Lost in the Wilds (Illustrated)

The October sun was setting over a wild, wide waste of waving grass, growing dry and yellow in the autumn winds. The scarlet hips gleamed between the whitening blades wherever the pale pink roses of summer had shed their fragrant leaves.
But now the brief Indian summer was drawing to its close, and winter was coming down upon that vast Canadian plain with rapid strides. The wailing cry of the wild geese rang through the gathering stillness.
The driver of a rough Red River cart slapped the boy by his side upon the shoulder, and bade him look aloft at the swiftly-moving cloud of chattering beaks and waving wings.
For a moment or two the twilight sky was darkened, and the air was filled with the restless beat of countless pinions. The flight of the wild geese to the warmer south told the same story, of approaching snow, to the bluff carter. He muttered something about finding the cows which his young companion did not understand. The boy's eyes had travelled from the winged files of retreating geese to the vast expanse of sky and plain. The west was all aglow with myriad tints of gold and saffron and green, reflected back from many a gleaming lakelet and curving river, which shone like jewels on the broad breast of the grassy ocean. Where the dim sky-line faded into darkness the Touchwood Hills cast a blackness of shadow on the numerous thickets which fringed their sheltering slopes. Onward stole the darkness, while the prairie fires shot up in wavy lines, like giant fireworks.
Between the fire-flash and the dying sun the boy's quick eye was aware of the long winding course of the great trail to the north. It was a comfort to perceive it in the midst of such utter loneliness; for if men had come and gone, they had left no other record behind them. He seemed to feel the stillness of an unbroken solitude, and to hear the silence that was brooding over lake and thicket, hill and waste alike.
He turned to his companion. ""Forgill,"" he asked, in a low venturing tone, ""can you find your way in the dark?""
He was answered by a low, short laugh, too expressive of contempt to suffer him to repeat his question.
One broad flash of crimson light yet lingered along the western sky, and the evening star gleamed out upon the shadowy earth, which the night was hugging to itself closer and closer every moment.
Still the cart rumbled on. It was wending now by the banks of a nameless river, where the pale, faint star-shine reflected in its watery depths gave back dim visions of inverted trees in wavering, uncertain lines.
""How far are we now from Acland's Hut?"" asked the boy, disguising his impatience to reach their journey's end in careless tones.
""Acland's Hut,"" repeated the driver; ""why, it is close at hand.""
The horse confirmed this welcome piece of intelligence by a joyous neigh to his companion, who was following in the rear. A Canadian always travels with two horses, which he drives by turns. The horses themselves enter into the arrangement so well that there is no trouble about it. The loose horse follows his master like a dog, and trots up when the cart comes to a standstill, to take the collar warm from his companion's shoulders.
But for once the loose pony had galloped past them in the darkness, and was already whinnying at the well-known gate of Acland's Hut.
The driver put his hand to his mouth and gave a shout, which seemed to echo far and wide over the silent prairie. It was answered by a chorus of barking from the many dogs about the farm. A lantern gleamed through the darkness, and friendly voices shouted in reply. Another bend in the river brought them face to face with the rough, white gate of Acland's Hut. Behind lay the low farm-house, with its log-built walls and roof of clay. Already the door stood wide, and the cheerful blaze from the pine-logs burning on the ample hearth within told of the hospitable welcome awaiting the travellers.
An unseen hand undid the creaking gate, and a gruff voice from the darkness exchanged a hearty ""All right"" with Forgill. The lantern seemed to dance before the horse's head, as he drew up beneath the solitary tree which had been left for a hen-roost in the centre of the enclosure.
Forgill jumped down. He gave a helping hand to his boy companion, observing, ""There is your aunt watching for you at the open door. Go and make friends; you won't be strangers long.""
""Have you got the child, Forgill?"" asked an anxious woman's voice.
An old Frenchman, who fulfilled the double office of man and maid at Acland's Hut, walked up to the cart and held out his arms to receive the expected visitor.
Down leaped the boy, altogether disdaining the over-attention of the farming man. Then he heard Forgill whisper, ""It isn't the little girl she expected, it is this here boy; but I have brought him all the same.""