"We'll get along quicker like that," said Hank. "It don't take more'n a couple of seconds to lift a block into place, while it takes five perhaps to cut one. So ef one builds, t'others'll be able to keep him supplied."
It was really remarkable how rapidly the wall rose. In an hour there was a complete circle all round the rim of the island, which, being naturally raised, gave greater height to the artificial wall. The second row of blocks was soon added, Joe leaving spaces here and there through which a rifle could be fired. The third and fourth and others swiftly followed, and when four hours had gone the task was completed. Then Hank attacked the ice with an axe which he always carried, and, having cut through a foot and more, came upon water. A tin pot constantly replenished supplied a means whereby the outer face of the wall was drenched, and so fierce was the cold that the liquid congealed almost as soon as it had fallen on the surface at which it was projected.
"We kin make our dummies any time now," said Hank. "Two of 'em'll be enough, and the one who's going to take the first watch'll find they will help to pass the time in making. It's nigh midnight now; I'll take a spell. Joe'll relieve when three hours have gone, and Beaver Jack later. Let's get to and make the most of the time before us."
In a short time silence fell upon this little isolated camp. Down in the depths of the lowest hollow, huddled in their blankets, and as warm as toast, lay Joe and the Redskin, packed close together; for an Arctic winter needs to be treated with consideration. No warmth that can be retained can be allowed to escape, and as two bodies huddled close together generate a temperature which is greater than that generated by one, it follows that campers sleep pressed close together. We have seen the plan put into operation elsewhere. On the high veldt in South Africa, when nightly frosts are keen, and when tents and proper covering are not obtainable, your campaigners soon lose all feelings of foolish pride. Officers divide into couples and bed down beneath the combined allowance of blankets, while we have seen as many as four of the rank and file snug beneath their covering, snoring blissfully, grateful for the warmth of their comrades.
Perched above this tranquil camp, his keen eyes surveying the surroundings with as much ease as a watchman can keep guard from a tower built for that special purpose, Hank looked out across the surface of the lake to the shore where the enemy was lying. His pipe was clenched between his teeth, his hands sunk deep into his pockets, while he himself was immovable. But every now and again the glow in the bowl of his pipe brightened, showing that he was drawing on the weed, while a puff of smoke issued from his lips.
"The critters!" was a favourite exclamation with him; "Them skunks!" another; "Ef I only knew what they was after," an oft-repeated sentence.
"Yer see," Hank was saying to himself, "there don't seem to be any reason in all this business; but there's something behind it all that we can't even guess at. Somehow I can't help thinkin' that this here Joe ha' an importance in the matter."
What would the little hunter have given to be able to peer into the camp of the enemy at that particular moment? He could see the glare of a huge fire, and could imagine men and dogs sleeping together under a shelter. But Hank was an exceedingly practical fellow, not one gifted with an unusual stock of imagination. He could not, therefore, guess that the number of the enemy was divided, that there was one who was a leader. And yet that was the case. Half-breeds formed the backbone of the party—half-breeds of the lowest character, idle vagabonds to be found round and about the forts in the north of Canada. Not, let us say at once, that all half-breeds are idle and worthless; by no means is that the case. There are, of course, black sheep in every flock, and here a number were gathered together, and at that moment huddled fast asleep in the shelter of the lean-to which Joe and his friends had erected. Some ten paces away a second shelter had been constructed, of rather ample proportions, while a fire blazed at the entrance, warming the interior. One side of this structure was filled by a sleigh, which had been put there for a special purpose, the blankets lying upon it showing that it was meant to serve as a couch. On this same sleigh sat a man, a bulky fellow, muffled in furs, bearded, and almost unrecognizable because of the skin cap drawn down over his ears. He leaned over a wooden box which did duty for a table, and at the precise moment when Hank was pulling at his pipe and wondering who these enemies might be, the leader of the band of rascals had his thoughts attracted to one at least of Hank's little party. A long envelope lay beside him, while a document was spread out on the improvised table. As for illumination, some was supplied by the fire, some by the clear moon overhead, and most by a torch of birch bark, the resinous material in which caused it to splutter and burn brilliantly.
Let us take a look at this individual and, lifting his cap, endeavour to recognize him. But time brings changes in all directions, and puts its stamp on the majority of faces. Anxiety may hasten this inevitable change, while ill health, worry, an ill-conditioned mind, grasping and avarice are all capable of imprinting their own particular marks on the features. In the case of the individual in question, a brutal mind was displayed by a face that had never been handsome, and was now heavily seamed and lined, boasting overhung brows, and a mouth which was set in something approaching a permanent snarl. It was a face which had changed vastly in the past few months. For this was Hurley, this was the criminal who had so nearly killed our hero after committing murder, and who had made his escape into the forest, bearing Joe's riches and that all-important envelope with him. We have learned how the man was captured, and how he made good his escape again. We recollect that Joe had recovered his dollars, but that the envelope was still missing. Missing? No. It was there on that improvised table. Right away in the wilds of Canada, in the depths of an Arctic winter, it had come to view again, though now the seal was broken.
"To my son, Joe Bradley," the ruffian leaning over the box read aloud, as if he had an audience, picking up the envelope and holding it closer. "The contents of this letter will explain to you many things which I have never cared to refer to; but I beg of you never to open it till you are in direst need or have earned the right to do so. Make your way in the world, gather riches—then you can open and read."