The last recollection of the Indian's deplorable philosophy had passed from Steve's mind. His eyes were on the distant encampment. He had been prepared for some discovery. But never, in his wildest dreaming, had he anticipated a white man's trading post.
It was something amazing. As far as Steve could reckon they were somewhere within a hundred miles of the great inland sea. It might be thirty miles. It might be sixty. He could not tell. Far as the eye could see there was little change from what they had been travelling over for weeks. Appalling wastes of snow, and hill, and forest, with every here and there a loftier rise supporting a glacial bed. There were watercourses. Oh, yes, rivers abounded in that wide, unknown land. But they were frozen deeply, and later would, freeze doubtless to their very beds.
But here was a wide shallow valley with a high range of hill country densely forest clad forming its northeastern boundary. The hither side was formed by the low rising ground over which they had just passed. The hollow passed away, narrowing more deeply to the southeast, and lost itself in the dark depths of a forest. To the north-west the valley seemed to wander on amidst a labyrinth of sharp hills, which, in the distance, seemed to grow loftier and more broken as they merged themselves into the range Steve believed supported the mysterious Spire of Unaga.
The point of deepest interest and wonder was that which lay in the heart of the valley less than three miles further on. Numberless small bluffs chequered the open and suggested the parentage of one which stood out amongst them, wide, and dark, and lofty. Here there was a long wavering line of low bush reaching out down the heart of the valley indicating the course of a river. It was on this river bank, snuggled against the fringe of the great pine bluff that a cluster of dome-roofed habitations were plainly visible.
But the wonder of all stood a short distance away to the right where the woods came down towards the river. It was a wide group of buildings of lateral logs, with log roofs, and surrounded by a stockade of similar material. The touch of the white man's hand was unmistakable. No race of northern Indians or Eskimo could have built such a place.
They sped on over the snow unconscious of the increase of their speed. And as they approached each man realized the same thought. There was no sign of life anywhere. There was not even a prowling dog to be seen searching amongst the refuse of the encampment.
As they drew nearer they failed to discover any addition to the solitary track they were following. It was curious. It was almost ominous. But its significance was lost in the thought that here at least was shelter for themselves against the real winter yet to come.
They reached the banks of the river. It was a good-sized creek frozen solid, and already deep buried under snow. Without a pause they crossed to the other side and broke their way through the scrubby snow-laden bush on the opposite bank.
"Hello!"
The two men came to an abrupt halt. They were confronting a small child of perhaps five or six years. He was clad in furs from head to foot. A pretty, robust, white-skinned child, wide-eyed, and smiling his frankly cordial greeting.