It was noon on Monday when we ran down through the rapids at the foot of Grand Lake, and forty minutes later we were welcomed at the French Post by Mr. Thevenet, whose hospitality we were to enjoy for a little while awaiting the arrival of the Yale.

At two o’clock one morning the Yale came, and we were roused from our beds.  The Judge was to leave me now and return home, Gilbert to make ready for long winter months of trapping in the lonely wilderness, and I to remain and continue my wanderings northward.

“Wallace,” said the Judge, as he shook my hand at parting, “I feel that we did something worthwhile up there in the hills when we marked the spot where good old Hubbard ended his last fight.  I’m leaving the country though with a feeling of profound regret.  I wish I were just going in with you instead of going home.  I never had that feeling before on leaving the wilderness, but this country has exerted a peculiar fascination upon me.  I understand what it was now that drew you and Hubbard on and would not let you turn back.  I have learned what you meant when you called it “the lure of the Labrador wild.”

And then the men shouted again, and the Judge left me.  I could hear the rattle of oarlocks across the waters, and then—quiet.  The Judge was gone back to the great world of noise and strife, and I was sorry.

I lingered a little while before returning to my bed to watch the weird flashes of the aurora borealis and to smell the damp forest, and to recall the noble acts of noble companions who had tramped the weary trails and sat with me by glowing campfires up there in the silent wilderness.  I could have had no more sympathetic companion than Judge Malone upon this mission to Hubbard’s last camp from which we had just returned.  There is nothing like the refining fire of the long trail to try out man’s qualities.

THE END

Next: Notes