeping father's letter with me."

The following morning found our hero aboard the train bound for Sudbury. They occupied places in a long car with two rows of seats, one on either side. At the far end of the car there was a miniature kitchen, where a fire was burning in a stove. Others who had crossed from England were with them, and the party soon settled down to their journey. Mrs. Fennick, with experience gained by earlier travel, had provisioned a basket, and with the help of Joe's kit, containing kettle and teapot, the little party were never at a want for good things to eat and drink. At night the seats, which were arranged in pairs facing one another were pulled out, making a respectable couch for one person, while the negro attendant lowered other bunks hinged to the side walls of the enormous car high overhead.

Late the following day the train pulled up at Sudbury, and they got down. Then Joe, Claude, and Jim waited till the Fennicks had bought a rig and had set out on their journey, when they, too, shouldered their bundles and strode off along the track, out of the town and into the open country. An hour or more later his two companions had accepted an engagement with a farmer whom they met driving along the track. Joe bade farewell to his two chums and strode onward.

"I'll make away more into the open," he told himself. "I'll get away from the settlements, so as to see what the life is really like, and whether the loneliness is so irksome as some make out."

Trudging along contentedly, he had covered some miles by noon, and then sat down to devour his luncheon. All that day he tramped, and the following one also, spending the night in the open; for it was beautiful weather, and frosts had long since departed from the land. Here and there he came upon settlements, and many a time was employment offered him, for the busy season with farmers was at hand, and labour always scarce. Sometimes he passed isolated farms, and on the third night put up in the shack of a settler who had little cause to complain of his progress.

"Came out as a youngster," he told Joe. "Took jobs here and there for four years, and then applied for a quarter section. It happened to be free from trees, though there was many an old rotting stump in the ground. I ploughed a quarter of the acreage the first year and secured a fine crop. Next year I did better, and broke up still more ground. If things go along nicely I shall do well, while already the section is worth some hundreds of dollars. Am I lonely? Don't you think it! I've too much doing in summertime and sufficient in winter. The chaps as is lonely are those who've lived in towns all their lives, and are used to people buzzing about them, and to trains and trams. They want to go to a theatre or a picture entertainment most every night, and having none about find things lonesome. I don't. If I want company I get the rig and drive off to a neighbour, or use the sleigh if the snow's too deep. Then there's a moose hunt at times, while always there's work to be done – tending the cattle, feeding the pigs and poultry, sawing logs, and suchlike. In summer there's picnics with the neighbours – shooting and fishing too at times. No, I ain't lonely."

Joe left his hospitable roof and pressed on towards the north-west, with his back to the railway. And a little later he came upon a small settlement, with farms immediately adjacent. Here he had no difficulty in obtaining work as a farm hand, the payment to be ten dollars a month and his board and keep.

"Know anything?" asked his employer, a man of some forty years of age, a colonial born, to whom Joe soon took a liking.

"Know anything about farming?" repeated Peter Strike, the man in question.

"Nothing," was Joe's answer, with an accompanying shake of the head.

"Never farmed, eh?"

"Never; couldn't milk a cow."

"Yer don't say so," grinned the farmer. "Now you'll do, you will, fine."

Joe was at a loss to understand. It seemed somewhat curious to him to hear that a hand engaged on a farm would do well when it was known that he was utterly ignorant. He explained the difficulty.

"Of course you don't understand," said Peter, guffawing loudly; for Joe's open speaking delighted him. "Of course you don't, 'cos back in England a man would be expected to know everything. But I'll tell you how it is with us. You're English; wall, now, in past years Englishmen got such a name with us colonials that we wouldn't employ him if we could help it. Eh? You'd like to know why? That's easy. Your Englishman would reach here dressed in knickers, perhaps – a regular swell. Us colonials with our old clothing would be fair game for him. Then he'd know everything. He'd be wanting to do things as he'd done 'em back in his own country, and not as we've learned they has to be done here. He'd want to teach his master, and grumble – my word, nothing pleased him! Now that's all getting altered. We find immigrants readier to learn, and you're one of 'em. Mind you, there's faults with others besides the Englishman who knows everything. There's faults with us. There's a sight of colonials who think they know more than they do, and when they get having advice from a man fresh out to the country – why, they get testy. It makes 'em angry. They ain't too fair to the newcomer. But guess that's getting altered, as I've said. Anyway, you don't know anything, ain't that it?"

"Nothing," laughed Joe; for the open-hearted Peter amused him.

"Then you come along in and see the missus and the children. Afterwards there's a job for you."

Joe was introduced to Peter's family circle, consisting of his wife and four small children. He found the shack to contain three rooms, a somewhat liberal allowance.

"Most of 'em has but one or two," explained Peter. "A man who has to be his own house builder can't afford too much time for fixing rooms. However, I made two, the kitchen here and the bedroom. Later on I built a lean-to, making an extra room. That'll be for you. Now we'll feed. Like beans and bacon?"

"Anything," said Joe heartily. "I've had a long tramp and am hungry. This fine air gives one an appetite."

"It's jest the healthiest place you could strike anywhere," cried Peter, his face glowing. "We've been here this four years. I bought the section from a man who had broken most of it and then got tired. You see, we've prairie all round, save for the settlement close handy. They say that the railway'll soon be along here. Anyway, there's no muskegs (swamps) hereabouts, and therefore no mosquitoes to speak of."

"He don't know what's a muskeg," laughed Mrs. Strike. "Tell him."

"It's a swamp, that's all," came the answer, "and there's miles of them in Canada. Often enough they're covered with low bush and with forests of rotting trees that ain't worth nothing as timber. But here we've open prairie, with plenty of wood, and huge forests at a little distance; so it's healthy. Now, you come along out and fix this job," he said, when Joe had finished the meal and had swallowed a cup of tea. "I'm so busy I haven't had time to see to a number of things, specially since my man was taken ill and left. There's the pigsty, for instance; it wants cleaning out. You jest get in at it."

Joe had long since donned his colonial outfit. He wore a slouch hat, with which no one could find a fault save for its obvious newness. An old pair of trousers covered his legs, and thick, nailed boots were on his feet. His jacket he had carried over his arm, and it was now reposing with his baggage, while a thick brown shirt and a somewhat discoloured red handkerchief completed his apparel. He followed Peter to an outhouse, and found at the back a range of wooden pigsties which might, with truth, be said to be in an extremely unsavoury condition. There was a fork and a spade near at hand, together with an old tin bucket.

"Right," he said briskly, turning up the ends of his trousers; "I'll make a job of it. I should say that a chap who had no knowledge of farming could do this as well as any other. I'll come along when I've finished."

Peter stood watching his new hand for some few moments, and then strode off out of sight. Joe turned his sleeves up, climbed into the sty, and set to work with a will.

"Not an overnice job," he told himself, "but then it's part of farming work. If I turn up my nose at this sort of thing and think myself too good for it – why, that would be a nice sort of beginning! Someone has to clean the sties on a farm. I'm the labourer, and so it's my job."

His jovial whistle could be heard in the shack as he worked, and brought Mrs. Strike to the door with an infant in her arms.

"Why, it's the new hand," she told her husband. "He's whistling, as if he liked the job you'd given him. Now I think that was a little hard. You can see as Joe's a better sort of lad. He's had an education, and I wouldn't wonder if he was something in the Old Country. And you put him right off to clean out the sty."

She regarded her lord and master with some severity; but the latter only grinned. Peter had a most taking face; in fact, his features were seldom severe, and more often than not wore a smile. He was a tall, burly man, with broad shoulders and long limbs. Possessed of fair hair and of a peaked beard, he was quite a handsome fellow, though wonderfully neglected as to his raiment. Indeed, contrasting Joe and Peter, one would have said offhand that the latter was the labourer and Joe the owner of the property.

But that is just the curious part of things outside the settlements in Canada. The more patched a man's garments, the more probable it is that he is successful. A colonist is not there judged by his fellows because of his clothing. He is judged by results – results of his labours on the soil or his astuteness in business. Compare this with England, where fine clothes make fine birds, where appearance is of so much importance, and do not let us sneer at either people. Custom has brought either condition about, and no doubt with good reason.

As for Peter, he was grinning widely as his wife turned somewhat sharply upon him.

"You've given him right off the nastiest job, and he quite green," she said.

"And I've done so with a reason," laughed Peter. "There's men I have hired before who had obviously seen something better back where they came from. They would have kicked at doing that sty. They would have forgotten that their old life was nothing to me, and that they were seeking their living in this country. Their old pride would be too much for 'em, and I would have to suffer. Now a chap who comes out here has to drop pride. If he's ignorant, he oughtn't to be above starting right at the bottom. I like hearing that lad whistling; he ain't too proud to earn an honest living, even if the job is what it is."

"Hallo!" he called, coming over to Joe some half-hour later and looking into the sty. "How're you doing?"

"Fine," said our hero, borrowing an expression somewhat common in the Dominion. "Almost finished."

"Then you've been mighty slippy," admitted Peter, his eyes opening when he saw that our hero had indeed almost finished the task. "This lad'll do for me," Peter said to himself. "He works, he does. He's the kind of fellow who likes to get ahead, whether he's working for another or for himself. My, if he ain't washing the place down now!"

Evidently his new hand was cleanly also, and that was pleasing. Peter began to think that in gaining Joe's services he had made quite a bargain.

"That'll fix it right, lad," he sang out. "You've made a fine job of it. Jest you hop out now, and put the fork and spade back where you found 'em. It's yer first lesson in farming and in other things."

Joe looked up smiling. "Eh?" he said.

"Yes," went on Peter, "Mrs. Strike's been pitching into me for giving you such a job first off; but I wanted to see for meself whether you'd kick, or whether you meant to get on whatever came along. Reckon you'll do – now come along in and feed the hosses."

When a month had passed, Joe found another ten dollars added to the fifty he had kept by him; also he had settled down wonderfully with the Strikes, and was already getting along with his farm work.

"He's a treasure is that lad," admitted Mrs. Strike warmly, when she and her husband were alone one evening. "It don't matter what it is that's wanted, he'll do it. If it's one of the children to mind, he'll smile and wink at the bairn. If it's water for the shack, he's willing. And if it's a log for the stove, he jest takes the saw and goes off whistling. That lad'll get along in the world."

"He's fine," agreed Peter. "He's the sort we want out from the Old Country."

Whether he was or not, Joe had taken kindly to the new life, without a shadow of doubt. His attentive mind was constantly absorbing details from the garrulous Peter or from his neighbours, and the end of that month's service on the farm had taught him quite a smattering of the profession he was to follow. As for being lonely, that he certainly was not; he was almost too busy even to have time for thinking of such a matter. Then, too, there were neighbours, while each shack actually possessed a telephone. However, if there were monotony in the life he was living, it was not long before an exciting incident occurred that would have aroused anyone even more lethargic than our hero.

CHAPTER VI
A Canadian Bad Man

"You jest put the hosses into the rig and make along to Hurley's," said Peter, Joe's employer, one early morning when the land was already ploughed, harrowed, and sown, and there was little to do but tend the animals and await the growth of the wheat crop, upon which Peter anticipated so much. "And don't stop longer than you need, lad. He's a bad man is Hurley, one of England's ne'er-do-weels, who came out years ago, and has now taken to farming. I've lent him a seeder this two seasons, and he hasn't returned it. Jest hitch it on to the back of the rig and bring it along."

"And you can take something from me along to Mrs. Hurley," said Peter's wife, who was one of those kind-hearted colonists one so often meets. "She's a poor, down-trodden thing, and most like she doesn't have too many of the good things. Here's butter for her, and eggs, and a leg of pork."

Joe was by now quite an adept at the management of the rig, and soon had his horses harnessed in, an operation of which he had been supremely ignorant before his arrival. He mounted into the cart, having placed Mrs. Strike's basket there already, cracked the whip, and went off across the prairie track between the ploughed acres already sprouting into greenness.

Hurley's quarter section was a matter of four miles away, and Joe had met the man only once before. But already something of his reputation had reached his ears, and Joe had gathered that amongst a farming class of industrious fellows this Hurley was looked at askance.

"He's a bully, and a sullen bully with it all," Peter had said once before. "He don't keep a hand more'n a month, as a general rule, while I reckon the boy as he has apprenticed to him has none too good a time. Hurley's a man I don't take to."

Bearing all this in mind, Joe whipped up his horses and took them at a smart pace across the fields. On every hand lay wooded country, with clearings to right and left, where the industry of the settlers had felled the trees, paying toll to the Government of Canada for them, and had then rooted the land, broken it, and placed therein the seed which was to spring into such bounteous growth. In every case a log hut was erected somewhere on the quarter section, consisting of one hundred and sixty acres; and these log huts often enough disclosed from their outward lines something of the character of the inmates, for in one case the shack was barely twelve feet by twelve.

"Jim Canning's," Joe told himself, for he had met Jim and liked him. "A confirmed old bachelor; been in Canada for ten years and more, and seems to like living by himself. He's a jovial fellow. Hallo, Jim!" he shouted, seeing that worthy crossing his section towards him. "How'dy."

Observe the expression, and gather the fact that even his own short residence in the Dominion had already caused Joe to copy those who lived about him. He was becoming quite a Canadian in his speech. Already one could detect something of that pleasant drawl that marks the sturdy colonial.

"Hallo, Joe!" shouted the stranger, beaming at our hero and disclosing handsome features, sunburned to a degree, while even his chest was of a deep brown; for Jim wore no collar, and had discarded the customary neckcloth. He was, in fact, a tattered-looking object – a huge patch in the seat of his trousers, a shirt which might have been blue or green or red in its palmy days, but which was now of a curious brown, evidently from much exposure to the sun. "How'dy," he cried. "Where away?"

"Hurley's, fetching a seeder."

"Huh! Then you look lively back agin," came the answer. "There's ructions down there. Hurley's been fighting with his hands, and though I believe they've settled the quarrel for the time bein', you never know when it won't break out again; he ain't no use ain't Hurley."

They waved to one another and then parted, Joe jogging along the rough track, now with the wheels on one side deep in an old rut, which threatened to upset the rig, and then bumping over boulders and tree stumps, which made riding anything but comfortable. But what cared Joe? He whistled shrilly; his face was rosy and tanned, his eyes clear, his broad-brimmed hat thrust back on his head, till a lock of hair showed to the front. Nor could his own clothing be very favourably contrasted with Jim's; for Joe's shirt had a large rent in it, made that very morning. A portion of the brim of his hat was missing, while the ends of his trousers were threadbare, to say the least of them.

"Clothing don't make the man, anyhow," Peter had said many a time. "You ain't any the wuss fer a rent in yer breeks."

"Hallo, Joe!" came a hail across from another quarter section. "How's the Strikes?"

Joe shouted back a greeting, and was soon exchanging others with farmers farther on. Indeed, he called at one of the shacks, a magnificent affair, showing the pluck and ability of its owner. It belonged to a city clerk from the city of London, one who had been ignorant of farming conditions, and when Joe was last in this direction it was not entirely finished.

"I thought I'd just drop in and see the house," he said, as he pulled up at the door. "It wouldn't have been neighbourly to have passed without a call."

"That it wouldn't," laughed a small but active lady, who emerged and shook hands with him. "Hi, Jack, here's Mr. Joe come to see us! Isn't the shack a beauty, just?"

She stood away from the shack, regarding it with a proud eye. And Joe eagerly extolled its magnificence; for this city clerk had built a house which none need be ashamed of.

"Not bad by half, eh?" he grinned, as he came up to Joe. "My cousin, who's farming with me, gave a hand. There's four rooms inside, and a covered way to the stables and the piggeries. It's cost us a heap of labour, but it's done now, and mighty pleased we are. How's the Strikes? Crops showing well, eh? We're doing fine; and the wife is making money with her fowls and eggs and such things. My boy, I wouldn't be back on an office stool for double the pay. I'm free here – free, my boy! I can breathe out in this country. And look at the kids – they're as healthy as we could wish."

Joe took in his surroundings with an observant eye, and heartily congratulated his friends. Here he saw before him an example of what a man from a city can do in the Dominion, if only he have the pluck and the tenacity to face the difficulties and disappointments which are sure to come along at first, and have the perseverance to work.

"How did you manage?" he asked Jack, the owner of the place.

"Manage! Well, now, like this. I was ill back in the Old Country, and I'll say this for the people who employed me – they treated me handsomely. They paid my salary for a whole year; then the doctor recommended Canada, and out we came, drawing all our savings. Tom, my cousin, had been here four years working on the farms, and we went into partnership right away. Of course I knew nothing. I trusted to him, and I've learned steadily. It's been uphill work, my boy. But there you are."

He held out an open palm towards the house, eyeing it with supreme satisfaction. And no wonder. Here was a man who through ill-health had failed, more or less, in England. Canada had given him a new lease of life and new opportunities. But let us remember that the Dominion gives nothing without effort on the side of immigrants. Jack had worked – his elaborate shack showed that distinctly – while he had been aided and abetted by a clever wife who fell in at once with the ways of the country, who did not grumble because she was far outside a town, but set to work to master the intricacies of chicken rearing, or butter making, and a thousand and one things, hidden arts to her till that moment. And the result was success – success and happiness.

Joe shouted a farewell, promised to call in for a meal on his way back, and again whipped up his horses. In half an hour the rough track and his rig brought him to the door of the Hurleys, a tumble-down shack, showing obvious slackness on the part of the owner; and as he climbed out of the rig he heard cries and shouts coming from the interior of the shack.

"A ruction," he told himself. "Perhaps I'd better wait; other people's quarrels have nothing to do with me."

He paused half in and half out of the rig for a little while, till, of a sudden, the door of the shack flew open, and a lad some fifteen years of age dashed out. After him came a burly, bearded fellow, whose knitted brows and scowling face showed that he was in a temper. There was a whip in his hand, and no sooner was he out of the door than he sent the lash curling about the flanks of the lad who had preceded him, causing the latter to give vent to a cry of pain and to take cover by the rig. Then Hurley – for he it was – swung round on our hero.

"Huh!" he growled, drawing in the slack of his lash. "What do you want? You ain't been asked here. Clear off!"

Joe dropped from the rig and stepped a pace nearer. "I've come for Peter Strike's seeder," he said.

"Strike! Eh? You get off!" came the furious answer, for it seemed as if Joe's arrival had increased the anger of the individual. "You get right off, or I'll give yer strike jest as I'm a-going to do with this little rascal. Come you here, Tom; I'll learn you to leave the door of the stable open of a night and have all the cattle treading over the corn. You ain't coming? Then I'll have to fetch you."

The huge bully bore down upon the trembling lad he had addressed, and who seemed too scared to move. He cowered by the side of the rig till Hurley was upon him, and was then dragged towards the door of the shack.

"What! You ain't gone?" growled Hurley, seeing that Joe had made no movement, but stood beside the rig regarding him, and gripping the butt of his whip. "Ef you ain't away in a jiffy, I'll give you summat of the same too."

"You'll give me the seeder first," said Joe, keeping his temper, and showing an unflinching front, "and then you'll take your hands off Tom. Even if he did leave the stable door open, he's sorry, no doubt, and there's no excuse for treating him so badly. I'd be ashamed if I was a big fellow the same as you."

Hurley let his lower jaw drop with amazement, showing a set of irregular teeth which were all discoloured. He almost foamed at the mouth, while his eyes narrowed with anger and seemed to disappear within their sockets. Joe could see the fingers of his one free hand crushed into the palm, while the man's muscles hardened and stood out prominently under the skin of his arm. He bellowed when he answered.

"So you'd like to concern yourself with things that ain't got nothing to do with you," he shouted. "You're one of the green chaps from over the water that thinks things out here should be run as if the boys was dressed in silk, and every one of them mammy's darlings. I'm going to lick this kid, and when I'm done, if you ain't gone, I'll give you a hiding jest the same."

Joe began to gather the fact that he was in for trouble, and debated what he ought to do. There may be some who, under similar circumstances, would have clambered into the rig and driven off; but few, very few we imagine. Joe, at any rate, was not to be numbered with them; he clenched the hand not gripping his whip and watched to see what happened. And Hurley did not keep him long waiting. He took the boy Tom by the scruff of his neck, forced him against the doorpost of the shack, and proceeded to bind him to it with a length of cord.

"That'll do," said Joe curtly, walking towards him. "Let that lad go!"

"Eh? Why, ef I don't think you're mad!" declared the bully, opening his mouth in amazement. Indeed, he never once thought seriously that our hero would interpose between him and his victim. For Hurley stood six feet in his socks, and was burly and heavy. Joe perhaps topped the measure at five feet nine, and wanted to fill out a great deal yet before he could compare with this fellow. If he had any advantage over such a man, and that was an extremely doubtful point, it lay in his activity. Joe was light and "nippy" on his feet. In the boxing ring he could dodge round his opponent till the latter was exhausted almost in his efforts to force the battle. Hurley, however, was heavy and fat and unwieldy; besides, the bully's face bore abundant evidence of indulgence. There were heavy lines beneath the eyes; the healthy tan and colour of the average colonist who works in the open was conspicuous by its absence, and instead his face was deadly pale. His deep and rapid breathing, too, told of his soft condition.

"He'd smash me like an egg," Joe told himself. "This is going to be a nasty business. But I can't, I really can't back out of it. Look here, Hurley," he said, attempting to reason with the angry man, "leave Tom alone. You know better than I do that your neighbours would never stand seeing you knocking him about. Bullying don't go down out in these parts."

There came a roar from Hurley. Reason was thrown away on the maddened ruffian, and if only the truth had been known, he had imbibed a sufficiency of liquor that morning to account for a great deal of violence. Indeed, this was a habit which had grown with him, and which spelled ruin to his farming and to the happiness of his home. The veins in his bull-like neck swelled out prominently, then he launched himself at Joe, and, swinging the whip overhead, sent the lash coiling about his face. Our hero answered with a rapidity that must have been startling. He dashed in with the quickness of lightning and brought the butt end of his whip handle down with a crash on the middle of Hurley's head. A minute later they were locked in one another's arms and engaged in a desperate struggle. Hurley gripped Joe round the shoulders, compressing his chest and arms. Then Joe managed to wrench his right fist free, and without a particle of hesitation sent it again and again into the bully's face, till blood streamed down upon him, while Hurley shouted and foamed with rage, and strained as if he would crush the life out of his youthful antagonist. His breath came in gasps, so great were his exertions. His eyes were bloodshot, and altogether he wore anything but a taking appearance.

"Now, let me go, and end the matter," said Joe, keeping his wits, and pressing the man away from him as far as possible.

"Not till I've half-killed you," came the grunting answer. "I'll learn you to interfere; I'll break yer back, young feller."

And thereupon he proceeded to attempt to put that plan into execution. He lifted Joe as if he were a feather, swung him round and hurled him against the shack, jarring the breath out of his body. It was only with a great effort that our hero kept his senses and struggled to hold an upright position, then, just as he had got his breath again, the man was on him. Joe let out with his right and left fists in quick succession, getting home on the bully's face on each occasion. Then, stooping quickly, he picked up his whip, and, gripping the handle again, brought the butt heavily across Hurley's head, sending the man staggering backward. Indeed, the fellow seemed to be incapable of further exertion, for he rested his back against the shack and stood there panting.

Joe went to the boy at once, cut the rope which bound him, and pointed to the shack.

"Get your traps at once," he said, "then climb into the rig. I'll take you along with me."

He turned once more to see what was happening to Hurley, and was only just in time to spring aside, and thereby escape a sweeping blow from a heavy fork handle with which the ruffian had armed himself.

"I'll show you who's master," shouted the fellow, his beard bristling with rage, his hat fallen from his head, and his clothing all awry. "I'll show you who's winner here, I will. I'll brain you before I've done with you."

Up went his formidable stick again, to be swung over his head; then with a rush he advanced on Joe. But the latter dodged behind the rig, and for a while attacker and attacked were separated. Joe, in fact, could have retired. But there was the lad Tom to be considered, for at this moment he emerged from the shack, a huge bundle under his arm.

"Go back, right in," bellowed Hurley. "I'll finish you too if you're not careful. Go right in; I'll give you what you've earned when I've done with this cub. Eh? You ain't going to?"

The smallest hesitation on the part of Tom was sufficient to send the blood again rushing to the face of the bully. He looked a terrible object as he sprang at the boy, and there is little doubt that he would have done him a serious injury, had not Joe again pluckily come to the rescue. Darting out from behind the rig, he was just in time to catch the end of the stout handle which Hurley wielded as it swung back over his shoulder. Then, with a howl of rage, the brute turned on him.

"You again!" he shouted. "Then that for you! That, and that, and that!"

He rained blows on our hero, one catching him across the shoulder and almost felling him. The remaining two he was lucky enough to escape by leaping aside. But he realized that such an attack could not last for ever, nor was he likely to escape another time. It was with a quick movement, therefore, that he closed with Hurley. His fists went crash into the man's face, and then they were once more locked together. But here the bully had all the advantage, and his strength was increased by the rage he felt. It mattered little to him that Tom, with a pluck that did him credit, seized Joe's whip and struck his tormentor over the head time and again. Hurley did not seem to feel the blows; all his frantic rage was concentrated on Joe.

"I'm a-going to kill you right out," he grunted. "I'll larn you to come interfering with me and mine."

He swung Joe upward clear of the ground and then hurled him downward, once again driving the breath out of Joe's body. But he was not defeated. The lad had more pluck than strength, to give him his due, as, gasping for breath, he rose swiftly and once more tackled his opponent. Reaching forward, he planted a heavy blow in Hurley's face, and contrived to spring away before the man could seize him.

"Go in again! Punch him for all you can!" shouted Tom, taking an active interest now in the proceedings, and dodging round the combatants, as if he were seeking another opportunity to strike his tormentor. "Watch him, though; he's got that stick again. If I'd a gun I'd shoot him."

"You would, would you?" growled Hurley, his head down, his neck sunk into his shoulders, and a demoniacal expression on his face. "You'd shoot me, young feller? But I'll deal with you in a while. Maybe I'll kill you. This fool here I will, sure as eggs."

He spat into his hands and gripped his stake again. As for Joe, had he been armed with a revolver, there is little doubt but that he would have made good use of the weapon; for if ever a man looked murderous it was Hurley. More than that, had Joe but known what the interior of the shack disclosed, and been armed, he would have fired at this ruffian without a second's hesitation; for Hurley's attack on Tom was not his only act of brutality on this eventful morning. He had begun to bully the boy an hour ago, in spite of his unhappy wife's appeal, and when she had at length endeavoured to intervene, he had struck her insensible. That was the class of ruffian our hero had to deal with. A glance at his face, at his gaping lips, his firm-clenched teeth, and his bristling beard showed that his mental condition approached madness. And now, having regained his breath in some measure, he fixed his eye on Joe and rushed at him as a bull would at one who had roused his anger.

"Watch him!" shouted Tom again, as if the warning were actually needed. "Here, let's run for it."

But it was too late to think of that. Besides, Joe had his master's property to consider. He stood his ground, therefore, and held up a warning hand.

"I warn you to desist," he shouted. "I have done you no wrong, but have prevented you from ill-treating this boy. You are much older than I am, and should know what the end of this will be. Then, stand off."

"Stand off, and know that you've interfered? Not me!" came the growling answer. "Besides, I know how the thing's going to end. I'm going to kill you sure for being fool enough to interfere with other people."

Hurley waited for no more. He had paused as Joe held up a hand and spoke; but now he hurled himself forward, and struck out blindly with his stake. As for Joe, he stepped aside and dealt the man a swinging blow behind the ear as he passed him; but it was his last effort. The fight was too unequal, for here was a man armed with a long stake and able to reach him with it. Up went the formidable weapon again, and when it fell Joe's head was beneath it. He fell with a crash and lay quite motionless. As for Tom, he dropped his bundle and went off at a run towards the nearest quarter section, shouting for help at the top of his voice.

"That's what I call justice," growled Hurley, looking at the result of his violence. "I promised I'd knock him out, and I've done it. Now for the next business. This row'll put the North-west Police on me, and the neighbours'll be only too ready to join in. I'll hook it."

He went to Joe and bent deliberately over his unconscious figure, and then, with the hand of one who had obviously had experience, he ran through his pockets. When he rose again he was tucking away within his coat the roll of bills which represented all our hero's savings, added to the small fund he had kept out of the bank, and in addition the precious envelope which Joe's father had left to him.

"Sixty-five dollars free," growled Hurley. "That's a windfall, seeing that there's scarce a cent in the shack. It'll do for the time being. Here's an envelope – valuables, perhaps. I'll look into it later. Now, I'll cut this farming and be off."

Hurley was a cool ruffian, even if at times he was violent. He entered the shack, and emerged after some five minutes carrying a bundle of clothes and a rifle. Then he mounted the rig, having previously picked up the whip which Joe had used, cracked it, and set off down the track in the direction of the railway. He left the figure of Joe Bradley lying motionless and forlorn on the very ground, where he had made such a brave fight to protect a lad little younger than himself against the attack of a hulking bully.

CHAPTER VII
Into the Backwoods

"Jest you sit right up and take a sip at this. Now then, head back; make a try, lad. It'll pull you round; time's pressing."

Joe heard the voice afar off and stirred. There was a familiar note about it, a kindly bluntness to which he was accustomed. So being the sort of lad whose nature it was to make an effort always, if only for the reason that he was of a decidedly active temperament, and perhaps also because he hated, like many another person, to be beaten, he lifted his head, feeling at once a hand placed beneath it. Then he opened his eyes and stared upward, blinking all the while, at a huge expanse of blue sky such as dwellers by the edge of the Mediterranean rave about.

"Eh?" he gasped, attempting to moisten his lips. "Time to get up, eh?"

"Jest take a sip, and then you'll be feeling lively," he heard again in the well-known voice. "You ain't knocked out altogether. That thar Hurley ain't quite beaten you, I guess."

The mention of the bully's name brought Joe to an upright position. He sat up abruptly, and then, seeing a tin mug just before his face, and being consumed by a terrible thirst, seized the said tin mug and drained it.

"Ah!" he gasped. "I wanted that. Where's Hurley?"

"That's jest the very question we're axin' ourselves. Sit up agin, lad," he heard, undoubtedly in Peter Strike's voice. He turned at once and gazed into the rough, unshaved face of his master.

"You?" he asked in bewilderment. "Why, I left you way back at the shack!"

"So you did, lad, so you did; but that's two hours ago, and perhaps more. I was out lookin' at the pigs, and thinkin' as the time was coming close when I'd drive some of 'em over to Sudbury, where I'd be sure to make dollars on 'em, when the missus comes rushin' out. 'Peter,' she shouts, 'where have you got to? Drat the man!' she says aloud to herself, 'drat the man! Where's he got to? Never here when I want him, but – ah, there you be!' she hollers out, suddenly catching a view of me over by the pigs. 'There you be, Peter.'"

Joe sat up with a vengeance now. His stay with the excellent Peter and Mrs. Strike had taught him to like them very much, and Peter's description of what had happened was so faithful to what must have actually occurred. Joe himself had heard the bustling spouse of his master calling her lord in peremptory tones, and he grinned now at the recollection.

"Yes," he smiled, "you were there."

"I was that," laughed Peter. "And then I heard that there had been a ruction, and that you was in it. Of course I slipped into the shack fer my gun at once, hopped on to a hoss, and was away fer Jim Canning's in a jiffy. He'd got his hosses harnessed into the rig already, and we went on in company till we struck along by Jack Bailey's. Wall, now, he's a bright lad is Jack, though he ain't so very long from an office stool in London. There he was with his cousin George, with the rig loaded up with provisions.

"'Most like we'll be away from home a bit,' sang out Jack as we come up. 'So we've put together a little grub and drink, besides a kettle and sichlike. What'll you do?'

"'Get right along to Hurley's and see what's happened,' I answered. 'This Tom's come in in a hurry, and maybe things ain't as bad as they seem. Anyway, we'll make along there. I'll gallop ahead. I've rung up the central station Sudbury, and told the missus to call for the North-west Police, because this job's bound to be a police job anyway.' Wall, here we are. How's yerself?"

Peter had filled his tin mug again, and when he offered it to Joe the lad took it with pleasure. He could sit up alone now, and presently could actually stand, though he felt giddy. However, they brought a chair from Hurley's shack and placed him in it. Then Jack Bailey, the immigrant who not so long ago had been a clerk in the city of London, and who was now on the high road to becoming a successful farmer in the Dominion, stood over him and gently dressed the wound Hurley had given.

"Not so bad, after all," he said cheerily, as he carefully washed the part where the bully's stick had fallen. "Little more than an inch long, and not deep. It won't even send you to bed. Just stay still while I clip the hair away and tidy things up a little."

For ten minutes he busied himself with Joe's head, snipping the hair away all round the ugly wound which Hurley had given our hero; for your city clerk is no fool, and Jack knew that no scalp wound can be safely left unless the hair be removed and thorough cleanliness thus ensured. He produced a little roll of strapping which his thoughtful wife had provided, and, having placed a small dressing over the wound, applied the strips of strapping, getting them to adhere by the simple expedient of lighting a match and heating the adhesive material.

"Now you'll do," he said, surveying his work with some pride. "How do you feel? Giddy, eh?"

Joe felt distinctly giddy and positively sick; for a concussion is often followed by sickness. But he was game, and fought down the feeling heroically; in fact, he struggled to his feet, plunged his hands into his pockets, and actually whistled.

"Showing as you ain't beaten by a long way," said Peter, emerging from the shack and looking with approval at our hero. But there were grave lines about his face, and for a little while he was in close and earnest conversation with his friends. Perhaps an hour later a horseman came galloping towards them, and was hailed with pleasure.

"That you, Mike?" sang out Peter. "I sent along over the 'phone for you, and guessed it wouldn't take you long to reach."

"Horse was already saddled, and me almost mounted when the message came," replied the newcomer, dropping out of his saddle. "I was jest off in the opposite direction, so it war lucky you 'phoned jest then. I rode down to the station, and put horse and self aboard a freighter about to steam out. They dropped me down about opposite here, and I've legged it for all I could. What's the tale?"

A magnificent specimen of humanity he was, this newcomer. Even Joe was not so sick that he could not admire him. For Mike Garner stood six feet in his stockinged feet, nothing less, and was burly in proportion; also he seemed to be as agile as a cat, while none could accuse him of fatness.

His muscular calves filled the soiled and stained butcher boots he wore. A pair of massive thighs swelled his khaki breeches, while the dun-coloured shirt was stretched tight over a brawny chest, open at the neck, and with sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing a pair of arms tanned to the colour of nut-brown, and swelling with muscle and sinew. In fact, Mike was just a specimen of that fine body of men, the North-west Police of Canada, who, in spite of paucity of numbers, keep law and order in the land. But it is only fair to mention that out in the settlements their task is simple, as a general rule; for your newcomer to Canada, as well as the old settlers, are law-abiding people, given to toil and thrift and not to broiling. However, here and there there is trouble, and Mike had galloped over to investigate the case of Hurley.

"What's the tale?" he asked abruptly, dropping his reins over the big horse's neck and leaving it there unattended, while he came towards the shack rolling a cigarette. "Hurley's broken out, you say. Guessed he might. I've had an eye on him this two years back. There's been complaints of ructions at the shack. We had a man in a month back who said he'd been knocked about."

"It's wuss this time," answered Peter gravely. "I'll give yer the yarn in a few words. I sent this here chap Joe over to fetch a seeder Hurley had borrowed two years ago and hadn't returned. Wall, he heard shouts as he come up to the shack, and saw Hurley whacking Tom here, the lad he'd got apprenticed to him. Joe wasn't having that, nohow. Eh?"

He looked over at our hero as if for corroboration. Then Tom chimed in.

"Hurley's a bully," he cried. "He was tying me to the post when Joe asked him to leave off. He was polite, was Joe. But Hurley swore and threatened him too. Then he struck at him, and there was a shindy. My, but Joe stuck to his man and hammered him in fine style! If it hadn't been for the rake handle, Joe would have beat him, big though Hurley is. But he struck Joe over the head, and then I ran for help."

"Seems to me as this here Joe did well," declared Mike curtly. "Wall, now?"

"There ain't much to tell. Tom reached Jim Canning's, and he rang me up. We was all of us along here as quick as possible. Hurley took the rig and drove off, and there ain't a doubt that he's taken a gun with him. He cleared Joe's pockets of every cent – about sixty dollars, he reckons – as well as a letter of some value. But that ain't all. There's been trouble in the shack. That ere brute set upon his wife and made an end of her."

When the whole tale came to be understood, there was little doubt that the brute Hurley had flown into a furious temper, and had become almost mad with passion. His unfortunate wife he had killed with a knock-down blow, while the reader has learned of his subsequent movements.

"Wall?" asked Peter, looking expectantly at Mike.

"You wait a bit, mate," said the other. He dropped his cigarette, lifted his hat solemnly, and entered the shack. There was a severe air on his handsome, sunburned face as he emerged.

"Of course," he said, "we've got to follow; that is, I have. If you gentlemen – "

"You don't need to ax," exclaimed Peter, with added bluntness. "We're here. Ef you want us, we're right alongside you all the time. Murders ain't often done in the settlements, but when they are, then it's every man's job to find the brute as did it. You lift yer little finger, and you've every man Jack willing and ready."

"Thanks," said Mike swiftly, looking about him and proceeding to roll another cigarette. "We'll move slippy; we'll get right back along the tracks this fellow made, and make use of the first telephone. This Hurley didn't have one, so we can't send news from here. If he's taken to the railway, we'll send along either way, and they'll have him quick. But most like he's turned north, in which case we've a pretty business before us. Ready now?"

"You kin guess so," said Peter, clambering on to his horse. "Tom, you ain't afraid to follow?"

That young fellow shook his head vigorously; his eyes were sparkling. At that moment he looked more of a boy, more resolute than he had done ever since he came to the Hurleys'. "I'm game," he said. "If Joe was game to tackle him alone, I'm right with the lot of you."

"Then you climb right into Jack's rig and take Joe with you. He'll want a bit o' nussing for a while. Reckon, Mike, if this here business is going to take us away north, we'd do well to lay in a stock of ammunition. What say?"

The policeman was in his saddle already and turned his head.

"We'll get all we want from the station," he said. "Let's move."

Waiting to allow Mike to gain some yards start, so that he might follow Hurley's track without difficulty, the others followed in single file, first Peter, and then Jack and his cousin in their rig, with Tom and Joe beside them, while Jim brought up the rear. Half an hour later they struck the railway, running clear and unfenced across the land. Here Mike turned east, still following the wheel marks left by the rig which Hurley had stolen. About four miles farther along the marks left the railway and ran towards a stretch of wooded country. Perhaps a quarter of a mile within this they came upon the rig itself, deserted, while the horses and Hurley himself were nowhere to be seen. Mike dropped out of his saddle, where Peter joined him. As for Joe, the jolting and the excitement of the chase seemed to have done him a vast amount of good, for his head had ceased to ache, and he was hardly giddy. But for the pain in his scalp and a certain stiffness about his limbs, he might never have come by an injury.

"Unhitched his cattle here and made off with 'em," declared Mike, standing well clear of the rig, and walking slowly round it. "Struck due north, as I guessed he might. He'll be hiding up amongst the woods, and it'll take a tracker to find him. Tell you, Peter, it ain't no manner of use for us to follow right off. We might lose his tracks any moment, then there'd be difficulties. Guess the best thing to do is to camp right here and wait. I'll make back to the railway and 'phone along. Late to-night, perhaps, or to-morrow morning I'll be back agin with you, and then I'll have someone along with me as can follow any track, as can scent out a white man almost. You sit tight right here. Got it?"

"You've hit it true," agreed Peter. "There ain't no manner of sense in plunging on. This country right north is jest a huge forest for miles. There's swamps, too; then stretches of rock over which a man might ride and never leave a sign that a white man could follow. So we'll camp right here, and you kin get back and fix things. Don't forget that we'll want shooters. I've a revolver and a gun; Jack there and George ain't got a gun between 'em, nor Joe nor Tom. It ain't sense to go after a chap same as Hurley without having the things to meet him with. He'll shoot, he will."

"Sure," declared Mike, with the directness of one who knew; "he'll shoot on sight. There's a rope waiting fer his neck, and he knows it. You boys had best understand that right away."

He glanced round at the party, his eyebrows elevated, a question on his lips. But they sent him off promptly, laughing at his caution, eager as ever, whatever the dangers, to follow the miscreant who had killed his wife and wellnigh done the same for our hero.

"Best get the hosses out o' the rigs and let 'em feed," said Peter, who took the lead now that Mike had gone. "Jack, you and George has the cooking things and the grub, so reckon it's up to you to cook us a meal. Jim and me'll scout round a while. We ain't likely to cover the tracks left by Hurley, and it'll be well to follow a goodish bit, so as to make sure he ain't too handy. It wouldn't be kinder nice to get eating and then have a bullet plumping amongst us."

There was bustle about the little clearing for some few minutes. Joe lent a hand to the Baileys, and soon had the horses out of the rig and tied by a long rein to trees, allowing them freedom to graze. By then Tom had gathered sufficient sticks to form a fire, and had helped to take the horses from Jim's rig; for the latter had already departed with Peter. In a little while there was a blaze in the centre of the camp, and Jack had a kettle of water suspended over it with the help of a couple of forked sticks. George produced from a mysterious parcel a lump of meat, and having cut it into dainty slices, skewered them in a long row on a maple stick he had cut and cleaned, and at once began to toast them over the flames.

"Makes you get hold of an appetite, young fellow," he said, winking at Joe. "Now don't it? There's a flavour about open-air cookery that just sets a man's mouth watering. Ever been out camping?"

"Never," admitted Joe. "Ripping, I should say."

"Then you're about right," cried George, his face ruddy beside the flames. "I mind the time when I first came out to Canada. Didn't I just pity Jack back in the Old Country! For I went off with a prospecting party north to see what sort of a line there was for a new railway. It wasn't half as bad as people had painted, for there were few muskegs, as the swamps are called, and fewer mosquitoes. As for food, there wasn't a day passed but the Indians along with us brought in beasts of every sort; so we dined handsomely. And camping was a fair treat. Talk about a difference between it and the old life – living in a tiny villa south of London, mugging in a London office, and being half-stifled with winter fogs! There we were in the open day and night, such nights too! Fresh air, fresh food, and heaps of exercise all the time. I just revelled. This steak frizzling here, and the scent it throws out, reminds me of that time."

Joe sniffed eagerly. His headache and even his pains were gone now, while the trouble his wound gave him was infinitesimal. In fact, it was the weight of the blow which Hurley had delivered which brought unconsciousness. The wound was trifling. A thick skull had resisted damage, and now that his brain tissues were recovering from the jar they had received, Joe was almost himself again. He sniffed with eager anticipation, and agreed that open-air cooking had its attractions. He went to the far end of the maple switch and, holding out a hand, took it from George.

"You'll make a cook all right," laughed the latter. "Now see that none of the steaks get burned. I'll pop tea into the kettle and get other things ready. Those two will be back before very long; it stands to reason that they won't go very far. Take my advice, Joe; get inside a blanket just as soon as you have had a meal, and sleep. You'll be as fit as a daisy come morning."

About an hour later, when the first brew of tea had been finished, Jim and Peter put in an appearance.

"We kin camp without a thought of danger so far as I kin see," said the latter, throwing himself down by the fire. "That thar Hurley's made tracks slick north, and he ain't going to wait for no one. We followed the trace of his hosses' hoofs fer three mile and more. By the way, they ain't his hosses; they're mine. Jingo! That makes another count up agin him. But I was saying as he's gone north slick as anything. He'll want no end of catching. Seems to me this chase'll last a week on end, and ef that's to be, I'll make across to the railway after I've had a bite, and get on to the nearest telephone. Then I kin ring up Jack's wife and my own and tell 'em. How's that?"

"Just what was bothering me," cried Jack, who was at that moment burying his teeth in a juicy steak. "I was saying to myself a little while ago that it seemed as if this wouldn't be a one-day affair, and I was bothering to let the wife know. Not that I'm going back till the matter's finished. Not much – this is a duty."

"You've put it fair and square," agreed Peter, with flushing face. "This here are a duty, sure. Out in the settlements there ain't so many cases of murder and theft. A man soon gets known, seeing as there's so few of us, and mostly in settlements close together; and ef he's a bad man – why, out he goes sooner or later. But bad men mostly gets into the towns. There's a sight of 'em always hanging about the saloons, and so on. Some of 'em make a regular business of watching out fer green 'uns, fellers just out from home; and mostly the rogues strip the poor chaps of every dollar. They're up to all sorts of tricks. Most like they'll pretend to have land to sell, ready-made farms, you might say. The bad man is Canada's curse, jest that and nothing less; and reckon not a few of 'em is the relics of the wasters and the wont-works who was sent out here long ago from the Old Country, to get 'em out of the way or to give 'em a new chance."

"In fact, just the class that modern-day Canada is determined not to have," chimed in George. "And one can't blame the Government. In future, jailbirds won't be sent direct to the Dominion instead of to prison, simply because they'll be turned back at the ports; just the same as folks with obvious disease of the lungs will be turned back. But you can pass me along another of those steaks, Tom; and don't go on looking at 'em like that. Pitch in at them, my boy. There's enough there and to spare fer everybody."

Tom had indeed been eyeing the frizzling steaks somewhat hungrily, and, if the truth had but been known, it was only from force of habit. Hurley had been very much the master. His apprentice had put up with short fare and many blows.

"How was it you was put with him, lad?" asked Peter, when he had finished his meal and had lit up a pipe preparatory to his setting out for the railway. "Surely the folks who put you there hadn't met Hurley?"

Tom shook his head emphatically. "They'd never seen him," he said. "My uncle wished me to come out from England, and saw an advertisement offering to take a lad for a premium. He paid the money and I came, only to find that I was a sort of slave."

"Huh!" growled Peter. "Jest what I thought. That's another turn the bad man gets up to. But boys ain't always treated same as that. I've had 'em meself, and know others who've taken lads. The Barnardo Boys' Home sends a goodish lot out to Canada and places them out on the farms. But, bless you! they ain't finished with 'em by a long bit, and rightly so. There's inspectors who go round and make surprise visits, and if they find that a boy isn't getting fair and square and liberal treatment, why, away he's taken, and put somewhere else. And the result is that we're bringing up in Canada a heap of young chaps who come out jest at the very right age, when they ain't yet learned any farming and when their minds is – wall, now, what are the term?"

"Receptive," cried Jack, who was quite a scholar. "The young, untutored mind is readily receptive."

"Put it like that," agreed Peter, who was a wonderfully talkative and jolly fellow. "The kids learn, and ain't got no bad tricks to unlearn. Folks has got to set great store by 'em, for they're likely obedient lads, and there's more demands for 'em than there's boys. They get looked after. There ain't no bullyin' and half-starving same as in Tom's case. What's more, farmers is willing and eager to pay 'em wages and keep 'em, and not jest have their work for nothing, and a handsome premium into the bargain. That 'ere Hurley's a bad hat."

He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, leaped to his feet, and swung his leg over his horse. Without troubling to put a saddle on the beast, he hitched the rein free from the tree and went off whistling.

"A good chap," said Jim. "Known Peter this many a year. Good master, eh, Joe?"

"None better," came the prompt answer. "They treat me as if I were a son. He's used to this tracking?"

"He's a good man, you may say," agreed Jim. "But he don't often track men – moose perhaps, and a bear sometimes. This Hurley'll be a different matter."

"Now, Joe, jest you get right off to bed," commanded George, who seemed to take almost a paternal interest in our hero. "By sunrise to-morrow you'll be feeling fine, and you'll thank me."

That the advice was good there was little doubt, and since Jack supported it with vehemence, Joe obeyed, though he felt far from sleepy. Indeed, he was almost too excited to be that; for, recollect, the events of the day had been sufficiently rousing for a youth of his age and experience. He had been engaged in a desperate struggle with a bully, with a man who would have killed him with pleasure, and who, in fact, did his best to bring about that ending. And now he and his friends were in chase of the murderer. He, Joe, was away in the wilds of Canada, in the backwoods, with the open sky above him, about to Sleep beneath it for the first time in his life. He drew a blanket which Jack had brought round his body, and lay down on a bed of spruce that Jim had cut. And there for a while he lay without movement, his eyes blinking at the glowing embers of the fire. A little later his head dropped lower, while the men chatting in low voices round the fire heard his sonorous breathing.

"Good plucked 'un, him," remarked Jim, pulling his pipe from his mouth and pointing the stem at the recumbent figure. "There's many as would have backed out of that 'ere ruction and left Tom to fend for hisself. He's the sort we want in this country. A chap as can put up a fight with a murderer double his size can face the troubles that come to all colonists. Pass the 'bacca, Jack. I came away in such a hurry that I've none."

"Do you know his history?" asked Jack Bailey after a while, when they had smoked silently for some few minutes, the smoke from their pipes ascending into the cool evening air and mingling with that from the fire where it met the leaves overhead. "He's a better sort – one of the better class in England."

"As you can see," agreed George. "Heard anything of him, Jim?"

"Jest this," came the answer. "There's a man named Fennick as was close handy to me this five years back. Well, seems he came out with Joe, and they write to one another every now and again. In fact, this Joe's going along to join him one of these days as soon as he's learned farming. Fennick just swears by the lad; says as he organized a band of volunteers on the way out when the ship got afire, and helped to fight the flames. So Joe ain't fought a murderer only; that's why I agreed as he was a good plucked 'un. Now I'm fer bed; most like we shall have a hard day of it ter-morrer. I know Mike; he's a boy fer pushing ahead. There's nothing tires him. Gee! I wouldn't wonder if we was in fer a hairy sort of time on this business. Joe are likely to come up agin trouble beside which his fight with Hurley warn't nothing."

Peace reigned over the slumbering camp within half an hour. The watchful stars glowed down upon the little band and seemed to guard them. Slowly the hours drew along towards morning, when the pursuit of the murderer would be taken up in earnest. And which one of the band could say what sort of experience awaited them? Perhaps Jim would be right. It was more than likely that Joe might find himself plunged into a conflict beside which his fight this day was a mere scrimmage. But whatever the prospect might be, it did not disturb his slumbers. Joe hardly so much as turned till the first rays of a brilliant sun streamed into his eyes on the following morning.

CHAPTER VIII
Hank makes his Appearance

The sound of hoofs trampling through the wood was the first thing that came to Joe's ears as he sprang from his spruce bed and looked about him. Someone was coming towards the camp through the forest, while about the still-smouldering fire lay the figures of his sleeping comrades.

"Peter and Mike coming back, I expect," he told himself. "But supposing it were Hurley?"

There was just a bare possibility that the sounds were produced by that individual, and, lest it should be the case, Joe gripped a thick stake and awaited events. Then a shout escaped him, while an answering welcome hail sounded through the camp and set every one of the sleepers stirring.

"I see you right enough!" shouted Peter, laughing as he dropped from his horse. "I seed Joe grip a hold of a stake when he heard us, thinking maybe we was Hurley. He was game, he was, to put up another fight with the bully. But we ain't, you see, lad, and so let's get to breakfast."

It appeared that Peter had met with Mike late the previous night, and the two had rested beside the railway; and now they came into the camp, bringing with them a couple of followers. These proved to be Indians – not the Red Indian one sees often pictured, but lean men with bent figures, and dressed in shabby buckskins. Their black hair was trained back from their faces and tied at their necks. Their thin faces were seamed and lined as if with many troubles, while their bent figures, their wrinkles, and their general appearance gave one the impression that Mike had brought old men with him.

"But don't you think it," said the policeman, when he dropped from his horse and was seated near the fire awaiting a meal. "They're men I've employed this many a time, and first-rate trackers. One's known as Fox – and a fox he is, if one judges by his cunning – the other hasn't a name, so far as I have ever gathered, so he's 'Bill' to me, and answers the name promptly. They ain't much good at talking, either of 'em, though they can speak English. I've known them sit all day long round the fire and not pass more than a dozen words between them; but clever trackers they are, and that's why I've brought 'em. Now, boys, something to eat, and then away."

By now the fire had been coaxed into a blaze, while a number of steaks which George had prepared overnight, and had already skewered, were soon sizzling over the flames. Tom came running back to camp from a stream to which he had been sent, and at once the kettle was hung in position. As for Joe, he felt a new lad indeed. He might never have come by an injury, though his head was tender enough when one touched it. He slipped from the camp with Jim, and the two, having walked a little way down the stream, stripped off their clothing and had a splendid dip.

"Regular dodge of an Englishman," grinned Jim, as he sat on the bank to allow the sun's rays to dry him. "Your Englishman comes to a foreign part and plunges right into the first pond he happens on. There's hardly another man that's so keen on bathing. But it freshens a fellow – eh, Joe? How are you this morning?"

"Hungry," came the prompt answer. "But I felt I wanted a livener, and that dip has done it. Suppose we shall ride right off as soon as breakfast is finished?"

"You've hit it; Peter and Mike has brought along some spare hosses. There was Peter's to begin with, and Mike's; then there was two in my rig and two in Jack Bailey's, making six in all. With the Indians we muster just eight, so two more hosses were wanted. You see, we ain't going to take rigs with us. They'd be in the way, most likely, especially in this sort of wooded country. We shall ride; Peter's brought along the saddles."

When they returned to the camp and were in the midst of their breakfast, the voluble Peter explained matters fully.

"Me and Mike hit right up agin one another last night," he said, "and in course we got to gassing. We allowed as rigs warn't no sort of use away up in the country to which this Hurley had made, so it war clear that extry hosses was needed. Wall, we fetched 'em. Hank Mitchell, one of the best fellows you could hap upon, lent 'em willingly, and he's coming to join us. He's bringing guns, too, for they're to come along in a freight train from Sudbury fust thing this morning; so's saddles and tinned provisions. Hank has also arranged fer two of his hands to come right along here and clear back with the rigs, fer it wouldn't do to leave 'em here fer more than a day or two. People's mighty honest in these parts, but there might arrive someone who was a stranger, and who jest happened to be in want of a rig same as one of these. So they'll be took back to the rail track, near Hank Mitchell's, and wait thar till we returns. Why, ef that ain't Hank hisself! He has been extry nippy."

A short, spare man came cantering up to the camp at that moment, his approach having been hidden from all by the trees which surrounded them. He dropped from his saddle with as much ease as the average man steps from one board to another, and walked swiftly forward.

"Hallo, mates, how'dy?" he said softly, as if he were afraid of having his voice heard. "My boys are close handy with the guns and sichlike. Which one's Joe, him as I've heard of?"

"Thar," cried Peter, grinning, and pointing to our somewhat bashful hero.

"Do yer drink?" asked Hank abruptly, stepping across till he was close to him, and regarding Joe with a pair of eyes which might be described as actually piercing.

"No," was the equally abrupt answer. Joe, in fact, stared hard at this newcomer. He didn't quite know what to make of him, though, to be sure, he rather liked his looks. Hank's nut-brown face, clean-shaven, unlike most others in those parts, with its deeply-lined forehead and the whisps of grey hair showing beneath his hat at the temples, spoke of one who had seen many years. But it was a kindly face, kindly and keen; that, perhaps, was the better description. Every movement of the little man was jerky. His lips, when he spoke, opened sharply and closed again, as if he were anxious to hide his teeth. His eyes blinked with spasmodic suddenness. He even seemed to breathe differently from other men.

"Smoke?" he demanded, firing the question off as if he were glad to be rid of it, and yet observing Joe all the while, as if he would penetrate to the centre of his brain and steal the very thoughts he was thinking.

"Sometimes," admitted Joe, somewhat guiltily; "not often; shall do later."

"Huh! Larned farmin' yet?" asked Hank, with comical shortness.

"Trying," grinned Joe, beginning to see fun in this catechism, and taking a decided liking for the newcomer; "but I ain't through yet. I admit that I don't know everything. There's a few things yet that Peter can teach me."

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" shouted the latter. "He's had you, Hank. He's always like this is Hank," explained Peter. "He don't 'low no one to be friends till he's sort of axed him all sorts o' questions. And guess he jest don't care much fer a Britisher as comes out here and knows most everything. Git ahead, Hank, boy," he bellowed. "Joe ain't one o' them. He's one of the right sort; he's a good plucked 'un."

"You kin shake," said Hank, his comical gravity unmoved, though there was just the suspicion of a flutter of an eyelid. "Lad, I'm proud to meet yer. The chap as could stand up to Hurley are worth knowing. Shake!"

Joe shook. He danced almost on the toes of one foot, for this lean little man had a hand grip of iron. His fingers closed round our hero's as if he meant to crush the very bones, while those curiously piercing eyes never left the young fellow he was addressing.

"I say," roared Joe, "now try again."

He offered his hand for the second time, while those who observed Hank saw distinctly a twinkle of his eye. He even smiled, a rarity with Hank, and responded at once to our hero's invitation. This time Joe returned the grip with interest. Some weeks of farming, of rough work in Peter Strike's service, had hardened his muscles, and anyone could see that he was filling out. Indeed, but for the fact that Hank had taken him unawares, Joe's fingers would not have received such a crushing. Now he let them close round the diminutive Canadian's like a vice, and fixed his eyes on those two piercing orbs which he found so wonderfully attracting. The two closed in to one another till but a short space separated them, and then and there exchanged a second grip, the grip which spoke of friendship, of strength, of firmness, of virtues which the man who lives his life in the open and meets danger and privation often enough prizes above all other virtues. As for Hank, the suspicion of a smile in his eyes went promptly. He was all seriousness. Indeed, all of a sudden he seemed to view Joe from an altogether different standpoint. A minute before he had been greeting a green lad, one who had shown pluck and deserved encouragement; but now he seemed to have dipped somewhat into the spirit which kept Joe going, which dominated every waking moment of his life, which made of him the youthful leader of that band of volunteers aboard the emigrant ship, and again urged him to stand fast in Tom's behalf in spite of Hurley the bully. Intuitively Hank seemed to guess that Joe had balance and grit, and promptly he acknowledged the fact.

"I'm fair glad to meet you," he said. "From now on you've a friend."

Then they sat down round the fire, while their comrades watched their faces for some few minutes.

"Hank ain't often done a thing like that before," Peter whispered to Joe a little later. "He's just the queerest bird I ever met, and don't never show no feeling; but he's took to you, jest as a duck takes to water. He's got grit has Hank. I've knowed him foller a chap as had robbed a widow woman, follow him for two weeks on end, and take him almost aboard the ship he had booked by. That meant determination, or grit if you like to call it so. But here's the men with the guns, and guess Mike's getting restless. Now jest take the word of one who's been out here a while and has met bad men. Ef you sight Hurley, don't stand hankey-pankey. Back in England you'd call to him and then give chase ef he didn't round up. Out here you kin call to him; but ef his hands don't go sky high above his head, and that in a jiffy, give him lead – lead, boy, or else he'll be putting daylight through your own valuable carcass. This ain't a game we're after; we're following a man that's murdered a woman, his own wife, and who's got nothing but the hangman's rope before him. He won't be over particular what happens to those who pursue him. Now, Mike, what's to do?"

"Fall in and arrange the order," cried that latter, swinging his leg across his horse. "First, Tom there, stamp out the embers of the fire. Things haven't got dried up yet awhile, for the weather hasn't been overhot. But it's always as well to be careful; a forest fire is something wuss than chasin' a murderer. Now, Fox and Bill go ahead. Ah, they're there already – that shows that they've had practice. Then I'll follow them close. Jack Bailey and George can ride along side by side. Jim and Tom can come along next, while I guess that Peter and Hank had best ride right in rear, taking Joe with 'em. It'll teach him a heap, ef only he keeps his eyes and his ears open. Boys, there's grub and stuff to bring along, so divide it up and drop it into your saddle bags."

Some little while before, Hank's men had put in an appearance, bringing stout saddles with them, all of which were fitted with two canvas bags. There were rifles also for each one of the party, as well as revolvers and the necessary ammunition. The provisions consisted of tinned goods, as well as the stuff which the thoughtful Jack Bailey had brought with him. It took but a little while to share out all the things, and very soon the cavalcade was mounted. Then, having seen Hank's men ride off with the rigs trailing behind them, the party set its face to the north and rode off in wake of the murderer. And a very formidable and business-like little band they appeared. We have already described the Indians known as Fox and Bill. They sat their horses bareback, as if they were part and parcel of their mounts, while not once had either addressed the other or one of the white men they were to lead, save in the case of Mike, when all that passed seemed to be a succession of incomprehensible grunts. For the rest, Mike himself made a fine figure of a horseman, and sat head and shoulders above everyone, for his horse was big like himself. Jack and George followed some ten paces behind him, boyish eagerness on their faces. Then came Jim and Tom, none the less eager, while in rear of all the lanky Peter bestrode his horse with legs swinging loosely on either side, while Hank sat his saddle for all the world as if he were a statue. The man was taciturnity itself. He was almost as reserved and silent as the Indians, and for watchfulness, there never was such a man.

"Guess them two Injuns has made a mistake," cried Peter, after a while, pointing away from the track they were following. "There's marks of hosses to one side. Hurley stopped jest here."

"And rested," agreed Hank, with brevity. "They ain't missed that. No Injun could. They've seed that Hurley rested there some while, and then went on agin. They didn't need to go and look; they kind of knew it."

"How?" asked Joe curiously, himself puzzled to see how the Indians could have divined such a matter.

"Simple," came the response. "We've been going this hour and more. Wall, reckon it war evening when Hurley abandoned the rig and pushed on. He travelled an hour, when it fell dark. He jest camped for the evening. That thar place was his fust stopping point. It ain't of no importance except to tell us that he's got so much start of us this morning, besides what he made by getting off before we broke camp. Young chap, this here's a sorter stern chase. Time's everything in it. Hurley's got, say, three hours' start, and the country ahead is wooded. Wall, we've got to make up that three hours afore we can come up with him, and stopping jest to see what sort of a bed he made last night ain't a-going to help us. See?"

Joe did; he smiled at Hank. "Never even crossed my brain," he said. "Somehow, when one tackles a job like this for the first time, one doesn't see things as does a practised hand."

"In course you don't," agreed Hank, winking back at him. "It's jest like the farming; some chaps think they know everything, but they don't. Most folks is bamboozled right from the beginning. They has to learn; and tracking wants learning jest like farming. Now, jest you see here; how should I know as Hurley warn't more'n three hours ahead?"

It was a conundrum. Joe puzzled and puzzled, and then gave up the riddle.

"Don't know," he said, disappointment in his voice. "How?"

"In course you don't know. How could you, youngster? But I'll larn yer. This here's a wooded country, as you've agreed. Wall, now, most all the time we're steering in and out amongst the pines, and every now and agin you or me has to separate because there ain't room. Hurley's got two hosses – don't ferget that – and he can't so easily separate, 'cos he'd lose a hold of the led hoss. So he has to ride round the narrow places or squeeze through. He squeezes through at times, and what happens? Jest this."

Suddenly Hank drew in his mount at just such a spot as he was mentioning, where the trees were grouped in a thick cluster, and the track led between two of them, both on the high road to become giants. Hank leaned from his saddle and pointed to a spot on one of the trees about the height of his stirrup iron.

"Hurley barged through that 'ere place," he said, "and, so as his leg shouldn't get jammed, he pushed his foot out and rid the hosses as much to the other side as he could. Wall, his thick, hob-nailed toe came agin this tree and chipped the bark. I've seen a dozen similar places."

Joe regarded the spot closely. It was evident, now that the fact was pointed out to him, that Hurley's toe had been responsible for the injury.

"Wall?" demanded Hank. "See?"

"The place he's left? Yes," assented Joe; "but – "

"Jest so – wants larnin'," asserted Hank dryly. "Now, see here. This aer a deepish cut, and a jagged one. It's bleeding; there's gum oozing from the place, and it aer fresh and sticky. That shows as the wound was done not so long ago. Ef it was last night, then the gum would have balled down below, while the surface of the wound would hardly be sticky, but gettin' dry. Now, how do I know as Mike or his Injuns ain't done it passing along?"

"Because the gum has balled to a certain extent already, while I see it oozes very slowly from the wound."

"Good fer you," cried Hank, evidently pleased with his pupil. "That's a fust lesson. That there gum ha' balled jest a little, as you've said, and there's some of it still oozing. Wall, now, it stands to reason that a man don't go riding around in a wood like this when it's dark, fer he'd get knocking his ugly head agin the branches. So he either lies down and sleeps, or dismounts and leads the hoss. This war done by a mounted man, and sense it ain't been light more'n three hours, and Hurley couldn't ride during the dark, why, there's my question answered. Even ef we hadn't seen the place where he camped, this here wound in the pine would ha' told us all the story. Jest you put that in yer mouth and chew it."

Joe did with a vengeance. The two rode on side by side for three hours, hardly exchanging another syllable; but all the while our hero was observing. If he had imagined previously that he was a fairly lively individual, quite wideawake and aware of his surroundings, he was beginning to discover, particularly in the company of this sharp little Hank, that he was by no means a marvel.

"See whar Hurley stopped fer a bite?" asked Hank one time, as they pressed along across a more open part of the forest. "You didn't? Wall, jest ride back a pace and take another squint. It aer fairly talking to yer."

They returned some twenty paces, and Joe looked about him eagerly. But not a sign did he see to convince him that Hurley had pulled up and eaten. Hank grinned, one of those irritating and superior grins. His dried-up face became seamed with subdued merriment, while Joe went the colour of a geranium; and then, when in the depths of despair, he of a sudden made a discovery. "Ah!" he gasped.

"Jest so," said Hank encouragingly.

"He hitched his reins over a branch, and the horse jerked his head and pulled the limb off the tree. There it is. There's the place where it broke, and, by jingo! there's gum below, slightly balled already. Besides, there's a piece of paper a little to the side. Probably it contained the food he was eating, while underfoot there are horses' hoofs in all sorts of positions."

Hank grinned the grin of a man who is elated. "That 'ere Mike'll have to look to hisself, and so will the Injuns," he said. "Soon we'll have you leading this here party. But you have got the hang of the thing now, lad. Never get tired of looking about you. There's tales to be read in most every spot. P'raps it's a bear that's passed. Then you'd see a footmark same almost as ef it was a barefooted human. Or you may drop on the splayed-out markings of a moose. That's the thing to fire the blood of a hunter. Maybe there's not a sign, but only trees and rocks and stones that seems to tell nothing; but there's always something to be learned. A wolf has had his quarters here, fer there's a hollow, and there's bones in heaps all round. Or there's been a prospecting party through the place, fer there's stumps that has been cut with an axe, and not broke off rough as ef the wind had done it. Tracking aer a game that don't tire, never! It's a thing that a man aer best at ef he's been born to it; but it can be learned, same as farming. You ain't too old to start, not by a long way."

Not till the sun was directly overhead did the little band come to a halt, and then only to allow them to eat a little, while girths were loosened to give the horses every chance of resting.

"Steady and sure does it," said Mike, as he smoked his pipe and leaned against one of the trees. "Of course, we've got to push the pace whenever we're able, and I reckon we've been doing that all along. Anyway, we've made up some of the distance, for single horsemen can get along through these trees quicker than a chap who's got one to lead. It's when he gets to open country that he'll make the most of the hosses; for he'll be able to change over, and that means a heap, don't it, Hank?"

"A heap," answered that individual jerkily. "But he has to sleep, Mike. That's where we'll have him."

"Eh? How's that? I ain't followed."

"Jest like this. He's fresh now we'll 'low, and ef he's able he'll push on all through the night. To-morrow he'll still be going; but when night falls he'll be wanting a rest, and so, you may say, shall we be. Now, ef half this outfit pushes on, Hurley has to move ahead, and it'll be slow travelling. Our chaps'll go afoot, so as to rest the hosses. At dawn the rest of us rides along the trace after 'em, and can cover the ground mighty quick in comparison, seeing that it's daylight. Wall, we leave half the hosses with the fust party, who're resting, and push ahead. Our chums gets a four-hour sleep and comes along after. Both of us is fresh that night, while Hurley can't hardly keep his eyes open. It aer as clear as daylight."

The little man shut up like an oyster. He drew a pipe as diminutive as himself from an inner pocket, crammed it with tobacco while his eyes rested dreamily on the forest, and then struck flint and steel with such unerring skill that he soon had the weed smouldering.

"It aer as clear as daylight," he puffed at the company. "Ef things goes in the ordinary way, Hurley'll be taken just when I've hinted, and he'll be in jail come the week-end."

"And supposin' they don't go along in the ordinary course?" asked Mike, who, from his experience, thought highly of the taciturn Hank. "It ain't of much use to set out follerin' a criminal and expecting him to do jest as you want him to. You've got to make allowance fer all sorts of strange turns. He's making north; he might fall in with some wandering Indians, or a prospecting gang, and get off along with them because of their help."

"Yep!" answered the usually silent Hank, with accustomed brevity. "Guess he might. Even so, we ain't done with him. This outfit's out to catch a ruffian who wants catching badly."

"You bet!" agreed Peter, with a quick shake of his head.

"A brute who's been and murdered his wife," cried Jim, his face flushing.

"The sort of bully whose capture we must make our duty," declared Jack Bailey, not the least enthusiastic of the party.

"Yep!" responded Hank. "So it comes to this, Mike. Supposin' he does do something we can't yet guess at, why, where's the odds? We still goes on after him. And sooner or later, barrin' regular bad luck, we'll have him. That's what I'm out fer. Guess it's the same with you and the other partners."

All that afternoon they pushed on through the forest, sometimes pressing their way through closely-grown pine trees, and then through thick masses of maple, of spruce, of birch, or of the scarlet sumac. At times streams cut across their path – for Canada is a well-watered country for the most part – and more than once had to skirt the edge of great lakes. But always Fox and Bill went ahead without hesitation. Not once had they met with a break in the trail. Their ferrety eyes hardly seemed ever to look to the ground. It seemed, indeed, as if they followed the trail of the murderer by intuition alone. When night came pine stumps were set fire to and the chase continued.

"You kin say as we're making even way with him," said Hank, who still rode with our hero. "He's got to find his way amongst the trees, and he's walking, I guess. Wall, so are we. But we've pine knots to light us, and kin follow the trace easy. It's to-morrow night that'll be the teaser."

The early morning found the devoted little band emerging into a stretch of open country. But there were trees again in the distance, and always the tracks left by the fugitive went due north.

"A child could follow all the way," declared Hank, as they went on at a steady walk, sometimes trotting to change the monotony. "This here's grass country, and no man can ride through it at this season without leaving a trail. I wonder he ain't tried some tricks to throw us off, sich as droppin' into a stream and riding down along the bed; but he ain't, and it begins to look as ef he knew there was someone after him and was feelin' hustled. All the same, he's 'way ahead; you can't get a glimpse of him across the open."

Halting for meals, and to give the horses a rest, the band had reached wooded country again that evening, and about eight o'clock came to a halt.

"Here's where we camp," said Mike. "Now we'll divide up. Some of us has a feed and a smoke, and then goes on ahead on foot; t'others has a sleep along of the hosses, and then rides on at the first streak of dawn. Who's going on?"

It took but a little while to settle this point, and since it was agreed to by all that young fellows like Joe and Tom needed sleep more than did older men, and, moreover, had harder work to do without it, these two remained in the camp, Hank and Peter staying with them. Fox and Bill, with a curt grunt, assented to the fact that they should proceed at once. Mike, of course, was one of the forward party, while George and Jack Bailey and Jim completed its numbers.

"Reckon you ain't got no great need to hurry," said Hank, when the meal was finished and pipes had been lighted, while a tin pannikin was being passed round with an allowance of whisky for all who cared for it. "Guess Hurley'll think we won't be out to-night, and he'll take things easy. In course he might camp too, when you might drop nicely upon him. Jest hold yerselves in, for it's little sleep you'll get till we have him."

About an hour later the little band selected to move on in advance left the camp in Indian file, Fox leading, with Bill immediately behind him. They left their horses with their comrades, so as to give them a good rest.

"Yer see," explained Hank, "hosses is queer cusses. They kin stand a deal of gruelling work ef they're fed right, and most of these here is corn fed. But you can't drive 'em too hard. There's no other animal that breaks his heart sooner, and that's a fact. They're that game, they'll keep on till they're ready to drop. Therefore, you've got to save 'em, particularly seein' as Hurley has got two to our one, and so kin rest 'em in turn. Now the sooner we get stretched out the better."

There being no need to set a watch, all who were remaining in camp at once wrapped themselves in their blankets and threw themselves upon the beds already prepared – consisting of the leafy tips of small spruce trees, than which nothing can make a more comfortable couch – and, needless to say, their eyes closed almost at once, for they were weary after their travels, and they slept till the first streak of dawn awakened Hank.

"Up you gets, one and all," he sang out. "Jest give them hosses a mouthful of water, and then we'll ride. Time we come along with the others we'll feed, and then away agin."

That was Joe's first experience of working on an empty stomach, and truth compels us to add that he found the experience a trying one. He felt hollow and sickly. The sharp morning air made him ravenous; he simply longed for the hour for breakfast.

"Guess you do feel holler," laughed Hank, when our hero told him of his feelings. "I mind the time when I was jest a slip of a lad and felt jest as you do. But I was away huntin' with my father then, for he made a tidy pile of dollars by gettin' skins and selling 'em in Montreal, and sometimes over the border in America. Wall, he were a hot 'un. He never seemed to want to eat, only when he was set down to it – gee! – he could put away double as much as the average man. It was then that I used to get that sinking sensation. We'd be out at daylight winter mornings, with the thermometer 'way down below zero, and the air that crisp it made you jest long for a bite. And I've been two days and more without a trace of food. That's mighty hard, you'll believe me. Howsomever, you stick it out this time. You'll soon get used to waitin'."

However, when three hours had passed, during which the party had made very rapid progress through a country thinly covered with trees, the famishing feeling with which Joe had been assailed had worn off to a considerable degree.

"Feel as though I could go along comfortably all day without food," he told Hank. "I'm not nearly so hungry."

"You jest wait till you smell a steak cookin'," came the laughing rejoinder. "Gee! Won't yer mouth water jest! But we're mighty near them folks now. Seems to me as ef I could smell a fire burnin'."

A mile farther along they came upon their comrades camped in a little clearing. Mike at once came towards them.

"He was camped sure enough last night," he said; "but Hurley's a smart 'un. He heard us comin', and streaked straight off; but he ain't far. We've picked up a heap of lost way, and to-night we'll nab him. You ain't fed?"

"None," answered Hank, dropping from his horse. "These here lads is fairly shoutin' fer food."

They made a cheerful party round the fire, and Joe sniffed expectantly as George skewered some steaks and set them to frizzle over the blaze. And oh, the enchantment of that open-air meal and this camping life! Joe revelled in it. Never had he tasted such juicy and succulent meat. Never before had steaming tea seemed so very entrancing. And think of the future! The excitement of this chase had grown upon him. In a measure he was sorry for Hurley; but then he was a brutal murderer, and such people must not expect anything but strict justice.

"We'll have him come to-night," said Mike, with assurance, as he led the way to the horses. "You folks had better see to yer guns. There's never no saying when this Hurley won't stand to his ground and put up a fight. Ef he does, wall, things will be flyin'. He ain't likely to be so careless as to miss a chap who stands out clear under his sights, as ef he was askin' fer a bullet."

The announcement sent a flush to Joe's and to Tom's cheeks. They rode forward eagerly, wondering when the silence of the forest might be broken by a rifle report, and whether, supposing that event happened, either one of them would drop out of his saddle.

"Makes a chap tingle all over," Joe admitted to Hank. "But I ain't going to let this Hurley scare the life out of me, not by a long way."

"Good fer you," came the answer. "I ain't afeard of his bullets, only lest he should beat us and give us the goodbye. That'd be tarnation bad fortune."

The result of this long chase was, in fact, still very much in the balance, and it remained to be seen whether Joe and his friends would yet lay their hands on the murderer, and if so, whether our hero would be fortunate enough to recover his dollars and that vastly important letter.

CHAPTER IX
Lost in the Forest

"Them 'ere Injuns has stopped, and the hull crowd of us is collecting together," suddenly exclaimed Hank Mitchell, when the party of pursuers had marched steadily throughout the day till evening was approaching, and were in the depths of a forest which, for three hours past, had been getting denser and denser. "I've seed myself signs that told as Hurley wasn't so far ahead, and I'd reckon that Fox and his friend have seen something more than warns 'em that things may be warmin' up in a little. There's Mike beckoning."

It was not an easy matter to see far in this thick forest, even when the light was at its best, which was not the case now that evening was approaching. But it happened that Mike and the Indian trackers had come to rest at a spot which gave the others a clear view of them, so that as those marching in the rear came up, they were able to see the comrades who preceded them gathering into a circle. Mike addressed Peter and Hank immediately on their arrival, speaking in subdued tones.

"He ain't got much go left in him," he said excitedly. "Fox reckons as he went right off to sleep in his saddle hereabouts, and happenin' to ride under a low branch, got swept off his horse. See here."

He had halted his friends a little to one side of the track followed by Hurley, a track easily to be distinguished; for the two horses the murderer had stolen trod down undergrowth at every step, leaving a trail which even Joe, with all his inexperience, could have followed. Some yards ahead it was evident that something unusual had happened, for the undergrowth was trodden down in a wide circle. Hank, his head down, his eyes glued to the trace, sniffing as if he were a dog, at once shot from the circle and, taking pains to tread outside the trail, inspected every part of it.

"Huh!" he grunted, with satisfaction which was evident. "Hurley ain't the man that can put up with much loss of sleep. Besides, he's been bustling these many hours, and that makes a man tired. You kin see what happened. Of course, Fox and Bill were bound to notice it. Reckon he carries a gun slung over his shoulder, and that was the cause of his tumble."

Joe looked the question he would have dearly loved to ask, and Hank, happening to catch his eye at that moment, beckoned to the lad.

"You come along over here and keep right clear of the trace," he said. "Now, I know what you were about to ask. How'd I know as he had a gun slung over his shoulder? Wall, here's the answer." He pointed to a low bough which stretched right across the trail, and at once Joe's eyes searched it. There was a small gash on the side from which Hurley must have approached the branch, and the gash extended underneath for some little distance, perhaps for a matter of three inches, while right at the end a piece of bark had been torn out.

"Plain, ain't it?" said Hank. "You could draw his picture, ef you had a pencil and paper and was a hand at sich things. Just tell us how it was."

"Fast asleep and bending forward," ventured Joe.

"Jest so. Bendin' forward, 'cos that's the way with a man that has dropped off in his saddle. Wall?"

"Gun slung over his shoulder – right shoulder, I should say."

"Why?" snapped Hank. "No guessin', now."

"Because the gash on this side of the branch slants in that direction, looking at it from below."

"Good fer you. Get ahead!"

"I shouldn't have guessed that the gash was caused by a rifle, though," admitted Joe, with candour. "You told me that part of it. However, I think the gun was over his right shoulder; the muzzle caught the branch and swept Hurley backward till he toppled out of his saddle. I suppose he awoke with a start and made a frantic effort to keep his seat. That's when the muzzle – perhaps the sight of the rifle – dug deeper into the bark and ripped a piece away."

"You aer gettin' along fine," said Hank encouragingly. "What next?"

"There's where he fell," said Joe, pointing to the trace. "His fall startled both horses; one went to the right and the other to the left. They were roped together in all probability, or they would have gone farther apart. Hurley picked himself up, scrambled on one of their backs, and went ahead."

"Cussin' at bein' so shook up," grunted Hank. "That's a fine tale, and you've told it well, young chap. But next time you must be the fust to spot things like this without gettin' hints from anyone. Mike," he called softly, "what'll you do?"

"That's jest what I'm wonderin'," came the answer. "How'd you fix it?"

The shrewd and sharp little Hank had no doubts on the matter; in fact, it was clear that he had come to a decision promptly, the moment he had seen what had happened. "There ain't two ways for it," he said crisply. "Hurley's 'way ahead, and not so far, neither. Most like, ef he feels as we're close on his heels, he'll choose a likely spot and turn. Now we don't want to let him feel anything of the sort, and so it's up to us to creep on without a sound. Ef I war boss here I'd send three or four of the party 'way ahead, t'others to follow, and be ready to dash along up ef there was a call. But four ought to be enough to collar Hurley ef he was without a rifle, while the same number kin easy round him up and hold him till t'others arrive."

"Then that's jest what I was thinking," cried Mike, looking across at Peter.

"Same here," nodded that individual. "Hank aer the boy fer jobs of this sort. He's had experience, while chaps same as I am can't hope to know much about tracking, when the best part of our time's spent on our sections. Ef he says go ahead like that, why, in course it's up to us to do it."

"Then we'll send Fox along," said Mike. "I'll go ahead too, and Hank with me. Who else?"

"Why not Joe?" asked Hank suddenly. "He's cute, he is, and he ain't likely to get scared. You could shoot, lad, ef this Hurley turned and fired in amongst us?"

"I would certainly," admitted Joe. "Of course, I don't want to have to, for I should hate to kill or injure a man; but then he's a murderer."

"He's that," agreed Mike, with energy, "and he don't deserve soft treatment. Still, ef he'll come in quiet, he shall be treated fair; ef he don't, why, then, it's his own lookout. Best go afoot; eh, Hank?"

"Sure! We can move jest as fast, and we shan't make anything like the sound. You get ahead with Fox, Mike; I'll take Joe and larn him a little as we go."

At once they handed over their horses to their comrades, Joe passing his to Peter.

"You're in real luck, you are, lad," whispered the latter, as he took the bridle. "I ain't never seen Hank take so much trouble with anyone, least of all a green 'un lately out from the Old Country. He aer fair took to you, and Hank aer one of them queer cusses that when he's fixed a thing in his own mind he don't never alter. So you've a friend there as you kin count on."

Slinging a bag across their shoulders, and packing a tin mug and some provisions, the quartet took up their rifles, saw that they had sufficient ammunition, and then strode off through the deepening gloom of the forest, the silent and ever-watchful Fox in advance, with Mike close behind him; at a little distance in the rear came Hank, with Joe beside him.

"Jest you watch this," whispered the little man. "That there Fox don't make a sound as he goes, nor Mike neither, and he's a big man. Wall, see how they tread: always with caution; always lookin' first to see what's underfoot. And ef they can't see, as'll be the case afore long, why, then, they bends down and feels. You've got to be wary all the while, I tell you. Supposing as you go you swung the butt of your gun agin one of these tree trunks, wall, a man as was listening could hear the sound half a mile away, for a forest carries sound; then, supposin' you was to step on a piece of fallen branch, fallen perhaps last year and dry as tinder now, why, it'd break with a crack that would make you think someone had fired a gun, and that 'ere Hurley would hear it whether he was listening special or not. So go carefully, whatever you do; silence aer important."

Joe found the task he had undertaken one of the most fascinating he had ever attempted, for he was aware that the other three who formed the party were experienced men, and unlikely to do anything to cause an alarm. It was with himself that the danger lay, and he determined then and there that he would return Hank's kindness in asking for him to be one of the band by taking every care to avoid noise. Yet it was not by any means an easy matter, for Fox pushed the pace. The lean Indian strode forward with a long, stealthy stride, making not so much as a sound. His head was bent towards his chest, his back bowed, while the inward-pointed toes of either foot seemed to be able to see every twig beneath them, and avoid them as if they were so many tinned tacks, liable to cause a spasm of agony to the one who trod upon them.

The huge and bulky Mike, contrary to one's expectations, followed the Indian with fairy-like footsteps; for the policeman was possessed of a wonderfully springy step, which carried him silently through the forest. Hank's method of progress hardly needs description. The little, lean man, whose features expressed his character so faithfully, strode along in silence, and with such apparent unconcern and carelessness that one would almost have expected him to trip over some rotting stump, or in other way create some sound liable to reach the ears of Hurley. But that was Hank's way. As a matter of fact, the little fellow might be said to be all ears and eyes. He never seemed to step aside, or to alter by the merest inch the length of his paces; and yet contrast his movements with those of our hero. Joe was in a fever; his eyes were glued to the ground, while his legs were flung this way and that; for every second he seemed to see some lurking twig, the smallest pressure upon which would send an alarm ringing through the forest.

Two hours later the light had failed to such an extent that it became difficult to see the underwood, and the whole party was forced to proceed as best they could, an occasional sharp crack showing that one or other had stepped on a branch.

"Seems to me as ef we was coming somewheres near water," said Hank, after a long silence. "Somehow the air feels moister, and I've heard tell as there are big lakes in this direction. What's that 'ere Injun stopped for?"

"Men been here before," exclaimed Mike, who had halted beside the Indian as Hank came up. "Fox has found trees cut down; lumbermen perhaps have been in this direction."

"Seems to me as ef we was nigh clear of the forest too," said Hank. "I've kinder felt water this past half-hour, and ef we pushes on a few yards, seems to me we'll sight it. Ef so, Hurley aer closer than we thought, for he'll have had his way stopped, and will have had to turn. Let's git on."

They proceeded again, but this time with added caution, and within a little while suddenly broke their way out of the forest on to the bank of a lake which seemed to be entirely surrounded by dense tree growth. It was almost too dark to distinguish the size of this lake, though Hank declared that it was very large.

"What's more, we're at the far end of it," he said, with conviction, "and ef I'm right, this Hurley ain't had to go so far out of his course. He'll have cut to the right a little, and then straight north again. I kin see his game too. He aer making for James Bay in the hope that he may hit upon one of the Hudson Bay steamers going north. It aer a long journey, but ef he could win through he'd be safer than anywhere else. See here, he's gone right as I said he would."

They turned along the trail again, this time in the gloaming, their eyes now and again turned to the surface of the lake afar off, where the rays of the setting sun were reflected. Not that they could see the sun itself – that orb was entirely hidden by the trees – but perhaps its light reached the water by way of some huge gap in the foliage at present unseen by the little party.

"A hut, 'way over there!"

It was Mike who brought all to a sudden stop by this information, sending them one and all to their knees, so as to make themselves less visible.

"Not as it aer likely as he could see us any more'n we could see him," said Hank. "Still, it aer always wise to take precautions. Now I guess there is jest one thing fer us to do. We want to strike right off into the forest and skirt round till we're closer to that 'ere hut. Of course, Hurley mayn't have stopped there; but then he may. Ef so, like as not he'll be watchin' the trace he's left, and ef we continued to follow it, he'd see us in half a jiffy."

"Then let's get moving," cried Mike impatiently. "I'm for taking Hurley the very first moment we can. But we shall have to rush him; he's not the sort of fellow to give in without a struggle, and he'll kick hard, you may say for certain."

"He's bound to put lead into someone or sommat," agreed Hank dryly. "We've got to get him cornered, and then attract his attention in one direction while some of us rushes him from the other. Now, boys."

"This way." Mike led the way beside the Indian, and once more the little quartet dived into the forest, where giants towered on either hand. Not that your wooded country in New Ontario can show such enormous trees as are to be found much farther west, on the far side of the Rocky Mountains, in British Columbia, to wit. For there a favourable climate and a wonderfully fertile soil has caused monsters to rear their heads to enormous heights, while the girth of some is stupendous. But New Ontario can show some arboreal development that is not to be despised, while in parts timber groups itself into great forests, some of which have perhaps never yet seen a white man, though the majority have by now witnessed the arrival of prospectors, and may even have echoed to the ring of the lumberman's axe.

Threading their way amongst the trees, and now and again having to clamber over some fallen giant – for here, on the edge of the lake, the trees were more exposed to winter winds, and some had suffered in consequence – Joe and his friends gradually worked their way along till opposite the part where the southern bank of the lake turned abruptly north. Following this new direction, and creeping with the utmost care through the undergrowth, it was some little while before they were within sight of the hut which they had viewed from their first position. It stood down by the water, thickly surrounded by undergrowth, though the trees which had at one time no doubt reared their heads there had been felled. It was just a small shack built of logs and roofed with strips of bark.

"Nigh falling to pieces too," whispered Hank, who had wonderful eyesight. "Guess a lumber gang was 'way up here some little time back, and that's where they worked and lived during the winter. The question now aer this. Where's Hurley? Ef he's hidin' there we have him. Ef he ain't, why, lookin' at the hut don't help us any, and merely lets him get farther off."

"We'll send Fox forward, then," answered Mike, his mouth close to Hank's head, "unless you think that you – "

"No, I don't say as I couldn't get there and back without even a Redskin hearin' or seein' me," said Hank; "but then I might fail. And it's jest sense ef you've got an Injun to make use of him. The critters is that cunning, they'd nigh creep into a house and be sittin' down beside you before a man was aware that they was there. They're the silentest and the most cunnin' fellers as ever I did set eyes on. Ef it wasn't that Hurley might be over yonder, I'd tell yer a yarn of how a Redskin crawled into my camp one night and as near killed me as possible. But send him off, while we lie down close."

Sinking their bodies in the undergrowth, they lay still for some twenty minutes, during which Fox was away from the spot. He went off towards the hut with merely a low grunt to show that he knew what was expected of him, and though Joe did his utmost to follow the man's track, there was never a sound, never a waving bramble to show where Fox had gone. Then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, our hero discovered the Indian crawling in behind him.

"Shucks!" grinned Hank, watching Joe. "I was wonderin' when you'd get wind of him. That 'ere chap could ha' knifed or tomahawked you easy. How did I know that he was comin'? That's what you're trying to ask. Jest this way – you heard a frog croaking a while back?"

Joe had; he had wondered where the beast was, and had listened to the call three or four times repeated. He nodded in Hank's direction.

"Wall, that war this here Injun cuss. It was jest his signal to let us know as he was comin', so that we shouldn't get blazing into the bush and shooting him. Seen anything?" he asked, swinging round on the Indian, who, now that his task was accomplished, was seated nonchalantly behind Mike, not venturing to give his news till he was interrogated.

"Seen the man," came the curt answer. "Tracks lead right to the shack. Hurley lying down asleep, I think. Horses hidden in the forest to the left."

"Ah! Then this chase is drawin' to a close," said Mike, satisfaction in his tones. "Hurley's there, fast asleep, perhaps. Seems as ef he must have made up his mind that we'd stopped for the night. Guess we can walk right in and take him – eh, Hank?"

"Shouldn't, ef I was you; Hurley aer as cute as a hull bag o' monkeys. True, he aer dead sleepy, onless he managed to get some sleep on his hoss, which ain't altogether onlikely. Only he got knocked out of the saddle, as you might easily expect. Supposin' he ain't asleep, but aer lyin' hid there, you ain't going to take him so easy. Seems to me the fust thing's to make sure of the hosses; then you kin creep in, and ef you still ain't certain whether he's awake or asleep, why, one of us kin kick up a rumpus close handy. That'll bring him out, when t'others can jump on his back and take him."

"Then Fox will see to the horses," declared Mike promptly. "We three will creep up close to the house. As soon as Fox sends us his signal we'll get closer, and if there's no sign of our man, we'll send Joe out to draw him. Savvy, lad?"

"Quite," said Joe. "I'll strike a blow with the butt of my rifle on one of the trees and then sit down close to the trunk."

"And keep out o' sight," advised Hank. "That ere the hull ticket, Mike. There ain't no use waitin'. Jest now there's a little light; in half an hour a fellow will want a pine knot flaring before his face ef he wishes to know where he's going."

Once more the little party was set in motion, Fox detaching himself from the others. As for Joe, he crawled after Hank, every muscle of his body vibrating. Every now and again his eyes went to the hut, now easily distinguishable; for though it was dark within the forest, there was still some light over the lake, while the hut itself stood silhouetted against the fast-failing rays of the setting sun as they fell aslant the water. Perhaps it took the trio ten minutes to reach the shack. Perhaps the minutes were even shorter, though to our hero the time seemed terribly long. His patience, indeed, was badly strained before he had taken up what was to be his position. As for Hank and Mike, they were lying down within ten feet of the shack, on that side away from the door opposite which was Joe. It now only remained for Fox to send his signal. As for Hurley, there was no sign of him. He might have been a hundred miles away. Suddenly there came a loud neigh from the depths of the forest, followed by another, and then a whinnying which told of the presence of horses. Joe heard the beasts stamping as if they were frightened, or as if the arrival of the Redskin had caused them pleasure. In any case, the noise came to the hut distinctly. A second later Joe imagined he heard a sound from within. It was followed by the sudden appearance of a figure, bent almost double, and rushing out into the open, as if some force were behind him and propelling him. Indeed, long before our hero could lift his weapon or could shout, Hurley – for he it undoubtedly was – had bounded across the narrow open space about the shack and had dived into the forest.

"After him!" bellowed Mike at the top of his voice, as he plunged through the bushes. As for Hank, no sound left his lips. The little man trailed his rifle and went off after Hurley with his head down and his ears pricked, and eager to catch every sound. Need the reader feel surprised that Joe followed suit. Recovering from the utter astonishment into which the sudden manoeuvre had thrown him, he gripped his own weapon and darted after his comrades. He could hear them directly to the front, and dashed headlong after them. Then his already-wounded head came into somewhat violent contact with a branch, and Joe sat down rapidly. But he pulled himself together after a while, and, with his brain dizzy and buzzing, thrust his way onward through the dense growth of trees and underwood. How long he continued the effort he never knew. Suffice it to say that he made a desperate endeavour to keep up with and gain upon his fellows. Then, of a sudden, he discovered that there was not one single sound to direct him. A minute before he had imagined he heard the crash of men dashing through the forest; now there was a deathly silence all about him. He stood still, panting, endeavouring to silence his own breathing and to still the thud of his throbbing heart. No, not a sound but what was made by himself. He shouted – not an answer; not a shout in return. He called loudly on Hank and Mike to tell him of their direction. Then, as the minutes passed and silence still surrounded him, he pushed valiantly on amongst the trees, hoping every half-minute that there would be a signal. Whether he went directly forward or retraced his steps, or faced the east, the west, the south, or the north, Joe was entirely ignorant. He was lost, in fact. The knowledge after a while drove him frantic, so that he plunged aimlessly to and fro; then, fortunately for him, perhaps, a second collision with a tree knocked him senseless. For the moment his troubles were forgotten, though his plight was still the same; and the plight of a man lost in the backwoods of Canada is often enough desperate. Indeed, many a poor fellow has gone, never to be found again, swallowed by the trees which, as the years roll on, are felled to form the log huts of the settlers crowding into the Dominion.

CHAPTER X
A Hand-to-hand Encounter

While Joe lies senseless in the depths of the forest, lost entirely to his friends, and in as desperate a condition as he well could be, it will be as well to follow the footsteps of Mike and Hank as they dashed away in pursuit of Hurley. Both were well accustomed to the muskegs and the timbered lands of Canada, and, if only the truth were known, had before now been engaged in a similar expedition. But following a murderer during the daytime through such a place, and at a sedate pace, was entirely different from the same attempt at night, and all the while at such speed that precautions could not be taken.

"Ef that ain't the third time I've barged into a tree trunk and near had all the breath knocked out of my body," growled Mike, when he had progressed a mile, and was still well behind Hank. "Seems to me that we should ha' done better to sit down and wait till morning, or lit pine knots and then followed. Hank may do it; I shan't. This forest fairly beats me."

But Mike was a man possessed of wonderful perseverance and tenacity, and, in spite of the numerous occasions on which he blundered into trees, he held to the chase till he also, like Joe, lost his comrade. He stood listening for a sound to tell him where Hank was striding between the trees, then, hearing nothing after quite a long wait, the wary and experienced Mike sat down in the most comfortable attitude he could assume, dragged his ever-faithful pipe from his pocket, and, having filled and lit the weed, puffed away philosophically.

"Hurley ain't got nothing to fear from me, that's certain," he told himself, not without some amount of disappointment and bitterness. "But Hank is the boy to keep him running. The little chap is that hard, he could keep at it all night and right into to-morrow, and he'll stick to his man unless something clean throws him off the scent. For me, reckon I'm trapped here. I'll have a smoke and then a sleep. Early in the morning I'll consider things, and then push on or make back to the hut, as seems best."

Meanwhile Hank slid through the forest as only a practised hunter could have done. It was on this night expedition that he proved his worth, as also the value of an early training. For while Mike dashed so often against a tree, and we know that Joe had done so to his own injury, Hank seemed intuitively to know when a low-hung branch stretched across the path he was following. More than that, somehow he contrived to keep directly on the trail which Hurley was making.

"I'm getting closer," he told himself, when a whole hour had passed. "Any time now Hurley'll turn, and then, ef he don't climb down and cry out that he's beaten, I'll have to put lead into his carcass. That's him 'way ahead, making as much noise as a bull would ef he was gallopin' through the forest."

Loud bangs and crashes indeed told of Hurley's presence, for the trees carried every sound, and accentuated most. It may be imagined, therefore, that the sudden cessation of all noise astonished Hank considerably.

"Eh?" he asked himself, coming to a halt and standing perfectly still so as to listen the better. Not that Hank's breath was coming fast, as in the case of our hero; no, he was not even panting. His heart beats were scarcely increased in number in spite of his exertions, which only went to prove that constant training, correct diet, a good digestion, and a happy and contented mind are advantages possessed by men such as Hank who live their lives in the open. "Not so much as a sound," he told himself. "Now, what has happened? Seems to me likely that Hurley aer turned and ha' got his gun ready fer shootin'. Wall, an old bird same as me don't get frightened jest because lead may be flyin'. It wants a clever or a lucky man to make a hit in the darkness, specially when there's tree trunks all round to give a fellow cover. I'm going to move forward."

He drew back the hammer of his gun, for Hank was a conservative little fellow.

"None of yer new-fangled guns fer me," he had said more than once. "Mind you, I 'low as the new 'uns is fine, and has many advantages. A chap can load and fire twenty times perhaps while I am fiddling with this trigger. 'Sides, I've one myself, and know 'em well. But ef there ain't likely to be quick firin', give me this old thing."

Gripping the weapon in one hand, he bent double and went on stealthily, and in five minutes he had gained some fifty paces. But of Hurley there was no sign. The murderer gave no signal which told of his whereabouts, and though Hank stole on farther, still there was nothing to indicate where Hurley had got to.

"Fair beats the band," growled Hank, beginning to doubt his own powers of trackin'. "I'm past the spot where I last heard him, and I'm dead sure he ain't been within ten yards. Hurley aer a town man, and I'm game to say as he couldn't have sat so still as I should miss him. This fair puzzles me – oh!"

His keen ear heard something towards the left, then again there was silence, save for the murmur of the breeze playing amongst the leaves overhead. Hank slid in that direction promptly, only again he gave a gasp of astonishment, and finally one of extreme annoyance; for it seemed that he had missed Hurley's new path by but a very little. It is not to be wondered at that he had not always been able to follow the exact steps which the fugitive had taken, for he was tracking now not by signs conveyed to him by leaves and sticks and bushes, but by sound alone – the noise of the murderer as he broke his way through the underwood. When that had ceased, Hank had lost direction slightly. He had turned just a little to the right, whereas to the left, where Hurley had passed, there was a curious clearing. It was a broad glade, in fact the same through which the falling sun had sent its glancing rays to the surface of the lake. Clear of trees, thickly covered with grass, it offered a carpet which deadened all footsteps. No wonder that Hank had heard nothing. It was a fortunate matter, indeed, that some slight sound, perhaps his boot striking a pebble, had shown Hurley's position. Hank bounded into the glade as if he had been shot out of the forest.

"Thunder!" he growled. "Ef that ain't the cutest move of any as he's practised! He's made back towards the lake, that's fer certain. There ain't no use in waitin'."

Once more his gun was trailed, and this time, bent less low than formerly, the little hunter went speeding off in the direction Hurley had taken. Nor did the darkness trouble him, for whereas amongst the trees it had been intensely dark, here in the glade it was comparatively light, and a man with eyes such as Hank possessed could detect every obstruction.

We will leave him in pursuit of Hurley, and, having already shown Mike calmly smoking in his leafy retreat, will once more visit our hero. Joe was in a sad way, and it was, without shadow of doubt, a boon to him that collision with a tree knocked him senseless, for but a few moments before there had come to him that stupid, senseless frenzy which comes to those who are lost. Even the brave man is not proof against that frenzy. Sudden, nameless terror snatches at him; the very silence mocks him, while calmness and reason, virtues of which he may well have been the proud possessor earlier, leave him as if he were a leper. Distraction, desperate and hopelessly unavailing effort follow, and finally there comes exhaustion. The unhappy wretch who is entirely lost may become calm when strength has left him, and die merely from want of food and water; but more often madness is the enemy which finally accounts for his ending.

It was as well, therefore, for Joe that a severe blow on the head drove all sense and knowledge from him. He lay like a log for hours, and if we describe his condition faithfully, we must declare that the blow was not entirely responsible. Joe was fagged out with his long efforts; it happened, therefore, that a deep, refreshing sleep followed upon the unconsciousness produced by collision, and carried him well on into the morning. The shaded rays of a risen sun were streaming in upon his leafy prison when he finally opened his eyes.

"Hallo! Hank!" he called, and, getting no reply, turned to stare about him. "My word, don't my head hurt just! Now, how's that? Why, if – Where am I?"

His brain was still muddled, though wonderfully refreshed, and for quite a little while he sat thinking, trying to remember exactly what had happened. Then the knowledge of his true position came to him – he was lost in the forest.

"And made a fine ass of myself, to be sure," he cried, remembering his fears of the previous evening.

"Lost my head; got scared at the silence, and then went barging right and left. This is the dickens of a muddle. Here am I, goodness knows where. Anyway, in Canada, I'm dead certain."

That set him laughing – for Joe was a merry fellow – moreover, the warm rays of the sun streaming down upon him, together with the fact that the past few days had accustomed him to his surroundings, cheered him wonderfully. He began to whistle, an old habit, and then recollected that he was hungry.

"I'll be better for some food, that's certain," he told himself. "I can't think properly as yet. But there's one thing I am sure of – I behaved like a child of two last night. I clean lost my head, and am jolly glad there wasn't anyone else here to watch me. My, how Hank would laugh, and Fennick too! Wonder how he and his wife are doing, and Jim and Claude too. Wonder, also, whether Hurley's captured."

Quite accidentally his hand fell into the bag which he had suspended over his shoulder, and it was with a gasp of pleasure that he remembered that provisions were inside. Joe dragged them out, and, just to show his independence, gathered some sticks and lit a fire. Water was what he wanted now, and a search for that commodity told him still more of his own condition of mind on the previous evening; for his way took him along the track he had himself formed, and presently he came to a part which looked very much as if a circus horse had been driven there, and forced to carry out all sorts of evolutions. Tracks led through the underwood to right and left, crossed one another, and joined sometimes so that two or three were side by side. In one he came upon his rifle, a find which caused him pleasure; but where the outlet was, in what direction he had been coming when he reached this spot, Joe could discover not the smallest inkling.

"Anyway, there's water," he said, filling the kettle which he carried slung to his belt, and which had received a sad battering in the forest. "Jolly glad I've got the tea – that'll put life into me – then I'll have to think this matter out; shouldn't wonder if a shot wouldn't bring an answer."

It was a brilliant idea, and cheered him wonderfully. Let us say, too, that Joe needed cheering. In spite of his undoubted courage, and of a naturally cheery disposition, the terror of the intense silence of his huge prison sometimes almost got the better of him. It was with an obvious effort that he beat down the feeling. Retracing his steps to the fire and busying himself with his cooking preparations helped him wonderfully, and when at length he had swallowed a hot cup of tea and had eaten a couple of grilled slices of meat he felt distinctly better.

"I'll try a shot now," he told himself, "then I'll think matters out. I wonder in what direction I came – beats me hollow."

He was in the act of loading, for he had withdrawn the cartridge popped into his gun on the previous evening, when a sound suddenly reached his ears and caused him to sit bolt upright.

"Eh?" he asked himself. "Hank or Mike or Fox perhaps. Hope so."

There it was again, the noise made by a man thrusting a way through the underwood. Joe gathered up his belongings, stamped out the fire, and went off in that direction. Bang! Crash! He heard the noise time and again, and getting nearer. It seemed, indeed, as if someone were coming towards him. Perhaps five minutes later, when, convinced of the fact, he had thrown himself down to wait and watch, the figure of a man came into view, seen somewhat indistinctly between the maze of leaves and branches.

"Mike!" thought Joe. "About his size. No; too small, though it's a big man but less bulky than Mike. Can't be Hank. Then who is it? Hurley!"

The knowledge that the murderer was actually before him sent a rush of blood to Joe's head. His ears throbbed and buzzed, his pulses beat spasmodically, while his heart thundered against his ribs.

"Hurley!"

Joe climbed silently to his feet and raised his rifle. He now could see the man approaching him better, and could no longer have any doubt as to who it was. It was, without a question, the murderer whom he had fought outside the shack in defence of Tom, the very man Hank and his fellows, with Mike, the policeman, had been following now for such a time.

"Hurley! Still escaping! Then Hank failed to get him! Where's his gun?"

Joe peered through the leaves and branches, and presently caught a glimpse of the weapon which it was known the murderer carried. He bore it before him, fending brambles away with it as he went. That gun, no doubt, was loaded, and Hurley still able and willing to slay anyone who dared to intercept him. What was Joe to do? Let him go? Funk the business, or call to him and chance a bullet?

"Nasty thing if he hit me here; nobody would know. I might be badly wounded and help never reach me. Rotten that, very!"

Joe shivered. We are describing his feelings and his actions with the utmost truth and fairness, and truth compels us to say that he shivered. He looked about him doubtfully, seeing nothing but leaves and waving branches and underwood, with the figure of a man he knew to be already a murderer breaking a path through the forest quite near at hand, while a rifle was borne prominently before him. Bear in mind, too, that Joe had had a terrifying experience already, that he still bore a wound given by the bully, while his scalp was sore and his brain still dizzy with the collisions he had experienced on the previous evening.

"He'll miss me by fifteen feet," said Joe, measuring the distance with his eye. "If I like to stay quiet he'll be by in a jiffy, and then – then I'll be safe!"

He could have kicked himself for the thought; the blood flew to his cheeks again and shamed him. He clenched his teeth and bobbed his head higher.

"Frightfully tempting to funk the meeting," he told himself wrathfully; "but I'll not be such a coward.

"Hurley!" he shouted.

The man stopped abruptly, his eyes shooting into sudden prominence.

"Hands up!" bellowed Joe, keeping well hidden. "Hands up or – "

There was a loud report which reverberated through the wood, while a rattle overhead told its tale unpleasantly. A shower of severed leaves sprayed on to Joe's head, while he listened to a curious click with which soldiers are familiar.

"Loading again – might get me next time. Shall I plug him?" he asked himself.

Very cautiously he lifted his rifle, and with it his head, which he had ducked at Hurley's shot. But where was the man? There was no sign of him. He had disappeared entirely.

"Dropped down where he was, and is waiting and watching. Dead certain he isn't moving," said Joe, "or I'd hear him. I'll wait and watch too."

Presently his patience was rewarded. A black sleeve came into view – only a tiny triangle showing – then the muzzle of the weapon. Joe levelled his own on the sleeve and called again loudly.

"Drop that gun, Hurley," he shouted roughly, "or take the consequences!"

The answer came so swiftly that he was astonished, and once again our hero had the unpleasant feeling of a bullet passing within close distance of him. Under the circumstances it required nerve to kneel a little higher, take aim just a foot below the spot where he had seen that sleeve, and press his own trigger. Then, like a dart, he sprang away, and within a moment was located behind a stout birch tree, which gave excellent cover.

"Got him, I think," he gasped. "There was a shout directly I fired. Wonder if I killed him?"

The thought set his ears tingling and a nasty cold feeling down the centre of his back. Joe wasn't bloodthirsty by any means. He hated the very thought of killing a man; but here it was decidedly a case of Hurley or himself. Softness and pity would be thrown away on such a villain; the smallest advantage allowed would certainly end in his own undoing. It was with the utmost caution, then, that our hero peeped out from behind cover, while his fingers were busily employed in thrusting a fresh cartridge into his rifle. Moreover, he listened eagerly for any sound which might tell him that Hurley was moving. Joe had, in fact, an artful and cunning foe to deal with, and quickly found that he was very far from effecting his purpose, also that the murderer was by no means likely to give in without a struggle. For as he peeped from behind the shelter of his tree a figure rose suddenly, a weapon was fired, and at the same instant down went the figure.

"Thunder!" he exclaimed, using an exclamation which Hank was in the habit of employing. "That was a near one; chipped a nice little piece out of the bark of the tree and – yes, perforated the butt of my rifle."

Very cautiously he peered round the tree again, and then, with a sudden feeling of elation, caught sight of a black object slowly rising above the undergrowth. Joe dropped his sights on it and pressed the trigger steadily; but, to his amazement, the black object continued to rise for the space of a few seconds, then it dropped just as suddenly out of view.

"Huh!" he grunted. "A decoy! Lifted his coat on a stick and drew my fire. Two can play at that game."

But even if he were to follow Hurley's example, caution and cunning were still required. Joe dropped on to hands and knees and then spread himself face downwards on the ground. In that position he wormed his way along some three yards to the right, where he again took cover behind a tree, and on this occasion he lifted his head with the greatest care.

"He'll be watching the tree where I was located," he told himself, "and if I wait a little he'll show himself, seeing that I don't put in an appearance. Then will be the time to aim straight, for I am sure that if I don't take the fullest advantage of every opportunity he will shoot me down."

"That 'ere young cub that was the cause of most of my trouble," growled Hurley, as he lay on the ground awaiting developments. "Wall, it might ha' been wuss; I kin knock him out easy ef I'm just ordinarily cautious, then there won't be no one in the way. I'll double the hull way back – that's what I'll do – get along to the railway, and board a freight train. Down by Niagara Falls there won't be no difficulty in hoppin' across the suspension bridge, and afore these fools is much the wiser I'll be hid up in Buffalo."

His keen eye detected Joe's new position, and, watching closely, he soon saw a portion of the latter's clothing projecting from behind the tree. Up went his rifle, and an instant later the clothing fell to the ground. With a shout of triumph, Hurley stood to his feet, only to drop back again like a stone; for Joe was undamaged. He had merely played Hurley's trick upon himself, and now that the opportunity had come to him, he stood out from cover and fired direct at the man. Unfortunately, however, he was too late, his bullet tearing on through the undergrowth.

"The young cuss!" growled Hurley, startled by his narrow escape. "But I'll get even with him yet. Ef he can play a game same as that, see me foller."

He thought it all out as he lay there in the underwood, and then once again selected a suitable portion of a fallen branch. This time it was his wide-brimmed hat which he raised slowly above the leaves and ferns. But though Hurley peered from amidst the tangle of boughs and leaves, he could see no sign of our hero. It was an intense surprise to him when there came a flash and a loud report from the left, from an altogether different position, while his hat twiddled round on the branch he had thrust into it.

"Jingo! He's shootin'!" he told himself, with a growl. "Lucky my head warn't in there. But I ain't done, not by a long way. I'll try the trick agin, and then I fancy I shall have a surprise fer that 'ere Britisher."

Very slowly he proceeded to elevate his hat again, and this time so soon after the last that he guessed that Joe would hardly have had time to change his position. So that it was again a shock to find a bullet swishing rather from the right. However, Hurley was a man with an iron nerve; moreover, he knew what awaited him should he be captured. Straightway leaping to his feet and trusting to Joe not having had time to reload, he dashed into the bush and, seeing our hero, threw himself upon him furiously. Nor did he deign to make use of his own weapon. Dropping it as if it were no longer of use, he gripped Joe with both hands and, swinging him aloft as he had done once before, he prepared to hurl him against a tree. Indeed, he almost carried out that intention; but Joe managed to curl in his legs and so escape.

"You're jest about dead this time," gasped Hurley. "You'd have done far better to have stayed right at home with the kids, which are yer place, than have come out here to take grown men. That'll finish it."

But the second swing he gave didn't finish the matter. Joe was a tougher foe to deal with than Hurley imagined, for, locking his arms round the murderer, he defied his every effort to lift him. But all the while he was conscious of the fact that the man was a great deal stronger than he, and that unless he could deal him a vital blow, his own chances were far from good. It was at this critical moment, when the two were once more struggling fiercely and had rolled to the ground, that a man came darting through the underwood. Dashing up to the combatants, he placed the muzzle of his old gun against the murderer's head and called loudly on him to surrender.

"You may jest as well throw it up, Hurley," he said, with wonderful coolness, "fer I guess you're cornered. 'Sides, ef you're troublesome you're like to get the sort o' dustin' a feller don't take to kindly. So jest turn it up. Joe, get a hold of his rifle. Now, my man, you stand there agin the tree and don't try hanky-panky. I ain't particular whether it's the law that deals with yer or me. Savvy?"

Hurley did; he unloosed his grip of our hero promptly and, now that the tables were turned, stood cowed and subdued in front of Hank, eyeing his old muzzle-loader askance. As for Hank, he grinned at Joe.

"It war a near call, lad," he said. "Strange that it should be you as really cornered him. But keep yer eye on him and yer finger on your trigger. There ain't never no saying when he'll be up to games, though it won't be often he'll play 'em once Mike's up. He could lift this hulkin' feller as ef he war a baby, and my, wouldn't he give him sauce!"

Some twenty minutes later Fox put in an appearance, and after him Mike. Hurley was promptly secured, his hands being bound behind his back, for Mike had lost his handcuffs, while a stout cord was passed from the lashings and secured to Fox's wrist. Then the party wended their way through the forest, and in a wonderfully short space of time came to the hut in which Hurley had taken refuge. Here their comrades joined them in the evening.

"It war a close call," said Peter, when he had heard of Joe's adventure; "but I ain't quite clear as to how it come about that you was out there in the forest all alone. Spin us the yarn."

"I was lost, that's the simple explanation," answered Joe, telling them how he had dashed hither and thither in a frenzy, and how a collision with a tree had in the end sent him senseless to the ground. "And a mighty big bump I've got to show for it," he added ruefully.

"You're jest mighty lucky to have one to show at all, young feller," growled Hank. "I ain't been in these parts without meeting with similar cases. I've known young fellers, and oldish men too, go off into the timber and never come back. I've seed a ghost of one crawl back after a week, and he as mad as a hatter. What's more, I know what the feelin' of bein' lost is. An old hunter same as me don't never feel like that. When I war young it war different. Nowadays I could find my way out anywhere. I'd do as you did, doss down fer the night – so I reckon that blow you got war lucky, – then, when morning came, I'd watch fer the sun, and I'd go ahead always in one direction; but it seems to me as ef supper war ready."

"One moment," said Joe. "How was it you came upon the scene so opportunely, Hank?"

"How? Jest like this, and simple enough. This 'ere Hurley give me the slip, and shot out into a glade. Wall, a bit of a rattle as he passed over a stony patch told me the direction he had taken, and precious soon I had picked up his traces again. Seems he took to the lake, straddling a log he found there and pushing out. But the wind war on this shore and brought him back. Early this mornin' I dropped on his traces and found as he'd turned south. Mike come along with Fox at the same moment, and reckon we set out fer all we war worth. It war then that we heard a shot, and then others. That set me movin', and – wall, that's all."

He closed up like an oyster, and actually blushed when Joe continued. "Not all, Hank," he said earnestly; "you saved my life. I'm grateful."

"Gee! Ef I ain't that hungry!" shouted Hank, springing to his feet hurriedly. "George, ain't you got them steaks frizzled yet?"

"Ready," came the answer, while George held a stick to which the steaks were skewered aloft.

"Then we'll eat," growled Hank, as if he had recently had a quarrel with our hero; "and mind, there ain't no more gassin'."

"He aer fair set on you," whispered Peter, after the meal, taking Joe aside. "He knew you was in trouble, and I tell you he wouldn't rest. All night he war searchin' for your traces, and ef he hadn't bustled, guess he'd have reached you too late. Hank aer the queerest little morsel as ever I set eyes on."

"He's a fine fellow," declared Joe eagerly. "Some day I'll get even with him."

The following morning they mounted again, and in due course reached the settlements, where the party divided.

"Hank's comin' along to stay with us," said Peter. "How's that, young 'un?"

"Ripping!" Joe meant it; he had taken a huge fancy to the little hunter, and hoped, if he were lucky, to learn a great deal more from him.

"You'll do that right enough," laughed Peter, when our hero told him. "Hank aer a troublesome feller. It ain't often that I hear of him that he ain't been in some adventure. Jest you watch to see that he don't drag you in too. I don't altogether trust the little varmint."

"Drat the man!" exclaimed Mrs. Strike. "Joe was a steady worker afore he came here; but now, bless us! he's always wantin' to be off into the wilds and forests."

And go Joe did. He worked all through the summer and autumn, helping Peter to get in his harvest, and learning much about farming; then, leaving Tom, the lad for whom he had fought, as Peter's man in his place, he packed his bag and rode off with Hank on a prospecting expedition.