The Free Lance.
“ His good blade carves the casques of men , for the Free Lance
thrusteth sure."
Vol. XVII.
The wind was blowing wildly through the great hemlocks, which
twisted and groaned under the strain. The light from our camp
fire now and then penetrated the gloom of the forest and revealed
huge tree trunks, which as soon retreated into the darkness or
stood like wierd, gloomy sentinels around the camp. It was a
night to make one appreciate a cheerful fire and a good companion.
So we piled on the birch logs until flame and sparks shot high into
the night above us, and the circle of fire-light widened still farther
into the depth of the forest.'
Joe had been recommended to our party as a first-class guide.
Me had proven himself all of this, for a better one I do not believe
ever canoed over the waters of Madawaska. He was not in the
same class with the ordinary Canadian guide, and, in truth, I had
even suspected that he was not a Canadian. There was a gentle
ness in his speech and manner, which, despite his rough exterior,
spoke rather of the drawing-room than of the rude life of the
woods. Strangely, too, I had never heard his real name. From
the first we had called him simply "Joe,” and as this was con
veniently short, we had not taken the trouble to inquire further
into his history. But somehow 1 had begun to feel that there must
be some deep mystery connected with his past, and I was not
wholly unprepared for the strange story which he told that night.
FEBRUARY, 1904.
“THE EXILE."
No. 8.