"Couldn't have been better fer us," declared Hank. "That 'ere thaw made the snow soft and sloppy on top. Now it's all ice, and it aer likely we shall be able in parts to walk without snowshoes. In any case, the shoes will hold us up over the deepest drifts, seein' that there's now a firm skin all over. Guess we'll move come mornin'."
Busy always, for he could not sit down, in spite of his own statements to the contrary, and remain idle, Hank that evening, with the aid of a torch of the yellow birch bark, instructed Joe how to fashion moccasins, the soft leather socks and boots combined, with which all trappers and hunters are shod. Using some of the same hide which he had employed for the snowshoes, he laid out a pattern in a few moments, and then, with the small blade of a knife to bore the holes, and a thin lace of the same material, laced the sides of the sock together.
"In course, like that it ain't waterproof," he said, "and though trappers ain't so very careful, yet ef you've to march miles in moccasins, and has to sleep in 'em during the night, you might jest as well have comfort and dry feet. We'll march along in these to-morrow. It'll be easier than using snowshoes, for the surface is nice and hard. Soon as we kill a beast or two we'll make ourselves an extra pair, so as to have a change."
A brilliant wintry sun flooded the landscape as the two emerged from the forest on the following morning, and Joe got some idea of Canada's appearance once winter has set in. Everywhere a mantle of snow covered the ground, while trees, bushes, and rocks were clad in a thin coating of ice following the thaw. As for the surface of the snow, it was harder than that so much in request for skiing in Switzerland. The sharp thaw had liquefied the surface for a depth of perhaps half an inch, and this was now frozen hard.
"Likely as not there'll come another thaw," said Hank, "and in a jiffy almost all this snow'll go, and the country be jest as it war before. But that won't last long. Now that November's set in, we soon gets winter fer good, and then it ain't till late March that there's a sign of its ending. Sometimes it's later; sometimes earlier. But once the snow's down, we gets bright days same as this often enough, and though the thermometer may show thirty and forty degrees below zero, one don't seem to feel it. Now, lad, put yer best foot forward; we ain't goin' to fetch up at Fennick's to-night. This here snow'll delay us; but ter-morrer, somewheres about noon."
With their packs slung over their backs, and each one using a strong stick, the two went away on their journey, sometimes travelling over a smooth expanse which must have been the surface of some frozen lake, of which there are many in that part of Canada, and at other times plunging into forests. The backwoods, in fact, extended as far as the eye could reach, with open spaces here and there. Joe enjoyed the journey amazingly. Think of the delights of such a new experience. Well clad, and in suitable clothing, he was as warm as a toast, while the unwonted exercise and the crispness of the frosty air made him step out as he had never done before. Hank even was hard put to to keep up with his young comrade.
"Blest ef you won't tire me one of these fine days," he cried, calling for a halt. "It's them long legs of yourn; they takes you along over the snow quicker'n mine. Do yer feel lonely, lad?"
Joe shook his head with marked emphasis. "Not a bit," he said, "though if I were by myself I might very well do so. But there's something new to look at all the while, and the sun is so jolly. Still, I can imagine a farm hand, stuck away in some place right away from the villages or townships, eating his heart out if he had never been used to the wilds."
"Jest so; and that's why it is that bad tales of Canadian winters gets out of the Dominion and reaches the ears of those thinkin' of emigrating. It stands to reason that ef you take a young fellow that's lived in a thickly-populated town all his life and plank him away right in the wilds, he aer likely to feel lonesome come the winter, specially ef he ain't got move enough on him to find a job or so to occupy his time. He'll get thinking of the picture palaces and sichlike he might be able to see ef he was back in a town, and he gets grumbling. Even married folks do. I've knowed a chap go half crazy long afore the winter was ended—but then, there you are!"
He raised his eyes significantly, for Hank had experience of what every old settler has seen amongst newcomers. The life in the Dominion is new to them. The winter is cruelly hard, without a shadow of doubt; but grumbling does not help matters. Those who are ready to grumble at their surroundings find the winter more than trying. Those who have their hearts in the new life, and the firm resolve to persevere and be successful, make the most and the best of what cannot be avoided, and in place of longing for old conditions, for the amusements of a town, settle down to find tasks to occupy their attention. As Hank had told Joe before, and Peter also, there was always furniture to be made for the shack. The winter months, when the shack was as warm as possible, was just the time when papering and whitewashing could be done. There were, in fact, a number of jobs to keep idle hands busy, to help pass the time, and to aid settlers to happiness. However, if the winter were hard elsewhere, Joe found this, his first experience of it, most exhilarating. He trudged along blithely, whistling often. It was a couple of hours after noon, when they had eaten and were on their way once more, that something occurred to interrupt the journey. They were thrusting their way noiselessly through a wooded glade, when Hank brought his companion to a stop.