The boys slept a little later the next morning, though when they did get up it was evident that Jack had been long busy. The entire stock of grub gotten the day before had been put away neatly and carefully and the dunnage bags and tump lines were piled in a heap at one end of the table. They spent the day quietly, fishing, swimming and fixing up things around the camp. They had an early supper and were down by their fire talking and joking. The guides were soon up in their tent, talking and showing much more life than usual. This gave Bob an idea, and he proposed that they would go and visit the guides. This seemed good to all and they went over to the guides' tent. They were welcomed solemnly and quietly. It was evident that they considered their tent as their part of the camp.

For the time being, they were the hosts and they were evidently flattered by the visit from the boys. Jack soon had the attention of Pud and Bill and it was with a merry twinkle in his eye that he told of many incidents in his life either in hunting or in the lumber camps. Bob being the only boy to understand French was soon in animated discussion with Joe and Pierre. The Indian under the questioning of the boy forsook his usual taciturnity, and in the most casual way told Bob of exploits in hunting and fishing that would make most interesting reading. To the Indian, they were events likely to happen to any one that goes out in the dead of winter to trap and hunt. Bob was a most interested listener and it was not until he had been called to twice by Bill that he awoke to the fact that it was nearly ten o'clock.

"Mr. Waterman says that we had better not keep the guides up too long or they will not want to be visited again," said Bill.

"I didn't think we had been here so long," replied Bob.

They said "Good Night" to the guides and were soon fast asleep.

The next day was another quiet one. The boys fished in the morning and they had very good luck. It was a good day for fishing and but few of the speckled beauties got away from the boys, who were becoming more expert every day. Even Pud had caught the hang of casting and promised to be the best fisherman of the lot.

In the afternoon, Bob proposed another visit to the mountain opposite, the same one where they had so nearly come to grief before.

"Go ahead," said Mr. Anderson, "but for your own sake, be careful."

"We'll promise not to get into trouble," said Pud. "We just need a little exercise and that climb will about fill the bill."

They started off and in a short time Mr. Waterman and Mr. Anderson, who were busy down on the water front putting the finishing touches to the landing place, saw them seated in the lee of a big rock looking out over the country. There they sat and for nearly two hours they could be seen with heads close together, evidently very much interested in their conversation. The fact of the matter was that Pud and Bill had asked Bob to tell them what the guides had told him the previous evening. As they sat up on the mountain, they looked far off to the south and saw the mighty St. Lawrence dividing the country as if with a giant silver knife.

"The Indians have had lots of experiences up north of here, hunting and trapping in the winter time," Bob began.

"What did Pierre tell you?" asked Pud. "Has he ever scalped any one?"

"You big dub," said Bill. "Indians don't go on scalping expeditions any more."

"Well, I thought that maybe some other Indian tribe might have tried to attack them," said Pud.

"Don't be foolish," said Bob. "There are few Indians up in this country and I guess from what Pierre tells me that they have enough troubles fighting for their lives against the forces of nature to keep them from thinking of fighting one another. In addition, the Canadian Government would soon put a stop to that. Anyway, these Indians are just as peace loving as any white man."

"I suppose you're right," said Pud. "All the same, I like to think of an Indian with tomahawk in hand having a fierce fight for his life with some other Indians or with the pale faces."

"You've been brought up on Nick Carter," laughed Bill. "Get that foolish rot out of your mind. Indians are just ordinary human beings and that is all."

"I don't know about that," said Pud. "That young Jean is some boy for his age. He can follow a trail just like the Indians we read of, and he knows all about the woods, animals, birds and all that. He's certainly like the Indians we read of in history."

"Yes," said Bob. "Jean is a fine specimen. He has all the good points of our ancestors, the real aborigines, without their failings."

"But what about Pierre? You were talking a long time with him, Bob," said Bill. "What was so interesting?"

"He was telling me of his winter hunting trips and he has had some thrilling experiences. He says that every year he gets ready just as soon as the snow flies in the fall. This generally means about the middle of November in this country. As soon as the earth is blanketed with snow, he gets his dogs and sleds ready and starts out with provisions to last for three months. Since his boy has grown up he takes him with him. Sometimes they make up a small party of three or four. It is always better to have two or three companions because Pierre says that it is not well to go alone into this wild, lonely region, for then a simple accident might mean death. He told me of several incidents where his life was in danger and only his quickness and presence of mind saved his life.

"Once, early in the spring, he had stayed too long in the woods. The trapping had been good and he had hated to leave while the skins were heaping up. At last a real thaw came and he had to start for Escoumains. He was about sixty miles north of here, he said, and he rushed along with his dogs wallowing in the snow at every step. When he came to the Port Neuf River, he found the ice just ready to go out. As he got in the middle of the river, it started to break up. He feverishly drove ahead and though he lost part of his load, he got to the other side. His son was not so fortunate, for on looking back, he saw him on a big ice float that had become separated from the shore. He yelled to Jean, who was then only fifteen years of age, and directed him what to do. The ice suddenly began to break up, and he followed his son down the river nearly a mile before he could get to land, and then he was on the wrong side of the river.

"Signing to him to stay where he was, Pierre had to retrace his steps to get his dogs and sleigh. He found them nearly frozen to death, for with the going down of the sun, it began to get very cold. He at last roused them and started down the river. He could see the water steadily rising and knew that it would be only a short time until he would have to get back to higher ground. By hurrying, he reached a point opposite to where Jean was. He yelled across and his cry was answered. He then started down the river, hoping that in some place the ice would still be holding. After going about two miles, the river narrowed and the ice had piled up into a jam. It was threshing around, munching and crunching like some giant monster. He stopped there and waited for the moon to rise.

"The night had become cold and the fore part of the jam seemed frozen into a solid mass. He determined to risk a crossing. Strapping everything tightly on the sleigh, he called to the dogs. They were frightened and he had to lick them to get them started. Four or five times on the way across he thought they were lost, but they finally got to the other side. Everything was drenched and he found himself in great danger of freezing to death, and he found Jean in almost as bad shape. Their first care was to find some rising ground. After slipping into several pools of icy water, they at last got to a small hill. With frost-bitten fingers and frozen feet, they both were almost helpless. By exercising the greatest determination, they at last succeeded in making a fire and they gradually warmed themselves.

"So far, their experience had been very disheartening. They had lost one load of furs, together with the sled and the dogs. In addition, two of Pierre's five dogs died before morning from their exposure to the icy waters. The next morning, they found themselves marooned on their little hill. The jam could be seen still holding and the waters had been backed up far over the banks. There was nothing to do except to wait for the jam to break. This it did that afternoon and the waters went out with a mighty roar, no doubt carrying devastation down through the valley. This made it possible for them to leave their refuge, but they did not dare do so at once for the thaw had continued all that day and it would have been impossible for the dogs to make any headway.

"After careful deliberation, the father and son determined to make their way if possible down the river about twelve miles to an old lumber camp. They started about midnight to take advantage of the frost that had put a hard surface on the snow. The dogs went along finely for they were not too heavy for the crust on the snow. Time after time, the two men broke through, frequently going up to their hips in water. They kept going and by dawn they had covered about half the distance. They again sought a hillock and once more thawed out their frosted hands and feet. Both suffered intensely because of the hardships they had undergone. They again started a fire going and got a little sleep for the first time in two days.

"They repeated their previous night's experience again and at last arrived at the lumber camp. Their troubles were then nearly over for they found a canoe there. This they determined to confiscate as they had but few provisions since most of their supplies had been lost on the sled that had gone under the ice. They rested up a whole day and then as the ice had practically all gone down the river, they set out. The river was very high and they came near swamping on several occasions but at last they came to the mouth of the river and reached their friends safely. Pierre stated that he lost two toes through the frost on that adventure. He said that it taught him a lesson for if he had not been so greedy for pelts and had come out when he knew he ought to, he would have had no trouble."

"That was an ugly experience," said Bill. "I guess it gets pretty cold up here in the winter time."

"Yes, Pierre says that it often gets to forty below zero," replied Bob. "He says that in such weather, he wears three suits and then can keep warm only by sticking close to the fire or by continual motion when outside."

"Three suits! And I think that one heavy suit is a little too much at times. But did Pierre tell you any more of his experiences?" inquired Pud.

"Yes," said Bob. "He told me a great bear story, but it's getting late now, so don't you think I better tell you that to-night after supper? If we go back to camp now, we can have a swim before supper."

"Sure, that's a go," said Bill.

The boys were soon back in camp, and seen splashing around in the cool water. So after supper they sat around the fire that evening filled with the real and lasting content that comes only from living close to nature.

"What were you young fellows so interested in this afternoon over on the mountain?" asked Mr. Anderson, interrupting the peaceful silence. "I saw you up there, for the longest time with your heads together as if you were plotting the destruction of the world."

"Far from that. Bob was telling us some of the experiences that Pierre has had in his winter hunting," replied Bill.

"Pierre has certainly had some interesting experiences. It is rarely that one can get him to talk, but when he does he always has something worth telling," said Mr. Anderson.

"Yes, and he relates incidents of the most desperate character in that same colorless tone, just as if they were the most ordinary routine," said Mr. Waterman.

"Say, Bob, tell us the bear story you promised?" demanded Pud.

"Let's get Pierre to tell it himself," suggested Bob.

"That would be all right for you, but you forget that we do not understand French," said Bill.

"I forgot about that. He's a clever Indian for he talks two languages quite well and can make himself understood in English," said Bob.

"What two languages can he talk?" asked Pud.

"He speaks the Montagnais language," replied Mr. Waterman. "He is a Montagnais Indian of the very same stock as was seen by Jacques Cartier when he first landed at Tadousac when he was going up the St. Lawrence River hoping to discover a new route to China."

"Well, tell us the bear story anyway," said Mr. Anderson.

"We want to hear it."

Scenting a good tale, they all moved closer to the fire, and Bob began.

"Pierre says that this experience with the bear happened in the late spring. He had been back from his winter's hunting about a month and the spring had opened up very finely. One day, the call to nature was too insistent. He got out his gun, told his wife to tell Mr. MacPherson at the store that he would not be down to the big saw mill to work for a few days, and he started back into the country. The rivers were rather swollen then, the woods were wet and damp, but there was the rush of life in the trees and in the very air itself. Pierre swung along with Jean by his side, his heart full of happiness. He had had a good winter's hunt and his wife had money for everything necessary. But more than anything else he wanted the golden sunshine, the ripple of the waters in the stream, the curved body of the salmon as they darted out of the water in their eagerness to get up the streams. He told his boy that though they had come out for game, he really just wanted to be in the woods when the buds were coming out and when he could feel the sap driving up from the ground into the furthest shoots of the bushes and trees. Jean's face was just as bright as his own and he raised his head and sniffed the air as if in answer to the voice of spring that reigned everywhere.

"Back they went along the wood road. They stopped for lunch at the foot of a riffle where they very soon caught all the trout they wished to find. They made their whole lunch on the fish, using only a little salt to make it palatable; a simple fare but really good enough for a king. On they went after lunch and they were lucky enough to bag four partridges as they went along. Early in the afternoon, they came to an old lumber camp and they decided to stay there for the night. It can well be imagined that though Pierre and his son said little to each other, they were enjoying themselves just like two boys playing hookey from school. They had spent the winter in the freedom and wildness of the woods and a month of the dreary grind in the saw mill had made them as restive as colts.

"They made a fine supper off the partridges and were up early the next morning. The remains of the partridges and some freshly caught trout set them on their way again with well filled stomachs and happy hearts. They had not gone far before Pierre stopped dead. 'I smell bear,' said he to Jean. 'Big black one,' said Jean, as he looked around. How he had known that it was big and black will remain one of the mysteries that distinguish the real Indian from his woodland imitators. They looked around and sure enough they had not gone far before they saw an old hollow tree that had been scratched and torn by the bear's big claws in his eagerness to get the grubs that no doubt were living among the rotting wood. They followed the bear's tracks. Jean in his eagerness went ahead and the father watched his boy with pride as he followed the indistinct tracks with swiftness and sureness. Finally the bear led them up one of the numerous mountains that are a feature of this country, as you know. Soon the tracks could be followed only with the greatest difficulty. Pierre was soon in the van and about noon he stopped dead and pointed off about half a mile where they saw the bear himself busy tearing away at another rotting tree.

"As they were somewhat to the windward side of the bear, they turned off and went down the valley. An hour's swift walking and climbing brought them out on the ridge on which they had seen the bear. Jean in his eagerness had gone ahead again. Just as they rounded a point of rock, the bear rose up almost on top of Jean. He had only a small caliber rifle, but he gave it to the bear at once. The bullet cut a hole in the beast's shoulder and with a growl of rage he rushed at the boy. Jean gave him another, but it only seemed to enrage the bear the more, for he plunged right on and threw Jean back with a mighty thrust.

"In the meantime, Pierre was in terror, not for himself but for Jean. On the rather narrow ledge, he found his boy right in line with the bear and he did not dare shoot for fear of killing him. When the bullets from the small rifle failed to stop the rush of the wounded bear, Pierre rushed forward, and as the bear thrust Jean back, he stepped over the body of the boy, gave him a bullet from his rifle point blank and throwing away his gun, he plunged his hunting knife into the bear with all his might just as the monster flung him off as though he were a plaything.

"Pierre says that about ten or twenty minutes later, perhaps half an hour, he awoke to consciousness and started up on one elbow half dazed. He felt that he had just narrowly escaped death, but for a moment he could not just remember what had happened. Then the whole thing rushed back to his mind and he got unsteadily to his feet. He found that he had a bad scalp wound and a big bump on the back of his head which he had hit on falling. When he got his dazed eyes to seeing properly, he was at first horror-struck, for the bear lay half over his Jean. The latter was lying on his back with his breast laid bare by the cruel claws of the bear, deathly pale and to all appearances dead. One look at the bear showed Pierre that it was dead. He hauled it with difficulty off his boy's legs and then felt his heart.

"At first, he could distinguish no movement and he was almost overcome by grief, but a slight heart movement galvanized him into action. He at once looked around and seeing a spring a short distance away, he ran, and filling his coonskin cap with water he was back by the side of the boy in a moment. Signs of life finally returned and Jean was soon looking around trying with glazed eyes to come back from the Happy Hunting Grounds to which his soul had just paid such a fleeting visit. In a short time, father and son were fully back to consciousness but it was only after a night spent right there that they felt like real live men again.

"Jean had a very ugly slash across his chest and the father felt sure that at least two of his ribs had been broken by the savage blow the bear had dealt him. Though pretty sore himself, he felt fairly well, though his scalp wound left no doubt that he had come near to death. They camped there that day enjoying the bear steaks and getting off the skin. In fact, it was not until two days later, that they set out on the back trail. Then, though they presented a rather dilapidated appearance, they managed to carry off the skin of the bear and the best portions of the meat. Jean with his broken ribs went light and then had trouble in following his sturdy father, who thought very little of having tackled a bear with his hunting knife. Pierre told me," concluded Bob, "that he found that the death stroke given the bear was dealt by his hunting knife just as the bear closed in on him."

"What a narrow escape! And I guess they think such events are commonplace. Let's go up to their tents and ask them to show us the scars," said Pud.

"Don't you believe Pierre, then?" asked Mr. Anderson.

"Sure," said Pud, "but I would like to see the scars. It would make the whole story more real."

Thereupon the boys went up to the tent and Bob talked to Pierre in French. Pierre then pulled back the hair and showed the boys a white scar across his head and Jean showed them a ragged scar that made Pud's flesh creep.

"Gee," said Pud, "that bear must have given Jean some rip. Ask Pierre how he got that wound to heal."

Bob did so and Pierre explained that he put some healing herbs on the wounds and that they got well very quickly.

"De rib, she no get well queeck," said Pierre, turning to Pud. "She vera sore, some long time."

"You two certainly had a narrow escape," said Mr. Anderson, as the whole party, admiring the wonderful bravery and courage of these Indians, said good-night.

"I wonder if any such thing as that would happen to us?" asked Bill.

"Maybe," said Mr. Waterman aloud, but to Mr. Anderson, "in their sleep I guess."

By this time the boys were ready for bed and they were soon lying snugly in their sleeping bags, no doubt dreaming of bears and what they would do if they saw a big black bear come rushing down on them when they were on a narrow ledge.

Some such dream was surely surging through the brains of Pud and Bill, for Bob was awakened by an awful racket and nearly smothered to death by feeling two heavy bodies plunk down on him.

"Hey, there, get up!" yelled Bob.

It seemed that Pud and Bill had dreamt of the bear. Bill in his dream jumped up just as the dream bear was rushing on him, and fell on Pud just as Pud in his dream was set grimly to await the onset of the monster. Bill, though half awake, was sure the bear had him, and Pud was just as sure when Bill grabbed him that he was in the clutches of a mighty black bear. They threshed around a moment and did not really wake up until they fell on Bob and nearly smothered him. Bob had been too sleepy to dream of bears, but he got up very quickly. After a hearty laugh at their vivid dreams, the boys got into their blankets again and were not disturbed until morning.