fortune led him away from Regent-street to
wander in western worlds, and this is the
way he "put through" a portion of the
winter of that year. He was residing, with
a single companion in a little log cabin at
the Indian village of Bella-Coola, on the
coast of British Columbia. There was no
white man nearer than one hundred miles,
but the villages of many Indian tribes
were situated in the immediate vicinity.
The winter was only half throug; few
natives came trading about the post, and
as time lay heavily on their hands, Black
and his companion resolved to go hunting
for a few days. A canoe was accordingly
fitted out with a stock of provisions and
ammunition, and with an Indian as steersman
and pilot they proceeded to cruise about
among the islands, now and then landing
and stalking deer, or shooting the ducks
and wild geese which assemble in countless
flocks by the mouths of the north-western
rivers in winter. The season was mild,
with but a thin coating of snow on the
ground, so that each night they encamped
in the open air, and slept well wrapped up
in their blankets round the blazing log fire.
Few old explorers in these countries ever
think of carrying a tent with them, and
our hunters were not possessed of one,
even had they cared to avail themselves
of its shelter. They had been cruising
about in this manner for several days,
when, as usual, they encamped one night
on an island, with the canoe drawn up on
the beach. Their provisions they built up
around them, to guard them from the attacks
of any prowling Indians or other mishaps.
Their Indian pilot had informed them he was
just about out of powder and bullets, at the
same time begging to be supplied with
some, exhibiting his pouch, which contained
but two charges. The hunters were too
tired to open their packages, and,
notwithstanding his solicitations, they put him off
until morning. They then, as usual, loaded
their rifles, the Indian doing so also; and
all three men lay down to sleep, and all
slept save one.

How long they slept Black could not
say, but all that he remembered was being
awoke by the report of a rifle. A low
scream, and then a moan by his side, told
him that all was over with his companion.
The Indian's place was vacant; and before
Black could become fully conscious of his
situation, he was fired at from the dark,
and a bullet struck his thigh. He
attempted to rise, but was unable: his leg was
fractured. Instantly he grasped his
revolver, and he had scarcely done so before
he was conscious of a figure crouching
towards him in the darkness. He immediately
fired, but the shot did not take effect, and
his would-be murderer retreated behind
some rocks. He now staunched the blood
flowing from his wound as well as
circumstances would permit, tying a handkerchief
around it. All doubt was now at an end
that the Indian guide, tempted by the
property, had murdered his companion, and
was only prevented by the want of ammunition
from dispatching him too. All night
long—it seemed a year—he kept awake,
too excited to sleep, though he was faint
from loss of blood. Sometimes he would
relapse into an uneasy sleep, from which
he would be startled by the barking of his
little dog, when he would grasp his revolver,
only to see a figure again skulking into
the darkness. Daylight at last came, and
he had now time to contemplate his situation.
Helpless, badly wounded, far from
white or even friendly Indian, he was alone,
with an enemy watching every moment to
destroy him, as he had done his companion,
whose glassy eyes glared up at him.
Provisions enough were lying scattered around;
but none were accessible as food, save the
bag of sugar, and on this his chief chance
of subsistence lay. He knew enough of
science to know that Magendie's dogs when
fed on sugar soon grew emaciated, but he
also knew that it supported life for a time.
Before night snow fell, and covered the dead
body out of his sight. Sometimes he would
relapse into a half-waking sleep, when
again the ever-faithful dog, who seemed
almost conscious how matters stood, would
warn him of the approach of his enemy.
It was in vain that Black attempted to get
a shot at him; and had it not been for the
watchfulness of his dog-friend, the wretch
must soon have been able to dispatch
with his knife the guardian whose revolver
intervened between him and the coveted
property. And so they kept their dreary
vigils, and the snow fell heavily; and
though his leg pained him exceedingly, he
managed to keep warm in his blanket-
lined burrow. The Indian would sometimes
disappear for hours and even a day,
apparently looking after food. The poor hunter
would then imagine that he had got clear
of his bloodthirsty enemy, when again the
barking of Flora would warn her master. On
one or two occasions the Indian managed to
approach within a few feet of his intended
victim before his presence was detected;
and as both murderer and hunter were