"After only four hours' rest, Joe and the only dog left took up their burden. By this time Howling Wolf was in a regular delirium, caused by his injured leg and his privations. Joe struggled on all that day and far into the night. According to his calculations, he traveled nearly sixteen hours. In his naive way, Joe excused himself for not keeping on farther by stating that his dog finally gave out completely and he had to stop. With no food again, Joe took to eating the leather straps that had bound the grub on the sled. Then the dog suddenly went mad shortly after midnight and Joe was compelled to shoot him in self-defense. By hard work, he got a fire and made a good stew of dog's meat. A good meal of this also had a very stimulating effect on Howling Wolf, who quieted down and went to sleep. Without waiting for the morning, Joe hurried on, but the snow was deep and he made but very slow progress.
"In the intervals between his delirium, the stoic Indian urged Joe to leave him and hurry on. Joe makes no hero of himself, but he refused to do this, stating that they would either both reach Escoumains or neither of them would get there. In this way, Joe struggled on for two days more, living on the remains of the dog. This at last gave out. Joe now found himself only twenty miles away from Escoumains and he felt that if he could only hold out another day, he might get to some place of safety. Thus, starving, but determinedly dragging his injured friend, Joe staggered on. That night he eased the pangs of hunger by chewing on an old pair of moccasins that he found at the bottom of the sled. Howling Wolf also chewed away and cheered on his friend for, though he did not feel that Joe should still keep on dragging him along, he felt that if he would do it that it was his duty to keep up Joe's spirits. They both slept a few hours that night and long before dawn Joe was toiling away.
"At last, tired and exhausted, nature would have her due. Joe became merely a driveling maniac, urged along by an insane desire to make progress. At times he would wander round and round, but eventually he would head on straight again. It was late that night that Joe saw far ahead a welcome light. This spurred him on and for about half a mile he almost ran. This spurt soon died down and left him so weak that he could hardly move along. Once or twice he fell but he kept on and was soon within hailing distance of the light. He tried to cry out but no sounds came from his exhausted lips. At last, when at the very end of his physical resources, he came to the door and knocked He heard a rustle within, but even before the door was open, he had fallen down in a faint. When he opened his eyes, he was in the cabin of his good friend Antoine Gagnon, who was bathing his head and feet with hot water and gently urging some hot liquid down his throat. Already Howling Wolf was seated by the fire and telling the good wife, Gagnon, what a brave man Joe had been and how he had saved his life. When he lifted his head, the whole family crowded around and praised him for his wonderful endurance. Joe stated that he had to spend a week in that house before he was strong enough to walk. Howling Wolf's leg got all right and Joe was soon as strong as ever.
"Three weeks after his almost fatal trip, he was off to the north again with another Indian and a week or more later returned with the pelts that had been bought almost with his life's blood. 'But,' concluded Joe, 'I would give all the pelts I get in one-two-yessair, three wintaire, if I not kill my dear dog, Marie, I love so well.'"
"Joe must have been some hardy youth twenty years ago," said Mr. Waterman. "I can assure you that everything he told you was true and probably even worse than he depicted it."
Pud and Bill were greatly impressed with Joe's story and sat a long time staring into the fire. Pud, however, soon realized his own troubles, for he exclaimed,
"Gee, boys, I'm sleepy. I'm going to turn in."
"I guess you had better, boys. You know, late hours are not on the camper's schedule," said Mr. Anderson.
Ten minutes later, not a sound could have been heard except the distant calling of a loon or the low roaring of the river as it rushed along its rocky bed.