so far satisfactory to have discovered the direction the Indians had taken, as Loraine might thus proceed southward and Allan Keith make his way eastward on the trail of the buffalo hunters, without the risk of encountering them.

“I will spare no exertion to get as soon as possible to the fort with as many men as I can induce to accompany me,” said Allan, as he warmly shook hands with Loraine. “I heartily wish that I could have gone with you; but I must obey the orders of my chief. I am well acquainted with the family of Captain Mackintosh; pray give them my respects, and say how deeply I regret not being able to proceed at once to the fort.”

Allan looked somewhat conscious as he said this. Loraine promised to deliver his messages; and the horses having now had time to feed, the three parties separated. Allan, accompanied by Pierre, rode off to the eastward; Mr Burnett and the train continued their journey to the west; while Loraine and his two companions took a southerly course.

“Good-bye, good-bye, my young friends,” cried Dr McCrab, after riding a short distance with Loraine and Hector. “Whatever you do; don’t let the Redskins take your scalps, my boys. Keep your powder dry, and your larder well stored, and you’ll get through. I heartily wish that I could go with you; but I ride too heavy a weight, and should certainly delay you if we had to run for it with a pack of howling savages at our tails: the chances are, I should come off second best,” said the good-natured medico, when, shaking hands, he turned his horse’s head and galloped off to overtake the train brought up by Isaac Sass and his pack animals. The country being level, the train could be seen for a long distance, creeping on like a huge snake through the grass.

As Loraine looked round, a uniform and well-defined horizon met his eye. So destitute was the country in general of all landmarks, that he was thankful to have a good compass to guide his course, in addition to the assistance of the young hump-backed Indian, who depended on his instinct alone. Loraine and Hector had each a spare horse, which carried their changes of clothes, a store of powder and shot, and such provisions and cooking utensils as they were likely to require.

The young Indian frequently raised himself in his stirrups, and sometimes even stood upon the back of his horse, to take a look round, but dropped quickly down again into his saddle, satisfied that no foes were in the neighbourhood.

“It was fortunate that the Blackfeet came about the camp last night, and then took themselves off to the westward, as we are the less likely to have them on our trail,” observed Hector, who was highly delighted to be able to go home at once, instead of having to make a long circuit, as he had expected, through Edmonton. Though he had heard the report of old Sass, he had not realised the danger in which his family might be placed.

He rattled on as was his wont, never failing to find subjects of conversation. “I did not suppose that there would be much risk, or I should not have proposed your coming with me,” observed Loraine. “I was, besides, unwilling to make my appearance at the fort without you, lest Captain Mackintosh should look upon me as an impostor.”

“I am very sure my father would not do that, or my mother or sister either, or Sybil. They’ll make a good deal of you, I can tell you; for it is not often they see a gentleman at the fort, except Allan Keith, who comes whenever he can. He is, I suspect, a great admirer of my sister; and I am not surprised, for she is a dear, good girl, and worthy of the best fellow in the country.”

“Which sister?” very naturally asked Loraine. “You showed me the portraits of two.”

“I have only one. Sybil is not really my sister, though I called her so, and she is like a sister to us all. My father and mother adopted her before Effie or any of us were born; and as they were as fond of her as they could have been had she been their own child, she has lived on with us ever since. She’s as pretty as she looks in her portrait, and as good and bright as she is pretty, and we boys love her as much as we do Effie.”

This account naturally increased Loraine’s desire to see the original of the beautiful picture; but a sense of delicacy prevented him further questioning his young companion about her, being well assured that he would before long tell him all he knew. Hector, indeed, talked away for the whole party, for Greensnake never uttered a word except from absolute necessity, and then it was in Cree. Hector, however, remembered enough to make out the meaning, having known the language before he went to school, and he translated what was said to Loraine. They had got to some distance from the camp, when Hector, turning round, observed two animals following.

“Holloa! What are these?” he exclaimed. “Can they be wolves?”

“If they are,” said Loraine, “and they come near enough, we must shoot them, or they may interfere with our horses at night, especially as they are likely to pick up companions on the way.”

“Very well; then we will stop at once, and do you fire at one of the brutes, and I will try to kill the other,” said Hector. “What do you say, Greensnake?” he asked in Cree.

The hump-backed Indian grunted out an unintelligible reply, and pointed ahead.

“He doesn’t think it worth while to stop,” remarked Hector.

“Nor do I,” said Loraine; and they accordingly pushed on at the pace they had before been going.

After a while, Hector, looking back, exclaimed, “Why, they are not wolves at all, but a couple of dogs—Old Buster, who belongs to the Doctor, and Dan Maloney’s Muskey! They took a great fancy to me, for I used to play with them; but I had no idea of enticing them away from their masters.”

“They must have found out that we are not with the train, and bolting, followed up our trail,” remarked Loraine. “We cannot drive them back now.”

The dogs were quickly up to the riders, and seemed highly delighted to find Hector, jumping up on either side of him.

The prairie which Loraine and his companions were traversing was almost treeless; but not many years before it had been covered with a pine forest, destroyed by one of the ruthless prairie fires which so often sweep over the north-west territory. Here and there, however, by the sides of streams, or pools, numerous aspens—the fastest growing trees in that region—had again sprung up, their stems being of considerable thickness, while their light foliage gave a cheerful aspect to the otherwise dreary scenery. When the ground allowed it, they occasionally put their horses into a gallop—a pace well suited to their tempers. At the same time, they knew that they must not run the risk of knocking up their animals, or they would fail in their object of making a quick journey.

They had gone on for some time, when Hector’s tough little horse suddenly came down, and threw him over its head.

“Don’t care for me,” he cried; “but I’m afraid my horse has broken its leg.”

The animal had put its foot into a badger-hole. After making some violent struggles, however, it recovered itself, and Hector, getting hold of its bridle, remounted.

“We must keep a better look-out for the badger-holes. It wouldn’t be pleasant to have to continue our journey on foot,” he said, laughing.

Having stopped by the side of a pool to take a mid-day meal, give their horses water, and allow them to crop as much grass as they could during the time, the travellers pushed on until nightfall, when they encamped under shelter of a grove of aspens, close to a stream, which flowed into the South Saskatchewan. By Greensnake’s advice, only a small fire was lighted, which was to be put out when they had cooked their supper.

As soon as he had finished his meal, the Indian, taking his blanket, went and lay down close to where the horses which had been hobbled were feeding; while