"I'm thinkin', now, o' th' northern lights," remarked Bob, when they had watched them for some time, "that they's flashes o' light from heaven. I'm thinkin' th' Lard sends un t' give us promise o' th' glories we'll have when we dies."
"That is a cheerful thought, at least," admitted Shad.
"Yes, 'tis cheerin'. Leastways, they always cheers me when I see un," declared Bob.
"Whenever I see them after this," said Shad, "I shall remember your suggestion--that they are the reflected glory of heaven, sent to inspire the dwellers upon earth."
As they arose to retire to their tent the dead silence of the wilderness was startled by the uncanny cry of a loon. Bob stood for a moment and listened. Then, turning to the tent, he remarked:
"'Tis a bad sign, when a loon laughs at night like that!"
"In what way?" asked Shad.
"'Tis said t' be a warnin' o' danger an' trouble."
In a series of portages from lake to lake they passed the next day through six lakes of varying size, caching traps now and again at convenient points for future use.
All the afternoon a low, rumbling sound was to be heard. Time and again they halted to listen. It was a changeless, sullen, muffled roar. Finally, when they reached the sixth lake, later in the afternoon, their curiosity got the better of them and they climbed a barren eminence to investigate. As they neared the summit the roar increased in volume, and when they reached the top and looked to the southward they beheld a cloud of vapour.