174 THE DRAMA OF THE FORESTS 



had returned with the telescope, the snowy veil suddenly 

 thinned and revealed the gray figure of a tripper coming up the 

 bank. 



"Quay, quay! Ke-e-e-pling!" sang out one of the Indians. 

 He had recognized the tripper to be Kipling, the famous snow- 

 shoe runner. Immediately all save the Factor rushed for- 

 ward to meet the little half-breed who was in charge of the 

 storm-bound packet, and to welcome him with a fusilade of 

 gunshots. 



Everyone was happy now, for last year's news of the " Grand 

 Pays" — the habitant's significant term for the outer world — 

 had at last arrived. The monotonous routine of the Post 

 was forgotten. To-day the long, dreary silence of the winter 

 would be again broken in upon by hearty feasting, merry music, 

 and joyous dancing in honour of the arrival of the half-yearly 

 mail. 



All crowded round the voyageur, who, though scarcely 

 more than five feet in height, was famed as a snowshoe runner 

 throughout the wilderness stretching from the Canadian 

 Pacific Railroad to the Arctic Ocean. While they were eagerly 

 plying him with questions, the crack of a dog-whip was heard. 

 Soon the faint tinkling of bells came through the storm. In 

 a moment all the dogs of the settlement were in an uproar, 

 for the packet had arrived. 



With a final rush the gaunt, travel-worn dogs galloped 

 through the driving snow, and, eager for the shelter of the 

 trading room, bolted pell-mell through the gathering at the 

 doorway, upsetting several spectators before the driver could 

 halt the runaways by falling headlong upon the foregoer's 

 back and flattening him to the floor. 



All was excitement. Every dog at the post dashed in with 

 bristling hair and clamping jaws to overawe the strangers. 

 Amid the hubbub of shouting men, women, and children, the 

 cracking of whips, and the yelping of dogs, the packet was 



