On came the caribou like a brigade of charging cavalry, tramping all before them.  Forward they swept in blind panic, as relentlessly destructive as an avalanche, and no more easily stopped or turned aside.

Skipper Zeb and the two boys ran as they had never run before.  Once Charley slipped and fell, but was on his feet in an instant.  It was an uneven race, and there was no hope of outdistancing the sea of animals in mad flight.

Skipper Zeb knew this, but he hoped to find refuge for himself and the boys behind a boulder large enough to protect them in its lee.  Such a boulder caught his eye, and yelling at the boys at the top of his voice, that he might be heard by them above the roar of the pounding hoofs, he directed them to follow him.  The foremost caribou were at their heels, when they crouched, breathless with their running, behind the boulder, and not an instant too soon.  Here in safety they watched the herd sweep past them like ocean waves.

Nearly as quickly as the stampede began it ended.  The herd swung to the northeast, began to slow its pace, and presently the three hunters saw the rear of the herd in the distance, no longer running, but still moving around restlessly before the animals resumed their morning feeding.

Eight of the carcasses of those they had shot were hauled to the cabin that morning, and while Skipper Zeb busied himself skinning and dressing them, Toby and Charley, in the afternoon, loaded another on the komatik and drove over to Long Tom Ham’s at Lucky Bight, and in the evening brought him back with them that he might prepare and take home with him the meat and hides of those that had been reserved for his use; and for this purpose Skipper Zeb loaned him the dogs and komatik.

In that land neighbours are neighbours indeed.  They never lose an opportunity to do one another a good turn; and just as Skipper Zeb had thoughtfully shot the animals for Long Tom, and provided the means for Long Tom to take them home, others would, he knew, if occasion offered, do him a similar kindness.

It was no small job to skin the carcasses and prepare the meat.  The sinews were cut from the backs, scraped carefully and hung in the cabin to dry.  Later, as she required them, Mrs. Twig would separate them into threads with which to sew moccasins, and boots, and other articles of skin clothing.  The tongues were preserved as a delicacy.  The livers and hearts were put aside to serve as a variety in diet.  The back fat was prized as a substitute for lard.  The venison was hung up to freeze and keep sweet for daily consumption.

What a treat that venison was!  Charley declared he had never tasted such delicious meat, and he was sure it was much better than beef.

“Well, now!” said Skipper Zeb.  “I never in my life tastes beef, and I were thinkin’ beef might be better than deer’s meat, though I thinks deer’s meat is good enough for any man to eat.”

Christmas came with plum duff as a special treat, and then the New Year, and with it Skipper Zeb’s departure again for his trapping grounds, where he was to remain alone, tramping silent, lonely trails until the middle of April, then to return before the warming sun softened the snow and in season for the spring seal hunt.

In January the cold increased.  With February it became so intense that even the animals kept close to their lairs, venturing out only when hunger drove them forth to seek food.

In January Toby and Charley captured two martens and one red fox, and during February the traps were visited but twice a week, and with no returns.  For their pains, they suffered frost-bitten cheeks and noses, which peeled in due time, leaving white patches where the frost burn had been.  Then, too, the rabbit snares were sprung and abandoned.  There were rabbits and partridges enough hanging frozen in the porch to serve the family needs until spring.

During the cold days of January and February Charley and Toby spent much time in the cabin assisting Mrs. Twig prepare and tan the caribou skins into soft buckskin, or occupied themselves outside at the woodpile with a crosscut saw.  The woodpile seemed always to require attention, and though it was a bit tiresome now and again when they wished to do something more interesting, it supplied excellent exercise.

But they had their share of sport too.  On days when there was a fair breeze it was great fun sailing an old sledge over the bay ice.  They fitted a mast upon it, and with a boat sail had some rare spins, with occasional spills, which added to the zest of the sport.

Both Charley and Toby enjoyed, perhaps, most of all their excursions with the dogs.  When Skipper Zeb returned to his trapping path after his holiday, they took him back, with a load of provisions to Black River tilt.  And twice since, on the fortnightly weekend, when they knew he would be there, they drove over and spent the night with him in the tilt, and a jolly time they had on each occasion.

Once on a Saturday the whole family paid a visit to Skipper Tom Ham and his wife at Lucky Bight, spending a Sunday with them.  The journey on the komatik was a great treat for both Mrs. Twig and Violet, and this visit supplied food for pleasant conversation during the remainder of the winter.

One day in January Aaron Slade and his wife, neighbours who lived at Long Run, some forty miles away and to the southward of Pinch-In Tickle, drove into Double Up Cove with dogs and komatik, and spent two whole days with the Twigs.  And then, the following week, came David Dyson and his son Joseph, and to all the visitors Toby, with vast pride, exhibited his wonderful silver fox pelt.

“’Tis a fine silver!” exclaimed Aaron, holding it up and shaking out its glossy fur that he might admire its sheen. “’Tis the finest silver ever caught in these parts!  You’ll be gettin’ a fine price for he, Toby.”

And so said David Dyson and Joseph, and David, with a wise shake of his head, added: 

“Don’t be lettin’ the traders have un, now, for what they offers first.  Make un pay the worth of he.”

With these excursions of their own, and the pleasant visits from their neighbours, and with always enough to do, time slipped away quickly, and the middle of March came with its rapidly lengthening days.

“In another month, whatever, Dad’ll be comin’ home,” said Toby one morning when they were at breakfast.  “We’ll go for he with the dogs and komatik.  And then ‘twill soon be time for the sealin’ and fishin’ again.”

“’Twill be nice to have fresh fish again,” suggested Mrs. Twig.  “We’re not havin’ any but salt fish the whole winter.  I’m thinkin’ ’twould be fine for you lads to catch some trout.  I’m wonderful hungry for trout.”

“I can be helpin’ too,” Violet broke in delightedly.

“’Twill be fine, now,” agreed Toby enthusiastically.  “We’ll catch un to-day.”

“How can you catch trout with everything frozen as tight as a drumhead?” asked Charley.

“I’ll be showin’ you when we gets through breakfast,” Toby assured.  “We always gets un in winter when we gets hungry for un.”

“I’m hungry for trout too,” laughed Charley, adding skeptically, “but you’ll have to show me, and I’ll have to see them before I’ll believe we can get them with forty below zero.”

“I’ll be showin’ you,” Toby promised.

From a box he selected some heavy fishing line and three hooks.  On the shank of the hooks, and just below the eye, was a cone shaped lead weight, moulded upon the shank.  Each line was then attached to the end of a short, stiff stick about three feet in length, which he obtained from the woodpile outside.  Then the hooks were attached to the lines, and cutting some pieces of pork rind, Toby announced that the “gear” was ready.

Violet had her things on, and armed with the equipment, the three set out expectantly for the ice, Toby picking up an ax to take with them as he passed through the wood porch.

“Here’s where we fishes,” said Toby, leading the way to a wide crack in the ice a few feet from shore and following the shore line, caused by the rising and falling of tide.

The crack at the point indicated by Toby was eighteen inches wide.  With the ax he cut three holes at intervals of a few feet through a coating of three or four inches of young, or new ice, which had formed upon the ice in the crack.  Then, baiting the hooks with pork rind, he gave one of the sticks with line and baited hook to Charley and one to Violet.

“The way you fishes now,” he explained to Charley, “you just drops the hook into the water in a hole, and holdin’ the stick keeps un movin’ up and down kind of slow.  When you feels somethin’ heavy on the hook heave un out.”

“Don’t the trout fight after you hook them?” asked Charley.  “I always heard they fought to get away, and you had to play them and tire them out before you landed them.”

“They never fights in winter, and your fishin’ pole is strong enough so she won’t be hurt any by heavin’ they out soon as you hooks un,” grinned Toby. “’Tis too cold to play with un any.  Just heave un up on the ice.  They don’t feel much like sportin’ about this weather.”

Charley had scarcely dropped his line into the water, when Violet gave a little scream of delight, and cried: 

“I gets one!  I gets the first un!” and with a mighty yank she flung a three-pound trout clear of the hole.

A few minutes later Charley, no less excited and thrilled, landed one that was even larger than the one Violet had caught, and at the end of half an hour the three had caught forty big fellows, some of which, Charley declared, were “as big as shad.”

It was stinging cold, and even with the up and down movement of the line it was often caught fast in the newly forming ice.  At intervals of a few minutes it was necessary to use the ax to reopen the holes, and the lines themselves were thickly encrusted by ice.

“‘Tis wonderful cold standin’ on the ice,” said Violet at length.  “I has to go in to get warm.”

“We’re gettin’ all the trout we can use for a bit,” suggested Toby.  “If you wants to go in, Charley, I’ll be goin’ too.”

“I’m ready to quit,” Charley admitted.  “It’s mighty cold standing in one place so long.”

“Wait a bit,” said Toby.  “I’ll be gettin’ a box to put the trout in, and the old komatik to haul un up to the house.  Wait and help me.”

Charley busied himself throwing the fish from the three piles into one, while Toby followed Violet to the house, and when he had finished looked out over the bay.  Far down the bay he saw something moving over the ice, and in a moment recognized it as an approaching dog team.

“Somebody’s coming!” he shouted to Toby.  “There’s a team of dogs coming up the bay!”

“Who, now, might that be?” puzzled Toby, who ran down to Charley.

“They must be coming here, for we’re the last place up the bay,” reasoned Charley.

“They’s sure comin’ here!” said Toby.  “I’m thinkin’ now she may be a team from the French Post in Eskimo Bay, up south.  They comes down north every year about this time to buy fur, though they never comes here before.”

“Maybe they heard about your silver fox,” suggested Charley, “and they’re coming to try to buy it from you.  Ask a good price for it.  It’s a good one.”

“Maybe ’tis that now,” admitted Toby.  “Aaron and David’s been telling they about un, and they thinks they’ll be comin’ and buyin’ she.  But I’ll not sell un.  I’ll let Dad sell un.”

The boys excitedly threw the fish into two boxes that Toby had brought down on the old sledge that they used for sailing, and hastening to the cabin announced the approaching visitors to Mrs. Twig.

She was in a flurry at once.  She put the kettle over, and told Violet to set two places at the table, and Toby to clean some trout, and in a jiffy she had a pan of trout on the stove frying.

“There’ll be two of un, whatever,” she predicted.  “The traders always has a driver.”

But as the komatik approached nearer, the boys discovered that there was but one man, and, therefore, Toby was certain it could not be the French trader.

“He’d be havin’ a driver, whatever.  He never travels without un,” Toby asserted.  “I’m not knowin’ the team.  ’Tis sure not the Company team.”

“We’ll soon know now,” said Charley, as the dogs swung in from the bay ice and up the incline toward the cabin.

Toby’s dogs had been standing in the background growling ominously as they watched the approach of the strange team.  Now, as one dog, they moved to the attack and as the two packs came together there was a mass of snapping, snarling, howling dogs.  The stranger with the butt of his whip, Toby with a club that he grabbed from the woodpile, jumped among them and beating them indiscriminately presently succeeded in establishing an armistice between the belligerents, the Twig dogs retiring, and the visitors, persuaded by their master’s whip, lying down quietly in harness.

“Is this Double Up Cove, and are you Toby Twig?” asked the stranger through an ice-coated beard, when he was free to speak.

“Aye,” admitted Toby, “’tis Double Up Cove, and I’m Toby Twig, sir.  Come into the house and get warmed up and have a cup o’ tea.  ’Tis a wonderful cold day to be cruisin’, sir.”

“Thank you,” said the stranger, shaking hands with Toby and Charley.  “It is cold traveling, and I’ll come in.”

“Charley and I’ll be unloadin’ your komatik, and puttin’ your cargo inside so the dogs won’t get at un,” suggested Toby.  “You’ll bide here the night, sir?”

“Yes,” said the stranger, “I’ll spend the night here.”

“Come in and have a cup o’ tea, and we’ll loose your dogs after, sir,” suggested Toby, leading the way to the cabin.

Mrs. Twig, still flurried with the coming of a stranger, met them at the door.

“Come right in, sir.  ’Tis wonderful cold outside,” she invited.

“Thank you,” said the man.  “That fish you’re frying smells appetizing.  My name is Marks.  I’m the trader at White Bear Run.  I suppose you’re Mrs. Twig and this little maid is your daughter?”

“Aye, sir, I’m Mrs. Twig and this is Vi’let.”

“Glad to see you both,” and after shaking hands with Mrs. Twig and Violet, Marks the trader from White Bear Run proceeded to remove his adikey, and standing over the stove that the heat might assist him, to remove the mass of ice from his thickly encrusted beard.

“Set in now and have a cup o’ tea, sir, and some trout,” invited Mrs. Twig when Marks’s beard was cleared to his satisfaction.

“Thank you,” and Marks took a seat.  “Nippy out.  Hot tea is warming.  Trout good too.  Regular feast!”

“The lads and Vi’let just catches the trout this morning.”

When he was through eating, Marks donned his adikey, and went out of doors to release his dogs from harness.  Toby and Charley had already unlashed his load, and carried his things into the porch where they would be safe from the inquisitive and destroying dogs.

One by one Marks loosed his dogs from harness, giving each a vicious kick as it was freed, and sending it away howling and whining, until he came to the last one, a big, gray creature.  As he approached this animal, it bared its fangs and snarled at him savagely.  With the butt of his whip he beat the dog mercilessly.  Then slipping the harness from the animal, Marks kicked at it as he had kicked at the others.  The dog, apparently expecting the kick, sprang aside, and Marks losing his balance went sprawling in the snow.  In an instant the savage beast was upon him.