"It's a genuine feast," returned Helen, "and I'm thirsty enough to drink anything." With an effort she controlled the muscles of her face as she drank the beverage. Lumber-camp tea in those days was a nauseous draft to any but the woodsmen themselves.

By-and-bye the meal was over and Helen made a hasty run to the kitchen department to see what the women were doing. The lumbermen, too, filed out of the room to make way for the soldiers who at that moment were marching down the hill. They were hungry after their long tramp, and did not require a second bidding, when word came that the tables were ready.

In offering to settle for the meal so freely granted, the response was a surprise to Sir George.

"Take pay for a feed!" cried the Scotchman with a laugh. "Not much, I reckon we can stand it without smashing the camp. Thank ye kindly, though."

"This is too generous altogether," was the protest.

"Not at all," replied Mackenzie. "Scotch bodies are canny, but when they say a thing they mean it."

"Well! we'll not forget you," said Sir George, as he grasped the generous donor by the hand. "Perhaps some day our turn will come."

Soon the teams were ready again, and several of the marching officers took the places of those who had ridden. The result was that Chaplain Evans was a.s.signed to a seat in Helen's sleigh, while Harold walked with his men.

"It can't be helped," said the Lieutenant, as he gave his wife a momentary caress. "I shall have to ride and march turn about until Quebec is reached. But you are in good company and there is no danger."

"Well," replied Helen, forcing a laugh, "your absence will make your presence all the dearer; so good-bye, sweetheart."

"Until to-night," was his answer, and throwing her another kiss, he placed himself at the head of his men.

"How much further do we go to-day?" Helen asked of Sir George, who came to speak to her for a moment before getting into his sleigh.

"About fifteen miles, I think. We want to camp at Shebenacadie to-night.

There will be accommodation in a settler's house for you and the women, but for the rest of us, the men will have to put up shanties, and the sooner we get away the better. The scouting party went ahead two hours ago on snowshoes, so they will have them started when we arrive."

"But what after to-night?" said Helen.

"I'm afraid we'll have to camp, women as well as men," said the Colonel with a shrug, and stepping into his sleigh, the cavalcade started.

CHAPTER XIII.

For more than an hour the drive was rapid, the country being less undulating and the road smoother. Still the way was always through the woods. Tall pines everywhere stretched skyward, while on the lowlands, ashes and elms spread out their grey branches, in vivid contrast to the evergreen above. Scrub oaks on the hillocks still carried the dead red leaves of the past year; while here and there a beech or a maple added its varied beauty to the winter landscape.

Although the road lay for miles along the banks of the Shebenacadie, its waters could only occasionally be seen. Now and then a wider vista opened, and a bit of the dashing river, rendered free here and there by a more rapid current, added picturesqueness to the view. At other places the bed of the stream was covered with ice, save for an occasional rollway, where the lumberer had piled his sawlogs upon its broken surface.

The drivers had covered more than half the distance to the proposed camp when they reached the top of a long ridge stretching out on either side.

At the foot of the incline, a stranger sight than they had yet seen attracted their attention. It was a circle of Indian wigwams, in the lowest part of the valley, no doubt placed there to protect them from the winds that prevailed in the uplands. One of the lodges was taller and broader than the rest, but in other respects they were alike, and of the usual cone form.

In the centre of the circle was a huge log fire, around which stood a promiscuous lot of Indians, squaws and papooses, watching the approaching sleighs.

"Are these Indians always friendly?" the Chaplain asked of Bateese, as they gradually neared the little Indian village.

"Oui, Monsieur, yees," was the answer. "Dey be Micmacs, and Micmacs goot Indians. Not like de Hurons, who scalp all de tam. But let white man cheat a Micmac, or run away wid heem squaw; den by Gar he have revanche.

He follow dat man till he kill him wid his hatchet, den put him in de ground; and no wan ever hear of him no more."

"Whew!" exclaimed Helen, with a little shiver. "They must be very good Indians, indeed, if they kill a man for cheating."

"Ah, madame! so dey be. Just treat Micmac square, he treat you square too."

"How do they build their wigwams?" the Chaplain asked. "They are very substantial looking."

"Vell, I tell you. I been in dem manys de time. Dey juss as warm as Madame's boudoir wid lettle stove in it. Dey make 'em of cedar poles, tight in groun' and fastened togeder tight at top. Den dey bind dem roun' all ovare wid strong green bark put on like shingles, and so close dat water can't get in. Dey make 'em in summare so it dry by wintare.

Nex dey put on straight spruce branches all over de outside and spruce green branches all over de inside--till it is like de man from de contree--green all de way tru."

"Bateese, I didn't know you were so witty," exclaimed the Chaplain.

"Vell, by Gar, ef a man drive all de tam, day after day all wintare long, most tam wid no wan to spoke to, an' ees femme or ees fille a t'ousand miles away, ef ee can't jess tink of somet'ing funny he die."

By this time the chief with a number of his tribe were out on the road, and on the approach of Sir George's sleigh he threw up his right arm and shouted:

"Kwa."

"Yer honor, the spalpeen means how do yees do," said Pat, Sir George's driver, in a low voice.

"I'm very well, thank you," replied the Colonel, extending his hand. But the Indian ignored the proffered cordiality.

"Be jabers, he can talk English, too, for I've heerd him," muttered Pat in a still lower key.

"Kwa wenin," next said the Indian, looking straight into the eyes of Sir George.

Pat this time remembered more fully, so he turned and spoke aloud: "He means, who are you? Tell him your name, Sir George, and he'll answer yees in English."

"Sir George Head, Colonel of the Soldiers of the Great Father."

"It is well. White Bear--Chief Micmac.u.m trib.u.m. Always everything two ways me speak.u.m," replied the Indian in a dignified manner; while this time he accepted the hand of the Colonel, retaining it firmly in his own for some moments. The Micmacs, in their a.s.sociation with the whites, had made a strange jumble of the language. Still, White Bear's English being intelligible, a few minutes' conversation followed.

The chief had seen the scouts already, who, after telling him that Sir George and his soldiers were coming, had gone ahead to prepare for the night's camp.

Evidently from the way the chief and his braves strutted around, they had put on their best costumes in order to meet the representative of the Great Father.

White Bear was only armed with a tomahawk, but he was dressed in full Indian costume, with leggings, moccasins, hunting shirt and wampum belt; while his head dress, though of mink, was made in civilized style. The men who stood a few feet in his rear were dressed in more nondescript fashion. Two or three had muskets, and more than one hatchet and long knife could be seen beneath the blankets they wore. Further back, but outside the wigwams, the squaws were huddled together, and beyond them the children.

"Great Father send braves, Yankees you fightum?" said the Indian, feeling proud of his English.

"Not this time," said Sir George. "The Great Father sends his men to trade with the Indians up the Ottawa and on the great lakes toward the setting sun."

"Tak.u.m squaws too?" was the next question, with a side glance at Helen and the women in the next sleigh.

"Not many squaws," replied Sir George, gravely. "Just enough to make the men behave themselves. More will come by-and-bye."

"When White Bear make bargain squaw nevel speak.u.m," said the Indian, sententiously.

"Do you hear that, Mrs. Manning?" cried the Colonel to Helen, who was near enough to hear the words of the conversation. "But we must drive on. I am glad to have met you, Chief."