The wolf which Bruce had killed was very lean. Bruce estimated that he weighed at least seventy pounds, ten pounds more than a bushel of wheat. In good condition he would have weighed about ninety pounds.
Fortunately the wounds which Bruce had received in his fight with the wolf did not fester, and a week later the campers had boiled wild chicken with wild rice and hominy for their Sunday dinner. It was Bruce who had brought a little hominy from the “Soo” to be used on very special occasions. Bruce had not found it very difficult to secure three grouse with blunt arrows, but he had not forgotten to take his gun and knife along, although no wolves had been seen or heard near the camp since he had had his great fight.
Ganawa was very proud of the victory of his white son. “If you were a Chippewa,” he told Bruce, “you would be allowed to [[230]]wear an eagle feather for killing mahungeen. I know of only one Indian who killed mahungeen in a hand-to-hand fight, but he had a knife.”
Winter lasts a long time in the North Country, but the campers always found something to do, and as Ganawa could tell stories and Indian legends by the hour, the lads had no time to be unhappy, although they eagerly watched and waited for signs of spring. From time to time they tried fishing through the ice, but by the middle of February the ice was three feet thick and cutting a hole through it meant a great deal of labor.
At last, about the middle of April, the margins of the lakes began to thaw, ducks and geese began to come north, and on warm, sunny days the sap of the white birches ran freely. The sap of birch-trees runs as freely in spring as the sap of maples, but it contains so little sugar that it is not suitable for the making of syrup or sugar.
It was on a warm afternoon late in April, [[231]]when Ray came to camp greatly excited by something he had discovered.
“Father,” he called out of breath to Ganawa, “I have found a log cabin. It is a very small cabin. Nobody lives in it, but it must have been built by a white man.
“Come along, Bruce; let me show it to you. It is in the Wolf Swamp, only about a hundred yards from the spot where you killed the wolf.”
This was indeed real news to the camp. Could this be the clue to Jack Dutton’s camp? Why should anybody want to hide himself in the Wolf Swamp, as Ray had called the place, when there was a good camping-place on Lake Anjigami?
Ray proudly led the way to his discovery. Sure enough, there was the log cabin, but it was not a cabin any man had lived in.