The prisoner of the city, however, may think sleeping under such
conditions not only a terrible hardship but a very dangerous thing in
the way of catching one's death of cold. I can assure him it is
nothing of the kind--when the bed is properly made. And not only does
one _never_ catch cold under such conditions, but it is my experience
that there is no easier way to get rid of a bad cold than to sleep out
in the snow, wrapped in a Hudson's Bay blanket, a caribou robe, or a
rabbit-skin quilt, when the thermometer is about fifty below zero. But
rather than delay over a description in detail of the mere novelty of
winter travel, let us hurry along to our first destination, and visit
the Free Trader Mr. Spear and his family, and find out for our own
satisfaction whether or not the mysterious "Son-in-law" had recently
been courting the charming Athabasca.

When we reached God's Lake, for a while we snowshoed down the centre,
until at the parting of our ways we said good-bye, for the Indians were
heading directly for Fort Consolation. As I neared Spearhead and came
in view of its one and only house, the Free Trader's dogs set up a
howl, and Mr. Spear came out to greet me and lead me into the sitting
room where I was welcomed by his wife and daughter. Now I made a
discovery: quartered in a box in the hall behind the front door they
had three geese that being quite free to walk up and down the hall,
occasionally strolled about for exercise. As good luck would have it,
supper was nearly ready, and I had just sufficient time to make use of
the tin hand-basin in the kitchen before the tea bell rang. Again,
during the first half of the meal we all chatted in a lively strain,
all save Athabasca, who, though blushing less than usual, smiled a
little more, and murmured an occasional yes or no; all the while
looking even more charming. But her composure endured not long, for
her mother presently renewed the subject of "Son-in-law":