Silver Lake | Page 2

Walter," replied his son Roy, sitting down and coolly helping himself to a portion of bear's meat, with which the hunter was regaling himself.
"Nonsense, boy," said Robin, somewhat gruffly.
"You'll not be able to keep up with us," added Walter, "for we've little time before us, an' a long way to go."
"If I break down I can turn back," retorted Roy.
"Very good; please yourself;" said Robin in a tone of indifference, although his glance seemed to indicate that he was not sorry to see his boy determined to attempt an expedition which he knew from experience would be very trying to a lad of his years.
Breakfast over, the three hunters clothed themselves in habiliments suitable to the climate--leathern coats and trousers which were impervious to the wind; cloth leggings to keep the snow from the trousers; leather mocassins, or shoes with three pairs of blanket socks inside of them; fur-caps with ear-pieces; leather mittens with an apartment for the fingers and a separate chamber for the thumb, powder-horns, shot-pouches, guns, and snow-shoes. These latter were light wooden frames, netted across with deerskin threads, about five feet long and upwards of a foot wide. The shoes were of this enormous size, in order that they might support the wearers on the surface of the snow, which was, on an average, four feet deep in the woods. They were clumsy to look at, but not so difficult to walk in as one might suppose.
In silence the three hunters entered the dark woods in front of Fort Enterprise. Robin went first and beat the track, Walter followed in his footsteps, Roy brought up the rear. The father sank about six inches at every step, but the snow which fell upon his snow-shoes was so fine and dry, owing to the intense frost, that it fell through the net-work of the shoes like dust. Walter and Roy, treading in the footsteps, had less labour in walking, but Walter, being almost as strong as his uncle, took his turn at beating the track every two hours.
Through the woods they went, over mound and hollow, across frozen swamp and plain, through brush and break, until near noon, when they halted for rest and refreshment. While Walter cut firewood, Robin and Roy cleared away the snow, using their snow-shoes as shovels, and prepared their meal. It was simple; a few mouthfuls of dried meat and a tin can of hot tea--the backwoodsman's greatest luxury, next to his pipe. It was short, too. Half an hour sufficed to prepare and consume it.
"Let's see, now, what we have got," said Robin, counting the game before resuming the march.
"More than enough," said Walter, lighting his pipe for a hurried whiff, "ten brace of white grouse, four rabbits, six red foxes and a black one, and two wolves. We can't eat all that."
"Surely we won't eat the foxes and wolves!" cried Roy, laughing.
"Not till we're starvin'," replied his father. "Come, let's go on--are ye tired, lad?"
"Fresh as Walter," said the boy, proudly.
"Well, we won't try you too much. We'll just take a sweep round by the Wolf's Glen, an' look at the traps there--after which make for home and have our New Year's dinner. Go ahead, Walter, and beat the track; it is your turn this time."
Without speaking, Walter slipped his feet into the lines of his snow-shoes, extinguished his pipe, and led the way once more through the pathless forest.
CHAPTER TWO.
THE STARVED INDIAN.
In the depths of the same forest, and not far from the locality to which we have introduced our reader, a Red Indian was dragging his limbs wearily along over the untrodden snow.
The attenuated frame of this son of the soil, his hollow cheeks and glaring eye-balls, his belt drawn with extreme tightness round his waist, to repress the gnawings of hunger, as well as his enfeebled gait, proved that he was approaching the last stage of starvation.
For many weeks Wapaw had been travelling in the woods, guided on his way by the stars, and by those slight and delicate signs of the wilderness-- such as the difference of thickness in the bark on the north, from that on the south side of a tree--which are perceptible only to the keen eye of an Indian, or a white man whose life has been spent in the wilderness.
But Wapaw was a very different man, when he quitted his tribe, from what he was at the time we introduce him to our reader. Strong, wiry, upright, and lithe as a panther, he left his wigwam and his wife, and turned his face towards the rising sun; but the season was a severe one, and game was scarce; from the very beginning of his journey he had found it difficult to supply himself with a sufficiency of food. Towards the middle of