After a time he and the _Metis_ left the river and climbed the steep bank. The fire had vanished, but the pungent smell of burning wood came down the biting wind, and by and by trails of smoke drifted past the scattered pines. Then as they struggled through a brake of wild-fruit canes a blaze leaped up among the the rocks and he saw an indistinct figure crouching beside a fire. The figure got up awkwardly and a few moments later Father Lucien gave Thirlwell his hand. The light touched his thin frost-browned face, which was marked by lines that pain had drawn. "It's lucky you came, but, if you don't mind, we'll sit down," he said. "If you're alone, you had better come back to our camp," Thirlwell replied. "Where's your truck and the dogs?" Father Lucien indicated the torn blue blanket that hung from his shoulder. "All gone except this! But it's a long story and I can't walk." "Then you have nothing to eat?" said Thirlwell sharply. "Half a small bannock; I ate the rest this morning. The worst was I had only melted snow to drink." Thirlwell made a sympathetic gesture, for men who camp in the frozen woods consume large quantities of nearly boiling tea. Then he turned to the half-breed and sent him back for his companion and the sledge. "We'll haul you down the river as soon as they come," he said. "By good luck, we camped in perhaps the only place from which we could have seen your fire." "Ah," said Father Lucien with a quiet smile, "I do not know if it was luck alone that made you choose the spot." They sat down in the hollow among the rocks, and the missionary shivered although the fire snapped and threw out clouds of smoke close by. Thirlwell gave him his tobacco pouch. "In the meantime, you can eat your bannock and then take a smoke. I'm curious to learn how you lost your outfit and the dogs." Father Lucien ate the morsel of hard cake, and afterwards looked up. "Perhaps I had better tell you before your men arrive. Well, I traveled about with my people as they moved their traps, and one night when very tired I slept in damp moccasins. The fire got low and next morning my foot was slightly frozen. We were forced to make long marches for some days, and I found the frost-bite had gone deeper than I thought. You can, no doubt, guess what happened." Thirlwell nodded. A frozen foot sometimes galls into a sore that will not heal while the temperature is low. "Well," said Father Lucien, "some time after we pitched camp, a man came in with a dog-team that belonged to the Hudson's Bay. He was not going farther but offered to lend me the dogs, if I would leave them with some friends of his who were trapping to the south." "But can you drive dogs?" Thirlwell asked, knowing that skill is required to manage the snarling, fighting teams.