her sanctuary, for in this country of 
the whirlpool the man smell rarely 
tainted the wind, and should any ani- 
mal grown over bold or ill advised at- 
tempt to raid her home, his scent 
would long precede him, and if her 
angry snort did not put him to flight, 
the vicious punishment of her sharp 
fore-hooves would leave him a crumpled 
heap to feed the crows. 
HE next day began at the frontier 
home with the first streaks of 
dawn and the sound of McNeil’s tread 
upon the kitchen floor. There was the 
rattle of a stove lid, a thin column of 
blue smoke from the chimney, and air 
redolent of cooking ham and coffee. 
Breakfast over, the wagon was soon 
ready and with hasty farewells they 
drove away. 
Out from the farm they went along 
the smooth hard road, where broad 
wheels left but faint imprint, on into 
the woods by the cart trail, over split 
corduroy and stony ridge, down axle 
deep into soft holes and out again; on 
past great tree trunks scarred by 
wheel-hub and whiffle tree, and as the 
sun rose they came out on the high 
bank of the river. They left its steam- 
ing valley to the right and plunged 
into the chill gloom of heavy spruce 
and out again into open country. 
After a short mid-day meal they started 
again, away over jack pine ridges and 
through a dense deadwood slash, until 
late in the afternoon th2y rounded the 
shoulder of a hill and came out in full 
view of Manitou Lake—their camping 
place for the night. 
So suddenly did the trail open upon 
it and so unexpectedly thrilling was the 
spectacle, that the boys gave hushed 
exclamations .of surprise. McNeil 
stopped his team and all together drank 
in the beauty of the picture. Set 
deeply in a hollow of the hills the 
emerald green and blue waters of the 
lake, walled with the dark green pine, 
gave a true reflection of the banks 
above. 
THIN shaft of blue smoke curled 
upward from the shore a short 
distance below them and young Mur- 
ray pointed it out. 
“It’s likely the camp of old ‘Black 
Eagle,’” said McNeil, and, chirping to 
his team, they wound down the hill. 
For an hour or more all three were 
busy making camp. McNeil took care 
of his team; Bruce, the elder boy, pre- 
pared the meal; while the youngster 
carried water and broke up wood. 
Supper over, they lay by the fire watch- 
ing the sun set over the lake. In the 
presence of majesty and beauty, words 
are unseemly. Here talk was out of 
the question. Little was said and that 
only in a quiet undertone. 
712 
As darkness fell, McNeil gave his 
team their last attention, and as he 
returned to the fire, said, ‘“That’s 
Black Eagle’s camp all right. He may 
come over to call on us, and if he 
does he’ll want some tea, so keep the 
kettle hot.” Bruce rose to obey and 
Murray said, “Dad, tell us what he’s 
like.” 
“Oh, he’s a fine old man,” said Mc- 
Neil.. “They say he’s about eighty, 
and a bit superstitious; but you can’t 
tell. I met him twenty years ago when 
he was chief of his tribe, and did him 
a good turn which he has never for- 
gotten. I’d like to take him to the 
Whirlpool with us, for he can smell 
moose; but although I’ve often invited 
him he always refuses. I’ve heard 
there was some legend about the Whirl- 
pool among the tribe and I know it’s 
hard to get an Indian into that country; 
but what it is exactly I’ve never been 
able to find out. If he comes over to- 
night I’m going to try and draw him 
out. So I’ll warn you lads now that 
if he starts to talk, don’t interrupt 
him.” 
A low growl from Sport beneath the 
wagon gave the first sign of something 
moving on the shore and shortly the 
old Chief, walking stiffly with the aid 
of a stout stick, appeared in the circle 
of firelight. 
Nie sprang to his feet -and 
greeted him warmly in the Indian, 
which he understood. The old man re- 
turned the greeting and in a high 
cracked voice welcomed his_ white 
brother to his hunting grounds. It 
was his first introduction to the boys 
and he patted their shoulders and fit- 
tingly complimented the father on the 
possession of two such sturdy lads. 
Young Bruce made ready a seat on an 
oat sack, to which the father gently 
directed him, and put into his shaking 
hands a great bowl of steaming tea. 
The old man brushed the long grey 
locks from his brow, laughed loud in 
his shrill cracked voice, shook his: lean 
sides and bowed forward in profuse 
thanks. He swallowed the tea in great 
gulps and laid the bowl aside. “Me- 
Neil was ready with a special gift of 
cut tobacco. The old man filled his 
pipe, lit it from a live coal and smoked 
in silence. 
When the first pipe was empty it 
was time to talk, and McNeil, address- 
ing him again in his own tongue, said, 
“The Black Eagle is a great Chief 
of a great people, whose children are 
more than the sands on the lake shore, 
and whose young men turn not back 
from the hunt. Then years ago in the 
winter of deep snow the white man 
came to the Great Chief and he did 
him a service and the Great Chief be- 
came his friend and called him ‘Mag- 
isha’—‘The Sure One’ and never in all 
the years that Black Eagle looked 
upon his friend’s face have his lips lied 
nor his path gone crooked. But when 
his white Brother went to the Whirl- 
pool and asked his friend the Great 
Chief to come, he would not. 
“AX TOW, my Brother, twenty years 
have gone by since first the white 
man asked the great Black Eagle for 
his company, and now he asks again. 
Go with him this once, and if not, 
then let him know why it is that the 
Great Chief has never gone thither; 
so the white man will know that his 
friend’s face is not turned away.” 
And the old Chief, in whom the skil- 
ful recital had revived memories of 
earlier years, replied, “Oh Magisha! 
Oh Sure One! My white Brother 
knows that the Black Eagle is his 
friend. But yet he cannot go, for the 
Spirit of Floating Cloud, a daughter 
of my people, watches on the Whirl- 
pool.” He knocked the ashes from his 
pipe, refilled it, and lit it again from 
the fire; while the boys lay with eyes 
glued on the old man’s face. He puffed 
stolidly at the pipe and continued: 
“It is Floating Cloud, my Brother. 
The fathers of my people knew and 
loved her. She grew among them 
from childhood into a tall and comely 
maiden, and because of her beauty 
they called her Floating Cloud. The 
young braves of the tribe sought her 
in marriage, but her father, mean and 
selfish, set the price of her hand so 
high that none had wealth to satisfy 
his greed. For he said she should be 
the squaw of a great chief and bring 
wealth to his tribe. But Bounding 
Elk, a son of her own tribe, had 
watched her daily and a great strong 
love sang in his heart for Floating 
Cloud, and they talked at the outskirts 
of the village and Bounding Elk knew 
that his love was returned. When 
her father knew, he ordered that 
Bounding Elk should be tied in his 
own canoe and sent over the great 
falls, and that Floating Cloud should 
be led out to the place to see him die. 
**—D UT she heard, and ran to warn her 
lover and together they fled before 
her father’s men. And when they 
came to the Whirlpool by the great 
pine, they were sore pressed and he 
was wounded, where an arrow pierced 
his thigh. So with an arm about his 
sweetheart he leaped in the rushing 
stream. Bravely did he struggle, but 
with the burden of the girl and the 
weakness from his wound, he was 
carried downward. Yet his courage 
was strong and with death’s hand upon 
(Continued on page 116) 
