The Wilderness Trail

by Francis William Sullivan

Mistisi, with a hoarse bark of joy, leaped into the traces so vigorously that Jean and Donald on their snowshoes had great ado to keep up with him. The wind had not yet melted the crust, and for three hours they made very fast time.

The distance to Sturgeon Lake Braithwaite had verified as being fifty miles. He had also given McTavish explicit directions where to find the camp of the men from Fort Severn, outlining the positions of the enemy, and describing the main features of the situation. Donald thought that, with good luck and good surfaces, they ought to make the lake that night. If not, he was prepared to camp in the woods... In later years, he was sometimes asked why he waited two weeks in the cabin if the lake was only a day's journey away, and to this he replied that he was not sure of his bearings or distances, and had no firearms wherewith to protect himself from wild beasts, which at this season of the year were hungriest and boldest. That he had at last decided to go at all was only for the sake of Jean: he preferred to expose her to the teeth of animals rather than to the tongues of men.

Although he tempered the speed to Jean's abilities, by noontime Donald found the girl exhausted, and biting her lips in the effort to keep up. He at once ordered a halt, and, as quickly as possible, made a fire and tea, adding to this slender menu boiled fish. Not until he saw the warm color glow once more in her cheeks did he cease to ply her with food and drink.

Then, he took the light pack from the little sledge, fastened the forehead straps around it, and tucked Jean in its place. The crust had begun to melt shortly before noon, and Mistisi had broken through. Now, the pathetic animal lay down on his back and held his feet in the air, “wooffing” gently to attract attention. His master examined him, and found that his foot-cushions were worn thin, and that the membrane between the toes had broken and bled, leaving a trail behind.

Here was an opportunity to use some of Jean's primitive needle work. McTavish took from his pocket four little rabbit-skin dog-shoes, and tied them on Mistisi's feet with soft thongs of the same material. The animal, with a bark of pleasure, leaped to his feet, and was off on the trail before the man could swing his pack into place.

Then began the final stage. Donald figured that they had done more than half the distance in the morning, but the breaking crust made harder going now, and their progress was much slower. Not until the sun wheeled under the horizon would things solidify again. In the middle of the morning, they had crossed the main north branch of the Sachigo River. The middle of the afternoon should bring them to the westerly tributary that fed this branch. That passed, only small occasional streams would interrupt their progress to Sturgeon Lake.

True to reckoning, they found the west tributary, and set out for the last reach of their journey. Donald consulted the landmarks he knew, and laid their course toward the eastern shore, midway the length of the lake, the spot Braithwaite had mentioned as the camp. They still had twelve miles or so before them, and a preliminary chill gave warning of sunset. An hour before, Jean had insisted on running again, and the pack was once more on the sledge.

Although he said nothing about it, Donald was worried. That little trail of blood which Mistisi had left behind furnished food for serious anxiety. Had not Jean's exhaustion given him concern at noon, he would have noticed it long before. He centered his attention upon the nervous ears of Mistisi—ears that would have the forest sounds long before his own. Unobtrusively, he used every means of increasing speed and shortening distance... For an hour, they crunched over the hardening crust. The shadows that had kept pace with them commenced to grow dim. Only five miles more!

Suddenly, the ears of Mistisi twitched nervously, and from the hollow of his great chest came a gruff, questioning rumble. What was it he had heard? The mighty muscles rippled and ran under his skin as he strained at the traces, but there was no looking back.

Fifteen minutes later brought them to a broad expanse of clear snow. Three miles beyond, the forest that edged Sturgeon Lake loomed dimly. If they could but reach that shelter, the race would be safely over. Twice, Mistisi rumbled hoarsely to himself, and then growled savagely, his hackles beginning to stiffen.