We have seen the route he took across the lakes and timbered flats and marshes to the place where he pitched his camp in the little clump of diminutive fir trees almost twenty miles from his tilt. It was evening when he reached there and up to this time, to his astonishment, he had seen no signs of caribou. A few miles beyond the marsh he saw a ridge of low hills running east and west and decided that the feeding grounds of the animals must lie the other side of them.
He banked the snow around the tent to keep out the wind, broke an abundant supply of green boughs for a bed, and cut a good stock of wood for the day of rest. Two logs were placed in a parallel position in the tent upon which to rest the stove that it might not sink in the deep snow with the heat. Then it was put up, and a fire started, and he was very comfortably settled for the night.
The unfamiliar and unusually bleak character of the country gave him a feeling of restlessness and dissatisfaction when he arose on Sunday morning and viewed his surroundings. It was quite different from anything he had ever experienced before and he had a strong desire to go out at once and look for the caribou, and if no signs of them were found to turn back on Monday to the tilt. But then he asked himself, would his mother approve of this? He decided that she would not, and, said he: "'Twould be huntin' just as much as t' go shootin' and th' Lard would be gettin' angry wi' me too."
That kept him from going, and he spent the day in the tent drawing mind pictures of the little cabin home that he longed so much to see and the loved ones that were there. The thought of little Emily, lying helpless but still so patient, brought tears to his eyes. But all would be well in the end, he told himself, for God was good and had given him the silver fox he had prayed for that Emily might go and be cured.
What a proud and happy day it would be for him when with his greatest hopes fulfilled, the boat ground her nose again upon the beach below the cabin from which he had started so full of ambition that long ago morning in September. How his father would come down to shake his hand and say: "My stalwart lad has done bravely, an' I'm proud o' un." His mother, all smiles, would run out to meet him and take him in her arms and praise and pet him, and then he would hurry in to see dear, patient little Emily on her couch, and her face would light up at sight of him and she would hold out her hands to him in an ecstasy of delight and call: "Oh, Bob! Bob! my fine big brother has come back to me at last!" Then he would bring in his furs and proudly exhibit the silver fox and hear their praises, and perhaps he would have another silver fox by that time. After a while Douglas Campbell would come over and tell him how wonderfully well he had done. With his share of the martens he would pay his debt to the company, and he and Douglas would let the mail boat doctor sell the silver fox and other skins for them, and Emily would go to the hospital and after a little while come back her old gay little self again, to romp and play and laugh and tease him as she used to do. With fancy making for him these dreams of happiness, the day passed after all much less tediously than he had expected.
On Monday morning, as soon as it was light enough to see, Bob started out to look for the caribou, leaving the tent as Micmac John found it. He made the great mistake of not taking with him his axe, for an axe is often a life saver in the northern wilderness, and a hunter should never be without one. He crossed the marsh and then the ridge of low hills to the northward, finally coming out upon a large lake. It was now midday, the snow had commenced falling, and to continue the hunt further was useless.
"'Tis goin' t' be nasty weather an' I'll have t' be gettin' back t' th' tent," said he regretfully as he realized that a severe storm was upon him.
Reluctantly he retraced his steps. In a little while his tracks were all covered, and not a landmark that he had noted on his inward journey was visible through the blinding snow. He reached the ridge in safety, however, and crossed it and then took the direction that he believed would carry him to the camp, using the wind, which had been blowing from the westward all day, as his guide. Towards dark he came to what he supposed was the clump of trees where he had left his tent in the morning, but no tent was there.
"'Tis wonderful strange!" he exclaimed as he stood for a moment in uncertainty.
He was quite positive it was the right place, and he looked for axe cuttings, where he had chopped down trees for fire-wood, and found them. So, this was the place, but where was the tent? He was mystified. He searched up and down every corner of the grove, but found no clue. Could the Nascaupees have found his camp and carried his things away? There was no other solution.