“Ungava Bob’s father’s name be Richard Gray,” began Ed, while he cut tobacco from a black plug and stuffed it into his pipe, when they were presently seated in the men’s kitchen.  “Dick’s name, here, be Richard, too, but we calls he ‘Dick,’ and Richard Gray, Richard,’ so’s not t’ get un mixed up.  You see, if we calls un both ‘Dick’ or both ‘Richard,’ we’d never be knowin’ who ’twas were meant.”

“I see,” said Shad.

“Well, Richard were havin’ a wonderful streak o’ bad luck,” continued Ed, striking a match and holding it aloft for the sulphur to burn off, “wonderful hard luck.  His furrin’ fails he two years runnin’, an’ then th’ fishin’ fails he, an’ his debt wi’ th’ Company gets so big he’s two year behind, whatever, th’ best he does.”  Ed paused to apply the match to his pipe.

“Were you ever noticin’, Mr. Toobridge-”

“Tumbridge,” corrected Dick.

“Be it ‘Toobridge’ or ‘Tumbridge,’ sir?” asked Ed, unwilling to accept Dick’s correction.

“Trowbridge.”

“Leastways Toobridge were nigher right than Tumbridge,” declared Ed, looking disdainfully at Dick.  “Were you ever noticin’ how bad luck, when she strikes a man’s trail, follows him like a pack o’ hungry wolves?  Well, just at th’ time I’m speakin’ about, Richard’s little maid Emily falls off a ledge an’ hurts she so she can’t walk.  They tries all th’ cures they knows, but ‘t weren’t no good, an’ then they brings Emily here t’ Pelican, t’ see th’ mail-boat doctor when th’ ship comes.

“Th’ mail-boat doctor tells un th’ only cure is t’ take she t’ th’ hospital in St. Johns, an’ so they fetches Emily back t’ Wolf Bight, for a trip t’ St. Johns takes a wonderful lot o’ money, an’ Richard ain’t got un.

“Bob thinks a wonderful lot o’ Emily.  He be only sixteen then, but a rare big an’ stalwart lad for his years, an’ unbeknown t’ Richard an’ his ma he goes t’ Douglas Campbell, an’ says t’ Douglas, an’ he lets he work th’ Big Hill trail on shares th’ winter, he’s thinkin’ he may ha’ th’ luck t’ trap a silver fox, an’ leastways fur t’ pay t’ send Emily t’ th’ hospital.”

“Who is Douglas Campbell?” asked Shad.

“Oh, every one knows he, an’ a rare old man he be.  He comes t’ th’ Bay from th’ Orkneys nigh forty year ago, workin’ as servant for th’ Company, an’ then leavin’ th’ Company t’ go trappin’.  He done wonderful well, buyin’ traps an’ openin’ new trails, which he lets out on shares.  Th’ Big Hill trail up th’ Grand River were a new one.

“Well, Bob goes in wi’ me an’ Dick an’ Bill Campbell, Douglas’s lad, we workin’ connectin’ trails, an’ he done fine.  He starts right in catchin’ martens an’ silver foxes-a wonderful lot for a lad-”

“He only catches one silver, barrin’ th’ one after he were lost!” broke in Dick.  “Now don’t go yarnin’, Ed.”

“Leastways, he gets one silver an’ a rare lot o’ martens an’ otters up t’ Christmas, an’ a plenty t’ send Emily t’ th’ hospital.

“Then Micmac John-he were a thievin’ half-breed as asks Douglas for th’ Big Hill trail, an’ feels a grudge ag’in’ Bob because Douglas give un t’ Bob-Micmac goes in an’ steals Bob’s tent when Bob were up country after deer.  A snow comin’ on-’twere wonderful cold-Bob gives out tryin’ t’ find his tilt, an’ falls down, an’ loses his senses.  When he wakes up he’s in a Nascaupee Injun tent, th’ Injuns comin’ on he where he falls an’ takin’ he with un.

“Bob not knowin’ th’ lingo they speaks, an’ they not knowin’ his lingo, an’ he not knowin’ how far they took he before he wakes up, or rightly how t’ find his tilt, he sticks t’ the’ Injuns, an’ they keeps workin’ north till they comes t’ Ungava.”

“A wonderful trip that were!  A wonderful trip!  No man in th’ Bay were ever t’ Ungava before, so we calls he ‘Ungava Bob,’” interrupted Dick.

“Then Bob works ‘cross th’ nu’th’ard country with huskies,” continued Ed, “an’ up th’ coast with huskies, until he goes adrift on th’ ice-him an’ his two huskies he has with he-an’ when they thinks they’s lost, or like t’ be lost, they comes on a tradin’ vessel froze in th’ ice an’ loaded wi’ tradin’ goods an’ furs, an’ not e’er a man aboard she.  Bob an’ th’ huskies sails th’ vessel in here, when th’ ice breaks up, an’ th’ ship goes free.

“That were just one year ago.  Me an’ Dick gets out from th’ trails th’ day Bob gets home, an’ Douglas goin’ with us, we sails th’ vessel, which were ‘The Maid o’ the North,’ t’ St. Johns, an’ Bob gets fifteen thousand dollars salvage money.  A rare lot o’ money, sir, that were for any man t’ have, let alone a lad.”

“What happened to the little girl-his sister?” asked Shad.

“She goes t’ th’ hospital, an’ comes back t’ Wolf Bight in September, cured an’ fine.  She be a fine little maid, too-a fine little maid,” Ed asserted.

“What was done to the half-breed Indian-Micmac John, I think you called him?”

“Micmac?  Oh, he were killed by wolves handy t’ th’ place th’ Injuns finds Bob.  Me, wi’ Bill an’ Dick, here, goes lookin’ for Bob an’ finds Micmac’s bones where th’ wolves scatters un, an’ handy to un is Bob’s flatsled an’ thinkin’ they’s Bob’s remains I hauls un out in th’ winter, an’ his folks buries un proper for his remains before he gets out in th’ spring.”

“What an experience for a kid!” exclaimed Shad.  “He must have had some rattling adventures?”

“Aye, that he did,” said Ed. “‘Twould be a long story t’ tell un all, but there were one, now-”

“Now don’t go yarnin’, Ed,” interrupted Dick, who had stepped out of doors and returned at this moment.  “Ed never tells un straight, Mr. Trunbridge.”

“Troobridge,” broke in Ed.

“Trowbridge,” volunteered Shad.

“Mr. Trowbridge,” continued Dick.  “He makes un a lot worse’n Bob tells un.  Fog’s clearin’, Ed, an’ we better be goin’ after we eats dinner.”

“That we had, an’ the fog’s clearin’,” agreed Ed.

“But how about Ungava Bob?  I’d like to meet him.  Do you really think I may be able to engage him to guide me on a two or three weeks’ trip?” asked Shad.

“Aye,” said Ed.  “I’m thinkin’, now, you might.  Bob’s not startin’ for th’ trails for three weeks, whatever, an’ he’s bidin’ home till he goes, an’ not wonderful busy.  I’m thinkin’ Bob could go.”

“That settles it,” Shad decided.  “I’ll look him up.”

“You’ll be welcome t’ a place in our boat,” suggested Dick. “’Tis a two-days’ sail, wi’ fair wind.  They’s plenty o’ room, an’ we can tow th’ canoe.  Me an’ Ed lives at Porcupine Cove, an’ you can paddle th’ canoe over from there t’ Wolf Bight in half a day, whatever.”

“Done!” exclaimed Shad.

With the assurance of Mr. James Forbes, the factor, that the rivers flowing into the head of the Bay, a hundred miles inland from Fort Pelican, offered good canoe routes, Shad felt that a kind fate had indeed directed him to Fort Pelican, and that he had been particularly fortunate in meeting the two trappers.

“Bob Gray will be a good man for you if you can engage him, and I think you can,” said Mr. Forbes.  “Bob has had some truly remarkable adventures, and he’s an interesting chap.  Ed Matheson will probably relate these adventures to you, properly embellished, if you go up the Bay with him and Dick Blake.  Take Ed’s stories, though, with a grain of salt.  He is a good trapper, but he has a vivid imagination.”

Shad accepted Mr. Forbes’s invitation to dine in the “big house,” as the factor’s residence was called, and when, after dinner, Mr. Forbes accompanied him to the wharf, the trappers had already stowed his outfit into their boat, and the two mean were awaiting his arrival.  No time was lost in getting away.  Sail was hoisted at once, and with Shad’s canoe in tow the boat turned westward into the narrows that connect Eskimo Bay with the ocean.

“Th’ wind’s shifted t’ nu’th’ard, and when we gets through th’ narrows there’ll be no fog,” Dick prophesied, and his prophecy proved true.  Presently the sky cleared, the sun broke through the mist, the freshening north wind swept away the last lingering fog bank, and as a curtain rises upon a scene, so the lifting fog revealed to Shad Trowbridge the weird, primitive beauty of the rugged northland that he was entering.

The atmosphere, so lately clogged with mist, had suddenly become transparent.  To the southward, beyond a broad stretch of gently heaving waters, rose a range of snow-capped mountains, extending far to the westward.  Reaching up from the nearby northern shore of the bay, and stretching away over gently rolling hills lay the boundless evergreen forest.

Somewhere in the distance a wild goose honked.  White-winged gulls soared gracefully overhead.  Now and again a seal rose to gaze for an inquisitive moment at the passing boat, and once a flock of ducks settled upon the waters.  The air was redolent with the pungent odour of spruce and balsam fir-the perfume of the forest-and Shad, lounging contentedly at the bow of the boat, drank in great wholesome lungfuls of it.

All this was commonplace to the trappers, and quite unmindful of it Ed Matheson launched upon tales of stirring wilderness adventures in which his imagination was unrestrained, save by an occasional expostulation from Dick.

The wild region through which they were passing gave proper setting for Ed’s stories, and Shad, a receptive listener, wished that he, too, might battle with nature as these men did.  How tame and uneventful his own life seemed.  Already the subtle lure of the wilderness was asserting itself.

Three days after leaving Fort Pelican, Shad and the two trappers sailed their dory into Porcupine Cove.  It was mid-afternoon, and Shad, impatient to reach Wolf Bight and begin his explorations in company with Ungava Bob, prepared for immediate departure, after a bountiful dinner of boiled grouse, bread, and tea in Dick Blake’s cabin.

“Better ‘bide wi’ me th’ evenin’,” invited Dick, “an’ take an early start in th’ mornin’.  Th’ wind’s veered t’ th’ nor’-nor’west, an’ she’s like t’ kick up some chop th’ evenin’, an’ ’tis a full half-day’s cruise t’ Wolf Bight, whatever.”

“I can make it all right,” insisted Shad.  “Bob may not be able to give me much time, and I want to take advantage of all he can give me.”

“Well, if you must be goin’, I’d not hinder you; but,” continued Dick, “keep clost t’ shore, until you reaches that p’int yonder, an’ then make th’ crossin’ for th’ south shore, keepin’ that blue mountain peak just off your starboard bow, an’ you can’t be missin’ Wolf Bight.  If th’ wind freshens, camp on th’ p’int, an’ wait for calm t’ make th’ crossin’ t’ th’ s’uth’ard shore.”

“Thank you, I’ll follow your advice,” said Shad.

“Wait, now,” called Ed, who had disappeared into the cabin, and reappeared with a rope.  “I’m thinkin’ I’ll lash your outfit t’ th’ canoe.  They’s no knowin’ what’s like t’ happen, an’ ‘tis best t’ be sure, whatever.”

Shad felt truly grateful to the two bronzed trappers as he shook their hands and said adieu to them.  It was only his impatience to plunge into the deep forests reaching away to the westward, and a growing curiosity to meet Ungava Bob, that induced him to decline the sincerely extended hospitality of Blake and Matheson.

Afternoon was waning into evening when Shad reached the point Dick had indicated, and the rising breeze was beginning to whip the wave crests here and there into white foam.

Dick Blake had advised him to camp here if the wind increased.  It had increased considerably, but Shad had set his heart upon reaching Wolf Bight that night, and he did not wish to stop.  The sun was setting, but there was to be a full moon, and he would be able to see nearly as well as by day.  The sea, though a little rougher than it had been during the afternoon, was not, after all, he argued, so bad.

“I’ll make a try for it, anyhow; I know I can make it,” said he, after a little hesitation, and turning his back upon the point he paddled on.

Presently, however, he began to regret his decision.  With the setting sun the wind increased perceptibly.  The sea grew uncomfortably rough.  Little by little the canoe began to ship water, and with every moment the situation became more perilous.

Now, genuinely alarmed, Shad made a vain attempt to turn about, in the hope that he might gain the lee of the point and effect a landing.  But it was too late.  He quickly found that it was quite impossible to stem the wind, and he had no choice but to continue upon his course.

With full realization of his desperate position, Shad paddled hard and paddled for his life.  He was a good swimmer, but he knew well that were his canoe to capsize he could not hope to survive long in these cold waters.

The canoe was gradually filling with water, but he dared not release his paddle to bail the water out.  With each big sea that bore down upon him he held his breath in fear that it would overwhelm him.

Nearer and nearer the south shore loomed in the moonlight, and with every muscle strained Shad paddled for it with all his might.  If he could only keep afloat another twenty minutes!

But he had taken too desperate a chance.  His goal was still a full mile away when a great wave broke over the canoe.  Then came another and another in quick succession, and Shad suddenly found himself cast into the sea, struggling in the icy waters, hopelessly far from shore.