THE ABENAQUI'S STORY. cont'd

"Yes, that's the lynx. Go on."

"Well," the Indian said, "we came upon the track of a cat, and we followed it. My cousin was first, and he turned round and said to me, 'I'll go round that mountain if you go up the valley with the dogs, and we are sure to get him.' We separated. In an hour I heard a gun, and then sat down, and I waited long. Night was coming on; I thought I would go and look. I could find nothing, so as it was getting dark I fired my gun--no answer. I fired again--no answer. Some- thing, I said, has happened to my cousin; I must fol- low his track as soon as it is daylight.

"I pulled some sapin,* made a bed on the snow, drew some branches over me, and slept well. Next morning I followed the tracks, and before I got half round the mountain I saw my cousin. He was nearly dead--could just speak. Close to him was the cat, frozen still. My cousin had slipped into a crack of the rock just after he had fired and wounded the cat, when he was within twenty yards of it. One of his legs was broken. As soon as he fell the cat sprung upon him, and tore off part of his scalp; he killed it with his knife, but could not get out of the crack on account of his broken leg; he could not reach his gun to fire it off and let me know. There he must have remained, and died alone, if I had not chanced to come. I lifted him out of the crack, but his fingers snapped off--they were frozen. He just said to me, 'Nipi ! nipi !--water ! water !' I quickly made a fire, put some snow in my blanket, held it over the flame and got him some water. He told me to take him to Seven Islands or the Moisie, and bury him there. He pointed to his gun. I brought it to him; he put it into my hand, turned round his head, and died."

The Indian sat looking at the fire for many minutes. I did not want to interrupt his thoughts. After a while I filled his pipe, put a coal in it, and gave it to

*Branches of the spruce.

him. He took it, still looking at the fire. Perhaps he saw the spirit of his cousin there, as Indians often say they do. He smoked for a long time. At length he spoke, looking at the body, and pointing to it, saying, "He said last winter, that some one would die before the year was out."

I knew well enough that it was one of their super- stitions that had troubled him, for he was a heathen not more than a year ago; and a man does not get rid of his heathen notions by being touched with a drop of Manitou water. So I said to him, "Did he see any- thing ?"

"He came across tracks."

"Tracks ?"

"A Wendigo," said the Indian.

"Have you ever seen one ?" I asked him.

"I have seen tracks."

"Where ?"

"On the Ste Marguerite, the Mingan, the Manitou, the Ou-na-ma-ne. My cousin saw tracks on the Mani- tou last winter, and he said to me, and to many of us, 'Something will happen.'"

"What were the tracks like ?" I said to him.

"Wendigoes," he replied.

"Well, but how big were they ?"

He looked at me but said nothing, nor would he speak on the subject again.

"These Montagnais think," continued Pierre, "that the Wendigoes are giant cannibals, twenty and thirty feet high. They think that they live on human flesh, and that many Indians who have gone hunting, and have never afterwards been heard of, have been de- voured by Wendigoes. They are dreadfully supersti- tious in the woods, but brave enough when they get on the coast."

--H. Y. HIND.

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