TO THE TIMBER'S EDGE 179 



It was a lugubrious day that, for no meat was in the 

 lodge, a hunter had been found frozen dead at his traps, 

 some one had died in the adjoining lodge, and there was 

 mourning in the air. 



My first intimation of the death was most dreadful fem- 

 inine wailing, seconded by mournful howling of the dogs, 



THE INDIAN'S TOOL-KIT AXE, CROOKED KNIFE (HOME-MADE), AND FILE 



which all together made such distressing bedlam as I hope 

 never to hear again. The coffin was a rude slab box axe- 

 hewn from the pine, bound together by babiche, and sus- 

 pended from a single pole, by which it was borne as a 

 litter on the shoulders of two Indians, one in front and 

 one behind. Following were some half-dozen women, all 

 chanting a most direful dirge ; and as the little procession 

 disappeared over the ridge the dogs sat on their haunches 

 on top of the hill and whined a last requiem for the poor 

 wretch, who would nevermore struggle for life in the white 

 desert. 



Next day I knew Beniah had succeeded in organizing a 

 party, for the women began relacing snow-shoes and mak- 

 ing mittens, and the men set to work shaving down pine 

 poles into extra runners for the sledges. The Indian's 

 tool-kit consists of an axe, a large file, and a " crooked 



