skin capote. As they neared him he gazed with surprise at the huge northern dogs and their wild-looking driver. Stepping into the road in front of them, he raised his hand. The tall driver shouted to the lead-dog and the team reluctantly stopped, slant eyes, flattened ears, and low rumble in throat evidencing their desire to leap at the stranger who dared threaten the dogs of Joe Lecroix with lifted hand.
"Halt! No passing here! What d' you want?" shouted the guard, lowering his bayonet as the lead-dog bared his fangs with a menacing snarl.
"Quey! Quey!" replied the driver. Then quieting his restless dogs he continued: "I cum from de nord countree, Rupert Lan', to fight for de Great Fader."
The Canadian stared at the wind-blackened face, caribou capote with its gaudy Hudson's Bay sash, and embroidered leggings of the voyageur.
"Good Gawd! Rupert Land? You've travelled some to enlist," he said. "Come up to the sentry-box. I'll turn you over to the sergeant."
Leaving the Cree in the road, the soldier entered the neighboring shack.
"Sergeant, there's a wild Injun outside, with a team of man-eatin' dogs, who wants to enlist. He's mushed a long way from the bush."
The sergeant, who came from western Ontario, was interested.
"Bring him in!"
The Cree entered the shack where the sergeant and two privates sat around a stove.
