It was a lovely morning in May, 1880. The ice upon the Mackenzie
River had but lately given way, having broken up with one tremendous
crash. Huge blocks were first hurled some distance down the river,
then piled up one above another until they reached the summit of the
bank fifty or sixty feet high, and being deposited there in huge
unsightly masses, were left to thaw away drop by drop, a process
which it would take some five or six weeks to accomplish. Some of the
men had lately returned from a bear hunt, being, however,
disappointed of their prey--a matter of less consideration than
usual, for Bruin, being but lately roused from his long winter sleep,
was in a less prime condition than he would be a few weeks later.
Michel, the hunter, had one of his "ugly fits" upon him;--this was
known throughout the camps. The women only shrugged their shoulders,
and kept clear of his lodge. The men paid him but little attention,
even when he skulked in for awhile after dark to smoke his pipe by
their camp fire. But on this morning neither Michel nor his wife had
been seen outside their camp; only one or two of the children had
turned out at a late hour and looked wistfully about, as if longing
for someone to give them food and other attention.

Suddenly, from within the lodge a shot was heard, and a terrible
muffled sound, which none heard without a shudder. Then came the
shrieks of the terrified children, who ran out of the lodge towards
their neighbours. By this time all the Indians were aware that
something horrible had occurred in Michel's camp, and from every
lodge, far and near, they hurried out with looks of dread and
inquiry. The farthest lodge was not more than sixty yards from that
of Michel, and the nearest was hardly a dozen yards removed, although
a little further back from the edge of the bank. When the first man
entered the lodge it could not have been more than a few seconds