FOREST AND STREAM 
755 
—though we knew there as a full month’s tramp¬ 
ing ahead. 
“You’ll have four solid weeks of mushing,” 
said the experienced men at the post. 
“What of it?” we had retorted. “At this game 
the time will pass very quickly.” 
“Nearly a thousand miles of snow to cross 
before you reach the railway. And you’re green, 
•every one of you,” the factor had added. We 
recalled the conversation at the post the day be¬ 
fore we left. The bitter thoughts that now rose 
with the remembrance of the man who had so 
eruelly outfitted us banished for the time our 
pains and aches. Our futile curses were hushed 
by Oleson, heretofore the quietest member of 
the party, by his terrible threats of punishment. 
Then, exhausted in mind and body we fell into 
restless sleep. 
The next two days were repetitions of the pre¬ 
ceding ones, except in that we made fair prog¬ 
ress. We were now but thirty miles from Ox¬ 
ford House, the present goal of our aims. Our 
ultimate haven was still a three weeks’ journey 
away but Oxford House offered a place of rest 
and recuperation. The thought of its compara¬ 
tive nearness aroused us little as in our sorry 
state we could not hope to cover the remaining 
■distance in less than two days’ time. For a day 
past the trail had been well defined and even 
hard in places where it had been travelled by 
the Oxford Indians. 
“On the other side,” said Old Geordie, at the 
'breakfast fire, “we’ll have a fine, hard trail. Fac¬ 
tor McNab leaves for Norway House on the 
twentieth, with four light teams to get a load 
•of freight. He’ll be travelling just a day or two 
•ahead of us.” 
“Light teams, did you say?” exclaimed Jamie¬ 
son and an eager light crept into his tired eyes. 
“Uh, huh. Just their grub and blankets and 
two days’ dog food. Plenty houses and fish be¬ 
tween Oxford and Norway House.” 
“To-morrow is the twentieth,” said Bates, “and 
we must sleep again this side of Oxford.” His 
1 <een disappointment was echoed by his fellows. 
Jamieson spoke again, after a moment’s deep 
•consideration. “It’s dead certain not one of us 
•six can make the post to-night,” he said, “but 
an Indian, Wastiss for example, could do it 
•easily and hold McNab’s dogs till we got in.” 
“Yes, can’t one of you get there to-night, Geor- 
•die?” we eagerly asked of the guide. 
“May be. But they’ll no try. Factor did not 
■say to meet Mr. McNab. I ask them.” 
In low tones the Indians discussed our sudden 
■proposal while we impatiently awaited the out¬ 
come. But all we obtained was an exhibition 
•of the stubborn independence of the Company 
Indian. No inducements offered could make 
•them depart from the regular routine of travel 
planned at the start and threats only brought 
forth surly retorts. The situation was brought 
ito a climax by Oleson “The Quiet,” who again 
.astounded us with speech. 
“I’ll go!” he exclaimed, rising abruptly and 
•tossing his mug across the fire. “The trail is 
•plain now and I think I can get to the post before 
•morning. There’ll be a moon to-night, and if I 
can finish pn my hands and knees, well—I’ll ride 
tto-morrow.” 
Too eager to have him succeed we did not 
stop to consider what risks our comrade might 
run. As we limped about, busied with prepara¬ 
tions for a quick start in pursuit, the Swede, 
without more ado, disappeared among the tower¬ 
ing spruces. 
Big huskie Oleson was without doubt the fit¬ 
test of the six to undertake the extra striving. 
The reserve strength which he now found at his 
command was surprising to himself. The hot 
blood surged to his brain as for a moment or 
two he balanced his chances of a win. He could 
not fully realize the great call that would be 
made upon his staying powers before the day 
was through,—he only knew at all costs he must 
win. So he steadied himself. The rush, with 
which in his first enthusiasm he had started off, 
gradually settled to a more rational gait, and 
he swung along easily but with a power that 
belittled the effort and carried him forward at 
an even pace with the relentless precision of a 
machine. After five miles through the bush the 
trail led onto a narrow stream and he followed 
-A* , -•-- ft l .■■■■- -- -- 
Typical Conditions at Any Northern 
Hudson Bay Post. 
its intricate windings until the sun was over¬ 
head. 
Gradually the two lines of trees began to di¬ 
verge—the river was widening and soon he 
would be on Oxford Lake. When, an hour later, 
he reached the mouth of the stream, gray clouds 
had begun to scurry across the leaden sky. 
Snowflakes fell and quickly increased in volume. 
A heavy squall was approaching from the north¬ 
ward. 
“I’ve got to face it,” muttered Oleson, half 
aloud, as the cruel white cloud bore swiftly down 
upon him. It snarled in his ears and the hard, 
sharp flakes bit into his tired eyes. But he bent 
his head and bore into the storm. It buffeted 
him relentlessly. Sight was denied the man and 
only by the feel of his snowshoes on the harder 
ridge of snow could he keep to the beaten track. 
Again and again he was hurled aside and plunged 
into the softer depths. But as often his circlings 
brought him back to that narrow frozen pathway. 
Weakness and hunger—for in his haste he had 
neglected to put food into his pocket—were fast 
making a madman of him. The wilderness trail 
was bringing the primitive fighting instinct upper¬ 
most and he knew now that he would struggle 
till he dropped. Now and again as the dread 
thoughts of failure pierced his tiring brain he 
would gasp forth a savage oath. The next mo¬ 
ment his teeth shut on a stifled groan caused 
by an added twinge to his tortured muscles. “I’ve 
got to make it,” he muttered, over and over 
again. “I’ve got to make it. God knows I’m try¬ 
ing. But, if I fail, those skulking Indians be¬ 
hind will never go back to tell about it.” 
When the storm broke it left him breathless 
and half stunned, and a heavy toll had been 
exacted of his strength. During the battle with 
the squall little headway had been made and the 
gathering gloom of approaching night was fast 
blotting out the landmarks of the farther shore. 
The twilight hours were well gone when the 
first outlying buildings of the post rose dark 
and silently before his anxious gaze. The trail 
was harder now and met his staggering foot¬ 
steps with a painful jar. He stopped and swayed 
to keep his balance and failed to suppress a 
groan as his stiffening feet were wrenched from 
the cruel lashings. He had not the strength to 
kick the snowshoes from his path but stumbled 
over them, cursing them afresh. The stumbling 
trot into which he broke did not increase his 
speed. That was beyond his power now. The 
first shack he came to was dark and empty but 
he beat feebly upon the door till the sleigh dogs, 
scenting a stranger, raised their wolfish howl. 
Then, a few yards distant from him a door 
swung wide with a frosty creak and a heavy 
beam of light shot forth across the path, blind¬ 
ing him with its sudden brilliance. With a cry 
that was half a sob the big man covered his 
burning eyes with his mitts and stumbled across 
the step. There Factor McNab caught him and 
closed the door on the wolf howls and the cold 
and blackness of the winter night. 
The story of how the others covered those 
thirty torture-ridden miles is overshadowed by 
George Oleson’s achievement. We camped again 
at the mouth of the river where the Swede had 
encountered the storm. Crossing the lake most 
of us discarded our snowshoes and stumbled 
along in the wake of the sleds. One minute we 
were on firm footing, the next floundering in 
the untrodden snow. That afternoon the last 
man trailed into the post, exhausted by pain and 
fatigue—almost on the point of collapse. 
Factor McNab’s kind hospitality can never be 
forgotten and his generous accommodation and 
the solicitude for our welfare did much to light¬ 
en the rest of the journey. He went so -far as 
to delay the departure of his dogs while we re¬ 
covered strength and spirits. Then to Oleson 
was given the pick of the teams. 
The most dreaded stretch of that lonesome 
trail was over and the rest of the journey, first 
to Norway House, and thence down the hard, 
wind-packed surface of Lake Winnipeg to Gimli, 
was comparatively uneventful. At the latter 
place we forsook snowshoes and dogs and bade 
farewell to the Indians and their snow trails. 
Without a backward glance we boarded an 
“accommodation” and were quickly carried over 
twin trails of steel to the homeland in the south. 
