“Poor Bruin,” said Myrtle; “he was great company for me when you were absent, father.” “I know he were, and he hed an advantage over some humans I’ve knowed—you c’u’d trust him! The devil won’t allus guard his own, and some day I’ll git ekal to thet Velveteens, bet yer life!” The party reoccupied the house as a matter of course, and seemed to think nothing of the late raid. After eating a hearty meal Old Pegs started out on a scout, leaving Dave to guard Myrtle. He followed the trail of the savages by devious ways for nearly six miles over a rugged road, part of which he had never trod before. “They’ve got a camp some’ers nigh at hand,” he muttered, “and I’m going ter find out whar it is ef it takes a leg. I know the Hudson Bay people, and I’ll be darned ef they ever sot ther men ter do this kind of work. The trail freshens a bit; I’ll hev ter look out.” He hitched along at his usual rate of speed, throwing out his shoulders in his peculiar manner until the low murmur of voices could be heard coming up from the foot of the slope below him. Old Pegs at once left the trail and plunged into the bushes, following the sounds which he heard and advancing by slow degrees, for he knew that his life was not worth a moment’s purchase if he should be taken. But scouting was life itself to him, and he kept on until he was satisfied that he must be close upon the camp, for he was approaching a clearing of some kind. Suddenly, almost without warning, he came to the edge of a high bluff, and parting the bushes which fringed the bank, looked down. It was one of those valleys so common among the foot-hills, and so surrounded by inaccessible mountains as to be a safe refuge. The valley was now a great camp, for not less than two hundred men were scattered about at various points, engaged in different ways. Poker-playing seemed to be a specialty, but one ambitious individual had a “monte” game, and was throwing for the amusement and loss of a large party. Two-thirds of the whole force were Indians, to all outward appearance, but seeing a painted brave seated under a tree reading a book, convinced Old Pegs that all were not Indians who wore the garb. The remainder of the men were of all nationalities, chiefly French Canadians and half-breeds. A very few were English, but these kept apart, and seemed to have little intercourse with the rest. Who were these men, and what were they doing in the grounds of the North-west Company? The strife between those great monopolies, the Hudson Bay and North-west, was at this time at its hight, and Old Pegs knew who they were and what their object was in coming here. “Thar’ll be a b’ar-fight when Dave’s boys git wind of this yer,” thought the old hunter. “It’s all fa’r, long ez they only bring whites ag’in’ whites, but when it comes ter Injuns, thet’s cutting it too fat. Oh, thunder! thar’s thet cussid Velveteens.”