In the afternoon, Mr. Hardisty and myself went for a drive on the river with our dog-trains. Mr. Hardisty took the little daughter of the Chief Factor with him, and we drove up the river, but when turning to come home, his dogs took a sweep out into the river and left him, and the course the dogs took was dangerous. There was a long stretch of open current. There sat the child perfectly unconscious of her danger. Hardisty was winded, and he shouted to me to catch his dogs. I saw that if I drove mine after his it would make matters worse, for his dogs would run the faster; so I left mine and ran after his, and here the constant training of the season did me good service. I had both wind and speed, but the time seemed dreadful. The dogs were nearing the current, and if the cariole should swing or upset, the child was doomed. If ever I ran, it was then, if ever I was thankful to be able to run, it was then. Little Mary was a favorite of mine, and her peril filled me with keen anguish; but I have always been thankful that my whole being responded as it did. Steadily I came up, and presently, before the dogs knew it, I was on the back of the sleigh; then, gripping the ground lashing, I let myself drag as a brake, and with a mighty "Chuh!" which made the leader jump quickly to the left, then a loud stern "Marse!" straight out from the danger the strong train drew us. [Illustration: STRAIGHT OUT FROM THE DANGER THE STRONG TRAIN DREW US] After we came home, I felt weak and exhausted because of the nervous strain; but the reward of having been instrumental in saving the little darling's life was sweet to me. The next day we had dog-races, and foot-races and football, and the fun was fast and furious. This social and pleasant intercourse with my fellowmen was especially agreeable to me after the isolation of the last few months. Then my new-found friends were exceedingly kind, and I was heartily glad Mr. Woolsey had brought me with him to Edmonton. The second day after Christmas was my birthday. I was then twenty years of age, and thus have reached the limit given to this book. As the reader will have noticed, I began life on the frontier, and here, after twenty years, am to be found on the still farther frontier. Then it was lake-shore and forest, now it is highland and prairie. Trusting the reader will have been interested sufficiently in this simple narrative to follow the author on into the more stirring recital of experiences on the plains during the "sixties," I remain, Yours truly, JOHN McDOUGALL. * * * * * * * * BOOKS ON THE WEST By the Well-Known Frontiersman and Writer JOHN McDOUGALL The author, John McDougall, was born on the frontier in 1842 and has had a lifetime on the frontier full of strange experiences and adventures such as fall to the lot of few men. These books give in graphic style an account of the early days of the Canadian North-West. FOREST, LAKE and PRAIRIE