soon the hunters were once more at the camp-ground.

Of course Holden's first move was to strip, plunge into the river, and then robe himself in garments that were less like a rag-picker's bundle. Meantime, Arnold set to work lighting a fire and preparing the chicken for roasting on wooden spits, as their camping experience had taught them.

By midday the meal was in readiness. The birds were cooked, "biscuits" were baked in the camp-oven, the fragrant smell of coffee was issuing from a billy-tin, and all preparations completed to welcome the elder hunters.

But time went past, and there was no sign of a canoe on the river.

"I wonder if they have missed their way?" remarked Alf, to whom the waiting was a trial, considering inside calls and tempting odours.

"I don't think that's likely," said Bob. "Your dad and mine are both old backwoodsmen. I'm beginning to think something has happened——"

"An accident?"

"Possibly. But of course we can't tell. But it isn't like them to be late when they promised to be back by noon."

"But then, if an accident has happened to one, the other could always come back and let us know," Alf answered; and his chum returned—

"That's just what I've been thinking. I don't want to frighten you, old man, but I can't help thinking that something has gone wrong with both."

"Perhaps it's the canoe. It might have got damaged. They were exploring new water, you know."

Bob nodded.

"As likely as not. In that case they'll come back by land, and that would take some time, as, of course, they would go much quicker by water. We'll wait a little longer, and if they don't arrive we'd better have our grub. They'll turn up later."

The boys waited as patiently as possible, but ultimately, with no sign of the travellers, they were obliged to dine alone; though the meal was not eaten with customary cheerfulness, for both the boys shared forebodings of troubles to come.

The day wore on, and still no signs of the wanderers, while the anxiety of the boys rapidly increased. And when night came, without bringing any news to allay concern, they then began to decide that some serious accident must have taken place.

Until late into the hours of darkness the two lads sat by the camp-fire, starting hopefully at each sound from the forest or river—ready to believe that any whisper of Nature must be the sound of a reassuring messenger.

How different it was from their usual little camp-fire gatherings! At such times they were wont to loll about while reciting the many incidents of the day just gone, and planning fresh exploits for the morrow. Even last night they had thus sat and planned the expedition that had ended in adding a heavier gloom to the night.

The fire-flies flickered their tiny lamps, the night-hawks shrieked as they swooped from the heavens, the owls hooted their dismal cries, and the wolves wailed in the distance as they fought over the remains of the antelope that had been left to them.

It must have been near midnight when Bob broke an unusually long spell of silence.

"Well, old boy," he said, with forced brightness, "I guess the best thing we can do is to turn in. They won't be back to-night, that's certain."

"Yet—one might come. I wouldn't like to be asleep if—if there was any call, you know."

"Then we'll take it turn about—two hours asleep, two hours watch," was the elder boy's practical suggestion. "Besides, very likely we are worrying ourselves without need. Anything may have happened to keep them from returning—not even an accident, as we've been supposing. One never knows what may take place in the backwoods, and—and perhaps they were forced to wait till morning."

Bob knew, and Alf knew as well, that it was but a plucky attempt to look at fears in the best light—an effort to convince both against their conviction that their evil forebodings were groundless.

But Alf was not easily convinced.

"I am sure that nothing except accident could have happened to prevent at least your father or mine from returning to camp. They would know that we should be worried. And no matter how far they went by canoe in the morning, there has been plenty of time to walk the distance. I can't help thinking that they came upon tracks of the moose, as they wanted, and——"

"Hush," interrupted Bob kindly. "Don't let your imagination run away with you like that, old man. Besides, you know what good shots both our fathers are. They know the ways of most big game. No; I can't think that you are right. Such an accident might happen to one—even the finest trapper; but, to both—believe me, it's out of the question. Now, turn in like a good chap. I'll take first watch."

"You'll wake me as soon as the two hours are up?" pressed Alf, reluctant to leave the watch when he might have first sign of news.

"Yes, I'll waken you. Don't worry about that. You are tired as a dog as it is—what with fighting lynxes and other excitements. In two hours you'll find that I'll be too ready for sleep to let you doze a second over time."

CHAPTER IV

FRIENDS OR FOES?

So sudden had been the attack when the two men were snatched from the waters of the treacherous Athabasca, that they were too confused to realise what was taking place. No signs of any prowlers had been previously evident, though possibly the fact that danger from that quarter was unconsidered might have secluded what would have been discernible by suspicious eyes.

Moreover, the men were so exhausted by the adventures through which they had just passed that they were only able to offer feeble resistance, and, by the time their scattered faculties were collected, they found themselves lying bound in the centre of a chattering throng of Indians.

Such conduct was certainly surprising in these days, when the redmen are a peaceable people who have learned to regard the pale-faces as well-meaning friends, and have long since buried the hatchet of tribal feuds.

"What on earth can be the meaning of this?" Arnold questioned of his companion, who lay at his side.

"It's certainly extraordinary," the other man said. "Yet they don't seem particularly aggressive."

"No. They offered no indignities, such as would have been our fortune in olden days. But did you notice how that old warrior examined the knots himself? He seems to be a sort of head-man. I can remember a smattering of a few dialects, and I am sure I heard him say to the braves: 'Not too tight. Do not hurt the pale-faces, but keep them firm.'"

"It's certainly mysterious," said Holden. "Perhaps we have arrived in the middle of some sacred feast. Or perhaps we've come upon them when they were about to carry out some form of lawlessness."

Arnold shook his head decidedly.

"No. There are no signs of feasts. As for the latter, these are Dacotahs—one of the most law-abiding tribes. We'll have to look further than that for an explanation. Of this I am certain: we are in no immediate danger. That they are chattering about us is evident from these side-glances; but there is nothing hostile in the looks."

"More like awe than hostility."

"Just what I was thinking. But see! That old warrior is coming our way again. We'll learn something this time, perhaps."

As Arnold spoke, an old Indian was seen to step from the chattering crowd. He was tall, well built, and still a fine specimen of manhood, though his face bore traces of many years.

That he received the homage due to rank as