"You have
the intuition of the wiser animals. Why have I never really known you
before? Why have I not had you?"
"You've got me now, anyway, and you are going to keep me, Larry," said
the boy. Then they said good-night with a bond of manly friendship
between them that was destined to last throughout their lives.
* * * * * * * *
They left the luxurious sleeping-car of the great Canadian Pacific
Railway, at a little settlement on the north shore of Lake Superior.
There were but three buildings in the place, all of logs: the railway
station, the Hudson's Bay Company's trading post, and "French" Pierre's
"bunk and eating-house." The northern forest closed in on all sides, and
the little settlement in all amounted to nothing more than a clearing.
The instant they stepped from the car, Matt Larson's eyes swept the
platform, alighting with a pleased expression on the figure of a wiry,
alert-looking boy of perhaps eighteen, who stepped forward silently,
quickly, and laid his hand in Larson's, outstretched to greet him. The
boy was Indian through and through, with a fine, thin, copper-colored
face, and eyes of very rare beauty.
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