



Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Delphine Lettau, Suzanne
Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net









[Illustration: THEN HE GRIPPED HIS WEAPON BY THE MUZZLE, AND SPRANG
STRAIGHT FOR THE PACK.

                                                      _See page 175._
]




THE FIERY TOTEM

A TALE OF ADVENTURE IN THE
CANADIAN NORTH-WEST

BY
ARGYLL SAXBY, M.A., F.R.G.S.

AUTHOR OF
"BRAVES, WHITE AND RED" "COMRADES THREE!"
"TANGLED TRAILS" ETC. ETC.

_SECOND IMPRESSION_

LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 BOUVERIE STREET AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD




CONTENTS


CHAPTER                                PAGE

      I. A PERILOUS PASSAGE               5

     II. DEER-STALKING                   14

    III. THE LONELY CAMP                 22

     IV. FRIENDS OR FOES?                33

      V. LOST IN THE FOREST              41

     VI. THE MEDICINE MAN                53

    VII. THE FRIEND IN NEED              67

   VIII. NIGHT IN THE WIGWAM             83

     IX. THE TEMPTATION                  96

      X. A DEATH-TRAP                   104

     XI. TO THE RESCUE!                 115

    XII. CRAFTY TACTICS                 130

   XIII. THE PRICE OF A ROBE            142

    XIV. THE BATTLE OF WITS             151

     XV. OFF!                           165

    XVI. A NIGHT'S TERROR               172

   XVII. THE FATE OF RED FOX            181

  XVIII. HOT ON THE TRAIL               191

    XIX. THUNDER-MAKER'S DOWNFALL       205

     XX. THE FIERY TOTEM                217




THE FIERY TOTEM




CHAPTER I

A PERILOUS PASSAGE


"Well, good-bye, boys! You won't go far from camp before we return, will
you?" The speaker was one of two men seated in an Indian canoe. He
gripped the forward paddle, while his companion at the stern added
cheerfully--

"The backwoods is not the City of London. There are no policemen to
appeal to if you lose your way. Besides, we hope to find dinner waiting
for our return. Hunting lost sons is not the same sport as hunting
moose."

Both the boys laughed at the elder man's remark, and one--Bob Arnold by
name--answered--

"Don't worry about us, father. Alf and I can take care of ourselves for
half a day. Can't we, Alf?"

"Rather," the younger chum replied. "It's our respected parents who'll
need to take care of themselves in unknown waters in that cockleshell."
Then he called out merrily, imitating the tone of the first speaker--his
father: "Take care of yourselves, dads! Remember the Athabasca River is
not Regent Street!"

"Cheeky youngster!" returned the elder man banteringly, as he struck the
forward paddle into the water. "There's not much of the invalid left
about you after three months' camping."

Then with waving hands and pleasant chaffing, that showed what real good
chums the quartette were, the men struck out for the centre of the
river, leaving their sons watching from the strand before the camp that
was pitched beneath the shadow of the great pine trees.

It was a glorious morning--just the right sort for a hunting-expedition.
The air was just chilly enough to render paddling a welcome exercise,
and just warm enough to allow intervals of pleasant drifting in the
centre of the current when there were no shoals or driftwood to be
avoided.

"Yes," remarked Holden, the younger of the two men, as the rhythm of the
dripping paddles murmured pleasantly with Nature's music heard from
leafy bough and bush; "yes, Alf's a different boy now. Who would have
believed that these three short months would have changed a fever-wasted
body into such a sturdy frame?"

"It looks like a miracle," returned the other man. "It was a great idea,
that of a six months' trapping in the backwoods. When we get back to
England we'll all four look as healthy as savages. My Bob is the colour
of a redskin."

"It was a great blessing that you were able to bring him. It wouldn't
have been half as enjoyable for Alf, not having a chum."

The elder man laughed softly as he turned a look of good-comradeship
towards his companion.

"That's just as it ought to be, Holden," he