“No.  He no up—?” With the swaddled child he made a gesture up the river towards the white camp.

“No, he came down this morning to meet you.”

Nicholas shook his head, and went on gathering up the furs.  As he and Mac came out, Andrew was undoing the last fastening that held the canvas to the stakes.  In ten minutes they were on the trail, Andrew leading, with Father Wills’ dogs, Kaviak lying in the sled muffled to the eyes, still looking round out of the corners—­no, strangely enough, the Kaviak eye had no corners, but fixedly he stared sideways at Mac.  “Farva,” seeming not to take the smallest notice, trudged along on one side of him, the priest on the other, and behind came Nicholas and the other Indians with the second sled.  It was too windy to talk much even had they been inclined.

The only sounds were the Mush!  Mush! of the drivers, the grate and swish of the runners over the ice, and Kaviak’s coughing.

Mac turned once and frowned at him.  It was curious that the child seemed not to mind these menacing looks, not in the smallest degree.

By-and-by the order of march was disturbed.

Kaviak’s right runner, catching at some obstacle, swerved and sent the sled bumping along on its side, the small head of the passenger narrowly escaping the ice.  Mac caught hold of the single-tree and brought the racing dogs to an abrupt halt.  The priest and he righted the sled, and Mac straddling it, tucked in a loosened end of fur.  When all was again in running order, Mac was on the same side as Father Wills.  He still wore that look of dour ill-temper, and especially did he glower at the unfortunate Kaviak, seized with a fresh fit of coughing that filled the round eyes with tears.

“Don’t you get kind o’ tired listenin’ to that noise?  Suppose I was to carry—­just for a bit—.  This is the roughest place on the trail.  Hi!  Stop!” he called to Andrew.  The priest had said nothing; but divining what Mac would be at, he helped him to undo the raw-hide lashing, and when Kaviak was withdrawn he wrapped one of the lighter fur things round him.

It was only when Mac had marched off, glowering still, and sternly refusing to meet Kaviak’s tearful but grateful eyes—­it was only then, bending over the sled and making fast the furs, that Father Wills, all to himself, smiled a little.

It wasn’t until they were in sight of the smoke from the Little Cabin that Mac slackened his pace.  He had never for a moment found the trail so smooth that he could return his burden to the sled.  Now, however, he allowed Nicholas and the priest to catch up with him.

“You carry him the rest of the way,” he commanded, and set his burden in Nicholas’s arms.  Kaviak was ill-pleased, but Mac, falling behind with the priest, stalked on with eyes upon the ground.

“I’ve got a boy of my own,” he jerked out presently, with the air of a man who accounts confidentially for some weakness.