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back and make him again smell the child's sock, but it seemed useless; he would be off again another way, looking back to see if that was right, and being called back again, looked perplexed and discouraged, and walked slowly by my side. The neighbors meanwhile scattered far and near in the almost hopeless search-hopeless, for the boy might have wandered many miles, and we knew that we might pass within a dozen yards of him, in the tall prairie grass, without knowing he was there. But the poor mother clung to me and Phil, with a sinking heart, however, for she could not but observe that he was not searching for her lost treasure. And thus we wandered on hour after weary hour. Time after time I endeavored to make Phil understand me, but in vain. Once he ran to me, looking bright and glad, and when I showed him the boy's stocking he eagerly took it a his mouth and walked proudly, with head erect, as if to say, "Now I understand you want me to carry it." In spite of self-control, my face must have betrayed my disappointment, for he dropped his head and tail, and slowly brought me back the sock, which I took, but at the same time caressed him and walked slowly on. At length he stops again, snuffs the ground, looks pleased, hurries this way and that to catch a warmer scent, looks up with bright eyes at me, then runs slowly, as nosing the ground. We follow him, and on my part for the first time with hope, it might be he had at last caught my meaning. But then again he might be following the track of game, and this was the most natural supposition. But no, he is scenting up a tall weed, too high for a bird to touch; it cannot be deer, for their sharp hoofs would have left a print on the sod which would not escape my eye; nor wolf, for Phil has not the angry look, the glaring eye, and lips drawn up to show his white tusks ready for his foe, features which the wolf's scent always gives him. But on he goes, scenting every tuft of grass, or now unheeded prairie flower, pausing at some, and snuffing a long slow breath, with eyes half-closed lest light should interfere with the one sense on which he relies. The mother is close by me, asking every moment "Is he tracking Hanka? will he find Hanka?" I dare not say yes, for I am not certain, but I have never seen him move so after any kind of game, and I know his varied movements when pursuing each. But the track is not warm, whatever made it, for he stops, now turns round and stops again, then takes a wider circle and comes round to the same point again; "he is at fault." He makes another effort on a wider circle still, and is yet at fault. He now gives one sharp cry of angry vexation, and then turns suddenly and retraces his own footsteps, following at a fast run his back track, several hundred yards. Stops, scents the ground, catches the trail and follows over the track once more, cautious and slowly, to within a few rods of first fault-and then turns off with cheerful steps. He has recovered the trail and runs briskly on, but soon checks himself and turns half round, as if on second thought he would examine a weed he had just passed. I examined it too, and there, on the dry rough stem of the resin-weed, hung a few shreds of blue cotton. The mother saw me looking at them, and then ran forward and seized the precious relic, "It was Hanka's, I knew it was Hanka's !" I thought so too, for the color is such as no Yankee has yet imitated with success.

But Phil has breathed on it, and she has handled it and I cannot judge how long it has hung there. But she is calling her friends to come in. In the meanwhile Phil has got the start of us and we hurry on to overtake him, but cautiously avoid the track he follows, lest he might be at fault again and have to retrace his steps.

The

How intently the mother watched Phil's movements, but happily with out the fear which troubled me, who could understand his difficulties far better than she could. But he is going steadily on now, not fast, and I have much trouble to keep the impatient mother from outstripping him, and soiling the trail. The crowd gather, one by one, after us from the prairie. Keeping them at a distance as well as might be, we follow close by Phil, watching his every movement. He's working gloriously, but on a faint trail. He understands the matter now, and has all our excitement. With his mouth open, lest the too strong draught of air through his nose should blunt the delicacy of its nerves, he tracks for hours the wanderings of that child. And now the last doubt as to the character of the track is removed, for just before us, in an old Buffalo trail, is a child's track. I hastily put my foot over it to hide it from the mother's sight, for fear her eagerness might interfere with Phil, our only hope and guide. But the effort was vain, for she noticed the movement, and, darting forward, saw another track. I stopped her before she could reach it, and while she is crying, almost screaming, "Tis Hanka's sporr, 'tis Hanka's sporr; mein kint, mein kint!" I examined with a hunter's eye and care the track. It is a child's foot-print, beautifully moulded in the soft dust of the Buffalo trail. It was made long after the sun was up, and the dew gone, as the dust was dry when the foot pressed it, for, although smooth, it has not the coherence of dust, pressed and dried afterwards. slightest breath disturbs it, and the slow-worm, which has made the only trail across it, has scarcely crawled ten yards beyond along the Buffalo path, which it is painfully pursuing with dull, tortuous movement. Yet it was clear that for some hours the sun had shone upon that foot-mark, and it might be miles must be passed before we could overtake the foot that made it, unless stayed by sleep or exhaustion. The task was not easy, for the boy had taken the Buffalo path. I cautioned the crowd to keep back at least a stone's throw, and hurried on to overtake Phil, busy in that most difficult and delicate operation, following a track over dry dust. But he was working well. Cheerful and confident, swinging his fringed tail around with its widest sweep, dodging his head from side to side of the narrow path to catch the scent left on the green herbage at its edge, where the boy's clothes or hands had chanced to touch. Phil and his master were both excited, and the scene was enough to excite any one. There, on the wide prairie, in the bright sunshine, the deep blue sky above and the green earth beneath, bending alike to meet at the horizon. The ancient path we were treading, made long years ago by the large buffalo and the pursuing Indian, both banished now to the Far West, withering before the pale face of their common enemy. The trail now leading over the low hill-tops; now down their gentle slopes to the low grounds, skirting the marsh, then rising up again. And then the game we were pursuing-not to kill but to save-richer than the finest

fur or proudest antler that dwell on the green deserts; for it was the dearest treasure of two human hearts, the richest gem of a prairie home. But Phil has stopped by a large gopher-mound, near the hilltop, where the grass is shortest, the mother and myself beside him. The boy has been on the hillock, doubtless, to look out for home. Vain hope! No sign of human habitation or human handiwork can be seen from here He had turned round and round upon it, but could catch no sight of any particular object. Campbell's last man was scarcely more hopelessly alone. He had sat down to rest him, perhaps to weep; for I could see the print of his heels half way down the small earthen hillock. But he had left; and Phil, having snuffed for many rods along the trail, in vain, now came running back, and taking a narrow circle round the hillock and recovering the track, starts off in a new direction. Fortunately, now the track leads through the green grass, and Phil follows swiftly, so quickly as to render needless my caution to the crowd; for we have left them far behind, and none but the mother and myself keep up with Phil. He leads us down the hill to a small brook, where the boy had gone to drink. We could see where his small feet had struggled in the marsh, and where he had knelt down, both hands were printed in the soft soil. From here, the trail turned back again towards the high ground and the distanced crowd. But now Phil stops a moment, and his whole manner changes. He no more noses the ground, following the various windings of the track; but, with head erect and neck stretched out, marches straight forward, with steady gait and gaze. He no longer heeds the track, for he can scent the boy where he lies hid. I noted the change at once, and knew its meaning, but dared not tell the mother. She observed it soon, and cried out that Phil had left off hunting; but in an instant, recollecting to have seen him retrieve, cried out "He has found him!" "he has found mein kint!" and, rushing past us, in an instant more, I heard the boy's scream of fright, and her wild cry of joy.

We were soon with her, and Phil seemed almost disposed to dispute her right to the child, but joined most heartily in her exultation, leaping upon me, running to the boy, as he lay in his mother's arms, rubbing his nose on his face and hands, then racing away again to greet, with boisterous mirth, each new-comer to the group.

We were now on our way home, laughing and shouting, a joyous troop. I led the way; Phil followed me close, except at times, when he went back to look after the boy, carried in the strong men's arms, by turns, with his mother watching beside him.

I left them at the end of three miles, and struck across the prairie for my home, some five miles distant, and reached it at nightfall, tired with my day's adventures.

RED RIVER OF THE NORTH.

From Ross's History of the Red River Settlement, we gather the following facts:

Forty-five years ago the most powerful potentate on this continent was one Thomas Douglas, Earl of Selkirk. Mr. Madison had power enough to contend with all the might of Great Britain; but Thomas Douglas ruled a far wider realm than he. He was the chief of the Hudson Bay Company. No carpet knight he; in the depth of the pathless woods, or the virgin streams, in the bosom of the arctic snows, his spurs were won A man of private means, which he sacrificed to this Company, he was also brave and enterprising. Neither expense, nor danger, nor obstacles, could deter him from his resolves. To the perseverence of the Scot he united the fire of the Celt; with the proud self-reliance of the peer, he combined the shrewd tact of the merchant.

At that time the great fur country was disputed by two rival compa nies, the Hudson Bay Company and the Northwest Company. Their charters were distinct, and so were their territories. But there was not room for both. Every man in the Northwest knew that one of the two must perish, and those who measured the respective strength of the rivals, said confidently that the Hudson Bay Company was doomed. Thomas, Earl of Selkirk, made up his mind that it must conquer, and that the Northwesters must go to the wall.

Examining with the eye of a soldier the country where the war was to be carried on, he saw that two grand essentials were wanting to his side -physical strength, and a basis of operations. To supply both, he obtained from the Company, and from various Indian tribes claiming to hold dominion over the territory, a grant of land in the neighborhood of Red River, a tributary of lake Winnipeg, which joins the lake about 100 miles northwest of Fort William, and made arrangements to trans port thither colonists from the Scotch Highlands. A stout colony firmly established there would not only equalize the strength of the combatants, but would afford the Hudson Bay Company an unrivaled basis of operations, as well as a convenient stepping-stone to the trade of the West. Accordingly, in the summer of 1812, the Earl of Selkirk transplanted .he "first brigade" of colonists to Red River. The settlers were to ave a hundred acres of land each, to be paid for in produce (the payment was afterwards remitted); they were to have a minister of their own persuasion; they were to enjoy the rights of British subjects; and they were guaranteed a market at their own doors for all their produce On these terms hardy Highlanders were not wanting to risk the adventure. But neither were the Northwesters blind. Their preparations were made silently, effectively. No sooner had the "first brigade" arrived, than a band of men, begrimmed with war-paint, dressed in Indian dress, and armed to the teeth, rode down upon them and bade them depart. Strange to say, there was not an intelligent word spoken on either side. The colonists spoke nothing but Gaelic; their assailants Indian-French. But the gestures of the latter were too plain to be mistaken. Out of

charity they agreed to carry the women and children on the cruppers of their horses; the men were to walk. For the "services" of their guides they paid as they could. A woman gave her wedding-ring; a Gael the cherished musket his father had borne at Culloden. So they traveled, sore of heart and foot, by the side of their conquerers, to Pembina.

After living there on charity during the winter, they returned to Red River in the spring. A year's peace enabled them to break ground and rear shelter. In 1815 the Northwesters were upon them again. This time there was resistance. Accordingly the Northwesters burned down the Colonial House, took the Governor prisoner, killed his aid. Then more fighting; and finally, the brief mandate from the Northwest headquarters: "All settlers to retire immediately from the Red River, and no appearance of a colony to remain." A command executed to the letter. Three hundred miles over the wilderness the Highlanders were sent in exile, and their houses burned down.

ment.

Nothing discouraged, the Hudson Bay Company sent a strong force to escort the exiles back to the settlement. A new brigade arrived just in time to help them rebuild their houses. The Northwesters changed their tactics. They too hired Gaels, and sent them to Red River, with instructions to seduce the colonists to leave the place. The Highlanders, proof against corruption, could not resist the old familiar sounds of the Gaelic. They deserted in droves. Depopulation menaced the settleThe Earl of Selkirk calmly prepared to import more brigades. At length, in June, 1816, matters came to a crisis. News reached Governor Semple at Red River that a body of 300 horsemen, warpainted and heavily armed, was approaching the settlement. In a rash moment he armed himself and twenty-seven others, and marched out to parley. At a short distance from the enemy he halted, and consulted his aids. At that moment a ball from the enemy struck a man at his side. A volley followed, and twenty-one of the twenty-eight, including the Governor, were shot dead; the other seven escaped, wounded. The victors marched into the settlement, sacked and burned the houses, carried off all that was worth stealing, and drove out the colonists, warning them that they would be hunted down and shot like wild beasts if they appeared there again. It was some consolation afterwards to the survivors of the ruthless attack to discover that twenty-six out of the sixtyfive Northwesters who fired on Governor Semple perished violently within a short period.

Then the Earl of Selkirk acted. He was in the country. He had brought with him from Europe a battalion of Swiss mercenaries of the Dalgetty stamp-men who were called De Meurons, from an old colonel of theirs, and who "feared neither God, man, nor beast." With these he marched directly on Fort William, the head-quarters of the Northwest Company, and took it. This was a fine piece of strategy, as it threw the Northwesters on the defensive, and made the Hudson Bay party the assailants. Under cover of the capture of Fort William, the Earl led back the exiles, for the third time, to Red River, remitted the price of their lands, and reëstablished the colony on a new and solid basis He chose mill-sites, set apart lands for religious and educational

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