The Tri County News

"My valley!"

SYNOPSIS.-With David, half-breed guide, Brent Steele, of the American Museum of Natural History, is traveling in northern Canada. By a stream he hears Denise, daughter of Col. Hilaire St. Onge, factor at Wailing River play the violin superbly. He introduces himself and accepts an invitation to make the post his home during his stay. He finds the factor worried and mystified. The "log chateau" is a real home. From St. Onge he learns of the mysterious creature of evil, the "Windigo," and the disappearance of a canoe and its crew, with the season's take of furs. Then at night the "Windigo" gives a weird performance. Even Steele is mystified. David, Steele's Indian, and Michel, St. Onge's head-man, leave for the scene of the canoe's disappearance in an attempt to solve the mystery.

CHAPTER III
As the days passed at Wailing River, and the dread voice failed to break upon the crisp September nights with a recurrence of its horror, the people timidly took up the old order of their days. The rabbit snares in the forest were again visited and re-set by the women, who traveled in pairs for mutual encouragement, and one day Tete-Boule was prevailed upon by the factor to go out with another Indian after moose, for the fort needed fresh meat. As he left, the Ojibway gravely shook the hands of the fearful women and children gathered on the shore, bidding them look upon him for the last time, for by night he and his comrade would be mangled flesh in the maw of the Windigo.

"Did you hear that fool?" Steele asked St. Onge, standing near him on the beach.

"This thing has ruined him as a hunter," replied the factor, "he will never recover from it."

"I think I'll run upstream to the riffles this morning and catch some dore for supper," said the younger man as they returned to the trade-house.

Later, a second canoe quietly left the post, but when the boat reached the riffles, a mile above, the occupant did not stop to fish but continued upstream following the shore. And when the flash from the paddles of the craft above ceased, and the spot on the river which was the canoe, moved to the shore, the boat following, also turned in, and was lifted and hidden in the alders. Then the premonition of Tete-Boule attained a partial fulfilment, for on the shores of the Wailing started a man hunt; but the incentive in the hunter was not a craving for human flesh, but a mild curiosity.

Before sunset the safe return to the post of Tete-Boule and his partner was heralded with joy, although they had failed in their hunt. But it was well after dark before the second canoe slid silently in to the stone beach.

"You had no luck this afternoon, monsieur, you caught nothing?" laughed St. Onge as Steele appeared for supper.

"As a matter of fact, Colonel, I went hunting, but the game was too tame for sport."

St. Onge's black brows lifted.

"You are cryptic, monsieur."

"Well, to confess," laughed Steele, "I was interested to see how much hunting your men would really do-and I found out."

"You followed Tete-Boule's canoe?"

"Yes. I watched them for a few hours, but as they showed no sign of taking to the bush, I traveled over to those ponds Michel told me about. Tomorrow, if you have a man who will help me pack the meat, I'll get a moose."

"And Tete-Boule never left the river?"

"Not while I watched him."

The factor shrugged significantly. "He's 'bush shy' now and will not hunt. But what is there to do?"

"Have you thought that he might be shamming to avoid work? Is he lazy?"

"No, he always was a good packer and hunter. It's the Windigo."

In the week past, Steele had seen all too little of the girl whose personality had so vividly aroused his interest, whose moods, defying analysis, only added to her charm. Convinced that beyond a dread of the ugly alternatives which the future might present to her choice, beyond any possible fear of the manifestations of the supernatural which the post had witnessed, there lurked a tangible cause for anxiety, his active mind had been ceaseless in its groping for a clew to its nature. Two days following the night of terror, he had spent searching the big ridge for sign of wolverine, lynx or wolf, had produced nothing in explanation of the mysterious cries, but while his eyes swept the dry floor of the forest to right and left, his thoughts had dealt with the reiterated query: "Whom did she fear at the rapids? What was she about to tell me when St. Onge interrupted? She had said, 'But you do not know the danger!' and, 'there are so many-' Many what? Clearly there was something more than the Windigo in this warning. But what could it be?"

So Steele returned from his profitless search of the ridge to wait for the return of David and Michel, when a definite plan of campaign could be framed.