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 back heart-broken over the bitter trail he had travelled, or make him a soldier of the Great Father.

"You want to enlist?"

"Oua, yes, I cum to fight for de Great Fader."

At the quaintness of the reply the suggestion of a smile crept into the gray eyes of the older officer.

"Where are you from?"

"I cum wid dog-team from Rupert Lan'."

"When did you leave?"

"I leave Half-Way-House, Creesmas tam."

"You've been on the trail ever since?"

"Oua, yes. I cross Height-of-Lan' to St. M'rees water and follow riviere trail. I cum more fas' but de blizzard ketch me."

Then the Cree, wondering, if men were wanted to fight, why they hesitated to accept him, impetuously burst out with:

"I am strong man! I mak' beeg fight! I can shoot goose in de air wid rifle. I show you I am good man!"

The earnestness of the Indian had its effect. While the gray-haired officer talked with his junior in low tones, Joe Lecroix, perplexity and fear written plainly on his rugged features, awaited the verdict. They wanted fighting men, and here he was, known as a hunter and voyageur from Whale River down to Grand Lac Victoria, offering his services to the Great Father, and yet these soldiers seemed unwilling to take him.

"He'd make a smashing man in khaki, captain. He's the timber we want—look at his neck and shoul-