The canoe floated on. About an hundred yards below the Indians Sam
ordered a landing. Camp was made as usual. Supper was cooked. The fire
replenished. Then, just before the late sunset of the Far North, the
bushes crackled.

"Now let me do the talking," warned Sam.

"All right. I'll just keep my eye on this," Dick nodded toward the girl.
"She's Ojibway, too, you know. She may give us away."

"She can't only guess," Sam reminded. "But there ain't any danger,
anyway."

The leaves parted. The Indian appeared, sauntering with elaborate
carelessness, his beady eyes shifting here and there in an attempt to
gather what these people might be about.

"Bo' jou', bo' jou'," he greeted them.




CHAPTER TWELVE


The Indian advanced silently to the fireside, where he squatted on his
heels. He filled a pipe, scraping the tobacco from the square plug Sam
extended to him. While he did this, and while he stuffed it into the
bowl, his keen eyes shifted here and there, gathering the material for