XIII

"'Tis the truth, I'd never ha' know'd ye, an' ye hadn't told me who ye
was," welcomed old Dugald Murchison, as he gripped Hedin's hand in the
door of the little trading post on the shore of Gods Lake. "Knock the
snow from your clothes an' come in to the stove. You're just in time,
for by the signs, the storm that's on us will be a three days'
nor'easter straight off the Bay. Ye'd of had a nasty camp of it if
ye'd of been a day later."

"The guide saw it coming, and we did double time yesterday, and to-day
we didn't stop to eat."

Murchison nodded. "Ye come in up the chain of lakes from the south.
'Tis a man's job ye've done--this time o' year. Ye come up from Lac
Seul, an' by the guide ye've got, I see the hand of John McNabb in your
visit. For old Missinabbee won't go into the woods with everyone,
though he'd go through hell itself for John McNabb. But come on in an'
get thawed out while the Injun 'tends to the dogs, an' then we'll eat."

"Has Wentworth arrived yet?" asked Hedin, as he followed the factor
toward the stove at the rear of the trading room.

Murchison shook his head. "Ye're the first this winter. But who's
Wentworth? An' what'll he be doin' here? An' what are ye doin' here
yourself? I suppose it had to do with John's pulp-wood, but the
options don't expire till sometime in the summer. Why didn't he come
himself?"