toward the railway yards where he would find the drowsy comforts of the
caboose of the "Reindeer Special."

* * * * *

"American, ain't y'?" A sergeant of the United States army addressed
this question to Johnny.

The latter was curled up half asleep in a corner of the caboose of the
"Reindeer Special" which had been bumping over the rails for some time.

"Ya-a," he yawned.

"Going north to trade, I s'pose?"

Johnny was tempted not to answer. Still, he was not yet out of the
woods.

"Yep," he replied cheerfully. "Red fox, white fox, mink, squirrel,
ermine, muskrat. Mighty good price."

"Where's your pack?" The sergeant half grinned.

Johnny sat up and stared. No, it was not that he had had a pack and lost
it. It was that he had never had a pack. And traders carried packs. Why
to be sure; things to trade for furs.

"Pack?" he said confusedly. "Ah-er, yes. Why, yes, my pack, of course,
why I left it; no--hang it! Come to think of it, I'm getting that at the
end of this line, Khabarask, you know."