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Title: The Boy Tramps, or Across Canada
Date of first publication: 1896
Author: James Macdonald Oxley (1855-1907)
Date first posted: June 6 2012
Date last updated: June 6 2012
Faded Page eBook #20120614

This eBook was produced by: Marcia Brooks, Mary Meehan
& the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net

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Florida's Publication of Archival, Library & Museum Materials (PALMM)




                          THE BOY TRAMPS

                         OR ACROSS CANADA

                 BY J. MACDONALD OXLEY, LL.B., B.A.

                 AUTHOR OF "THE ROMANCE OF COMMERCE"


    WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
    HENRY SANDHAM

    NEW YORK: 46 EAST 14TH STREET
    THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY
    BOSTON: 100 PURCHASE STREET

    COPYRIGHT, 1896,

    BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY

    ROCKWELL AND CHURCHILL PRESS
    BOSTON




[Illustration: "BEING SOMEWHAT WEARY FROM THEIR EXERTIONS, THEY WERE
RESTING FOR A FEW MINUTES."]




CONTENTS.


     CHAPTER                                                PAGE

        I. AT SCHOOL AND AT SEA                                1

       II. SOME ADVENTURES ASHORE                             22

      III. THE BEGINNING OF THE TRAMP                         44

       IV. THROUGH THE RAPIDS AND OVER THE BRIDGE             63

        V. PERILS AND PLEASURES BY THE WAY                    90

       VI. THE PASSAGE OF THE SLIDES                         115

      VII. PADDLE AND PORTAGE                                135

     VIII. THE RACE WITH THE TRAIN                           155

       IX. BY FOOT AND BUCKBOARD                             177

        X. CREE AND CONSTABLE                                204

       XI. BEAR AND BRONCO                                   228

      XII. FROM THE PLAINS TO THE PEAKS                      243

     XIII. BY MOUNT AND STREAM                               258

      XIV. BANFF, AND BEYOND                                 280

       XV. GOOD LUCK IN THE MOUNTAINS                        305

      XVI. THROUGH THE ROCKIES TO THE SELKIRKS               318

     XVII. DOWN THE GLACIER AND INTO THE CAÑON               333

    XVIII. THE END OF THE TRAMP                              344




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                                                   PAGE

"BEING SOMEWHAT WEARY FROM THEIR EXERTIONS, THEY
WERE RESTING FOR A FEW MINUTES."                          _FRONTISPIECE_

"JUST AS SANGSTER'S SINEWY HANDS WERE ABOUT TO
ENCIRCLE HIS WAIST, HE SUDDENLY SPRANG HIGH IN THE AIR"                6

"NEVER HAD HIS CHUM'S VOICE SOUNDED SO SWEET TO
ARTHUR BEFORE"                                                        22

SOME ADVENTURES ASHORE                                                32

"HASTENING UP TO THE CURÉ, ARTHUR BEGAN TO ADDRESS
HIM IN FRENCH"                                                        54

"BIG JOHN LOOKED LIKE A KING WITH THE SHARP-PEAKED
STERN FOR A THRONE"                                                   76

A GLIMPSE OF MONTREAL FROM ST. MARY'S CURRENT                         90

"'WHO'D HAVE THOUGHT TO SEE SUCH FINE BUILDINGS OUT
IN THIS COUNTRY?' SAID ARTHUR"                                       109

"ARTHUR GAVE ONE STARTLED GLANCE AT THE CHARGING CRIB,
AND THEN MADE A DASH FOR BRUCE"                                      120

BRUCE HAS AN UNEXPECTED RIDE                                         179

"ARTHUR PUT HIS HAND TO HIS HIP TO MAKE SURE HIS
REVOLVER WAS IN ITS PLACE"                                           214

"THE GREAT CURVED CLAWS, THAT PROJECTED FROM THE PAW,
CAUGHT IN THE BOY'S COAT-SLEEVE"                                     232

"HE HAD RUN MANY A RACE BEFORE, BUT NEVER ANYTHING
APPROACHING THIS ONE"                                                247

"THE ALMOST SUPERNATURAL BEAUTY OF THIS SCENE AWED THE
BOYS INTO SILENCE"                                                   300

"ALL THAT AFTERNOON THEY WALKED IN THE SHADOW OF
MOUNT STEPHEN"                                                       315

"THUS TOILING PAINFULLY, THE MILES WERE ONE BY ONE
OVERCOME"                                                            359




THE BOY TRAMPS;

OR, ACROSS CANADA.




CHAPTER I.

AT SCHOOL AND AT SEA.


It seemed in flat opposition to the familiar adage "like likes like"
that Bruce Barclay and Arthur Rowe should be the most devoted chums at
Merchiston Castle School, for certainly, to all outward appearance, the
only point of similarity between them was that they both had fathers in
the far East enduring the pains of exile and braving the perils of fever
and cholera in the arduous pursuit of fortune.

As they came upon the cricket-ground together they presented a notable
contrast, one to the other. Bruce was one year the elder, and stood full
two inches above his companion. In many respects he was a typical Scotch
laddie, and needed only tartan and sporran fitly to represent the son of
a Highland chieftain.

He was tall for his years, but his well-knit frame was free from all
suspicion of lankiness; and though his cheeks bore no tinge of red,
they had that healthy pallor which betokens a sound, strong
constitution. His features were regular, and when his clear gray eyes
lit up with merriment or tenderness, the most captious critic could not
deny that he looked "na sae ill;" but in repose his countenance wore a
somewhat heavy expression, due in large part to his tendency to "brown
studies," that was not attractive. He had light-brown hair that was
always well brushed, and a set of white, regular teeth that owed nothing
to the dentist, and was altogether a thoroughly wholesome, stalwart
youth whose seventeenth birthday would soon come round.

If Arthur fell short of his friend in height, he so surpassed him in
sturdiness of build that they both tipped the scale at the same weight,
to wit, one hundred and forty-five pounds. He was a worthy son of John
Bull, and promised, if spared to middle age, to attain quite aldermanic
proportions. In the meantime, he stood five feet six inches in his
stockings, had an athletic figure, with every muscle well developed, a
frank and decidedly pleasing face, deep blue eyes brimming with
mischief, an ever-ready smile, and a shock of crisp yellow curls that
seemed to bid defiance to the discipline of the brush.

In their mental characteristics also the boys differed as widely as they
did in their physical. Acute as Bruce's intellect was, he never made
haste to put his thoughts into action. Reason, not impulse, was his
master, and he often showed a degree of discretion, an amount of
canniness, in fact, hardly to be expected from one of his years. He had
abundance of spirit, but he kept it so well in hand that one who knew
him slightly might imagine him dull, little conceiving what a geyser
could burst forth if he were touched to the quick.

Arthur, on the other hand, wore his heart always on his sleeve, or, to
use another simile, had the latch-string of his mind ever hanging out.
Of the faculty called "reserve" he had practically none. He did his
thinking at electric speed, and had an opinion ready as soon as the
issue was presented. His temper was as quick as his heart was warm, and
having once expressed an opinion or taken a position, he would maintain
his ground resolutely, no matter what the odds might be against him. In
a word, he was a hearty, healthy boy, loyal to his friends, fearless
before his foes, and fated to make a good mark in the world, provided
his impetuosity did not entail some untimely disaster.

The one point of similarity between Arthur and Bruce that has been noted
needs further explanation. Mr. Rowe and Mr. Barclay were merchants in
Shanghai, the former being engaged in the silk, and the latter in the
tea, trade. There the boys had been playmates in the handsome English
settlement, and thence at an early age they had been sent away from the
enervating climate to the bracing air of Scotland, in which they had
flourished famously.

For the past nine years they had been at Merchiston, making their way up
from class to class, and winning renown at cricket and football. Bruce
was decidedly the best scholar, and helped Arthur over many a hard place
by patient coaching, although the latter needed only to give his mind to
his studies in order to take rank with the leaders in the classes.

They had both reached the sixth class, Bruce being at the top and Arthur
not far from the bottom, and were beginning to look forward
questioningly to the future, for it was not decided whether they should
continue on to the University. They hoped their fathers would allow them
to do so, but had no definite assurance in the matter.

In the meantime they were making the most of their last year at dearly
loved Merchiston, and a memorable year it proved to be for both them and
the school, as it witnessed the signal defeat of Loretto at cricket, and
Fettes at football, in the achieving of which glorious double event they
each bore a brilliant part.

The football match took place in February, and it was only due to the
intercession of Bruce that Arthur, in spite of his speed, and skill, and
strength, had a place on the fifteen, the trouble with him being that he
was impatient of discipline, and apt to take his own way of dealing
with the ball instead of implicitly obeying his captain.

For this reason, Bruce, who played forward, while Arthur was one of the
half-backs, felt especially anxious that he should cover himself with
glory, and before they went on the field he besought him not only to
play his best, but to do exactly as he was bidden even though he thought
he knew a better way.

"It's your last chance, you know, Arthur, to beat Fettes," he urged;
"and they gave us a bad licking last year, and if they do it again this
year we'll be sorry for it all our lives, won't we?"

"But they're not going to do it," answered Arthur, bringing his teeth
together with a snap and clenching his fists. "I'm going to get a
touch-down right behind their goal if I die for it." Then after a
moment's silence he added, "All right, Bruce, I'll obey orders. You
needn't worry about me."

He proved as good as his word. Without abating a jot of his energy or
enterprise he played his position in a way that rejoiced the captain's
heart, passing with great judgment and accuracy, never failing in a
tackle nor muffing a kick, and obeying every order and signal like a
well-drilled soldier.

The struggle was a fierce one, and maintained with splendid resolution
on both sides. Neither team gained any advantage in the first half, and
the second was well advanced before Arthur saw the opportunity to redeem
his pledge to Bruce.

He secured a mark on a sudden kick-out from a maul, but instead of
taking his kick determined to attempt a run-in. He gave a quick glance
of inquiry at his captain, who divined its meaning, and nodded assent.

That instant Arthur was off like a startled deer, clearing the opposing
forwards before they had time to recover from the maul, and thus having
only two of the half-backs and the back left to reckon with.

The first half-back, having to come at him on a slant from the rear, was
easily disposed of. The second gave more difficulty. It was Sangster,
undoubtedly the best player on the Fettes team, and, realizing the
danger there was of Arthur's dashing charge succeeding, he braced
himself to meet him with the low tackle for which he was renowned.

The chorus of cheers rose into a continuous roar like that of a cataract
as Arthur's feet flew over the turf. He was apparently making no attempt
to evade Sangster, and Barclay, watching him with throbbing anxiety,
wondered what his strategy might be.

Another moment made it plain, for, just as Sangster's sinewy hands were
about to encircle his waist, he suddenly sprang high in the air, and
well to the left of his opponent, who, losing his balance in the effort
to turn quick enough, fell over on his knees, while Arthur sped
exultantly past him.

[Illustration: "JUST AS SANGSTER'S SINEWY HANDS WERE ABOUT TO ENCIRCLE
HIS WAIST, HE SUDDENLY SPRANG HIGH IN THE AIR."]

The outburst of applause that greeted this clever feat reached even
Arthur's ears, and stimulated him for the task yet before him. He was
now within fifteen yards of the goal, and five yards in front of it
stood the full-back with every nerve and sinew attent, like a panther
ready for his spring.

Arthur knew he could not repeat the trick that did for Sangster. But his
resources were not yet exhausted. His quick mind evolved another no less
brilliant.

When but five yards remained between him and the back he dropped the
ball upon his toe, kicked it over the other's head, and then, having
both hands free, used them to thrust his opponent aside, and, pressing
past him, fell upon the ball as it lay just behind the centre of the
goal, the most exhausted but happiest being on the ground.

It is one of the accepted statements of the school that never had the
"Chief," as the beloved head-master was called for short, shown so much
excitement at a football match. In spite of his at times provoking
waywardness Arthur had a warm place in his heart. Indeed, he had
supported Bruce's petition that he be allowed a place on the team, and
this really admirable performance consequently gave him peculiar
pleasure.

Amid a breathless silence the leather was placed, Arthur himself being
assigned to hold it, and Bruce got into position for the kick. It was
an easy one to make, to be sure, but many a place-kick fails, and there
was anxiety on the Merchiston side and hope among those of Fettes.

As composedly as if it were an every-day occurrence, Bruce took a few
swift strides, caught the ball fairly with the point of his toe, and
away it went sailing over the uplifted hands and faces of the baffled
opponents, full ten feet above the centre of the cross-bar. The
touch-down had been duly converted into a goal, and the match was won
for Merchiston.

Not one shadow of jealousy clouded Bruce's delight in Arthur's
achievement. Under the special circumstances he was really gladder at
heart than if he himself had been the hero of the day, and in his
enthusiasm he threw aside all his reserve as he shouted and danced about
in as lively a fashion as the youngest boy in the school.

Arthur's turn to be jubilant over his chum's powers came some months
later when the annual cricket match with Loretto was played at Pinkie.
Loretto, going first to the bat, had, in spite of the utmost efforts of
Gray and Hutchison, the Merchiston bowlers, and the faultless fielding
of the other players, amassed the threatening total of two hundred and
fifty runs, the largest on record in the contest between these schools.

Bruce was captain of the Merchiston eleven, and his face grew more and
more serious as the score rose steadily, until at last all the batters
were out, and it was Merchiston's turn to wield the willow.

"Now, fellows, we've got to play for our lives," were his words as the
eleven gathered about him for a minute. "There's not much chance of our
matching their score, but we might make a decent draw if we play
carefully. Let us all do our best."

Bruce went in first, taking Loney, the "barn-door" of the eleven, for
his companion, and the excitement was unusually keen as the innings
opened.

Arthur did not shine at cricket as at football, and on this occasion was
fain to be content with a place among the spectators, whence his voice
rang out from time to time in commendation of some pretty piece of work
on the field.

The proceedings were tame at the outset, the Loretto bowlers being well
on the spot, and neither of the batsmen caring to take any liberties
with the well-pitched balls. But presently Bruce began to open his
shoulders, and the score started to climb after the high mark set by the
other side.

At the end of half an hour Bruce had got thoroughly set, and the bowlers
were treated with scant respect. One clever cut followed another, varied
by long drives to the off and to leg. The telegraph figures grew apace,
and even stolid Loney caught inspiration from his captain, and made a
gallant effort to emulate him, which unhappily cost him his "life," but
not before he had compiled the respectable total of twenty, so that the
score, first wicket down, stood at sixty-five, and the feelings of the
Merchistonians took on a brighter hue.

None of the succeeding batsmen made so long a stand as Loney, yet they
all contributed their share to the rapidly growing total, and meanwhile
Bruce kept on hitting freely, and piling up runs in a way that left
nothing to be desired.

At the end of two hours a rattling cheer, led off by Arthur, announced
that Bruce had completed his century, and fifteen minutes later another
cheer greeted the appearance of the figures 200 on the board.

The Loretto boys began to look anxious. The victory that seemed so
securely theirs might yet be snatched from them. Nearly an hour of play
still remained, and Barclay showed no signs of weariness or failing
skill. There were five more wickets to fall, and so stubbornly were
these defended that it took another half-hour to get rid of them.

Ten minutes before the time for drawing stumps the Merchiston score
stood at two hundred and forty. As may be easily imagined the excitement
was now intense, only ten minutes more to play, and ten runs yet to make
to save a draw. All Merchiston, from the "Chief" down to the newest boy,
held their breath as each ball was delivered, and gave a sigh of relief
when it was well taken care of by the batsman.

Presently a roar of "Well hit! well hit!" and a fusillade of
hand-clapping greeted a grand drive to the off from Bruce that cleared
the boundary fence and was good for five.

Some anxious minutes of careful play followed during which Bruce's
partner added two useful singles, and then just a moment before the call
of time Bruce himself laid hold of a short-pitched ball on his leg side,
and putting all his strength into the stroke lifted it far above long
leg's head, and the match was won with two good wickets to spare.

Bruce had carried out his bat after being nearly three hours at the
wickets, and having put together the splendid score of one hundred and
twenty-eight runs, the highest ever made in a first-class school match
in the history of Merchiston.

The ovation that he received as he walked back to the pavilion was
enough to turn the head of any boy. Even the defeated of Loretto joined
heartily in the cheers, and when the head-master wrung his hand warmly,
exclaiming, "Nobly done, Barclay! I never saw better cricket in the
school," Bruce felt that his cup of happiness was full to overflowing.

As may be readily understood the difference in the mental temperaments
of the two lads showed itself very markedly in their studies. Arthur had
great quickness of apprehension and a retentive memory, but chafed
against routine work and sadly lacked steadfastness. Bruce, on the
other hand, although slower to seize upon new ideas, forgot nothing that
he had once learned, and had the power of pegging away patiently until
the most difficult task had to yield itself to him.

As the close of the session drew near, Arthur showed a little deeper
interest in his work, but Bruce kept steadily on at much the same pace
as he had started.

When the prize list was published, both names appeared upon it, but with
a big difference, for Bruce, besides winning the Chalmers Mathematical
prize, had headed his class in Latin, German, and Chemistry, while
Arthur had gained only one honor, and that, strange to say, on the very
subject least likely to be congenial to one of his lively nature, to
wit, Divinity. Like a true friend, however, he took as much pleasure in
his friend's prizes as if they had been his own, and their last year at
dear old Merchiston was the happiest of all, the only shadow being the
fact that they must take their leave of a place where they had spent so
many joyous days, and go out into a world of which they had so little
knowledge.

Both Mr. Barclay and Mr. Rowe had provided liberally for the boys during
their stay at Merchiston, and they had been able during the long
holidays to join travelling parties visiting different parts of Great
Britain and the Continent; but all this was a mere trifle compared with
the experience that was before them now.

To the fathers in far-away Shanghai had gone regular accounts of their
sons' progress, and they had been looking forward to the time when the
course at Merchiston would be finished, and the boys could go out and
show themselves for parental approbation ere their future course was
decided upon.

As it was not advisable for them to reach Shanghai until the summer heat
had passed, and they already had seen a good deal of the Old World, it
was arranged that they should spend a couple of months travelling in the
New World, proceeding to Shanghai in the autumn.

This entirely fell in with their inclinations. They had read much about
the United States and the Dominion of Canada, and were eager to visit
those countries, particularly Canada, because it was a British colony,
and they thought they would feel much more at home there than they would
among their American cousins.

The matter being left largely to themselves, it was finally decided that
they should go to Canada first, and then, if they had any time to spare,
a tour could be made of New York, Boston, Washington, and some of the
other chief cities of the United States, before they went on to the
Pacific Coast, where the steamer would be taken for Shanghai.

Thus it came about that the last week in June saw them on their way to
Liverpool, with Merchiston and all the happy days spent there only a
memory to be cherished through life.

It was the first time they had really been upon their own
responsibility, and they both felt highly elated thereat, although
Bruce, with his wonted reserve, managed tolerably well to conceal the
fact.

But Arthur gave himself away with the utmost frankness. He strutted up
and down the platform at the railway station like a young rooster on a
sunny morning. He patronized the porters, and tipped the guard with what
he flattered himself was the nonchalance of a globe-trotter. He lolled
about on the cushions, affecting a fine indifference to the scenery, and
letting it be understood that he was vastly bored by the journey, while
all the time he was mentally hugging himself at his good fortune in
getting off on this "grand tour" practically as his own master, and with
the best friend he had in the world as his companion.

At Liverpool they went on board the fine steamer "Parisian" of the Allan
Line, and were delighted at the stateroom which was to be theirs for the
next ten days, and at the sumptuous fittings of the saloon.

"Won't we just have a fine time!" exclaimed Arthur, after they had got
their things stowed away and were able to look about them. "There'll be
lots of fun, you know, and Duffus, who's been across in this steamer
twice, says the grub is prime,--as good as a Christmas dinner every day
in the week."

"But suppose you're seasick?" suggested Bruce, with a quiet smile. "It
won't make much matter how good the grub is then."

"Do you think I'm going to be such a fool?" answered Arthur indignantly.
"No, sir, no seasickness for this child," and he set his feet firmly on
the deck, and rested his hands on his hips.

Bruce discreetly said no more, although he felt pretty sure that both he
and his chum would have to pay the usual tribute to old Neptune before
they had been long at sea.

The trip down the Mersey was full of interest, the big steamer threading
her way through the maze of shipping with an intelligent accuracy that
made her seem like some huge living creature.

The weather being fine the boys spent all their time on deck, Arthur
asking numberless questions of the officers and men, and already
beginning to scrape acquaintance with some of the passengers, while
Bruce kept more in the background, yet lost nothing of what was taking
place.

They had appetites as keen as razors for dinner, and were among the
first to respond when the summons came. They found the fare provided
fully equal to their school-mate's description. From the point of view
of their Merchiston experience, where the food had, of course, been more
substantial than elaborate, as best befitted hearty boys, it was as
good as a Christmas dinner, and Arthur devoted himself so assiduously to
the different items of the lengthy _menu_ that his _vis-a-vis_, a
gray-beard traveller, leaning across the table with a humorous twinkle
in his shrewd gray eyes, said in an undertone:

"That is right, my lad, make hay while the sun shines. You may want
nothing but a bit of biscuit and a cup of tea this time to-morrow."

Kindly as the tone was in which the words were spoken, Arthur was quick
enough to detect the touch of satire that underlay it, and it made him
flush hotly.

His first impulse was to retort, "Will you be good enough to mind your
own business?" but Bruce, who feared something of the kind, gave him a
significant look, and what he did say was:

"That's all right, sir. I'll take my chances," and although it was not
in the pleasantest tone imaginable, yet the old gentleman took it in the
best of humor, and went on with his dinner, saying to himself:

"A fine-spirited boy that! I thought he was going to tell me to mind my
own business, but he's evidently been better trained. I must find out
who he is."

Not imagining that he had awakened any interest in his fellow-passenger,
Arthur paid him no further attention, nor did he allow his intrusive
remark to cast any cloud upon his enjoyment of the good things before
him.

By the time the boys thought of getting into their bunks the "Parisian"
was rolling about in the Irish channel at a rate that made the business
of undressing by no means an easy task. Just as Arthur was trying to get
out of his trousers the steamer gave a sudden pitch that, finding him
unprepared, and unable to balance himself, sent him hard against Bruce,
who was in his turn toppled over by the sudden impact, and the two boys
fell in a tangled heap of legs, arms, bodies, and braces in the corner
by the sofa.

They were soon on their feet again, laughing heartily and none the worse
for the collapse, but Arthur, as he straightened himself out, became
conscious of a dizziness in the head and uneasiness in the stomach that
caused him to hurry off the remainder of his clothes and climb into his
berth with as little delay as possible. He even omitted to say his
prayers as was his wont, so pressing did he feel the emergency to be,
and so anxious was he to give no vent of his feeling to his companion.

Bruce suspected the truth, notwithstanding, but was too considerate to
make any remark. He knew quite well he had his own battle to fight, and
was not disposed to be critical of others.

They had a very restless and uncomfortable night of it, as the
"Parisian" pitched and tossed unceasingly; and when morning came Arthur
realized that in spite of his rash boasting he had fallen a victim to
the remorseless power of the sea, and that his place at the
breakfast-table would be vacant for that morning.

He was too wretched to feel much concerned over this. His one thought
was, how soon would he be himself again; yet, since misery loves
company, he did find some consolation in the discovery that Bruce was no
less upset, and that they were likely to fairly share the confinement to
the stateroom.

"How long do you think we'll be like this?" he groaned, looking straight
up at the ceiling, for he did not dare lean over the edge of the berth,
Bruce being below him.

"Only to-day, I hope," responded Bruce, striving nobly to put a cheerful
tone into his voice. "If we keep still all day we'll be right enough by
to-morrow."

Keep still, indeed! The suggestion was easily enough made, but it was
far from being easy of execution, with the great steamer apparently
making frantic efforts to turn somersaults, and the boys' interior
departments seeming to be in quick and distressful sympathy with her
every movement.

However, thanks to the kind ministrations of an attentive steward, they
did manage somehow to get through the long, dreary day, and the
following morning being bright and clear with little wind, they
succeeded in crawling out on deck, when the keen fresh air so braced
them up that by dinner-time they felt equal to resuming their places at
the table.

As the old gentleman who sat opposite to Arthur took his seat he gave
him a pleasant nod of recognition which seemed to reply:

"Well, here you are again, but I was right, you see, after all."

And the boy, in a sudden impulse to frank confession of having boasted
prematurely, leaned across with reddening cheeks to say:

"I didn't want even the tea and biscuit this time yesterday. I was
awfully knocked up."

A bright smile broke over the gentleman's face.

"An honest confession is good for the soul, they say," he returned.
"You've shown the right spirit, my lad, and I hope we shall soon become
better acquainted."

That he was sincere in the expression of this hope was manifested when
they all rose from dinner and went on deck, for as soon as he had lit
his cigar he joined them, and introducing himself as Mr. Gillespie, of
Montreal, availed himself of the privilege of age to ask them a number
of questions about themselves.

They were soon deep in talk, Bruce, as usual, allowing Arthur to take
the lead in the conversation, yet not in anywise standing aloof, but
showing by his attentive listening and occasional shrewd remarks that he
felt thoroughly at ease.

Mr. Gillespie, who had a houseful of sons at home, took a deep interest
in the young travellers, and before the voyage ended gave them so
cordial an invitation to spend some days with him in Montreal that they
gladly accepted it.

The days slipped by very pleasantly upon the "Parisian," each one
finding the boys' list of acquaintances extending until it embraced
nearly all the first-class passengers, the chief exception being the men
who spent their time in the smoking-room playing cards and drinking
champagne with a zeal and zest that made it appear they regarded these
occupations as the chief end of life.

Nor was Arthur content with the saloon as his sphere of activity. His
eagerness for information took him all over the ship. He got himself
spattered with oil in the engine-room, and grimy with coal-dust down
among the furnaces. He even penetrated into the steerage, carrying cakes
and fruit to the dirty-faced children that swarmed there like rabbits in
a burrow.

To one of these youngsters, a pretty, blue-eyed, fair-haired German boy
about five years of age, he took a great fancy, and one day brought him
on the main deck to show him to Mr. Gillespie.

They were having a lively game of romps together when Arthur, picking up
the child in his arms, held him over the railing to give him a bit of a
scare; but, instead of being frightened, the little chap crowed and
kicked so vigorously that Arthur lost his balance, and before he could
recover himself the boy had slipped out of his grasp and dropped into
the waves twenty feet below!




CHAPTER II.

SOME ADVENTURES ASHORE.


Arthur's first feeling as the child slipped from his grasp, and, with a
splash scarce audible to him so far above, vanished beneath the
breeze-rippled water, was one of paralyzing horror. But it was only for
a moment. The next instant, throwing off his coat and cap, with one
quick movement he raced down to the stern, and not hesitating a second
at the height, leaped off the taffrail into the foam of the steamer's
wake.

Suddenly as it all took place Bruce was nearly as quick as his
companion; but his cool, clear head told him a better thing to do.
Snatching up one of the life-preservers, ready at hand for just such an
emergency, he sprang after Arthur, and just as the latter appeared above
the waves with the child firmly held in his left hand, while he struck
out strongly with the right, Bruce also appeared not twenty yards away
with the life-preserver, and called out cheeringly:

"It's all right, Arthur, I've got a life-preserver. Stay where you are.
I'll bring it to you."

[Illustration: "NEVER HAD HIS CHUM'S VOICE SOUNDED SO SWEET TO ARTHUR
BEFORE."]

Never had his chum's voice sounded so sweet to Arthur before. In his
noble impulse to rescue he had not stopped to consider how, if he got
the child, he would be able to keep it and himself afloat during the
time that must necessarily elapse before a boat could be lowered to pick
them up. But now the thoughtfulness of Bruce had solved that problem;
and as the life-preserver came within his reach he grasped it with a
tremendous feeling of relief, exclaiming enthusiastically:

"What a brick you are, Bruce! We'll save little Dutchie between us all
right."

Meanwhile there was intense excitement on board the steamer. Mr.
Gillespie had at once given the alarm, the engines had been stopped, and
preparations made for lowering one of the boats as rapidly as possible.

Although not a moment was lost in this, it seemed awfully long to the
anxious passengers crowded at the stern before the boat got off, the
headway of the huge vessel being so great that the boys were far astern,
and scarcely visible before the first oar struck the water.

But the rowers put all their strength into every stroke, and the heavy
boat fairly tore through the water, which happily was not at all rough,
until after ten minutes of hard pulling the welcome order "Easy all"
told them they had reached their goal.

When the boat ran alongside the boys, and the men in the stern lifted
them and the child carefully over the gunwale, the rowers held their
oars upright in the air, and gave a mighty "hurrah!" which, making its
way back to the steamship, was echoed by the relieved and rejoicing
passengers who had been watching every movement of the boat with
feverish eagerness.

The boys had a rousing reception on their return to the steamer, the
gentlemen cheering and clapping them on the back, and pronouncing them
most emphatically "the right sort," and fine, manly fellows, and so on;
while the ladies, their eyes brimming with tears, felt quite ready to
kiss them, all dripping as they were. As for "little Dutchie," he was
fairly overwhelmed with caresses, to which he submitted with the
stolidity of his race. He was also the object of many gifts, which he
accepted as calmly as he did the caresses.

After Bruce and Arthur had changed their clothes they returned to the
deck, where they found Mr. Gillespie on the lookout for them.

"You came out of that handsomely, my lads," said he, giving a hand to
each. "You," looking at Arthur, "only did your duty under the
circumstances, but it couldn't have been done better; and you," turning
to Bruce, "acted like a true friend. It warmed my old heart to see you,
and I tell you," he added, his face kindling, "if I'd only been twenty
years younger I'd have gone over with you to make sure you were equal to
the job."

"Oh, I felt pretty sure of that, thank you," responded Bruce modestly.
"Arthur and I are good swimmers, and could have kept afloat a long time
without the life-preserver, but I thought it was better to have it, all
the same."

This incident deepened the friendship between the old man and the boys,
and they were more together than ever. He seemed to enjoy keenly the
stories of their school life, and they completely exhausted their stores
of such for his benefit.

In return he gave them many interesting chapters from his own long and
eventful life, nearly all of which had been spent in Canada; and they
were absorbed listeners as he described some exciting experience in the
early days of the city, or a thrilling escape from the perils of travel
through regions where, not only the railway, but the post-road, was yet
unknown.

In this way the boys grew so interested in Canada that they began to
discuss between themselves whether they would not spend the whole summer
in that country, and leave the United States for another time.

"We've only got until September, you know," argued Arthur, who entirely
favored the idea, "and it's an awful big country."

"That's true enough," assented Bruce, who, however, had not his mind
quite made up. "But so are the United States, and the dear only knows
when we'll get another chance of seeing something of them. Don't let us
decide now," he added, "wait until we've been in Canada a little while,
and then see what we'll do."

Arthur agreed to this, and the matter then dropped for the time, there
being plenty of other things to occupy the boys' attention.

They had grand games of shovel-board and deck-quoits, they read the
books in the steamer's library when it was too stormy to be on deck, and
they turned up with a good appetite at each one of the five meals so
lavishly provided for all who cared to take them, so that not for a
moment did time hang heavy on their hands; and presently the always
welcome cry of "Land ho!" was raised, for the "Parisian" had come to the
entrance of the Straits of Belle Isle, and the ocean voyage was over,
the remainder of the trip being practically inland sailing.

As they passed through the Straits, and steered southward along the
coast of Newfoundland. Mr. Gillespie interested the boys greatly with
tales of the dangers of navigation in the great Gulf of St. Lawrence,
and how many fine vessels had been wrecked on the pitiless coasts, or
through collision with icebergs in the fog, or by running into one
another when enshrouded in mist.

When darkness came on, the lighthouses placed here and there to warn
navigators to keep off, sent their bright rays gleaming through the
night, and so familiar was Mr. Gillespie with the course, that he knew
each one of them as they were opened up,--Point Armour on the Labrador
coast, and Point Rich on the Newfoundland side,--and he had a story for
each.

That night one of the fogs so frequent in those waters enveloped the
steamer, and the fog-horn was kept going steadily, much to the
disturbance of the boys, who could not sleep for its mournful
bellowings.

"Oh, dear, I wish that horrid thing would shut up," groaned Arthur,
rolling over in his berth and trying to shut out the persistent sound by
covering his head with the clothes. "It'll drive me crazy if it keeps up
like that all night."

"Wouldn't you rather have it going than take your chance of having some
other steamer run us down?" asked Bruce, whose habit of mind was to take
the most reasonable view of anything that occurred.

"Oh, I guess this steamer can take care of herself," growled Arthur,
determined not to be appeased, for he was indeed desperately sleepy.
"She's too big for anything to hurt her, anyway."

"Not a bit of it," replied Bruce. "They've got to be just as careful as
if she were a steam-launch. But, listen!" he exclaimed, starting up in
his berth. "Is that an echo, or is it another steamer answering us?"

The boys listened breathlessly, and sure enough there could be heard in
the intervals of the blasts of the "Parisian's" horn a fainter blast
that evidently was not an echo, for it had a different pitch and a
briefer duration.

"It is another steamer, and it's coming right toward us," said Bruce.
"Now, my boy, don't you think it's a good thing our fog-horn has been
kicking up such a row? See, they're signalling each other with long and
short blasts so as to show how to pass."

The idea of another vessel as big and as swift as the "Parisian"
emerging suddenly out of the dense obscurity and charging right at her
for lack of knowledge as to her position came over Arthur so strongly
that he gave a big gasp of relief, and said in quite a meek tone:

"I'll forgive the fog-horn, even if it does seem a nuisance when a
fellow wants to go to sleep. I wish I could get a look at that other
steamer."

But it was altogether too dense for that, even if they had been on deck,
and as they listened, the sound of her warning blasts grew fainter and
fainter until it was heard no more.

Shortly after this they both fell asleep despite the incessant bellowing
of the horn, and had got well into the land of dreams when they were
suddenly aroused by a shock that nearly tumbled them out of their
berths.

Scrambling on to the floor of the stateroom they cried at the same
moment:

"What's happened? Have we struck?"

But as neither could answer the other they soon saw there was nothing
to learn by staying where they were, and, without more ado, they
hastened to pull on some clothes, and get out into the saloon, where
they found many of the other passengers already gathered in various
stages of _dishabille_ that might have been amusing at any other time.

They were all rushing about in a frantic fashion, demanding to know what
had happened, and there seemed nobody competent to answer until one of
the officers appeared, and was immediately surrounded by a score of
excited men and women who shouted at him as though they thought him
deaf.

When he was able to make himself understood, it appeared that the
steamer had run down a sailing-vessel, striking her almost amidships,
but that she had not sunk, being timber-laden, and her crew would all be
rescued, while it was not thought that the "Parisian" had received any
serious damage.

This announcement was enough to cause Bruce and others to complete
dressing and to hasten on deck. Working their way to the bow they found
that the steamer had not yet entirely disengaged herself from the other
vessel, and there was a great flashing of lights and shouting of
commands going on.

Being relieved from all anxiety as to their own safety, or that of the
crew of the stricken ship, they could look on at the busy scene with
easy minds.

What the captain of the "Parisian" desired was to get the wreck cleared
away from the bow and drawn alongside until those on board had time to
remove everything of value to the steamer, when the wreck must be
abandoned to its fate.

In spite of the admirable discipline which he maintained, the suddenness
of the shock and the darkness of the night confused his men at first,
and they did not execute his orders with their wonted intelligence and
rapidity, putting him in a towering rage, which greatly impressed the
boys, who had never before seen him otherwise than in a genial mood.

Before long, however, despite the difficulties of the situation, the
vessel was cut loose and drawn alongside, and all on board her reached
the "Parisian's" deck with their clothes and other belongings, which,
being accomplished, the steamer resumed her course. A careful
examination of the fore-hold having established the welcome fact that
although the bow had suffered some slight damage, it was not enough to
cause a serious leak, and at the worst, only the fore-compartment would
be flooded.

When the excitement had all subsided the boys went back to their berths,
and as they turned in for the second time, Bruce said:

"That settles the fog-horn question, doesn't it, Arthur? If that vessel
we ran down had only been blowing a horn like the steamer we met we'd
have gone by her all right instead of smashing into her as we did."

"That's so, Bruce," assented Arthur sleepily; "I'll never feel mad at a
fog-horn again;" and having delivered himself of this virtuous
resolution, he rolled over to finish his much-interrupted night's rest.

The following morning they were steaming by the big island of Anticosti,
which stands right in the heart of the St. Lawrence Gulf, and as they
gave its dangerous shores a wide berth Mr. Gillespie told them many
thrilling tales of the terrible disasters of which the island had been
the scene.

Well had it deserved the ill-omened title of "Isle of Shipwrecks," from
the day when Sir William Phipps' troop-ships were cast away upon it with
the loss of hundreds of brave British soldiers until the present, when
the wrecks of several fine iron steamships were still to be seen
sprawling upon its merciless reefs.

The boys were also told about Gamache, the mysterious smuggler and
wrecker, whose sinister renown had filled the whole Gulf in years gone
by, and who was believed by the superstitious sailors to be in league
with the devil, and able to exercise supernatural powers if hard
pressed.

They reached Quebec on the afternoon of Friday, and on the advice of Mr.
Gillespie got off the steamer to spend a day or two in looking over the
old city, whose towering citadel at once made plain to them why it was
known as the Gibraltar of America.

Arranging to meet their kind friend in Montreal, they bade "good-by" to
the "Parisian" and betook themselves to a hotel, feeling glad enough to
be on _terra firma_ once more, full of enjoyment and interest as the
trip across the ocean had been.

Immediately after dinner they set out to explore the city, with its
steep, narrow, tortuous streets, its quaint old-fashioned buildings, and
its foreign-looking people chattering away in a language that the
instruction they had received in French at Merchiston in nowise helped
them to understand.

Presently they were hailed by the driver of a very odd-looking vehicle,
who seemed in a great state of anxiety to be hired.

"That must be one of those _calèches_ Mr. Gillespie was telling us
about. Let's hire him for a while and drive around. We'll get along ever
so much better that way," said Arthur, always ready for something new.

It was a lovely evening, and there was a full hour of clear twilight
still to come, so Bruce thought the idea a good one, and much to the
gratification of the cabbie they climbed into his curious chariot, that
very much resembled an ancient two-wheeled gig, and bid him drive them
about for an hour.

[Illustration: SOME ADVENTURES ASHORE.]

"What a queer old place this is, to be sure!" exclaimed Arthur after
they had been threading their way for some time through streets so
narrow that there was scarce room for two carriages to pass. "It's a
good deal like Edinburgh, isn't it, though the houses aren't half so
high."

But when their drive brought them to Dufferin Terrace, more than
half-way up the precipitous flank of Cape Diamond, and from this superb
promenade there opened out one of the most magnificent views in the
world, they forgot all about the contracted shadowy streets in their
admiration for the wonderful panorama spread before and beneath them.

Right at their feet lay the old town, now dark in shadow, beyond it the
glorious river, bearing scores of vessels of every variety on its bosom,
swept steadily seaward, its farther shore seeming dim in the distance,
so great was its breadth. Above them the citadel rose in successive
terraces of mighty masonry, while on their left the newer part of the
city stretched away in rank after rank of solid stone structures.

"Auld Reekie can't show anything finer than this, can she, Bruce?" said
Arthur. "It's certainly worth coming a long way to see, isn't it?"

"It is, indeed," assented Bruce, letting the comparison with Edinburgh
go by unchallenged, because, loyal as he was to the Scotch capital, he
did not wish to take issue with Arthur on the matter. "Just look there,"
he added, pointing to the east, where the moon was rising like a huge
crimson balloon. "I wish we had the Chief here, he's so fond of a fine
view."

The assurance of bright moonlight decided them on prolonging their
outing until bedtime, so they directed the _calèche_ driver to take them
out of the city a little, as they wanted to see something else than rows
of gray houses.

They were accordingly driven out through St. John's gate and along the
St. Foye road, on which stand a number of the finest residences Quebec
could boast. The driver called out the names of the proprietors, but his
pronunciation was so execrable that neither of the boys could understand
what he said.

"It's too bad we're so weak on our _parley Français_," said Bruce in a
rueful tone. "I'd like to be able to understand that fellow."

His desire to understand him, and to make himself understood by him, was
presently intensified by the man's strange behavior. On the way out the
road he had stopped in the dark shadow of some trees to hold a whispered
conversation with two other men who were invisible to the boys, and now
when he was ordered to turn about, instead of going back over the same
route he went aside into a narrow road that seemed to lead nowhere in
particular.

"What can he be up to?" asked Bruce, with an accent of suspicion in his
voice. "He's not going back the same road as we came out on."

"Let us see if we can't find out," responded Arthur, and giving the
driver an emphatic poke in the back he shouted in his ear as if he
thought him deaf, "Say, look here, driver, where are you taking us? We
want to go back the same road as we came."

Instead of vouchsafing any explanation, the driver shook his head as
though to say, "I don't know what you're driving at," and giving his
horse a sharp cut that sent the creature off at a gallop, bent forward
in his seat as if to avoid further questioning.

Beginning to realize that their situation was very perplexing, if not
indeed perilous, the boys hurriedly consulted as to what they should do,
and had just made up their minds to lay hold of the driver and compel
him by main force to do their bidding when the _calèche_ came to a stop
with a suddenness that nearly pitched them out of it.

At once they sprang up from their seat, wrathful and alert for danger,
and at the same moment were grasped by two men who seemed to have come
up out of the ground, so sudden was their appearance.

"Hit hard, Arthur, they mean mischief!" cried Bruce, and, suiting the
action to the word, he let fly his tightly clenched fist full into the
face of his assailant, catching him squarely on the bridge of the nose,
and causing him to loosen his hold with a howl of pain.

Not less promptly did Arthur act, but in a different way. His position
was such that he could not strike out to advantage, so, lowering his
head, he butted his man violently in the stomach, putting him _hors de
combat_ for the nonce.

Having thus shaken off their assailants the boys dashed away up the road
down which they had been driven, and, being in good trim for running,
had no difficulty in leaving far behind the _calèche_ driver, who had
not been able, owing to his horse starting at the noise, to render his
fellow-scoundrels any assistance.

The boys did not slacken speed until they were back again on the broad,
bright St. Foye road, and even then, not feeling perfectly safe from a
renewal of the attack, they hastened on until they came to a house whose
open door seemed to invite them in for protection.

Bruce rang the bell, and was marvellously relieved when it was answered
by a pleasant-looking gentleman whose look of inquiry was caused by
their disordered appearance and heavy breathing.

"Can you speak English, sir?" panted Arthur, with a bob of his head
which was hatless, its covering having been lost in the short struggle.

"That I can, my lad," was the prompt reply given with an encouraging
smile, "very much better than I can French. What is it you want?"

Thereupon the two boys between them told their story as best they could
in their breathless condition.

They found an attentive and sympathetic auditor, who, when they had
finished their narration, expressed lively indignation at the assault
upon them.

"That's not the first thing of the kind that has happened here," said
he. "There seems to be a regular gang of these scoundrels, and you were
very lucky to escape from their clutches without being robbed, and
perhaps beaten half to death." Then, at the thought of the two rascals,
one with only the blow on the face, and the other with the butt in the
stomach, to show for their villanous enterprise, he broke out laughing.
"But you certainly did teach those ruffians a lesson they're not likely
to forget in a hurry. I wish I'd seen you knock them out. What a wiry
couple you must be! Come in to the parlor, and let us get better
acquainted."

Only too glad to accept this offer of hospitality, the boys went into
the parlor, which had a delightfully home-like look, and having given
their names were introduced to the lady of the house, who received them
graciously.

The upshot of the matter was that they remained for over an hour, and
after being served with refreshments, were accompanied a good part of
the way back to the hotel by the gentleman and his huge mastiff, "to
redeem the honor of old Quebec," their thoughtful escort said when they
assured him they could get along all right by themselves.

On reaching the hotel and reporting their experience to the proprietor
he was very anxious for them to put the matter into the hands of the
police, but they shrank from doing this, not knowing how much trouble it
might entail.

"And besides," added Bruce, with a quiet smile, "you see they got very
much the worst of it, anyway, and we're quite satisfied to let the thing
rest, aren't we, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded an emphatic consent, so the hotel manager said:

"Oh, well, of course it's for you to say. If I were in your place,
however, I'd follow the thing up."

But they were much more anxious to get to bed than to set the police on
the trail of the foiled highwaymen, and went off to their room, well
enough satisfied at having got safely back to it.

The next morning they had, of course, to visit the famous falls of
Montmorency, and, determining to be in good hands this time, they hired
one of the carriages belonging to the hotel.

The drive to the falls was full of interest, the road leading along the
river-side past old red-roofed châteaux, moss-covered and many-gabled,
quaint stone houses with double rows of dormer-windows picturesquely set
in their steep roofs, and frequent churches of "Our Lady" with
cross-crowned spires.

Farther on they came to comfortable farms with thatched barns and
granges, with dove-cotes full of feathered beauties, and with
old-fashioned windmills extending their gaunt arms to catch the breeze.

"Isn't it like what we saw in France?" said Arthur. "It seems easier to
believe that we're on the other side of the Channel, than of the
Atlantic."

"You may well say so," responded Bruce. "Just look at these girls
spinning in the doorways. Isn't that just the way they did in Picardy?
Let us stop and ask for a drink; I want to have a better look at them."

Ordering the driver to pull up, the boys got out and made their way to
the door of one of the farm-houses, where two dark-eyed, olive-skinned
girls were standing, and in the best French he could command Arthur
asked for a drink.

The girls blushed and giggled, looked at one another with a puzzled
expression, and then, after whispering together, went off to the back of
the house, presently returning, each with a piece of wood which they
offered him with a graceful curtsey.

At once, seeing that he had made some mistake, Arthur shook his head
energetically, saying:

"_Non--non--c'est quelque chose des bois que nous voulons_,"
illustrating his meaning by smacking his lips and pointing down his
throat, whereupon the girls' faces lit up with a look of comprehension,
and bursting into merry laughter they darted off, and returned this
time with two bowls of rich milk, which they presented with renewed
curtseys.

Having quaffed the milk, and offered payment therefor, which was
smilingly refused, the boys made their best bow and withdrew. When they
settled in their seats again, Arthur said, in a very meek tone:

"There was evidently something wrong about my French. Have you any idea
what it was, Bruce?"

Bruce looked very thoughtful for a moment. Then he broke into a shout of
laughter.

"Why, of course," he cried. "You said _des bois_, didn't you? and you
should have said _à boire_--_quelque chose à boire_. That's good enough
French for something to drink."

Seeing his mistake at once, Arthur joined heartily in the laughter, and,
as the joke seemed too good to keep, they told it to the driver, who was
greatly tickled.

"We ought to stay here awhile and practise up our French," said Arthur.
"It's a very different thing working out a good exercise in it at
school, and speaking the language so that the people will know what you
are driving at."

"Right you are, chum," asserted Bruce. "To be offered a stick of wood
when you're dying for a drink may seem funny, but it's rather too dry
humor for me."

"Bully for you, my boy!" cried Arthur, slapping his companion heartily
on the back. "You've actually made a joke, haven't you? and not a bad
one, either. Bless me if I don't send that to the 'Merchistonian' by the
first mail."

"Get out with you," laughed Bruce, blushing furiously. "You'll do
nothing of the kind. You'd have to give yourself away too badly to tell
it right."

"Well, it's good enough to be sent, anyway," persisted Arthur. "And now
you've begun, I hope you'll keep it up. I'm immensely fond of jokes,
though the only ones I ever make seem to be always at my own expense."

By this time they were nearing the falls, whose mighty roar was already
sounding in their ears.

"They say you're apt to be disappointed by your first look at a
water-fall," said Bruce. "I hope it won't be so in our case."

Following the advice of the driver they did not go at once to the edge
of the falls, in which case they would certainly have been disappointed,
but made their way down the steep bank by a path through the trees, and
thus came out at a point where the cataract burst upon their view in all
its fury and splendor.

As they gazed upward at the foaming flood, falling full two hundred and
fifty feet upon the great boulders a little below them, and felt the
cool touch of its spray upon their cheeks, heated by their exertions,
they were for some time silent. The majesty of Montmorency had not
simply equalled their expectations, it had far surpassed them.

"This is grand, and no mistake," exclaimed Arthur, giving a sigh of
profound admiration. "I don't wonder they talk so much of their falls.
Why, just look at that water! You might think it was milk, it's so
white, mightn't you?"

"Well, you know the people about here," answered Bruce, "the
_habitants_, Mr. Gillespie called them, have given the name of _La
vache_--the cow--to these falls. I saw it in a guide-book at the hotel."

"If it really was milk," said Arthur, "I'd like to run a dairy here, and
have the contract for supplying the city--it wouldn't take a fellow long
to get rich on those terms."

"I'm afraid Montmorency's milk would hardly be as good as that the girls
gave us," returned Bruce, "and by the same token I'd appreciate another
bowl of it if it was handy."

For lack of milk the boys decided to have a drink of water, and despite
the warnings of the driver, who told them the rocks were very slippery,
proceeded to clamber farther down to where they could see a tiny pool
gleaming attractively out of reach of the spray.

They were both good rock-climbers, having had plenty of experience in
Scotland during the holidays, and the very fact of the presence of a
spice of danger made the undertaking all the more attractive.

They reached the pool all right, and, having slaked their thirst, were
about to make their way back again, when Bruce, who was an ardent
botanist, caught sight of a lovely cluster of delicate fern nestling on
a ledge, where, from time to time, the breeze blew to it the spray from
the falls.

"I must have a bit of that fern," he cried. "Wait a moment until I get
it."

Not being interested in botany, Arthur sat down on a smooth rock to
watch him satisfying his scientific enthusiasm.

The ledge was not easy of access, but, undaunted by more than one slip
backward, Bruce persevered until he got his fingers within reach of the
fern, and carefully detached a good handful of it.

"Bravo! chum," exclaimed Arthur, who had been watching his efforts with
much interest from his comfortable seat. "'If at first you don't
succeed, try, try again,' works well as a rule. I hope, now you've got
your fern, it'll be worth all the trouble you've taken to get it."

The last word had hardly left his lips when the narrow ledge on which
Bruce was standing gave way under his weight, and, with a cry of alarm,
he went slipping down towards the wild welter of foam and fury at the
falls' foot!




CHAPTER III.

THE BEGINNING OF THE TRAMP.


Echoing his companion's cry Arthur rushed to the edge of the shelf and
peered over in an agony of apprehension.

Bruce, still holding tightly to the ferns, had partly slipped, partly
fallen, full twenty feet below, where by a happy chance a projecting
point of rock had arrested his descent a few yards short of certain
death.

When he saw Arthur looking over he called out to him in a tone of entire
self-possession:

"Don't try to come down--you can't help me that way. Get something to
pull me up. I can't hold on here long."

Now, Arthur was as quick at devising expedients as he was hasty in
undertaking risks, and Bruce had hardly spoken before a happy thought
flashed into his mind that he proceeded to put into execution with his
wonted promptness.

Clambering back to where the cabman stood he said to him, "Stay where
you are, I'll be back in a minute," and then he darted up the path by
which they had come down.

In a wonderfully short time, considering how far he had to go, and how
steep the way was, he was back again bearing the reins taken from the
horse, and without wasting a moment in explanations he gasped out:

"It's all right, come along, your help's needed," and disappeared down
the cliff.

Sorely puzzled, but convinced that there was something wrong, the cabman
followed as best he could, and arrived in time to see Bruce catch the
end of the reins which Arthur had flung to him.

"Now, then," panted Arthur, who indeed had little strength left after
his tremendous exertions, shoving the end of the rein into the cabman's
hands, "pull away, and we'll soon have him up here."

Uniting their strength the man and boy had little difficulty in bringing
Bruce up beside them, and a pretty well-drenched and dishevelled-looking
creature he was; yet, as he sank down on the rock utterly exhausted by
the strain he had endured, he held up the bunch, saying, with a faint
smile:

"I held on to it, you see."

"What a chap you are!" exclaimed Arthur admiringly, patting him on the
back. "But aren't you hurt somewhere?"

"I believe I am," replied Bruce, rolling up his trouser legs and
revealing a pair of shins with numerous scrapes and bruises. "Nothing
worse than that," he said cheerfully. "It might have been ever so much
worse, eh, Arthur?"

"A deal sight worse," responded Arthur. "Some fellows would have broken
their necks if they'd been in the same box, but you're one of the lucky
chaps, Bruce. Can you climb back to the carriage without help?"

"Of course I can," said Bruce, and picking himself up he began the
ascent as if nothing had happened.

He looked so comical with his clothes clinging damply to him that Arthur
could not resist the chance of trying his hand at joke-making.

"Say, Bruce," he exclaimed suddenly, "there's nothing dry about
Montmorency's humor, is there?"

It was now Bruce's turn to offer congratulations, which Arthur accepted
with the comfortable feeling that they were on even terms now.

The day was so bright and warm that the drive back did Bruce no harm,
and on arriving at the hotel a generous application of arnica and
sticking-plaster so soothed and mended his various hurts, that after a
hearty lunch and a couple of hours' rest he felt quite equal to joining
Arthur in a visit to the citadel that afternoon.

They went on foot, the better to enjoy the glorious prospect which
opened more widely at each stage of the ascent, and after a leisurely
walk came to the great gate whose leaves were formed of interlaced iron
chains immensely strong, and passing through they crossed a wide deep
fosse between high stone walls, and then by a sally-port entered the
fortress.

Crossing the level space of the interior, they went to the edge of the
ramparts and looked over. A sheer descent of three hundred feet met
their gaze, and so narrow seemed the strip of land between the foot of
the precipice and the river, that it appeared almost possible to spring
from the ramparts clear into the swift current of the St. Lawrence.

"What a dive that would be!" exclaimed Arthur, who was very fond of
diving from a height, and very expert at the rather dangerous amusement.

"Would you care to try it?" inquired Bruce.

"No, sirree," responded Arthur. "I'm not that tired of life just yet.
But, I say, Bruce, wouldn't this be a grand place to try a
flying-machine like the one we were reading about the other day? A
fellow couldn't wish a better place to start from, could he?"

"What a chap you are, Arthur," said Bruce, smiling. "First you think
this would be a fine place for a champion dive, then you would try a
flying-machine from it. What on earth will come into your head next?"

Arthur was silent for a while, as if thinking deeply. Then, lifting his
head, his eyes flashing with the brilliance inspired by a new idea, he
laid hold of Bruce's arm, saying:

"I'll tell you what next. Let us make a walking tour of this trip
through Canada, and begin by footing it from here to Montreal."

Bruce's answer was a long whistle and a look that seemed to say: "Well,
this beats everything! Are you losing your senses?"

Interpreting the meaning of the look, Arthur, without waiting for it to
be followed by speech, hastened to say:

"And why not? We had many a good long tramp in Scotland, and this
wouldn't be any harder, and it would be ever so much more fun than
riding in the stuffy cars in this glorious weather."

"But look here, Arthur," replied Bruce. "You know you'd get sick and
tired of it before we had walked fifty miles, and it's nearly two
hundred to Montreal."

"I wouldn't do anything of the kind," returned Arthur, in a tone touched
with vexation. "If I set out to do it, I'll go right through with it. I
promise you that."

Now, Bruce was not one to commit himself rashly, and Arthur's proposal
was so entirely novel that he wanted time to consider it, so he just
said pleasantly:

"It's a great notion, Arthur, but I'd like to think it over. We'll talk
about it again to-night, eh?"

"All right," responded Arthur; "there's no hurry. Let's see some more of
this queer place."

Going over to the western ramparts they looked out across the Plains of
Abraham, where Wolfe had won Canada for England at the cost of his own
life.

"It was too bad altogether," said Bruce, with a deep sigh, "that Wolfe
was killed. He ought to have lived to see the British banner take the
place of the French one, and to have enjoyed all the honors he
deserved."

"It was hard lines, wasn't it?" said Arthur. "But, you see, he would go
into the thick of it himself, and the bullets were bound to find him.
Suppose we go over and have a look at his monument."

Leaving the citadel they made their way over to the monument, and then,
having examined it, roamed about the Plains until their growing hunger
suggested a return to the hotel.

After dinner Arthur brought up his walking project again, and they
discussed it for some time, Bruce, as was characteristic of his
cautious, far-seeing nature, dwelling on the difficulties and drawbacks
of the plan, and Arthur, the most sanguine of optimists, doing his best
to remove them each and all.

Finally, after a talk with the manager of the hotel, whom they took into
their confidence, and who thought Arthur's idea perfectly feasible,
Bruce gave in, saying:

"All right, Arthur, I'll try it; but if we give out half-way, and have
to take to the cars, remember I prophesied it."

Too well pleased at having carried his point to be hurt by his
companion's persistent scepticism, Arthur shouted:

"Hurrah for you, Bruce, you're a trump! There's no fear of you giving
out, and I'll not let you beat me if I have to crawl along on my hands
and knees."

The following morning, having sent their portmanteaus on by train, they
girded up their loins for their long walk. They were well provided with
money, and, upon the advice of the hotel manager, they procured a small
revolver apiece and a good supply of cartridges.

"There's only one chance in twenty of your needing them for protection,
but if you do, you may need them mighty bad," said he; "and, anyway, you
can amuse yourselves with them on the way, only take care and don't
shoot any cows or hens by mistake."

"Oh, we'll take good care of that," answered Arthur. "We're not going to
be shooting promiscuously, you may depend upon that."

Carrying nothing in their hands but stout walking-sticks the two boys
made their way out of the city, and, striking a good steady pace, took
their course along the northern bank of the mighty river. The road was
in good condition. The day was bright and fine without being
oppressively warm, and they were both in the best of spirits.

"This beats riding in those hot, dusty cars out of sight, doesn't it,
Bruce?" exclaimed Arthur enthusiastically. "We're in no hurry, you know,
and if we do get tired we can rest whenever we like, or ask some of the
farmers to give us a lift if they're going our way."

"But how are we going to make them understand what one wants when we're
so weak in our French?" inquired Bruce. "We may have to starve to death,
because we can't get it into their heads that we need something to eat."

This, of course, was said with a smile that showed the speaker was not
serious, so Arthur, carrying on the pretence, responded:

"Oh, that's easy enough; we'll just go into the house and take what we
want, and then pay for it."

"Yes, and have our heads broken for our impertinence," returned Bruce.
"No, no, we'll have to manage better than that."

As they talked they were walking along through a country that might have
been a bit of Normandy in old France.

The hamlets that succeeded one another so closely had a strangely
foreign appearance, with their quaint, red-roofed houses rich in
dormer-windows, their huge chimneys, and the big ovens built outside the
houses, that each seemed capable of cooking enough for a company of
soldiers.

"What folks they must be for eating about here!" said Bruce, noting the
size of these ovens.

"And as it's getting pretty close to lunch-time, I vote we try what they
can do for us in that way," suggested Arthur, who had a noble appetite.

"Very well," assented Bruce, "you go ahead and see if you can get
something better than a stick of wood this time."

Entering the gate of a very comfortable-looking farm-house, Arthur went
up to the door and knocked gently. No response being elicited, he
knocked more loudly, and at last there appeared an aged dame into whose
wrinkled face came a look of surprise mingled with suspicion as her eyes
fell upon the two boys.

This look was not dissipated, but, on the contrary, deepened, when
Arthur essayed to explain his object, and after listening to him for a
very brief moment she shut to the door in his face with a bang whose
emphasis admitted of no misinterpretation.

"By Jove!" cried Arthur, in blank amazement at this summary treatment,
"the old dame's got queer notions of civility."

"I suspect she was afraid for her spoons," said Bruce, with a quiet
smile; "we must look like a pair of desperadoes on a foraging
expedition."

Involuntarily Arthur glanced at his companion and then at himself.

"Nonsense," he responded, with a short laugh of derision at the idea,
"we look all right."

"Well, then, perhaps it was your bad French that frightened her,"
suggested Bruce meekly.

"Never you mind my bad French," retorted Arthur, with some heat. "If you
think you can do any better I just wish you'd try. I'm only too glad to
leave it to you."

"We may as well go away from here, anyway," said Bruce, waiving the
point as to which could do best at the French. "See, the old lady's
watching us from the window."

With an awkward, crestfallen feeling the boys returned to the road and
plodded along for some time in silence. Arthur, like all sanguine
people, being easily discouraged, already began to fear that his plan
would have to be abandoned, while Bruce began to congratulate himself on
this being quite probable.

Presently they caught sight of a tin-sheeted spire flashing above the
trees, and Bruce said, "That means a church, and a church means some
sort of a village, and there's sure to be an inn. Let us push ahead,
we'll have a good lunch yet."

A few more turns of the road and they came out into an open space which
at the first glance promised to fulfil all of Bruce's surmises. There
stood the church, stone-walled, tin-roofed, solid, and attractive, and
around it clustered a number of houses, looking well-kept and
comfortable.

"Ha, ha! that looks hopeful," exclaimed Arthur, brightening up, "and
there's the priest just coming out of the church. We'll ask him. He's
sure to give us a civil answer, anyway."

Hastening up to the curé, who had a plump, pleasant countenance and the
air of being at peace with all the world, himself not excepted, Arthur
began to address him in French, but the old man, with a courteous wave
of the hand, said smilingly:

"Pray do not trouble yourself to speak our language, I understand your
own very well."

Whereupon Arthur, feeling much relieved, proceeded to state the case,
not forgetting to tell about the humiliating reception they had met with
at the farm-house down the road.

The curé chuckled in evident enjoyment of the tale.

"Ah," he said, with a deprecatory lift of the head, "that was Madame
Grothé, no doubt. She is a poor, nervous body who lives all alone; you
must not think hard things of her. And now come with me. There is what
they call a hotel here. It is a small place, but quite clean, and the
Madame can cook," the last words being accompanied by a smack of the
lips that spoke volumes for the culinary art of the mistress of the
establishment.

As they walked toward the hotel they fell into easy converse, and the
good curé manifested such interest in the boys and their doings that
Arthur was moved to invite him to have lunch with them, which
invitation, after some little demur for mere form's sake, he accepted.

[Illustration: "HASTENING UP TO THE CURÉ, ARTHUR BEGAN TO ADDRESS HIM IN
FRENCH."]

When they reached the hotel, Bruce, determined that the meal should not
be spoilt for lack of proper instructions to the mistress of the house,
asked the priest if he would be so kind as to give the necessary
directions.

"And what would you like to order?" he asked, evidently well pleased at
the commission.

"Oh, we'll leave that entirely to you," Bruce answered. "We're very
hungry, as we had an early breakfast, and have walked a good many miles
since, and we'd better call this dinner, I think."

While the meal was being prepared the three sat in the shade of the
house, and the boys asked many questions of their new acquaintance.

He heartily approved of the idea of walking to Montreal, greatly to
Arthur's satisfaction.

"It's like one long village street nearly all the way," he said, "with
churches every six miles or so, and plenty of little hotels like this
one. You need never go to a farm-house."

The waiting for dinner naturally served to whet the boys' appetites to a
very keen edge, and they hailed the summons to the dining-room with a
shout of delight.

Simple and plain as the furnishings of the table were, they could not
have been improved upon neatness, and when the dinner was served it
fully justified the curé's promise.

First came a delicious soup, slightly flavored with garlic; then a fine
roast fowl that the priest carved with admirable skill; after that an
omelette _aux fines herbes_ worthy of Paris, followed by a luscious
pudding, with coffee to finish off. The bread and butter was of the
best, there was cream in abundance, and altogether the boys enjoyed
their repast so thoroughly that Arthur accurately voiced the sentiments
of both when, leaning back in his chair with a sigh of unspeakable
content, he said:

"I'd just like to stay here for a week. This is the best dinner I've had
for ever so long."

The curé seemed highly pleased at their appreciation of the fare and
establishment.

"It is very good, is it not?" said he, rubbing his hands together.
"Madame Ouimet understands how to look after her guests. She would be
very glad to have you stay with her for a week, I am sure."

"Oh, we can't do that, thank you," replied Bruce quickly, for fear
Arthur should show some willingness to consider the idea. "We must keep
right on, for it's a long walk to Montreal, you know."

After sitting a while over their coffee, the boys paid the reckoning,
which was only one-half what they expected; and having thanked the good
curé for his kindness, and received his paternal blessing, they set
forth again, resolved to keep going until dark if possible, the curé
having told them of a comfortable hotel about ten miles ahead.

They both felt in high spirits, and ready for a lark of some kind should
opportunity offer.

As a rule, persons in that frame of mind have not long to wait before
their chance comes, and they had not gone more than a couple of miles
when they came to a snug-looking barn, in whose adjoining yard a number
of hens clucked and scratched busily.

Just as the boys were opposite the gate, a big rooster sprang on top of
it and crowed in the most vigorous manner. There was something
peculiarly bumptious and challenging on his part that reminded Arthur,
who was a diligent student of "Punch," of the "Gallic cock" so often
pictured in its cartoons.

"Just look at him," cried he; "he's calling us names, as sure as you
live. I'll just give him a scare, to teach him better manners."

So saying he pulled out his revolver, and before Bruce could stop him
pointed it at the rooster and pulled the trigger.

Now, he had not intended to injure the bird at all, but simply to shoot
over its head and frighten it with the report. But as luck would have
it, his aim proved better than he imagined, and to his horror the bullet
struck the ill-fated fowl full in the neck, almost severing the head
from the body, and over it tumbled into the muck of the barnyard,
flapping its wings in the convulsions of death.

The boys' first impulse was to take to their heels and get out of sight
as soon as possible; but their second thoughts did them more credit,
and, standing their ground, they looked about to see if any one would
appear to call them to account.

They had not long to wait. Out of the barn darted a middle-aged
_habitan_ in whose countenance alarm and anger were curiously blended.
He had heard the report, and now saw his pet rooster weltering in its
own blood.

As soon as he appeared Arthur stepped up to the gate, and forgetting in
his agitation to put his revolver away, and still holding it in his
hand, said in English:

"I am very sorry I killed your rooster. I really didn't mean to, and I
will pay you whatever it was worth."

Not understanding a word he said, and terrified at the sight of the
revolver, the poor _habitan_ shrunk behind the fence, and then deeming
discretion the better part of valor, took to his heels incontinently,
disappearing behind the corner of the house, which stood a little
distance from the barn.

In spite of their concern at the damage unintentionally done, the boys
could not refrain from bursting into laughter, the conduct of the
frightened farmer was so comical. At the same time they felt bound to
make fitting reparation, so they followed the fugitive to his house,
Arthur taking care to put his revolver out of sight.

Their knocking at the front door produced no response, and in some
perplexity as to what ought to be done, they were about to turn away
when from behind the house came the farmer accompanied by two
sallow-faced, black-haired youths who were evidently his sons.

Pointing at the boys, who now began to feel that the situation was in
some danger of becoming complicated, he spoke with great vehemence and
such rapidity as to be altogether unintelligible to the pedestrians.
Anxious to bring the affair to a speedy conclusion, Bruce now stepped
forward and asked:

"Can any of you speak English?" at which the elder of the sallow youths
brightened up and replied with a conscious blush:

"Oh, yes, I can, myself. I have been in the big city."

Much relieved at this discovery, Bruce then hastened to explain what had
happened, and how sorry they were, and how willing to pay the full value
of the defunct rooster.

The young French-Canadian having repeated all this to his father, there
was a manifest lifting of the clouds, and the atmosphere became less
oppressive. After consulting with his sons for a few minutes the one who
spoke English said:

"My father understands now, and is not angry any more, and he says he
will be content with one dollar for the cock."

It was more than the real value of the creature, but the boys were in no
mood for bargaining. They wanted to push on without further delay.
Arthur therefore paid over the sum asked in silver, and bidding the
trio, whose faces were now wreathed in smiles, a hearty "good-day," the
boys resumed their walk at a rapid pace.

The afternoon lengthened out as they trudged steadfastly onward, being
anxious to reach Pont Rouge, if possible, before nightfall. The rooster
episode had quite satisfied their desire for a lark, and their mood was
one of strict business.

The miles slipped by one by one, and they began to feel leg-weary; but
not a hint of it did the one give the other, although the entire
cessation of talk between them was enough to show that their whole
energies were concentrated in the task of keeping their feet going.

At last Arthur could not keep his feelings to himself.

"Oh, dear!" he groaned, "when shall we get to that place? It must be
ever so much farther than the priest said. I'm more than half-tempted to
try another farm-house."

"Yes--and meet with the same warm reception that Madame Grothé gave
you," said Bruce, smiling. "No, no," he added, "we won't do that unless
there's no other alternative than sleeping in a barn."

Just at this juncture the rattle of a wagon was heard behind them, and
through the dusk there came one of those long-bodied country expresses
that have such fine carrying capacity. It contained two people,
presumably man and wife, and there was lots of room in the back part.

"Here's our chance," cried Bruce. "Let us ask them for a lift."

When the wagon reached them, Bruce took off his cap politely and called
out:

"_Monsieur, voulez-vous nous embarquer?_"

The farmer at once pulled up his horses and answered pleasantly:

"_Oui, certainment, embarquez, s'il vous plait._"

Feeling very much elated at the success of his attempt at French, Bruce
sprang into the wagon, and Arthur promptly followed his example. There
were some sacks of grain that made capital seats, and the tired boys
stretched out upon them with a delicious feeling of relief.

Their good Samaritan seemed very eager to converse with them, and poured
out a flood of questions in his own tongue, the gist of which Bruce
could not catch at all, and at last he was fain to confess that his
French did not go far, and to ask the farmer if he could not speak
English.

As it happened he could do something with English, and managed to
maintain a conversation in this language as they jogged along toward
Pont Rouge, which was his destination also.

They had gone about a couple of miles, and were descending a steep
incline, when a part of the harness suddenly gave way that let the wagon
run forward on to the horses' heels. They were a sturdy pair of
French-Canadian ponies, full of spirit, and this unexpected assault from
the rear frightened them into a wild gallop.

There was no brake on the wagon, and it swayed from side to side of the
road as it plunged down the hill at a fearful pace.




CHAPTER IV.

THROUGH THE RAPIDS AND OVER THE BRIDGE.


Utterly powerless to offer any assistance, the boys could only hold
tightly on to the heavy bags of grain while the wagon bumped and bounded
over the road.

Had it been bright daylight their situation would not have been so
alarming, but by this time darkness had closed in around them, and they
could hardly see the length of the wagon ahead.

It was a long descent, and a deep ditch bordered the road on both sides,
to the edge of which the wheels came perilously near from time to time
as the affrighted horses dashed onward with uncontrollable impetuosity.

The farmer, holding manfully to the reins, was one moment calling
soothingly to his horses and the next offering explosive ejaculations of
prayer to his patron saint for supernatural assistance, while his wife,
evidently overcome with terror, crouched down between the seat and the
low dash-board of the wagon uttering plaintive moans that were very
pitiful.

In this way they must have gone some hundreds of yards when the
catastrophe which had been continually threatening took place. The heavy
wagon swung over the side of the road into the ditch, and after rolling
and pitching for an instant or two like a ship in a storm brought up
against the other bank with a shock that sent all four of its occupants
hurtling out of it.

The boys happily had braced themselves for this emergency, and, dark as
it was, they managed to spring out clear of the wagon and to land upon
the side of the ditch. Although they came down pretty hard, the bank,
being of soft turf, received them kindly, so that beyond a sharp shock
which dazed them for a moment neither suffered any damage.

But the poor farmer and his wife were not so fortunate.

He was pitched forward upon the horses and received from one of them a
kick in the stomach that completely knocked the wind out of him, and she
was flung out over the dash-board against the bank, striking against it
head first with such violence as to be rendered insensible.

Picking themselves up at once, both boys hastened to help their less
lucky companions. They first gave attention to the woman, and drawing
her up to the top of the bank, sought to revive her by fanning her face
with their hats.

Finding, however, that this availed nothing, and fearing from the
farmer's groans that he was in a worse plight still, they went over to
him. By this time he had regained his wind somewhat and was able to call
out lustily for help.

Lifting him upon his feet they brought him to his wife, and at once the
good fellow forgot his own suffering in anxiety for his helpmate. His
anxiety was quite pathetic as he held her head in his hands and besought
her to speak to him.

At this juncture the welcome light of a lantern appeared upon the road,
and the boys saw with vast relief that it was in the hands of one man
while another walked beside him.

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Arthur. "We'll be all right now. We'll be able to
see what we're doing."

The new-comers belonged to the nearest house, having been attracted by
the noise of the disaster, and they at once set to work to put matters
right with a vigor and wisdom of action that showed them to be people of
no common intelligence.

Bidding the farmer give his whole attention to his wife a few moments
longer, they extricated the helpless horses from the tangle of harness,
and got them up on the road, neither one of them being badly hurt.

Then one of them brought some water in his cap, and this being dashed in
the face of the unconscious woman aroused her from her faint, and
enabled it to be made clear that she had no bones broken.

The house from which these efficient helpers came was not far distant,
and soon the whole party moved thither, taking the horses but leaving
the wagon where it was until the morning.

On reaching the house the boys inquired how much farther on Pont Rouge
was, and learning that it was only a mile, they decided to push on,
although cordially invited to pass the night at the farm-house.

Walking rapidly they got to Pont Rouge without mishap, and, finding the
hotel quickly, tumbled into bed, thoroughly tired out.

They were both somewhat stiff and sore the following morning, and in no
particular hurry to resume their tramp. But neither had any thought of
abandoning it notwithstanding.

They postponed the start until after mid-day, and then setting forth
with good spirit put a dozen miles behind them ere nightfall, getting
rid of all their stiffness, and thoroughly enjoying the exercise.

That day and the following ones were devoid of exciting incident, but
full of pleasant sights and sounds. The road ran through a continuous
series of farms that stretched like broad ribbons up from the water-side
to the woods above. A decent degree of comfort seemed the common lot,
while the great stone-walled, tin-roofed churches with lofty spires that
were met with every six miles or so showed that the people had not only
enough for themselves, but good tithes to render to the great religious
system which held undivided sway in that part of the country.

The people all appeared happy and contented, and their courtesy never
failed, so that the boys began to feel their inherited contempt for
everything French weakening considerably under the influence of this new
experience. As Arthur bluntly expressed it:

"They're not a bad lot at all, these Canadian frog-eaters, are they,
Bruce? I don't mind owning up that I'm getting to like them better than
I ever thought I could."

To which frank admission Bruce gave his assent in his own temperate way.

The curious names of some of the places they passed through amused them
greatly, and they made zealous efforts to master the pronunciation of
such puzzlers as Lachevrotière, Yamachiche, Maskinonge, Lanoraie, and
Sault-aux-Recollets.

Now and then they accepted the offer of a "lift" extended by some one
driving in the same direction, and they always managed to make some
village before dark where there was a hotel in which accommodation could
be had for the night.

In this way they came to Montreal, entering the city from the east end
and availing themselves of the tram-cars to reach the Windsor Hotel, at
which Mr. Gillespie had advised them to put up.

They were not a little surprised at the size and splendor of the
Canadian city, whose crowded streets, lined with great buildings for
business, or handsome homes, reminded them of the big cities of the
Mother Land.

"We must stay here some days," said Arthur. "There'll be lots to see,
I'm sure."

"Yes, indeed," responded Bruce. "It will be quite a treat, too, after
the country life we've been having. We must hunt up our boxes and things
as soon as possible, and get on some fresh clothes. I'm beginning to
feel frowsy; aren't you?"

Arthur did not take as much thought for his appearance as his chum did,
but he liked to look well all the same, and was no less eager than the
other to regain the baggage from which they had parted at Quebec.

Not knowing just how to accomplish their object they determined on
seeking out Mr. Gillespie. There was no difficulty about this, he being
so well known in the city, and the welcome they received on entering his
office showed that they had made no mistake in taking him at his word:

"And so here you are at last," he exclaimed, smiling cordially and
grasping a hand of each. "You've been so long on the way that I was
beginning to wonder if something had happened, and to think quite
seriously of making some inquiry about you. Sit down now and tell me
what you've been up to since you left us at Quebec."

Whereupon the boys gave between them a full and spirited account of
their various adventures that Mr. Gillespie enjoyed keenly, the shooting
of the rooster especially tickling him.

"Ah, ha!" he laughed, throwing himself back in his chair. "That was
certainly a great shot, Arthur, and well worth the dollar it cost you.
There's a nuisance of a rooster somewhere near my place that I wish
you'd treat in the same way."

Having been told of their difficulty about getting their things, Mr.
Gillespie at once put that matter right by despatching a clerk to have
them taken to the hotel, and then insisted that they should dine with
him that evening, saying that he would send his carriage for them.

Mr. Gillespie's was one of the finest residences on the mountain-side,
and the elegance and luxury of its appointments gave his young guests
sensations of surprise that they found some difficulty in politely
concealing, the truth being that they had not expected to find in
Canada, a country of which their notions were still very vague, such
tokens of wealth and refinement as now surrounded them.

So home-like was the atmosphere of the house that they were not long in
becoming entirely at their ease, and spent a delightful evening, whose
hours slipped all too quickly.

Among the members of the family were two boys much about their own age,
and the next few days were devoted to seeing the lions of Montreal
under their guidance.

A noisy, merry quartet they made as they visited the docks crowded with
steamers and other shipping; climbed the towers of Notre Dame; made a
pilgrimage of the cathedrals and principal churches; and explored the
highways and byways of the Mountain Park.

It was while on one of these tramps through the park that they rendered
a timely service which caused them to be the heroes of the hour.

The four boys had been playing a game of follow-my-leader, and Bruce and
Arthur had become separated from the other two. Being somewhat weary
from their exertions they were resting for a few minutes on a rock by
the roadside when they heard the sharp clatter of hoofs approaching at
no ordinary rate, and rising above them the shrill screams of a
terrified woman.

"That's a runaway, sure," cried Arthur, springing to his feet; and he
had hardly spoken before there came around the bend of the road above
them a light carriage containing two ladies, and drawn by a pair of
large ponies, both as black as night.

The ponies had taken fright at something, and were coming down the road
at full gallop, their heads stretched out at full length, and their
hoofs fairly spurning the ground.

The ladies, having in some way lost the reins, which trailed at the
ponies' heels, were crouching helplessly on the seat, one having her
face buried in her hands as though to shut out the danger, the other
with wide-staring eyes and ashen face, looking straight ahead as she
uttered shriek after shriek with the full force of her lungs.

"Now then, Arthur," exclaimed Bruce, darting across the road so as to be
opposite his companion, "you take one horse and I'll take the other."

He had just spoken when the ponies were before them, and the boys in the
same instant sprang for their heads.

Being thus assailed on right and left both ponies tried to swerve, and
the simultaneous "shy" caused them to crush against one another with the
result of compelling a momentary stumble, and breaking of their furious
pace. Of this the boys did not fail to take full advantage, and, holding
hard upon the bridles, they dragged at the animals' heads until at last
their weight told, and the pair were brought to a stand-still only a few
feet short of a declivity, to have gone over which would have inevitably
entailed injury, if not death, to some members of the quartet.

As it was, no harm had come to any one, not even the ponies being the
worse for their escapade beyond being badly blown, while the ladies were
soon sufficiently recovered to be able to express their lively gratitude
to their timely rescuers.

It was while this was being done that the Gillespie boys came up, and,
having the acquaintance of the ladies, were able formally to present
Bruce and Arthur, which made matters still more pleasant.

The disturbed state of their nerves not permitting the ladies to resume
their drive, the Gillespie boys volunteered to take the now subdued
ponies home, while Bruce and Arthur escorted the ladies thither on foot;
and although the two chums had not hitherto had much opportunity to
cultivate feminine society, nevertheless they managed to acquit
themselves very well indeed, and at the conclusion of the walk were most
cordially invited to call at their first opportunity.

The story of their daring feat soon spread through the city, and for the
first time in their lives they found themselves subjects for newspaper
notice. Ingenious reporters interviewed them, and put in their mouths
many things they had not said at all, and what purported to be their
portraits, but looked far more like two choice selections from the
Rogues' Gallery, appeared in an enterprising evening paper.

Arthur rather liked this notoriety, but to Bruce it was quite
displeasing. He preferred being allowed to go on in his own way, and
although Arthur sent copies of all the papers to his father, Bruce
mentioned the matter so briefly in a letter to his father that one might
have supposed such an event was a comparatively common occurrence.

Mr. Gillespie was so delighted at his young friends' exploit that he
gave a grand, dinner-party in honor thereof, to which, of course, the
two ladies were invited, and their rescuers had a fine time receiving
the attentions of admiring friends.

The other great event of their stay in Montreal was the passage of the
Lachine Rapids. These rapids, which are in the St. Lawrence River a few
miles above the city, are usually passed in large steamboats which make
the trip every day during the summer. But occasionally a more exciting
and dangerous method is possible, and it was of this the boys had an
experience.

They had gone up to Lachine in company with the Gillespie boys to pass
the day at that charming summer suburb of the city, and after a jolly
morning spent in canoeing and bathing, and a hearty lunch at the hotel,
they were lounging about on the long pier down which the railway ran to
meet the steamers, when their attention was attracted by a stalwart
Indian who was talking earnestly to a group of men in the shade of the
station.

He was such a splendid specimen of humanity that even if he had not been
an Indian, Bruce and Arthur would have wanted to have a good look at
him, but when in answer to their inquiry Jack Gillespie replied, "That
man? oh, that's Big John, the Caughnawaga Indian, who used to pilot the
steamers through the rapids," their interest was aroused to the highest
pitch.

They had, it in true, seen some Indians on the way up from Quebec,
particularly at Lorette, but none of them compared with Big John, and
although his dress was much like that of the men with whom he was
talking, still there was sufficient of the red man in it to make it
appropriate to its dusky wearer.

Moved more by the desire to get close to the man than curiosity to hear
what he was saying, Arthur drew near the group, and soon gathered the
purport of his talk.

It seemed that he proposed to undertake one of the trips through the
rapids for which he was renowned, that afternoon, provided he could get
enough passengers to make it worth while, and he was trying to persuade
two of those who were listening to go with him.

As soon as Arthur understood this he became fired with a thrilling idea,
and, without waiting to consult the others, spoke it out boldly:

"Would you take us boys with you?" he asked, standing in front of Big
John, and looking up eagerly into his face.

"To be sure, young gentleman, I would, if you pay me."

"And does it cost very much?" Arthur inquired, hoping that no exorbitant
amount would be named.

Big John glanced across to where the other boys were, and, indicating
them with a nod of his head, asked:

"They all come?"

Arthur now felt it necessary to consult the others, and so he called
them over to see what they would say. Big John's terms were ten dollars
for the four. Bruce thought it too much to pay, but he was overruled by
the Gillespies, who welcomed the notion cordially; and Big John
succeeding in persuading two of the men to go also, they paying another
ten dollars, the party was made up, and the Indian pilot said he would
be ready to start at three o'clock.

Sharp at the appointed time he appeared in a large boat of the kind
locally known as a lumberman's _bonne_. A craft more admirably adapted
for the difficult and dangerous undertaking could hardly be built. Full
twenty-five feet in length, with sharply slanting bow and stern, sloping
sides, and broad, flat bottom, put together in the strongest possible
fashion, and having a crew of four swarthy, sinewy Indians from the
village opposite, each holding a short, heavy, ash oar, while Big John
towered on the stern wielding a huge paddle as tall as himself, the
whole outfit was certainly well calculated to inspire confidence, and
the four boys leaped on board without a twinge of apprehension.

Pushing out from the pier the boat, urged onward by the quick strokes of
the oarsmen, rounded the projecting arm of the pier, and at once began
to feel the touch of the mighty St. Lawrence, the current at that point
having a speed of more than six miles an hour.

As they shot down with it towards the superb arch of the Canadian
Pacific Railway cantilever bridge, and darted beneath its widest part,
the water around them began to break into swirls and to bubble up as
though rising from springs at the bottom.

It was of a light-green tint, like aquamarine, and looked very pretty
and enticing, so that Arthur, who felt greatly exhilarated by his novel
surroundings, was moved to say:

"Wouldn't I like to have a swim in that water! It looks just like the
ocean."

"Ah, my brave boy," said one of the gentlemen who was sitting beside
him, "if you went in there you'd never come out alive."

"I suppose not," replied Arthur. "But it does look tempting, doesn't
it?"

The nearer they drew to the rapids, the more swiftly the boat moved, yet
the men did not cease rowing. Big John, alert, watchful, quick, and
strenuous of command and action, looked like a king, with the
sharp-peaked stern for a throne, and the boys gazed now upon the
bubbling, speeding waters, and now upon him, with feelings of unreserved
admiration.

He spoke to his crew in their native tongue, so that just what he said
could not be gathered, except from the manner in which it was obeyed.
The rowers never turned their heads, but, with their eyes fixed on the
pilot, pulled hard upon the right or left, according to command.

[Illustration: "BIG JOHN LOOKED LIKE A KING, WITH THE SHARP-PEAKED STERN
FOR A THRONE."]

Presently the roar of the rapids broke loudly on the ear, and the
snow-white foam that capped the great billows showed clearly in front.

"It looks very dreadful, doesn't it?" said Jack Gillespie, pressing
close to Bruce, who, with calm face and steady eye, was gazing ahead,
trying to make out what the course would be through that wild welter of
waters.

"It does that," responded Bruce. "But Big John has often been through it
before, you know."

Arthur, recking nothing of the risk, could hardly keep still on the
thwart for very delight. The only thing that could have added to his
happiness would have been to exchange places with Big John, provided, of
course, he were equal to the situation.

Just before the heart of the rapids was reached a large island divided
the river into two branches, and an inexperienced voyager would
certainly have turned into the left branch, the commotion of the water
being manifestly much milder there than in the right branch.

But it was towards the latter that Big John pointed the boat, and not
only so, but directly into that part where the billows leaped highest
and the foam was whitest.

Here the arrowy stream was opposed by two tiny islets, one, indeed,
being little more than a huge bowlder, and right between these and the
rock-guarded shore of the large island the _bonne_ was headed.

"Now, boys, hold tight on to the gunwale, and don't mind being splashed
a bit," said one of the gentlemen. "We'll be into the thick of it in a
minute."

Big John took no more notice of his passengers than if they had not been
there. His whole attention was absorbed in the thrilling task he had in
hand.

Borne as lightly as though it were a mere chip on the back of a great
mass of water plunging downward, the heavy boat poised for an instant at
the edge of the first fall, and then dived straight into the smother of
foam.

The boys did not only hold fast to the gunwale, they held their breath
likewise, and their hearts seemed to them to stop beating in the supreme
excitement of that moment.

Stout and strong as the boat had appeared when beside the pier, it
seemed a mere cockle-shell now, when in the grasp of the Lachine Rapids.

The water roared, and whirled, and billowed, and foamed all around them,
and to their eyes no way out of the seething turmoil presented itself.

But a few sharp orders from Big John, half a dozen quick, powerful
strokes of the oars, supplemented by the huge paddle in the pilot's
brawny hands, and the boat emerged from the first watery chaos unharmed
and ready for a tussle with the next.

There was a brief space of quieter water, and then another deep dip,
after which came a wild whirlpool at the side of a great mass of rock
whose top had been worn smooth by the incessant dash of the waves over
it.

Just beyond this the boat took a sudden swerve as if it had for a moment
escaped from the steers-man's control, and the bow struck a hidden rock
with a startling shock that sent a thrill through the hearts of the six
passengers.

"We've struck bottom!" cried Jack Gillespie, and moved by a common
impulse all four boys turned to look into Big John's face.

Not a trace of alarm or concern did it manifest. The Indian seemed as
impassive as the Sphinx, and in response to a curt command the rowers
gave two fierce tugs at the oars that fairly lifted the boat over the
obstruction, and off she darted again like a living creature.

"Hurrah, we're clear again!" shouted Arthur, clapping his hands in
expression of his relief, while Bruce's face lit up with a smile. "We'll
soon be through now, won't we?"

There was not much more of the rapids left, and they shot through them
without mishap, reaching the still water below, a little splashed with
spray, but otherwise bearing no sign of their exciting experience.

Bruce had not spoken during the passage, but when it was over he went up
to Big John and said in his heartiest manner:

"It has been a splendid trip, and I've enjoyed it more than I can tell
you. I hope you'll always have as good luck as you've had with us."

Big John looked much elated, for, although he performed the feat every
year, still the pleasure of success had not yet lost its edge, and he
took an honest pride in the skill for which he stood alone.

"That's all right," he replied, his bronzed features losing their tense
expression and relaxing into a smile. "You like it very much? You tell
plenty people come too--eh?"

Bruce laughed as he answered, "Oh, yes, I'll tell my friends, but most
of them would have a long way to come."

The talk now became general as the boat glided on past Laprairie and
Nun's Island, under the great tube of the Victoria Bridge, and across
the harbor to the canal dock, where the passengers took leave of Big
John and his crew, and the boys then made their way back to the hotel.

They spent that evening at Mr. Gillespie's discussing their plans for
the future. Encouraged by the success that had upon the whole attended
their tramp from Quebec, Arthur was anxious to continue it along the
line so far as practicable, and Bruce offered no strong objection.

But Mr. Gillespie said it was out of the question for them to walk any
farther than Ottawa, as beyond that the Canadian Pacific Railway ran for
the most part through a wilderness until it reached Winnipeg, when the
great prairies begin.

"Well, then," said Arthur, "let us walk to Ottawa, ride on the cars as
far as Winnipeg, and then walk the rest of the way, or as much of it as
we feel inclined to, at all events. Do you agree to that, Bruce?"

"Yes, that seems fair enough," assented Bruce.

"If you are determined upon that, then," said Mr. Gillespie, "I'll go
with you to see the authorities at the head office of the railway, and
have it so arranged that you can take the train wherever you like."

"Oh, that will be splendid!" exclaimed Arthur; "for you know we may get
tired of tramping, and it will be jolly to be able to take the cars at
the next station if we feel like it."

Accordingly the next morning they went with Mr. Gillespie to the chief
offices of the railway at Windsor Station, and as luck would have it
they encountered the president himself in one of the corridors.

Mr. Gillespie, who knew him well, at once accosted him, and hastened to
explain the purpose of his visit, at the same time introducing the two
boys.

The president, who was a man of large and imposing presence, with a
strong, handsome face, regarded the boys in silence for a moment, and
then with an amused chuckle said:

"They'll soon get sick of that notion, but there's no objection to their
trying it. I'll fix things up for them the way you want. Just come into
my office and I'll have it attended to."

The boys had already heard a good deal of this wonderful man who had
worked up from the post of telegraph clerk to the presidency of one of
the greatest railway systems in the world, and they watched him with
mingled feelings of awe and admiration as he disposed with lightning
speed of a lot of business awaiting his attention, and then took their
affair in hand to deal with it in the space of a minute by some brief
directions to a clerk who came in response to the pressure of an
electric button.

After a few minutes' waiting the boys found themselves provided with an
unlimited stop-over ticket without extra charge, and also some important
letters to the officials along the line, instructing them to give the
young travellers due courtesy and assistance whenever required.

Having duly thanked the president for his kindness, and received his
best wishes for a pleasant and prosperous journey, the boys took
themselves off, too full of admiration for the great man who had thus
shown his interest in them to feel at all hurt at his scepticism as to
their sticking to their program.

"He thinks we'll not hold out long," said Arthur; "but he doesn't know
us, does he, Bruce?"

"We'll not give in until we have to, anyway," responded Bruce, who was
now as heartily committed to the undertaking as his chum.

"The experience will do you no harm, boys," said Mr. Gillespie, "and
you're sure to have more adventures than you would if you went in the
ordinary way. But I hope you won't be in any hurry to leave us. We have
not begun to get tired of you yet."

"Then this is the time we ought to go," answered Bruce, "while our
welcome is still fresh, and then you'll be glad to see us again if we
ever come this way."

"Oh, you'll never lack for a welcome so long as I am in Montreal,"
returned Mr. Gillespie; "and you must take some letters to friends of
mine in Ottawa and Winnipeg, so that you may have a good time at these
places."

"There's one thing I'd like to do before I leave Montreal," interjected
Arthur, whose mind was ever busy devising fresh adventures.

"And what may that be, Sir Venturesome?" asked Mr. Gillespie, smiling on
him indulgently.

"Why, sir, it's to walk across the river on top of the Victoria Bridge,"
replied Arthur. "I suppose lots of people have done it already."

Mr. Gillespie gave a whistle of surprise, and regarded his young friend
with a look of admiration.

"Upon my word," he exclaimed, "you _are_ enterprising, and no mistake.
Here I've lived in Montreal since before that bridge was built, and such
a notion never entered my mind. Indeed, I don't know of anybody but the
workmen being allowed on top of the bridge."

"Oh, yes, sir," spoke up Arthur eagerly, "other people have walked
across. I was told about it yesterday, and they say it isn't so hard to
do."

"All right, my boy, I'll make some inquiry," said Mr. Gillespie. "I am
well acquainted with the chief engineer, and if there's no objection to
your trying it I will arrange with him about it."

"Oh, thank you, sir," cried the boys together, for Bruce, as soon as
Arthur propounded the scheme, had given it a warm welcome in his mind.

Mr. Gillespie kept his promise promptly, as was his wont, and that
evening was able to inform the boys that the chief engineer would allow
them to cross the bridge the following morning in charge of one of the
workmen.

Jack Gillespie was very anxious to be allowed to accompany them, but his
father would not consent, fearing that the boys might get larking
together, and have an accident of some kind.

At the hour appointed the boys went down to the bridge, armed with a
note from the chief engineer of the Grand Trunk Railway, and were met
by one of the foremen of the repair-shops, who was to be their guide. He
had a pleasant, intelligent countenance, and seemed quite to enjoy
taking the boys in charge and spending the morning with them, instead of
in the grimy shop at his dreary round of toil.

"You'll have to be careful, sirs," said he as they walked towards the
entrance to the bridge. "There's a bit of a breeze this morning, and
you'll feel it pretty strong when you're out in the middle."

"Oh, we'll be careful," they answered. "We'll not let the breeze blow us
away."

It was quite an undertaking getting on top of the huge tube which
spanned the great river, but the boys made light of it, and were soon
standing high above the rushing stream, and able to command an unbroken
view of the city and its picturesque surroundings.

But they had no eyes for this prospect, fine as it was. Their whole
attention was absorbed by the wonderful roadway of wrought iron that
stretched before them for the space of almost two miles, curving
slightly in its course from the northern to the southern shore of the
St. Lawrence.

"Wouldn't it be grand to ride across on a bicycle?" said Arthur.

"Yes, and be blown into the river before you'd got half-way across,"
responded Bruce. "No, thank you, no bicycle for me. We'll find it quite
enough of a job to get across on our feet."

Bruce was right enough in this, for the farther out they went the more
they felt the force of the wind, which did not blow steadily, but in
gusts that tugged hard at the boys' hats as if determined to carry them
off their heads.

Pushing ahead with careful, steady steps they reached the middle of the
bridge, and there rested for a while to look up and down the river, and
wait for the passing of the Laprairie ferry-steamer that was passing up
against the heavy current.

The steamer seemed almost at a stand-still so sturdily did the stream
oppose her advance, and when she came to the central span the boys might
have leaped upon her deck far below had they cared nothing for the
consequences.

They were lying flat upon their chests and looking down at the people on
board when a sudden gust caught Bruce's hat from off his head, and sent
it sailing through the air like a bird.

Slanting this way and that it flew downwards until with a big swoop it
fell plump into the lap of a lady passenger sitting on the upper deck,
who, startled by the unexpected donation, gave a wild shriek, and
tumbled over backwards, to the great consternation of the other
passengers.

"Oh, my hat!" groaned Bruce, too much concerned at the loss of his
head-gear to appreciate the ludicrous scene on board the steamer. "How
can I get it again?"

"I guess you'll have to let it go," said the foreman; "you can get
another over at St. Lambert's."

"I suppose there's no help for it," sighed Bruce. "I'm sorry it scared
that lady so badly."

"What a yell she did give!" said Arthur; "you could hear it away up here
as plainly as if you were right beside her. I wonder has she got over
her fright yet."

Crossing to the other side they looked over and saw that the lady was
still in the hands of her friends, while a big red-faced man, presumably
her husband, seeing them above him, shook his fist at them angrily, as
though he considered that the hat had been thrown down on purpose.

"He evidently imagines I did it for a lark," said Bruce ruefully; "he
doesn't know how glad I'd be to have my hat back again."

There was no possible chance of that, however, so, tying his
handkerchief on his head, he made the best of the situation, and the
three resumed their lofty promenade.

In spite of the breeze, which bothered them not a little, the boys were
enjoying their novel experience very much when the foreman's hat blew
off his head, and in making a quick spring to recover it he tripped upon
a projecting bolthead and fell forward with such violence as to be
rendered insensible by the contact of his forehead with the unyielding
iron.

Not only so, but in an involuntary contortion from the pain of the blow
he rolled so near the edge of the bridge-top that he would have gone
clear over had not Arthur, who was nearest him, thrown himself upon him
and held him fast, crying out in a tone of deep concern:

"He's badly hurt, Bruce. See! he's bleeding!"

The poor man was indeed bleeding freely from a nasty cut over his right
temple, and he lay as motionless as a log while Arthur strove to stanch
the wound with his handkerchief.

"This is a bad fix," said Bruce, looking very grave; "we'll have no end
of trouble in getting him across if he's as much hurt as he seems to
be."

"He's had a dreadful knock, that's certain," said Arthur, regarding the
senseless man with a face full of sympathy.

It was some minutes before the poor fellow came to himself, and still
longer before he could stand upon his feet again.

"My head's all going round," said he, putting up his hand in a
bewildered way; "I'm afraid I can't go on without your help, gentlemen."

"Oh, that's all right," responded Arthur cordially; "you just take our
arms, and we'll go slow, and help you along the rest of the way."

Doing as suggested the foreman was able to make slow progress shoreward,
but with manifest difficulty, the shock of the sudden fall having been
very severe, and the wound in his temple most painful.

It was a curious and trying situation for the boys. The breeze had
swelled into a strong wind, and now that they had to walk three abreast,
and steady the faltering steps of their guide, the top of the iron tube
seemed to have grown much narrower.

But they put their feet down firmly, and kept right in the middle of the
way, both leaning in against the foreman, and thus bracing themselves to
withstand the force of the wind.

At last, to their unspeakable relief, they reached the St. Lambert end
of the bridge, and all danger was over.

"My gracious!" exclaimed Arthur when they were once more standing on the
solid ground, "but I'm glad that's over; once will be quite enough for
me." Then turning to the foreman he added, "And now we must hunt up a
doctor for you as quickly as possible. That cut needs looking after
right away."

The doctor was found without difficulty, and the wound dressed, after
which they all went to the station and took the first train back to the
city, where they parted with the foreman and returned to the hotel, well
pleased at having come through the dangers and difficulties of the walk
across the big bridge on top without any mishap to themselves.




CHAPTER V.

PERILS AND PLEASURES BY THE WAY.


Delightful as their stay in Montreal was proving, it could not be
protracted indefinitely, and on Monday morning, having parted from Mr.
Gillespie and his boys with many regrets, and promises of repeating the
visit some time in the future, they set forth on their tramp to Ottawa,
their trunks being forwarded by train. They calculated on reaching
Ottawa by Friday at the latest, and then having Saturday and Sunday to
spend there before resuming their journey.

They were both in the best of spirits, Bruce being now thoroughly
reconciled to Arthur's idea, and indeed quite as enthusiastic about it
as he was himself.

Walking rapidly they soon left Montreal with its forest-clad mountain
behind, and were passing through richly cultivated market gardens that a
little farther on changed to trim farms with spreading fields of grain
and wide stretches of orchard.

[Illustration: A GLIMPSE OF MONTREAL FROM ST. MARY'S CURRENT.]

"I'd like to be round about here when the apples and pears are ripe,"
said Arthur, with a longing look at the trees already showing promise of
heavily burdened boughs in the autumn. "I wonder what the farmers do to
keep their apples from being stolen by the Montreal boys?"

"They have watch-dogs, I suppose," answered Bruce. "Something like that
one coming towards us now," pointing to a big yellow dog, half-mastiff,
half-hound, that was running down the path in front of a house, with his
mouth open so as to show his long, white teeth and to give forth a deep,
hoarse, growling bark.

The moment Arthur's eyes fell on the creature he conceived an intense
dislike to him, he was so repulsive in appearance and seemed so ready
for mischief.

"You ugly brute!" he exclaimed, stopping to look right into the dog's
face, "you ought to be killed on sight for being such a fright."

Of course the animal did not understand his words, but it really seemed
as if it must have read aright the contemptuous expression of his
countenance, for as Arthur finished speaking it gave a fierce bark that
was almost a roar, and sprang over the gate, with hair bristling and
fangs protruding ominously.

Now, neither of the boys had had the slightest idea of provoking an
attack. They were simply amusing one another with comments upon what
they saw, and Arthur was completely taken aback when he found this
dangerous-looking customer bearing down upon him.

But he had no idea of being put to flight, nevertheless. In his hand he
held a stout oak walking-stick with which Mr. Gillespie had thoughtfully
presented him, and, swinging this over his shoulder, he met the dog's
onset with a blow on his head that knocked him off his feet.

Like a flash the infuriated creature recovered himself and sprang at
Arthur's throat before the boy, not suspecting so quick a return, could
put himself on guard again. He missed the boy's throat, but caught him
at the shoulder, and might have inflicted a serious bite had not Bruce
grasped him at the neck with both hands and throttled him until he
dropped to the ground limp and powerless.

"Now, then, let us run for it," said Bruce, "before the brute gets his
breath again, or his master finds out what's going on."

So off they started full pelt, and did not pull up until they had put a
couple of hundred yards behind them. Then, as there was no sign of
pursuit from dog or man, they stopped to get their breath, and to see
the extent of Arthur's injuries.

Fortunately they were not at all serious, the dog's teeth not having
penetrated the sleeve of his coat, and making only blue bruises without
drawing blood.

"You've been more frightened than hurt, Arthur, this time," said Bruce,
with a sigh of relief; then adding, with a smile, "But you mustn't call
the dogs hard names again, they've evidently got very tender feelings in
this country."

"So it seems," laughed Arthur. "That fellow gave me a regular scare. I
never thought he was coming at me until he jumped. You just stopped him
in time, I tell you, my boy, for he was hurting awfully," and he rubbed
his shoulder to ease the pain.

"It can't be much fun stealing apples if all the farmers keep dogs like
that," said Bruce. "I wonder how the rascal feels now. He won't forget
the choking I gave him for a while."

Keeping on steadily after this little excitement they passed
Sault-aux-Recollets, where they had a chance to admire the noisy rapids
of a branch of the Ottawa river, and to wish that Big John was at hand
to take them through in his big boat. Two miles beyond was St. Martin
Junction, where they halted for dinner and a rest, having made twelve
good miles since starting out.

That afternoon they spent in the society of the saints, or rather of the
pretty little French villages which had been named in their honor,
proceeding from St. Martin to Sainte Rose, from Sainte Rose to Sainte
Therese, and from Sainte Therese to Saint Augustin, which place they
reached just before dark, and there remained for the night, finding
comfortable quarters in a diminutive hotel.

From Sainte Rose their road had followed the northern bank of the
Ottawa, of which broad stream they were continuously getting charming
views as it rolled onward to the St. Lawrence, bearing many steamboats,
lumber barges, and rafts of timber upon its brown bosom, and the
beautiful river was their companion throughout the remainder of their
tramp.

Leaving Saint Augustin bright and early, they resolved not to stop until
they had got to Lachute, some seventeen miles ahead, and by dint of very
close attention to business they accomplished their object. Their route
lay through narrow but well-tilled farms, mostly given to dairy
products, and they met or passed many people with pleasant, contented
faces who always nodded or smiled in a friendly way. Some, indeed, who
were driving and who had room in their wagons invited the boys to jump
in, but they declined with thanks, as they wanted to do the whole
distance on foot.

Lachute they found to be a flourishing town with huge paper-mills
utilizing the abundant water-power, which they spent an hour in
visiting, and were highly interested by the various processes which
turned a block of wood into a roll of paper.

An afternoon's hard walking, aided by a lift in a wagon for several
miles, brought them to Grenville in good time for tea, and they spent a
pleasant evening there watching the rapids which at that place break the
course of navigation, rendering a canal necessary in order that
steamers may pass up and down.

Here they saw for the first time a raft of square timber. It had come
down from the head-waters of the Ottawa, and was manned by a stalwart
tawny crew of Indians, half-breeds, and French Canadians, who, the day's
work being over, were free to indulge their fondness for song, and
dance, and boisterous laughter.

Being anxious to have a good look at these raftsmen the boys asked if
they might go on board the big raft, and, receiving a hearty assent,
joined the group of men around the "caboose," where the great fire of
logs lit up their swarthy faces, and was reflected in their flashing
eyes.

They were singing one after another of their river songs, and very
pleasant it was to listen to them, as their rich and soft, though
untrained, voices, now in solo and now in full chorus, rendered these
quaint _chansons_ which had been handed down through generations.

Both Bruce and Arthur loved music, and they keenly enjoyed this curious
open-air concert with its picturesque surroundings. The men were
evidently well pleased to have them as listeners, although they made no
attempt to enter into conversation with them.

After several songs had been given and liberally applauded one of the
men produced a fiddle, and drew from it merry strains of music that
would have set the toes of an auld kirk elder tapping. No sooner had he
begun to play than a handsome young half-breed stepped out from the
circle, and began dancing in a graceful fashion, snapping his fingers,
and giving a shout from time to time by way of emphasis.

After he had finished, the foreman of the gang of raftsmen, a
ruddy-haired, freckle-faced Scotchman, approached the boys and said in a
courteous tone of invitation:

"Maybe ye can sing or dance a bit yerselves?"

Bruce shook his head with a smile of denial, but Arthur, whose pulses
had been stirred by the moving music, asked:

"Would one of our school songs do you?"

"Ay, to be sure," responded the big Scotchman heartily. "We'll be much
obliged for the same."

"Come on, then, Bruce," said Arthur. "Let us give them a song."

Bruce at first shrank from attempting it, but Arthur urged him strongly,
arguing that it would be only civil, seeing how hospitably they had been
received; so in the end he consented, and they sang a couple of glees
that went very well indeed, and were lustily applauded.

Then Arthur, who was in great spirits, gave his companion a start by
asking:

"Can any one play Scotch music? My chum can dance the fling and
sword-dance splendidly."

"What nonsense!" exclaimed Bruce, blushing furiously. "Don't pay any
attention to him."

But the foreman's face had brightened at the question, and snatching the
fiddle out of the hands of the man who had been playing, he cried:

"Play Scotch music, is it? Maybe I'm your man for that," and at once the
fiddle broke forth into the liveliest kind of a lilt, whereupon Arthur
shoved Bruce out into the middle of the circle, saying:

"Foot it featly now, my boy."

Somewhat hesitatingly at first Bruce began the dance, but as the
inspiring strains fired his blood, he put more and more vigor into his
movements until he seemed the very incarnation of energy, the Scotchman
urging him on with encouraging shouts of enthusiastic approval until he
could dance no more, and was fain to throw himself upon a big timber,
completely blown.

A perfect storm of applause greeted the performance, and the delighted
spectators were eager for more; but Bruce was not to be persuaded, and
to escape their importunities he bade them "Good-night" and took himself
off, Arthur following reluctantly, for he would have liked to stay until
the party broke up.

Instead of going direct to the hotel they walked down the river bank
some distance, the night being bright and clear, and the swiftly rushing
waters very attractive. They had gone some little distance past the
houses, and were about to retrace their steps, when the shrill cry of a
woman in great fear came from the other side of a low hill.

"What's that?" exclaimed Arthur, looking at Bruce as though he might
have an answer ready.

"It's a woman crying for help," answered Bruce. "Let us go and see
what's the matter."

They hurried over the hill, and on the other side found a young girl
struggling to free herself from the grasp of a raftsman who was
apparently attempting to kiss her.

"Hi, there! stop that! let the girl alone!" shouted Arthur, his choler
rising in an instant, and rushing forward he caught the raftsman from
behind, making him loosen his grip of the girl, who at once darted off
without so much as saying "Thank you."

Furious at this interference, the raftsman, who was a sinister-looking
half-breed, turned upon Arthur with a horrible oath. But Bruce was too
quick for him. Putting out his foot he tripped him cleverly, and as he
fell prostrate, leaped upon his back, pinning him to the ground.

As he did so Arthur noticed a long knife stuck in a sheath and hanging
at the raftsman's hip. With a quick movement he drew it out, and when
the ruffian, throwing off Bruce, regained his feet, he found his other
opponent facing him with the keen blade.

Having had a sample of the strength of both lads, and being deprived of
the weapon to which he naturally resorted in a scuffle, the half-breed
decided that under the circumstances discretion was the better part of
valor, and after relieving his feelings by a torrent of abuse, set off
for the raft, Arthur calling after him, "If you want your knife again,
call at the hotel. We'll leave it there for you."

Keeping a sharp eye on him to make sure that he did not double on them,
and attack them from the rear, the boys returned to the hotel, and were
much gratified to learn that the girl to whom they had rendered such
timely source was the daughter of the proprietor, who had been returning
from an evening visit at her aunt's when she encountered the raftsman.

The hotel-keeper manifested his gratitude in a practical way by giving
of his best to the boys, and absolutely refusing to accept any payment
the following morning.

"No, no," he said emphatically, pushing away the proffered bank-note,
"not one cent will I let you pay me. You helped my little girl out of an
ugly fix, and the least I can do for you is to charge you nothing for
your night's lodging, and if you're ever passing this way again just
come right in, and stay as long as you like, and it won't cost you a
cent."

Seeing that he was in earnest, and would be hurt if they insisted upon
paying for their accommodation, the boys thanked him for his
hospitality and resumed their walk. As they passed the place where the
raft had been tied up they saw that it was gone, and with it the owner
of the knife, which still remained in the hotel-keeper's hands.

There was a threat of rain in the sky as they started, and they pressed
forward with energy, as they wanted to reach Montebello by dinner-time.
The road ran through very pretty scenery, the river being usually in
plain view on their left, while on their right the woods stretched away
to the foot of the Laurentian Mountains, except where broken by farms
that seemed to be well worth the tilling.

In one place they came to a wide extent of open country, and Bruce,
thinking something might be gained by taking a short cut through the
fields instead of following the more roundabout road, proposed that they
should make a bee-line across country.

Arthur quite approved, and, anticipating no interruption of their
progress, they left the highway for the more attractive sward. They had
crossed one field and had about reached the middle of another, when a
rumbling roar in the rear caused them to wheel about suddenly, and to
their consternation they saw that they were being pursued by a big black
bull that was bearing down upon them with blood in his eye.

"Heaven help us!" cried Arthur, "we're in for it now. We've got to cut
and run."

There certainly was no other alternative, so, taking to their heels,
they dashed off toward a clump of trees that had been left to afford
shade for the cattle, and now offered the only refuge in sight.

They were both fleet of foot, but so, too, was the bull, and he was
drawing dangerously near when, one turning to the right and the other to
the left, they came to a sudden stop, and the bull, bewildered by their
strategy, blundered past between them without touching either. With
remarkable quickness for so large and heavy an animal, however, the
brute pulled up short, and, singling out Arthur, charged madly at him.

Now, in the brief breathing space afforded by the successful dodge
Arthur had slipped his knapsack from off his shoulders intending to
throw it down, that he might run the better. But when the bull came at
him so suddenly he involuntarily swung it in his face, and as luck would
have it the horns caught in the straps, causing the knapsack to fall
over the animal's eyes, and for the moment blinding him, while Arthur
darted aside untouched.

Despite the bull's frantic tossings the knapsack hung on persistently,
diverting his attention from the boys, and enabling them to get a good
deal nearer to the clump of trees before the breaking of the strap
relieved the creature, and, if possible, more furious than ever he
resumed the chase.

They reached the trees not more than twenty yards in advance of him,
and had not time to climb out of harm's way before he was so close that
they had to begin a game of dodge among the tree-trunks that might have
been amusing enough with a less bloodthirsty playmate.

Roaring and plunging, the great creature hunted them with extraordinary
malignity until at last tripping over the exposed roots of a big tree he
came down with a crash, and before he could recover his feet both boys
had sprung into the branches of two adjacent trees, and climbed up out
of all immediate danger.

For a moment the bull lost sight of them, but Arthur's taunting cry of
"Here we are, old Taurus, just climb up and get us," revealed their
place of refuge; and it really seemed as if the maddened creature strove
to accept the boy's challenge, he made such frantic efforts to reach
them, while they mocked him merrily.

For a time this was well enough, but soon their situation became very
trying. They were both weary and hungry. They wanted to reach Montebello
in good season for dinner, and, moreover, the rain, which had been
threatening all the morning, now began to fall, not very heavily, to be
sure, but in a way that meant a thorough soaking if they were long
exposed to it.

"Goodness gracious!" groaned Arthur, "how are we ever to get out of
this? I'm starving, and I'm getting wet through, and I'm more than
half-inclined to slip down on the other side of this tree, and take my
chances of getting to the road ahead of the bull."

"Oh, no, don't try that," said Bruce earnestly; "the bull will get tired
in a little while and go away."

Whether the animal would have done so was not allowed to be known, for a
few minutes later the barking of dogs was heard, and presently two fine
collies came racing through the woods with a very inquiring look upon
their intelligent countenances. They seemed at once to take in the
situation, and did not require the urging on of the beleaguered boys to
assail the bull in the rear with sundry nips at his shanks that made him
right about in short order, and give his whole attention to defending
himself from their attack.

For a short time he stood at bay, and then, with a roar of baffled rage,
broke away and lumbered off across the field with the dogs close at his
heels. As soon as he had got some distance away the boys dropped to the
ground, and Arthur, having recovered his knapsack, they made all haste
to regain the road, continuing along which at a rapid walk they
presently reached Montebello, where a comfortable little hotel afforded
a welcome refuge from the rain and a good dinner into the bargain.

To continue their tramp in the afternoon was quite out of the question,
and they were at a loss what to do with themselves when the
hotel-keeper, an intelligent, sociable man, suggested that they should
visit the Papineau château, which stood a short distance beyond the
village.

On making inquiries about this place, of which they were fain to confess
their ignorance, they learned that it was there the famous Louis Joseph
Papineau, who was responsible for the Rebellion of 1837, when Lower
Canada rose in arms against Upper Canada, had spent the declining years
of his life in peaceful retirement. His son now enjoyed possession, and,
having been a great traveller, had built a museum to contain his
extensive collection of historical relics and trophies of travel, which
were well worth seeing.

Being assured that Monsieur Papineau would receive them courteously, and
be glad to show them his museum, they set off for the château. They had
no difficulty in finding the entrance gate, and as they passed up the
well-kept drive they saw around them the evidences of wealth and
refinement.

Soon they came upon the mansion, which was a precise imitation of the
châteaux they had often seen in France, having the round towers with
sharp-peaked roofs, the big dormer-windows, and the graystone walls, and
standing in the doorway was the master himself, a benevolent-looking old
gentleman wearing a velvet smoking-jacket and cap.

The boys advanced with their caps in their hands, and Bruce explained
the object of their visit. M. Papineau received them graciously, and,
after expressing his regret that the state of the weather would not
permit of his showing them over the grounds, went into the house for the
key of his museum, which was a separate building to the right of the
residence.

Having procured the key he took them into his treasure-house, and they
at once saw that they would be well repaid for their coming. The
building was like a small chapel, except that it was lighted from the
roof instead of by windows at the sides. All around the walls ran glass
cases filled with objects of interest, while the centre of the room was
occupied with birds and animals skilfully mounted, and comfortable
chairs upon which to sit at ease.

In the cases were historical relics of unique interest and value, and a
thousand and one objects of art and other curios, such as travellers
with well-filled purses are sure to gather.

To M. Papineau the task of describing these and their associations was
evidently a labor of love, and the boys being most appreciative
listeners, the time slipped by unheeded by all until Bruce, bethinking
him of his watch, glanced at it, and was astonished to find the
afternoon flown.

He at once began to apologize for their having remained so long, and
they were about to take their leave, having thanked M. Papineau most
cordially for his kindness to them, when the old gentleman, laying a
hand upon the shoulder of each, said in a tone that was as much of
command as invitation:

"Not at all, my young friends. You shall not depart in this fashion. You
have helped me to while away what would otherwise have been an afternoon
of _ennui_, and now you must do me the honor to dine with me, and in the
evening my servant will convey you back to the hotel. Shall it not be
so?"

The boys were too honest to simulate reluctance to accept so attractive
an invitation, and, with a glance at Arthur, whose beaming countenance
clearly expressed his mind, Bruce said:

"You are very kind, sir, and we will be only too glad to do as you say,
for we find it lonely at the hotels."

So they went into the house, where they were first shown into a
dressing-room, and then, having had a good wash and brush up, they went
into the drawing-room, and were presented to Madame Papineau, a sweet
old lady, who gave them a motherly welcome.

The dinner, served in the old-fashioned French style, was heartily
enjoyed, and they remained for an hour later, chatting with their kind
hosts, and telling them all about their experiences in the past and
their plans for the future.

Shortly after nine o'clock they took their leave, and were escorted
back to the hotel by a stout man-servant, who could not speak a word of
English.

"Well, we do seem to have the rarest kind of luck, don't we?" said
Arthur, as they walked away from the château. "No matter what kind of a
fix we get into we come out of it all right, and we're always meeting
with people who are as kind to us as if they were our own relations."

"You're just right, Arthur," responded Bruce; "and I hope it will be so
all the way across, and then we'll have a good story to tell our fathers
when we reach them."

"But we've got a long way to go before that, haven't we?" said Arthur,
swallowing a sigh that he did not want to confess to. "How jolly it
would be if they were with us!"

"There wouldn't be much walking for us if they were, my boy," said
Bruce. "They'd want to travel in the train."

"That's so," assented Arthur. "They'd not be bothered going this way. I
wonder what they'll think of us when they see us. It's a good many years
since we went to school, and we must be very much changed. Do you think
they'd recognize us if they were to see us in the street?"

"No indeed!" answered Bruce. "Unless they'd know us from the last
photographs we had taken to send them."

"Ah! but our mothers will know us right off," said Arthur. "We won't
need to tell them who we are." And he gave a glad laugh at the thought
of meeting again the mother from whom he had been so long separated.

The servant accompanied them all the way to the hotel, and evidently
considered himself well repaid by the piece of silver Bruce handed him.

They were in excellent humor for their beds, which were very clean and
comfortable, and did not turn out of them until long past sunrise the
next morning.

They found the road in capital condition for walking, there having been
just sufficient rain to lay the dust without making mud, and they kept
steadily at it all day long, save for a couple of hours rest at mid-day,
thereby getting as far as Buckingham, where they halted for the night.

They were now within twenty miles of Ottawa, and they spent the next day
doing this distance in leisurely fashion, so that they reached the
Chaudière Falls before sunset, and crossed the broad iron bridge between
Hull and Ottawa just as the whistles were blowing for the day-gangs at
the big lumber mills to leave off work.

Mr. Gillespie had told them what hotel to put up at, and they were
rejoiced to find their portmanteaus awaiting them there, for the clothes
they wore were beginning to show the effects of pedestrian travel.

[Illustration: "'WHO'D HAVE THOUGHT TO SEE SUCH FINE BUILDINGS OUT IN
THIS COUNTRY.' SAID ARTHUR."]

After a late dinner they went up to Parliament Hill to spend the
evening. The grand proportions and admirable architecture of the Houses
of Parliament and the Departmental Buildings impressed them deeply.

"Who'd have thought to see such fine buildings out in this country?"
said Arthur, with a touch of Old Country conceit. "Why, they're nearly
as big and as splendid as the Houses of Parliament in London, aren't
they, Bruce?"

"Almost," replied Bruce, gazing admiringly at the dome of the Library,
with its beautiful flying buttresses and soaring pinnacles. "I wonder
can we go through these buildings to-morrow; I would like to see what
they're like inside."

A gentleman who was standing near them overheard what Bruce said, and
answered it courteously:

"There is no difficulty whatever about your seeing the inside as well as
the outside. You just go through one of the side entrances and you can
roam about as you please."

Bruce thanked him for the information, and they fell into conversation,
in the course of which Arthur, pointing to the Chaudière Falls, which
were faintly discernible and distinctly audible to the north of where
they sat, and remembering their exciting passage of the Rachine Rapids,
asked:

"Has anybody ever come down these falls in a canoe or boat?"

The gentleman laughed as he replied:

"Only one man is known to have come through the Chaudière and lived to
boast of it. Would you like to hear about him?"

"Yes, indeed," the boys chorused eagerly, and, laying aside his cigar,
the new acquaintance told the tale:

"It happened nearly forty years ago," said he. "My father, who was
engaged in the lumber business at the falls, saw the whole thing, and
I've often heard him describe it. A big raft of square timber was being
run into the slides above the falls, and one of the cribs, owing to the
men not understanding properly how to steer it, got out of the channel
near the shore and into the powerful current, which soon swept it away
towards the brink of the falls, over which no human being had ever
passed alive. All the men working in the mills quickly heard of it, and
crowded upon the old Suspension bridge which stood where you see the
iron one now, not one of them supposing that there was anything but
death for the two unfortunate raftsmen. It must have been an awfully
thrilling sight as the crib came down through the roaring rapids above
the falls without it being possible to give the poor men any help. Just
as the crib entered the rapids one of the men--his name was Baptiste
Beaudran--made a desperate jump for the shore, but fell far short of it,
and vanished utterly, not a trace of him ever being found!"

"The poor fellow!" sighed Arthur, whose sympathies were readily roused,
and who was listening to the narration with intense interest. "He must
have been drawn right in under the falls and kept there by the water."

"Perhaps so," said the gentleman. "The other man, Paul Filardeau, kept
his place, and, to the astonishment of everybody, the crib, instead of
going right over the falls, stopped on the very brink, having caught
against a bit of rock that held it fast. The spray was dashing over Paul
and drenching him, but so long as the crib held together he was safe
enough, and my father, and some others who had not lost their heads, at
once set about devising means to rescue him.

"They got a thin fishing-line, tied a stone to one end, and, going as
near the crib as they could, tried to throw the stone aboard it. After
several misses they were successful, and Paul, understanding at once
what was meant, pulled on the string, to which a stronger line had been
attached, and then a hawser, which was passed over a high post. A large
iron ring was then fixed on the hawser, to which a smaller rope was
fastened, a few feet at one end being allowed to hang down for the
purpose of securing round the man's body.

"The arrangements being completed, the signal was given to Paul to
start. It was a risky business, and no mistake, but it was his only
chance for his life, and he never hesitated. Tying himself to the ring
which ran freely on the hawser, he launched out from the crib and
disappeared in the foaming water. But at the other end of the rope they
were pulling for all they were worth, and the next moment he bobbed up
again with his cap still tight on his head.

"The crowd gave a great cheer, which was soon followed by another and
still louder one as the man reached the shore, and was lifted out of the
water by my father and those with him, not a bit the worse save for the
wetting, and that means nothing to a lumberman."

Both boys drew a big breath of relief when the narrator of this
thrilling incident had finished.

"That was wonderful, wasn't it?" said Bruce; "and if the crib had turned
a little way to either side it would have gone over the falls. Is the
rock on which it caught there still, sir?"

"No," replied the gentleman, "it wore away some time ago, and there's no
sign of it now."

"But how do the big rafts get past the falls, then?" asked Arthur.
"They'd be all broken up if they went over them, wouldn't they?"

"Oh, they come down through the slides," was the answer. "Haven't you
seen the slides?"

"Why, no," responded Arthur; "where are they? and can we see them?"

"Of course you can; they're up there to the left of the falls, looking
this way. They're so surrounded by lumber piles that you can't see them.
You must go up to-morrow and have a look at them. They're well worth
seeing."

The boys thanked the gentleman for his story and the information he had
given them, and went back to their hotel determined to see both the
Parliament Buildings and the slides the following morning.

They returned to Parliament Hill right after breakfast, and under the
guidance of one of the messengers, who explained everything to them as
they passed from room to room, they made the rounds of the buildings.

In the Senate Chamber they sat in the chairs of the grave and reverend
legislators, and even dared to try the cushions of the great carved
chair used only by the Governor-General on the occasion of the opening
or proroguing of Parliament. Then in the House of Commons they took
turns in the Speaker's chair, and faced one another across the floor as
leader of the Government and of the Opposition respectively.

Thence they went into the superb library, and looked over the
illustrated papers and magazines until mid-day, making themselves quite
as much at home as if they had been members of the House.

After lunch they were ready for the slides. On inquiry they learned that
a tram-car that passed the hotel door would take them to the very spot,
so they jumped on board, and after a ride through the city reached the
region of the big lumber mills.

They had no difficulty in finding the slides, for these passed beneath a
bridge over which the tram-car ran, and, as with their wonted luck, a
number of cribs were going through that afternoon.

Making their way to the head of the slides, which were, in brief,
gigantic wooden troughs, sloping downward and filled with water, whereby
the great clumsy cribs of timber coasted down from above the falls to
the smooth water below, they stood for some time watching the cribs one
by one begin the descent.

The longer Arthur looked on the more keen became his desire to try a
trip through, and at last he made bold to call out as a crib slid by:

"Please will you take a couple of passengers?"

"_Certainément_, if you do not mind getting wet," was the reply from the
man addressed, a pleasant-faced French Canadian.

"Come along, then, Bruce," cried Arthur, springing on board, his chum
following without a word of protest, and, taking the places assigned
them by the raftsmen, they began the passage of the slides.




CHAPTER VI.

THE PASSAGE OF THE SLIDES.


The curious craft to which the boys had thus committed themselves
requires description. It was really a raft, composed of huge sticks of
square timber ranging from fifteen to thirty inches square and averaging
twenty or more feet in length. These were all of white pine, and looked
as fresh and bright as if they had just been hewn.

The crib was made by placing a dozen of the sticks side by side and
fastening the two outer ones together by cross-pieces secured by big
wooden pegs. The intermediate sticks were not attached to anything, but
kept in place by their own weight; on top of all lay three immense
timbers, one at either side and one in the centre, called the
"loading-sticks," that bore heavily upon the cross-pieces, and thus the
whole crib was held together more by the sheer weight of its parts than
in any other way.

The place assigned the boys was on the centre timber, about the middle.

"You stay there," said the raftsman, who held the stern oar, a huge,
heavy thing made out of a rough scantling, "and you may not get wet,
unless," he added, with a serious expression, "we break up, and then we
must all swim for it."

The crib by this time had got well started down the narrow canal that
led to the slides, and even if the boys had repented of starting they
could not have withdrawn from the enterprise.

The canal was lined with high wooden walls past which the clumsy crib
was gliding at a speed that plainly showed the great force of the
current by which it was being borne onward.

The passage was so narrow that every few yards the crib would strike the
sides and scrape along, with strange groans as if of suffering, which
did not fail to tell upon the boys' nerves; but it was when they came to
the first dip that they began to feel some alarm.

After sweeping by tall piles of boards they saw ahead of them a light
wooden bridge beyond which the water was evidently at a lower level.

"See, Bruce!" exclaimed Arthur, pointing ahead, "there must be a fall
there, and we've got to go over it."

Without turning his head, Bruce nodded assent, and the next moment they
had reached the bridge and, not pausing in their swift flight, had
plunged over the fall of several feet, the sudden descent sending the
front of the crib deep under water, so that a wave swept over the whole
deck, drenching the raftsmen to the knees but sparing the boys, who were
above its reach.

"A miss is as good as a mile," said Bruce, quietly settling himself more
firmly on the timber. "But that's only the beginning of it, if I'm not
mistaken."

It was, indeed, only the beginning, for hardly had they got over the
surprise of the first dip when they came to another and still deeper
one, beyond which was a long slope of slimy timbers barely covered with
water whereon the crib scraped throughout its whole length.

The creaking and groaning of the great sticks were positively
distressing, and as the boys shot past the high wooden walls of the
slide they both devoutly wished themselves on top of them, although
neither confessed the fact by word or look.

The slant grew sharper, and the speed of the crib increased the farther
it went, until it was flashing by like a toboggan down an ice-hill; and,
realizing that they must bring up presently in the river below, the boys
gripped the loading-stick tightly, and awaited the issue with no small
anxiety.

Now, one of the uncertainties which always lent a big spice of danger to
running the slides, except in cribs specially strengthened, was whether
the crib would hold together to the end of the passage, as it often
happened that the middle sticks would be scrubbed out, or the
cross-pieces torn away, and the whole thing fall apart.

Neither Bruce nor Arthur knew anything about this, but the raftsmen did,
and their swarthy faces took on an anxious expression as the groaning
and creaking increased in a way that showed there was a more than usual
amount of friction. They had almost reached the bottom of the slope, and
the smooth level water below was in full view, when the front raftsman
gave a cry of warning, and at the same moment made a spring for the side
of the slide nearest him, which by good luck he succeeded in reaching
and drawing himself up to the top.

Neither the boys nor the other raftsmen were in position to imitate him,
and before they could do anything else the front cross-piece snapped
like a pipe-stem, and the whole front of the crib opened out like a
gigantic fan.

When this happened the big loading-stick, upon which the boys crouched,
struck the bottom of the slide with a sharp shock that threw them in
into the water right amongst the other sticks.

Their situation at once became one of great peril. They were almost near
the bottom of the slide where the water was full twenty feet deep, and
they were hemmed in on every side by the disorganized portions of the
crib, a blow from any one of which might mean death. Neither of the
raftsmen could offer any assistance, one being on top of the wall, and
the other struggling for his own life.

Yet neither of them uttered a cry nor lost his self-control for an
instant. They clearly recognized that their only chance of life lay in
relying entirely upon themselves for rescue from their perilous plight,
and they struggled silently but sturdily with the mighty current that
seemed determined to overcome them.

At the foot of the slide they were for a moment carried under by the
rushing water and buried beneath a bank of foam, but they fought their
way to the top again, and, sweeping aside the thick froth of the fall,
at the same instant caught sight of a big stick floating near.

A few quick strokes brought them to it, and drawing their shoulders
clear of the water they saw each other for the first time since the
collapse of the crib.

"Thank Heaven, you're all right!" exclaimed Arthur, his pale, wet face
lighting up with joy.

"And so are you, I'm glad to see," responded Bruce, smiling back at him.
"But we've got a good soaking, haven't we?"

It was ever Bruce's way to take things quietly, no matter how alarming
they might be. He really felt as deeply as any one, but he liked to hide
his feelings under a mask of composure that came as natural to him as
Arthur's excitability did to him.

Being in deep, still water now, the boys thought they were pretty well
out of danger, but were soon awakened to a new peril by a shout of
warning from the raftsmen on the shore.

Another crib had been in the slides not far behind theirs, and having
made the passage unscathed, was now charging down upon them with
tremendous impetus, the water foaming fiercely before its massive front.

"Look out, Arthur!" cried Bruce, who was farthest away from where the
crib would strike. "Let go where you are and make for me."

Arthur gave one startled glance at the charging crib and then made a
dash for Bruce, reaching his side just as the heavy crib struck the
timber at the very spot where he had been the minute before.

So furious was the onset of the crib that it seemed to spring upon the
loose stick, bearing it down under the water that closed over it,
foaming.

The boys went down with the stick, and this time it seemed as if it was
all over with them; a horrible sense of suffocation possessed them; they
became faint to the verge of insensibility, and indeed they would
certainly have drowned had not a swerve of the crib released their stick
and allowed them to rise to the surface close alongside, where the
raftsmen promptly grasped them and hauled them on board utterly
exhausted, yet with breath enough left to murmur thanks to their timely
helpers.

An hour later they were back in their room at the hotel putting on some
dry clothes and laughing gleefully over the exciting experience of the
afternoon.

[Illustration: "ARTHUR GAVE ONE STARTLED GLANCE AT THE CHARGING CRIB,
AND THEN MADE A DASH FOR BRUCE."]

"What between water-falls, highwaymen, runaway horses, bull-dogs, and
timber-slides, we're having a lively time of it, aren't we, chum?" said
Arthur, pulling on his trousers.

"Yes, and if we get through the rest of our adventures as well as we
have through the first we'll have a lot to tell our fathers when we
arrive in Shanghai, if we ever reach there," replied Bruce, arranging
his necktie with wonted precision.

"Never fear, we'll get through all right," returned Arthur confidently,
"our luck is going to last."

They remained over till Sunday in Ottawa, in the morning attending
service at St. Andrew's Church because of its name, and going again in
the evening because of the attractive preaching.

On Monday afternoon they boarded the transcontinental train as it passed
through Ottawa on its long journey to the Pacific Coast. They were so
impressed by the costly and elegant equipment of the cars that they
wondered if it were not some special train they had got on board, and
not intended for ordinary passengers like themselves.

On looking round at their fellow-travellers, however, their minds were
soon made easy, and they settled down to enjoy the comforts of the most
sumptuous railway carriage they had ever rode in.

"This beats anything I've ever seen," said Arthur, noting with hearty
admiration the artistically carved white mahogany, the broad panels of
Mexican onyx, the gleaming mirrors, and the rich soft plush which
combined to make up so satisfying a picture. "It's quite good enough for
a prince, isn't it?"

"Quite," assented Bruce, stretching himself out luxuriously on the soft
cushions. "And it makes me feel like a prince to be here."

"This is one of the wonderful Pullman sleeping-cars we've heard so much
about, you know," said Arthur, "and I'm all impatience to see how
they're managed."

"Oh, you'll have to wait for bedtime to see that," said Bruce. "See,
there's the porter; they have nothing but negroes for porters on these
cars. Jack Gillespie was telling me about it."

Arthur looked hard at the porter, who was in truth much more of a
mulatto than a negro, and felt much inclined to ask him some questions,
but, fearing the other passengers would overhear him, he refrained,
preferring to wait a more convenient time.

They were beginning to feel very hungry, and to ask themselves how they
would manage about dinner, and whether the train stopped at some station
long enough to allow the meal to be had in comfort, when a railway
official came into the car, calling out loudly:

"Dinner now ready in the dining-car," and forth-with there was a
general move of the passengers in the direction indicated.

"Come along, Bruce," cried Arthur, springing up to join the procession;
"that includes us, I imagine."

So they went into the next car ahead and found themselves in a long,
handsomely decorated room furnished with tables and comfortable seats,
where the gleam of glass, the shine of silver, and the snowiness of
linen made a very welcome picture for folks with keen appetites.

Taking one of the small tables that held only two persons they looked
about them with admiring eyes. It was their first experience of a modern
dining-car, and they saw much that was interesting to them.

To be served with a six-course dinner in the style of a first-class
hotel while speeding along at the rate of thirty miles an hour was
certainly a very pleasing novelty and one which they heartily enjoyed.

When the time came to make up the berths in the cars for the night, the
boys' wonder was aroused anew. They watched every move of the dusky
porter as with quick, deft touches he transformed the seats into broad
couches, and drew out from the sides of the car wide berths whose
existence until then might never have been expected, covering them with
mattresses and bed-clothing, and thus, as if by magic, converting them
into beds fit for a king to sleep on.

"This certainly beats anything I ever saw or imagined," said Bruce.
"It's well worth coming all this way to see, isn't it?"

"Right you are," responded Arthur as he dived into his berth, "and I'm
going to be so comfortable here that I won't want to turn out in a
hurry."

Comfortable as they undoubtedly were the novelty of the situation kept
them awake a good while, and they were about the last to get to sleep in
the car.

But they made up for it by over-sleeping the next morning, and when
Bruce put his head through the curtains that closed him in he was
dismayed to see that all the other berths were already made up, and to
hear the dining-car conductor call out: "Last call for breakfast in the
dining-car." Rousing up Arthur, who had not stirred, a hurried toilet
was made in the lavatory, and they got into the dining-car just in time
to secure some breakfast, whereupon they determined to get up earlier in
future.

The railroad ran through rough yet picturesque scenery, and as the boys
noted the number of streams they crossed, and lakes whose shores they
skirted, they expressed to one another how they would like to try the
fishing in some of these waters which looked as if they ought to hold
plenty of trout and other fish.

"There is no trouble about your doing that," said a gentleman who had
the seat behind them, and overheard their conversation. "If you can
spare the time you may have all the fishing you like."

They were at once interested, and, accepting the gentleman's invitation
to come into his section, they questioned him as to how it could be
managed.

"There's no trouble about it," said their informant. "You just have to
stop off at Nepigon station, and the station-master there, or the
hotel-keeper, will tell you just what to do. You'll need a couple of
guides, of course, and a good canoe to do the thing properly, and
perhaps you might think it too expensive."

"Oh, that's all right," responded Arthur somewhat pompously. "We've got
money enough to carry us through, and we're in no hurry as to time."

"In that case," returned the gentleman, hardly restraining a smile at
the young lad's important manner, "you will have no difficulty. I've
been up the Nepigon myself, and can promise you as fine trout-fishing as
you ever had in your life."

This information put the boys in great humor. They had often gone
a-fishing in Scotland during their holidays, and thus acquired some
skill as anglers, and the prospect of trying their fortune with the big
trout of the Nepigon was very attractive.

They plied their new acquaintance (who gave his name to them as Mr.
Cooper, and explained that he was one of the divisional engineers of the
railroad, having charge of the section over which they were passing)
with many questions about the country, and the railroad itself, and he
interested them deeply by detailing the tremendous difficulties the
company had to encounter in building the road.

"I spent nearly two years on the north shore of Lake Superior," he said,
"and I hope I'll never have to work so hard again in my life. We used
over one hundred tons of dynamite a month in blasting through the rocks,
and removed nearly three million tons of rock. We had fully twelve
thousand men working summer and winter, and two thousand teams of
horses, besides three hundred dog teams in the winter time. Those were
stirring times, I tell you, and I could make a big book out of the
strange things that happened. One day an Irishman in charge of a team
was waiting for a load near a huge pile of iron rails that had been laid
down on top of a high bank when the weight of the rails made a landslide
that carried cart and horses into the lake, where the rails pinned the
team to the bottom in twenty feet of water, and it could be seen there
for many a day afterwards, the water being perfectly clear. The Irishman
had a narrow escape from sharing his horses' fate."

"The difficulties we had to overcome were something appalling. Why, in
order to get material and supplies from the lake shore opposite
Michipicoten to the railway line, we had first to cut a road seven miles
long through the rocks, and then traverse a lake for the same distance
by steamboat. Next came sixteen miles of rough, rocky country, requiring
plenty of blasting and cutting. After that a second lake sixteen miles
long, then three miles of road, and finally a third lake.

"We had to bore tunnel after tunnel right through solid rock, and no
less than ten rivers, one of them one hundred and fifty feet in width,
had to be diverted from their natural courses and carried through
tunnels excavated under the road-bed. So you see," Mr. Cooper concluded,
"we Canadians feel rather proud of this great railway of ours, seeing
how hard it was to build this part of it, at all events."

As the boys listened to these interesting statements they thought that
the Canadian people had good reason to be proud of so vast an
undertaking, and were disposed to congratulate themselves that it had
been carried to such successful completion that they could roll
comfortably along in a luxurious Pullman car over the iron road that had
cost so much human thought and labor to construct.

But it was when they came to the stretch between Heron Bay and Nepigon
that their admiration for the builders of the road was raised to its
highest pitch. Here the track was laid, for the most part, upon a rock
gallery carved out of the face of the cliffs, and directly overlooking
the majestic breadth of Lake Superior, whose waters seemed more vividly
blue than the heavens above. A hundred feet or more below them lay the
lake, while overhead towered massive crags, richly colored and
fantastically adorned with trees, vines, and creeping, blossoming
vegetation and mosses.

"We never saw anything like this at home, did we, Bruce?" said Arthur,
whose quick eye lost nothing of the grandeur of the ever-changing
picture revealed through the broad windows of the car.

"I'm sorry we did not walk this part. We're going so quickly that one
hasn't time to see all you'd like to."

"I would like to be tramping it, too," said Bruce, "especially on so
glorious a day. I hope we'll have weather like this so long as we stay
over at Nepigon. Oh, but, Arthur," he added, his face lighting up at the
thought, "if we're only lucky enough to land a six-pounder apiece! I
never caught anything bigger than three pounds in my life."

It was soon after breakfast when the train reached Nepigon station, near
the mouth of the Nepigon river, and the boys, taking leave of Mr.
Cooper, with many thanks for his kindness, let the train go on without
them.

Mr. Cooper had given them a note to the agent of the Hudson's Bay
Company at Red Rock post, not far from the station, and, leaving their
portmanteaus with the station-master, they started to hunt him up.

In this they had no difficulty, and on presentation of the note were
most cordially received, and invited to remain and have mid-day dinner,
at which their doings might be discussed.

In the midst of laying out for them a program that would occupy three
days, their host, Mr. Stewart, interrupted himself to ask:

"Look here, is there anything to prevent your staying a week if I could
make it worth your while?"

The boys looked at one another. They were not, indeed, in any special
hurry, and if the inducement were strong enough they could remain a
week, but they wanted to know first whether it would be worth while
doing so.

Mr. Stewart, divining the meaning of their glance, hastened to add:

"What I have in mind is this: I have to go down to our post at Poplar
Point very soon, and if you'd care to accompany me I'd start to-morrow,
and on that trip you'd have all the trout-fishing you could wish, and
see something of the country besides. What do you say?"

Arthur was for accepting off-hand, but Bruce wanted more light on the
subject. When, however, he understood that what was so kindly offered
was a long canoe trip, with every provision for safety and comfort, he
accepted the invitation cordially.

The afternoon was spent in making the necessary arrangements, and the
following morning the little party set out. It consisted of Mr. Stewart,
Bruce, and Arthur, three brown, sinewy half-breeds, and Mr. Stewart's
dog Nep, a fine specimen of the "huskie" breed, from which come the best
sledge-dogs in the world.

They had two canoes, and were divided up in this way: Mr. Stewart with
Bruce, Nep, and one of the half-breeds occupied the first canoe, while
Arthur with the other two half-breeds had the second.

Mr. Stewart thoughtfully provided the required fishing-tackle, and took
his rifle, the boys had their revolvers, and the half-breeds
ugly-looking hunting-knives and hatchets, so they were pretty well
armed.

The canoe interested the young travellers immensely. They had never seen
that kind of craft before, much less been in one of them, although they
were familiar enough with them in books.

The two canoes were both excellent examples of the means whereby the
American Indian has from time immemorial traversed the multitudinous
waterway of the northland, and certainly nothing more perfectly adapted
to the purposes required has ever been constructed by human hands.

A skin of the tough outer bark of the white birch, sewed together with
the fibrous roots of the spruce, tightly stretched over ribs of cedar,
and the seams daubed with the resinous gum of the pine or tamarack--such
is the Indian canoe, light, strong, and buoyant, simply constructed, and
easily repaired if damaged. Floating like a bubble on the water it will,
if not too deeply laden, ride safely over seas sufficient to swamp an
ordinary boat. Astonishingly easy to be upset by a novice, it becomes in
experienced hands the safest and most stable of crafts, as it certainly
is the most picturesque.

Seated in the bottom of the canoes while Mr. Stewart and the half-breeds
did the paddling, the boys had nothing to do but enjoy themselves as
they glided across the still waters of Lake Helen to where the swift
current of the Nepigon river makes its entrance.

They were enjoying their new experience to the utmost, and exchanged
appreciative comments as the canoes kept side by side. In the course of
the morning, however, Arthur's restless spirit began to tire of
inaction, and he watched with longing eyes the steady, skilful sweep of
the paddles in the half-breeds' hands.

At length he could not further contain himself, and looking across at
Mr. Stewart called out:

"Might I try to paddle a little when the men get tired?"

Mr. Stewart laughed as he answered:

"I'm afraid you'd have to wait a long time for your turn, then, my boy.
These men of mine can keep this up all day long for a month. They don't
know what the word 'tired' means when they've hold of the paddles,--do
you?" he asked, looking around at the half-breeds.

They flashed their white teeth in a complacent smile, and nodded an
emphatic negative without saying a word.

"But," continued Mr. Stewart, noting the shadow of disappointment on
Arthur's countenance, "there's a spare paddle in each canoe, and you're
both welcome to try your hand at it if you want to."

Bruce was no less eager than Arthur to hold a paddle, and so the next
minute they were sitting on the cross-pieces in the centre of the canoes
and paddling away with great vigor.

Seeing that they had never before held a paddle, it could hardly be
expected that they should at once put their strength to the best use,
and a quiet smile of superiority stole over the swarthy features of the
half-breeds as Arthur barked his knuckles and scraped his wrist against
the gunwale of the canoe in his undue eagerness to be of help to the
paddlers. Bruce, taking things more quietly, did not expose himself in
the same degree, although he found some difficulty in managing his stout
ash blade.

But, by taking pattern from the half-breeds, and giving their whole
minds to their work, both boys ere long got into the swing of the thing,
and kept at it bravely in spite of aching backs and weary muscles until
the canoes reached the foot of the Long Rapids, where, much to their
relief, Mr. Stewart called a halt for dinner.

As they got out of the canoes Mr. Stewart said, in a tone of hearty
approval:

"Well done, my lads, you'll make right good paddlers in no time."

The boys felt so pleased at this compliment that they quite forgot for
the time the blisters on their palms, and Bruce said in reply:

"It's very kind of you to say so, sir. We did our best, but we never had
a paddle in our hands before, and we find that there's a good deal to be
learned in using it."

"Of course there is," said Mr. Stewart cheerfully; "but you'll not take
long to learn, and you'll be able to help us a good deal on our trip;
and now," he continued, "as we'll stay here a couple of hours, you might
as well have a try at the trout while Lacroix is cooking our dinner."

This suggestion suited the boys admirably, and in a twinkling they had
the rods ready, and directed their steps to a pool at the foot of the
rapids, which the canoes would have to overcome by being portaged.

A more likely looking spot into which to cast a line no angler could
desire, and, comparatively slight as the boys' knowledge of the gentle
art was, their hearts beat high with hope of success as they dropped
their flies into the deep, clear water which eddied and swirled not too
swiftly after dashing over a sharp slant of jagged rocks.

Nor was their confidence misplaced. Hardly had the flies touched the
water than there was a rush, a spring, a quick, hard pull on the line,
and both boys simultaneously shouted with delight:

"I've got one! I've got one!"




CHAPTER VII.

PADDLE AND PORTAGE.


To say that Bruce and Arthur were excited when the strong tug on the
line and the sudden bending of the rod told them that they were hooked
to good big trout is but faintly to describe their feelings.

Never since they set out upon their journey had such thrills of joy
inspired them. They almost forgot to draw breath in the intensity of
their anxiety to land their finny prizes, and heard nothing of Mr.
Stewart's warning shouts:

"Play them carefully, my lads; don't be in too much of a hurry. They're
little demons to fight."

But the boys were in no mood for care. Their one thought was to get
their trout ashore as soon as possible, and in his eagerness to
accomplish this Bruce pressed his fellow so hard that he tore the hook
out of his mouth, while Arthur, in attempting to jump to a rock that
seemed a superior coign of vantage, slipped and fell, the rod flying
from his hands and shooting far out into the middle of the pool.

"I've lost my fish!" cried Bruce, chagrin over-spreading his
countenance.

"And I've lost my rod!" responded Arthur, picking himself up and rubbing
his bruised shins. "But I'm just going after it," he added, and without
more ado he plunged into the cool, clear water and struck out vigorously
for the rod, while the other members of the party looked on with mingled
amazement and amusement.

A few quick strokes put the rod once more in his possession, and
returning to the rock on which he had tumbled, he took his place again,
crying triumphantly:

"I've not lost him yet. See if I don't land him, after all."

Sure enough the taut line showed that the hook still held, and, paying
no heed to his dripping condition, Arthur, his ardor in no wise cooled
by his bath, but his wild excitement considerably abated, played his
lively captive like a veteran angler, now letting the line run out to
its full length, and now reeling it cautiously in again, until at length
he had the supreme satisfaction of drawing in to the shore within reach
of one of the half-breeds as fine a five-pounder as ever the water of
the Nepigon had yielded.

When the speckled beauty was safely landed, Arthur threw down his rod,
and capered about for very joy, the drops of water flying from his
dripping garments.

"Isn't he a monster!" he cried exultantly. "He's well worth a wetting, I
tell you." Then catching up the fish he ran over to where Lacroix was
busy cooking dinner. "Can't you put this fellow on your bill of fare?"
he asked. "Please do, if it is not too late."

The half-breed smiled indulgently at the boy's excitement.

"To be sure," he replied. "There is time enough," and taking the trout
he in a twinkling had it decapitated and cleaned and ready for broiling.

Meanwhile Bruce was going on quietly replacing the fly on his hook, and
dropping it gently into the pool. For a few minutes there was no
response, Arthur's plunge having frightened the fish away. But presently
Bruce's turn came, and he hooked a good big trout, which gave him a lot
of work before being vanquished. It was not a five-pounder, but it was
well worth catching, and dinner being ready by the time it was landed
there was no more fishing that morning.

After a hearty dinner, at which Arthur's trout was the _pièce de
resistance_, and a half-hour's rest while Lacroix cleaned up and the
other men smoked their pipes in luxurious content, Mr. Stewart gave
orders for the portage.

It being their first experience of a portage, the boys watched the
proceedings with great interest. The half-breeds were all sturdy
fellows, and the indifference with which they treated heavy bundles
made the two young spectators stare with astonishment.

A large box of goods for the post at Poplar Point would be swung on the
back by a broad leather strap that crossed the forehead, known as the
"tump-line." This served as a foundation upon which was lifted a heavy
bag of flour, a roll of blankets, and a miscellaneous bundle on top of
all. Then, with an axe in his belt and a stout stick in his hand, the
half-breed would go off contentedly, and traverse without a stumble a
rocky path over which a white man might find it hard enough to pass
unburdened.

What elicited the warmest admiration of the boys, however, was the way
the canoes were carried past the rapids which could not be navigated in
safety.

Turning each one bottom up a half-breed got underneath, and, seizing it
by the middle, shifted and strained until he had it poised fairly upon
his shoulders with both bow and stem clear of the ground, when he
marched off looking like a gigantic snail.

Of course, Bruce and Arthur offered to do their share of the carrying,
and divided with Mr. Stewart the small bundles which made up the balance
of the freight.

This portage was more than a mile in length, over bare, burnt granite
ledges, and, under the glare of a mid-summer sun, the boys found it
very wearisome, but they soon forgot that when the canoes were launched
again in the still waters of Lake Jessie.

Pushing on to the head of Lake Jessie, the canoes pressed through the
Narrows into Lake Maria, whenceforward the scenery was so beautiful and
striking that they seemed to traverse an enchanted land.

The Nepigon ran swift and deep through a narrow channel of rocks whose
lofty walls, undulating on either hand and jutting out into headlands,
overlapped each other so that the _voyageurs_, as they might fitly be
called, seemed to be navigating, link by link, a chain of charming
lakelets.

"Just look at those rocks, Arthur," Bruce called out from his canoe. "We
never saw anything like that in Scotland."

The coloring of the cliffs was indeed remarkable, their hard gray faces
being decked by the lichens with orange and yellow, green and gray, in
every possible shade. The marvellously pure water, the splintered crags,
lichen-painted, the silver-stemmed birches, aspen-poplars, and balsams
crowning the cliffs, combined to make up a picture of unforgettable
beauty.

At times paddling vigorously,--for the men were glad of the help they
could render in fighting the swift current,--and again taking it easy
in the bottom of the canoes, the boys' cup of happiness was for the
time full to the brim.

Toward sundown they came to Split Rock, where a great mass of rock
divided the stream into two branches which poured down on each side of
the obstacle in impassable torrents. The way seemed barred to further
progress, and the boys began to wonder what would be done.

But the paddlers kept at their work, and presently sweeping around a
dark headland, a tiny bay was disclosed whose gentle eddy bore the
canoes to a safe landing-place.

"We'll camp here for the night," Mr. Stewart announced, much to the
boys' approval, for they were getting tired and cramped in the canoes,
and wanted to stretch their legs on shore.

As soon as the things were landed, Bruce and Arthur had their rods out,
and tried the pool at the foot of the rapids. They had not long to wait.
First one fly and then the other was greedily taken, and with little
difficulty two fine trout were secured for supper.

That night the boys for the first time in their lives slept in the open
air, it being so fine and warm that Mr. Stewart did not think it
necessary to put up the small tent he carried, and the novelty of the
thing kept them a long time awake, gazing up at the stars, and listening
to the ceaseless music of the twin torrents created by Split Rock.

When they did fall asleep they slept so well that they seemed to have
had only a short nap before Mr. Stewart's cheery voice summoned them to
throw aside their blankets and wash themselves awake in the clear waters
of the river.

A long day of paddling and portaging across Lake Emma and Lake Hannah,
and through narrow rock-bound channels, brought the two canoes at last
out into great Lake Nepigon, on whose southern shore the little party
camped for another night, and the following morning completed the voyage
to Poplar Point.

Having read much of the famous Hudson Bay Company in the vivacious books
of Ballantyne, the boys were eager to see one of the company's stations.
But there was nothing imposing about Poplar Post. It consisted simply of
a small group of log-built houses and store-rooms unprotected by walls,
and fringed by Indian wigwams whose occupants were evidently on the best
of terms with their pale-faced brethren.

The factor of the fort, Mr. Graham, gave Mr. Stewart and his companions
a warm welcome and the best his establishment afforded. In the evening,
as they lounged together by the lake shore, enjoying the cool air that
came softly in from the great lake, the two officials vied with each
other in stories of strange and startling experiences while in the
company's service, told principally for the benefit of the boys, who
listened to them with absorbed interest.

One of Mr. Stewart's stories particularly impressed them; it gave them
so vivid a conception of what winter travel on foot in the northern
wilds of Canada meant.

"It was in the winter of 1874, and I had set out from the post at Red
Rock for Fort William on an important piece of business which could not
be delayed. I had only one companion, a half-breed, who was stupid
enough to lame himself the first day, and rather than be delayed, I sent
him back and pushed on alone, hoping to meet some Indians who might keep
me company. But not a living soul did I meet, and I was still alone when
night came on. That night, before a blazing fire that threw its light
far out among the tall birches and spruces, I thought I heard a noise of
some one coming. It could not be the wind; there was none now to stir
the branches. Soon the sound ceased. Just as I was crediting it to my
imagination, I heard it nearer and almost behind me. It might be a stray
Indian, who would keep me company for the night. But why should he not
come boldly into the firelight? And why should he move from place to
place beyond its rays? Now I heard the sound to my left, and was peering
in that direction when the snow was crunched more distinctly, and I saw
advancing two luminous balls which seemed as large as eggs, and of
prismatic colors. Just then a log of the fire fell down, and a fine
blaze rose. There stood but a few yards away a great moose! He gazed
for a full minute, as if spellbound by the firelight.

"At a slight movement of mine he uttered something between a snort and a
whistle, wheeled into the dark woods, and I saw him no more. In my
loneliness I felt the loss of even the animal's company. The following
morning I half-repented of my resolution to go on alone, and was
strongly tempted to return to Red Rock; but my pride would not let me,
and I started off. The course took me to a lake of which I knew
something, and I diverged a little to have the advantage of travelling
on the ice down a long bay and outlet stream of which I had heard from
an Indian. The sun was obscured all day, and yet I was so perfectly sure
I was right that I went along the rugged coast without once consulting
my compass. About four o'clock in the afternoon I was astonished to hear
the sound of a water-fall. Pushing on I soon saw the cloud of mists.
Then I knew I was off my course. The secret was that there were two
outlets, and I had mistaken the smaller for the larger, which begins
five miles more to the north, and flows to the falls on a course almost
at right angles to that which I had followed. Some distance above the
falls both streams unite in a long, deep rapid. The island between this
junction is lofty, with precipitous banks. As I ought to have been on
the north side, there was nothing for me to do but to cross the river,
or go back to the lake and follow the northerly outlet, or else strike
out from the lake and make a bee-line for the right trail. There was no
crossing below the falls, so far as I could see, for the banks were high
and precipitous. To go back to the lake would be a dangerous loss of
time. But it appeared not impossible to cross so narrow a stream at the
brow of the falls. There the spray and snow, advancing from each side
during the winter, had formed an irregular ice-bridge. In the centre it
was narrowed to about six feet wide--simply a mass of frozen foam and
spray. I had no choice but to venture on this or retrace my steps. As
either choice seemed about equally desperate, I resolved to cross at all
hazards.

"If the frail bridge should give way, no one would know my fate unless I
left some trace on the bank. For that purpose I cut a large chip out of
a birch, and wrote on the white wood: 'Feb. 22, 1874. I must cross this
ice-bridge over these falls. If it break, you know my fate and my
name'--which I appended. Out on the bridge I went till I reached the
narrow place, which was about six feet across. On its edge I loosened my
pack and threw my snow-shoes and satchel across. Next moment I would
have given the world to have them back again. But now the die was cast.
I must go on or soon freeze. It was impossible for me to travel without
snow-shoes. With a pole to steady me I advanced, with my heart in my
mouth, to the narrow space of frozen foam. It seemed honeycombed but
hard. The roar of the water just beneath scared me, and the sight of the
chasm below the falls made me giddy. I felt my feet crushing the foamy
mass; but I dared not spring on the frail structure. My only hope was in
going on gently, and subjecting it to no such shock as I should give it
by a jump. Then all was suddenly over--the perilous place was passed in
a few seconds--I was safe! Now, it seemed almost childish to have left
that message on the tree. I would have given a good deal to be able to
blot it out, but cross again? No! In adjusting my snow-shoe strings for
the rest of my journey, I missed my knife, but soon remembered that I
had put it in my satchel after lunching. Turning out the contents of the
satchel I found not only the knife, but two matches. I fairly screamed
with joy. Now I could rest instead of tramping all night around some
tree to keep myself warm. After a frugal supper I did rest well before a
great fire of branches that I wrested from dead and living trees. To
keep the fire smouldering till morning I hacked down a birch with my
tomahawk, cut it into three long lengths, and 'niggered' these each into
two by turning them on the coals. Then I put them all on the fire and
lay down. On awakening I found three inches of new snow on my blankets.

"But last night's embers still smouldered, and I soon blew them to a
blaze. Again I breakfasted alone, and resumed my lonely way over fallen
timber, hills, and rocks. About eleven o'clock that morning I came to
what looked like a river about fifty yards wide. When I had nearly
crossed it, the ice became 'glare.' The water had apparently risen here
over the first ice formed, and then run along the bank till it swept
away the snow, had then been recovered with ice, and had finally
receded, leaving a shell of ice. Here and there a snag protruded.

"I did not think from appearances that there was deep water under the
shell and near it, but as I advanced I kept poking cautiously with my
pole. When I was not more than five yards from shore, my right snow-shoe
broke bodily through as if a great bubble or mere scale of ice had been
just there. I had time to throw my weight on the other foot, but there I
was stuck. My right snow-shoe had turned, and was held under the ice. I
tried every conceivable plan for extricating it, and all in vain. I dare
not try to kick my foot loose from the snow-shoe, for if I lost it in
the current I could not travel farther. I dared not lean back to loosen
the strings, and so haul off the shoe, for thus I might lose my balance
on the left foot, and plump down through the hole. I was wholly
mistaken, too, as to the depth of the river; by my pole the water was
nearly seven feet deep. If the ice under my left foot should give way I
was done for. I dared not struggle, lest it should break down. At the
end of a quarter of an hour I was worse off than ever, for my left leg
was weakening with the strain. I was at my wits' end, when a way out of
my peril suggested itself. There was a small snag near, but it was just
beyond my reach. I could catch my tomahawk's head on the snag, but not
firmly, and I dared not pull with so slight a hold, for fear of losing
it and falling backward. It occurred to me that I might chop away the
ice around the snag, and then pull it near enough to clutch.

"In this I succeeded after many minutes' labor. Now I could pull myself
free, but dared not try lest I should lose my snow-shoe. The hold I had
enabled me, however, to move my right foot, which I did in every
conceivable way, for perhaps ten minutes. At last, when I had almost
given up hope, a lucky turn brought the shoe up edgewise, and I
carefully made my way ashore over the most treacherous of ice. My right
leg was wet nearly to the knee, but the weather was not very cold. I
made a fire with my last match, warmed myself well, and resumed my
journey. Three hours of precious daylight had been lost, but I managed
to reach the main dog-trail about sundown. There I might have spent the
moderate night even without a fire, but my pluck was reënforced, and I
resolved to try for camp that night. There was a good trail and a clear
moon. The line might have gone ahead about seven miles after I left it,
I supposed. But it seemed I had been on it for twenty miles, when the
trail led me on and off a long, narrow lake. I was so tired that I felt
that I could go little farther, when I happened to see some patches in
the snow. Stooping, I found them to be bits of rabbits' fur, and I knew
some Indian wigwam was probably near. Soon I came across new snow-shoe
tracks diverging from the trail. These I followed about fifty yards and
found the wigwam, banked up to the middle with snow and cedar bark. A
friendly column of smoke rose up from the pointed roof into the clear,
moonlit air, and here I resolved to stay for the night. I entered, with
the everlasting 'booshoo' as my salutation, and as the Indian etiquette
demands, shook hands all round. There were two big Indians making
snow-shoes at one side, and two squaws with an old one and two papooses
at the other. A bright fire blazed on the 'caboose,' with some flat
stones around it, on which pieces of rabbits' flesh and beaver tail were
roasting. After the first salute no one took the slightest notice of me.

"The men went on with their work and the three squaws looked vacantly
into the fire. I put off my pack and satchel and sat for a while in
solemn silence. Then I took out two big plugs of tobacco, handed one to
each of the men, and gave my whole remaining stock of sugar and tea to
one of the squaws, whom I supposed to be the 'mistress of the house.'
This called out all round a series of '_mequitches_'--thanks. Again
there was long silence, after which the squaw to whom I had presented
the groceries rose silently and put some water into a tin can with some
tea from one of the little bags I had given her. Then another long
silence. When the water boiled, she handed me the can of tea and my
little sugar bag, which, after sweetening my tea, I returned to her with
the usual '_mequitch_.' She then pointed to the roast on the hot stones,
and muttered '_Buckate_'--'You are hungry.' I certainly was, but that
mess was too much for me, although I appreciated her hospitality. I
excused myself on some plea or other, and ate instead the remainder of
my cheese with some biscuit and tea, dividing the remaining biscuit
between the two papooses. The wigwam could not be much more than ten
feet across, and I was wondering how eight human beings could find room
to sleep in it, when one of the Indians took his snow-shoes and went
out. After a little while he returned with some cedar brush, which he
laid down by me. Then in a low voice he drawled out '_Nebagan_'--'Your
bed.' Rabbit-skin blankets were then produced, and, without a word, each
Indian curled up for the night. So did I, and slept like a top until
late in the morning. I had no difficulty in engaging one of the Indians
to accompany me the rest of the way in consideration of sundry pounds of
tea and tobacco, which I was glad enough to give him for his service."

With the conclusion of Mr. Stewart's thrilling story, a very decided
conviction came into the boys' minds that, however pleasant might be the
life of a Hudson Bay official in the canoeing and fishing season, it was
not at all to be envied in the long, cold winter of the north.

Mr. Stewart's business did not take long to transact, and he was ready
to go back the following morning. The boys would have very well liked to
stay longer at Poplar Post, but of course they said nothing to that
effect, allowing their regret at leaving to find expression in their
farewells to Mr. Graham, who gave them a warm invitation to visit him
again.

The return trip was a much easier undertaking than the going up, and
there was a great deal more fun for the boys. Once the Nepigon river was
entered the paddling became mere child's play compared with the
strenuous toil it had been up-stream. Right out in mid-channel, courting
instead of dodging the current, the canoes glided smoothly down the
rippling waters, now swiftly, now slowly, occasionally pausing to have a
try at a big trout in an eddy.

Many of the rapids that had to be laboriously avoided by portages on the
way up were run without landing, and the paddlers got so in the spirit
of this exciting sport that they ventured upon trying one that they had
not been through before.

It was in two parts, the first rapid being intricate and dangerous from
sunken rocks and startling passages through which only unerring skill
sufficed to steer the canoes.

Then came a wide, still pool, a sharp turn, and a long, dark slope, with
a white fringe at the bottom, as to the meaning of which there could be
no mistake.

The bowman in Mr. Stewart's canoe looked at it with some dismay, but it
was too late to draw back. Whipping off his coat he quickly unwound and
regirded his sash, thus preparing for a swim for life, if necessary.
"Sit down low," he cried warningly to Bruce, who had been up on the
cross-thwart, and who now instantly squatted down in the centre of the
canoe, feeling a tickling of his midriff that was not altogether
pleasant.

Glancing back at Arthur, whose canoe was just behind, Bruce called out:

"How do you like this, Arthur?" and, nervous as he felt himself, he
could not help being amused at seeing his chum sitting low in the canoe
and holding tight on to the sides with both hands as though he was
afraid of the thing slipping away from underneath him.

"Keep a tight hold, Arthur," he cried, "we're just coming to the worst
of it."

Arthur, forcing a smile of indifference, contented himself with replying
by a nod, and the next instant both canoes were glancing down the smooth
incline, like toboggans descending a slide, and almost as swiftly.

Anxious as they were at the sight of the foaming billows, the boys did
not fail to enjoy this curious coast, and their hearts thrilled with
excitement as, with paddles poised in air, the canoes reached the great
curls which lifted their crests where the dark purple water broke into
white.

"Here goes for it!" Bruce said to himself, as the canoe plunged right
into the midst of the wildly agitated waters, and a wave sprang aboard,
drenching the bowman to the skin.

For some moments it seemed as if the paddlers had overestimated their
ability, and the whole party would pay the penalty of their rashness
with their lives. The light birch-bark structures were tossed like chips
from billow to billow, the spray repeatedly breaking over their
occupants so that the boys were filled with fear.

But by dexterous mighty strokes the paddlers won the day, and presently
both canoes swung safely into the eddy far below the fall.

"Very big water," was the pithy remark of one of the half-breeds as he
looked back at the great white waves whose gauntlet had been so
skilfully run.

The remainder of the return trip was marked by no special incident, but
the boys enjoyed every moment of it, and were quite sorry when their
arrival at Red Rock brought their canoeing experience to an end.

It fell out that they were in time to catch that day's train, as it
rolled in from the East, so they made haste to do so, taking leave of
Mr. Stewart with many expressions of gratitude for the pleasure he had
afforded them.

The car in which they took their seats was so precisely like the one in
which they had ridden from Ottawa to Nepigon, that they for a moment
looked around with the expectation of seeing some familiar faces.

But instead of greetings they were met with cold stares of curiosity,
for in truth they presented a rather odd appearance, their clothes being
a good deal the worse for wear, and they themselves being badly
sunburned.

They did not mind being stared at, however, and settled themselves down
comfortably to talk over the events of the past few days, and to make
plans for the future.

"We ought to have some fine adventures walking across the prairies,"
said Arthur. "I'm quite impatient to begin, aren't you?"

"I can't say that I am," responded Bruce, as he stretched himself out on
the cushions. "It's very comfortable on board these cars, and we get
over the ground so fast."

"But you're not thinking of giving up the walking, are you?" Arthur
asked in an anxious tone, looking into his companion's face.

Bruce kept silence for a while as though meditating on the matter, until
Arthur, growing impatient for a reply, caught hold of his arm and
demanded with considerable temper in his tone:

"Answer me, Bruce! Do you want to back out?"

Now, it was not according to Bruce's nature to back out of anything to
which he had once fully committed himself, unless it proved to be
impracticable or injudicious, and that Arthur should suggest such a
thing nettled him so that he retorted:

"Well--and what if I should?"

In an instant Arthur's face was aflame, and, making no pretence of
controlling his voice, he fairly shouted:

"If you do, I'll have nothing more to do with you, and I'll think you're
too mean for anything!"

It was the first time since their leaving Edinburgh together that they
had had anything approaching a falling out, and Bruce, not trusting
himself to reply, for he was stung to the quick, sprang from the seat
and made his way to the rear of the car, leaving Arthur in the seat,
strangely divided in feeling between anger at his chum's behavior, and
anxiety lest he should really have it in mind to give up the walking
across the prairies, and perform the journey tamely in the cars
instead.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE RACE WITH THE TRAIN.


Both Bruce and Arthur were high-spirited boys, and as each thought the
other was at fault their pride prevented them from making overtures
toward a reconciliation, and they were still at variance when the train
reached Port Arthur.

Here Arthur jumped off to have a look at the place that bore his own
name, and having misunderstood the porter's reply to his question as to
how long the train stayed there, strolled up the street some distance,
with his hands in his pockets.

Noticing some enticing candy in a confectioner's window he stepped in to
buy a pound of it, intending to make it serve as the olive branch of
peace when he returned to the train.

The girl who served him was very slow in making change of the note he
offered in payment, and on leaving the shop he was horrified to hear the
engine toot, and to see the train glide off without him.

He raced down to the station, shouting frantically, but by the time he
reached the platform the train was a couple of hundred yards off, and
speeding away at a rate that precluded all possibility of his overtaking
it.

Out of breath from his effort, and overcome with vexation, he threw
himself down upon a packing-case, and had hard work to keep himself from
bursting into tears.

"Well, if I'm not a duffer!" he exclaimed in profound chagrin at what
had happened. "What did that black fellow mean by saying that we had
fifteen minutes to stay here, when the train didn't wait more than five?
I'd just like to punch his woolly head for him. And what will Bruce
think when he finds out I'm not on the train? What will he do, anyway? I
wonder will he go on to Winnipeg, and there wait for me to catch up to
him."

Just then, seeing the station-master coming along the platform, Arthur
went up to him, and in a shamefaced manner--for he felt that he had made
a considerable fool of himself--told him the plight he was in.

Much to his relief the station-master did not seem to consider the case
very serious.

"You and your friend weren't going any farther than Winnipeg, you say?"
he responded. "Well, there's not much harm done. He'll wait for you
there, and you can go on on to-morrow's train."

"Won't there be another train before to-morrow?" exclaimed Arthur.

"Why, no," answered the station-master, smiling at his blank
expression. "There's only the one passenger train each way a day. But
you'll be all right here. They'll make you very comfortable up at the
hotel."

Convinced that there was nothing to do but suffer patiently the
consequences of his mistake, Arthur went up to the hotel, and sat down
on the veranda to consider the situation. He felt sure that Bruce would
be greatly disturbed on missing him from the train, and at the thought
of his concern all resentment against him vanished, and had Bruce
appeared at that moment Arthur was ready to rush to meet him with open
arms.

As he sat there moodily turning over these things in his mind, a tall
man with a wild Western look dropped into the chair beside him, and,
elevating his feet to the railing, said in an easy, drawling voice:

"Are you playin' a lone hand, young fellow, or have you some partner in
with you?"

Only too glad in his loneliness to have some one to talk with, even
though he was rather a strange-looking customer, Arthur brightened up,
and explained his position to his questioner.

The big man seemed to find it quite a joke, for he laughed so heartily
as to nettle Arthur, who was seeking for sympathy, not to be
entertaining.

The man evidently noticed this, for he hastened to say in a mollifying
tone:

"Don't ye git riled, young fellow. I'm quick on the laugh, I know, and
it's kinder comical the way you're fixed. But don't ye worry, you'll get
your partner all right again."

While they were talking a boy came up from the station holding a yellow
envelope, and seeing them he called out:

"Do you know if Arthur Rowe is around here?"

Arthur at once jumped to his feet, and responded eagerly, if not
grammatically:

"That's me! What do you want of me?"

The boy was lazily climbing the steps without troubling himself to make
any reply, when Arthur, overcome with impatience, and guessing that the
envelope was for him, sprang forward and snatched it out of his hand.

Sure enough it was addressed to him, and, tearing it open, he read this
message:

     "FORT WILLIAM.

     "I've got off here. Come along right away.

     "BRUCE BARCLAY."

Having no idea where Fort William might be, Arthur handed the despatch
to the man beside him, saying:

"He tells me to go on to Fort William. Do you know where that is?"

The big fellow had another laugh as he answered:

"About five miles due west. That's where the big elevators are."

"Five miles!" echoed Arthur. "Is that all? Why, I'd think nothing of
walking there, and"--pulling out his watch and consulting it--"I've got
lots of time. I'll start right away."

"Hold on, young fellow," said the man. "Don't you think you'd better get
your dinner first. It's just about ready now, and if you don't mind
waiting till we've had our feed, I'll drive you over to Fort William for
the fun of the thing."

This proposition suited Arthur perfectly, and he accepted it with
grateful alacrity, for he was very hungry, and the notion of a drive
with his interesting acquaintance was quite attractive.

Accordingly, after a comfortable dinner, which he keenly relished, the
two set off for Fort William behind a horse of so fiery a spirit that
Arthur every moment expected him to jump clear out of the harness.

He was a beautiful creature, as black and shiny as a lump of coal; and
his stalwart owner was evidently very proud of him, showing not the
slightest concern at his rearing and plunging, but keeping a firm hand
on the reins, and saying soothingly:

"Easy now, Blackie, go easy, my beauty."

By the end of the first half-mile the horse came more under control, and
presently settled down to a swift, steady trot that swept the light
wagon along at a delightful rate over the smooth, level road.

"How does that strike you for a gait?" asked the driver in a tone of
confident self-satisfaction.

Not having had time to recover his breath, which the alarming antics of
the animal had quite taken away, Arthur could only gasp out: "Its
perfectly splendid, sir!"

"Right you are," responded the man cordially. "I guess you know a good
horse when you see it."

Just then a freight train came tooting up behind them, the two roads
being not fifty yards apart, and in full sight of each other.

The shriek of the engine and the roar of the train proved too much for
the high-strung nerves of the horse, and, with a sudden plunge, he
darted off at the top of his speed.

Strange to say, instead of showing any alarm, the horse's owner, after
uttering a good round oath, said, in a tone that showed temper rather
than terror:

"They think they're mighty smart on that engine; but I'll put the laugh
on them by showing them the way to the station."

Then instead of trying to hold in his horse, he let reins loose, and
shouted to the flying creature:

"Hit her up, Blackie, hit her up! Show the fools your heels."

The remainder of that ride Arthur will never forget. The splendid
animal, with outstretched head, open mouth, and tossing tail, tore along
the road as madly as Tam O'Shanter's Meg flying from the warlocks and
witches, while his owner, leaning forward till his face seemed in danger
from the flashing heels, kept encouraging the straining brute with
mingled oaths and words of endearment.

It was a light wagon with a low seat, and swaying and swerving as it was
along the road, Arthur had no little difficulty in keeping his place,
although he held on to the seat for all he was worth.

But the excited driver gave him no heed, and he did not dare to speak to
him, he seemed so absorbed in urging his horse to the utmost.

Meanwhile the train was thundering on a little distance behind, but
gaining nothing, the driver and fireman and the rest of the train crew
watching the wagon with countenances betokening no less surprise than
admiration.

"What if we meet another team on the road?" Arthur asked himself with
considerable perturbation, and the thought had hardly passed through his
mind before a big country cart came into view as they swung round a turn
of the road.

"Surely he will pull up," murmured Arthur.

But no, the driver still let the reins hang loose, and kept urging on
the horse until it seemed as if a collision were inevitable, when, by a
sharp tug at the light rein, he turned aside just enough to pass
without going into the ditch on the other side.

Arthur gave a great gasp of relief at this avoidance of the danger, but
no sooner was one peril passed than another presented itself, for not
far ahead, lying at ease in the shade thrown across the road by a large
elm, was a cow, whose head being turned away, was not aware of the
approach of the living thunderbolt.

"Heavens above! look at that cow!" cried Arthur, involuntarily making a
grasp at the reins.

The man shook him off roughly.

"Say, do you think I'm blind?" he growled, and kept straight on.

There seemed no possibility of avoiding a collision, as the road was too
narrow and too much elevated to allow of both wheels keeping to it, and
the ditch on the left side was decidedly deep.

On dashed the horse, and before the cow, sleepily chewing her cud, awoke
to the situation, the right wheels struck her back, rose up over her,
and came down on the other side.

Arthur would assuredly have been pitched out on his head had not the
driver quickly thrown his left arm around him and held him in his place,
and the next instant the wagon was whirling along through the dust,
while the astounded cow, rising clumsily to her feet, stood still one
moment in sheer bewilderment, and then, with uplifted tail and tossing
head, galloped down the road in wild confusion.

Startled as he was, Arthur, looking back to see how the unfortunate cow
fared, could not help breaking into a laugh at her panic, whereat the
man, evidently accepting it as a tribute to his skill in the case, said
in a complacent tone:

"Pretty sharp bit of driving that, eh, sonny? It's got to be a tight
place that I can't send Blackie through, eh, my boy?" and leaning over
the dash-board he actually succeeded in giving the horse an affectionate
pat on the hind-quarter.

The houses of Fort William now came into view, and Arthur wondered if
the man wouldn't moderate his pace as he entered the town.

But not a bit of it. The freight train still thundered along in the
rear, and he was bound to reach the station before it, so the wild
flight was maintained, until at last, with a great flourish, and a big
round oath to express his satisfaction, this modern Jehu pulled up his
panting, foaming steed in front of the station a full hundred yards in
advance of the train.

Who should be standing on the platform watching the performance with
lively interest but Bruce. The moment Arthur saw him he sprang from the
wagon, and running to him gave him a regular hug, exclaiming:

"Here I am, safe and sound; but, oh, what a drive I've had!"

Bruce heartily responded to the hug, and then asked:

"What have you been up to? Tell me all about it."

From both their minds all trace of mutual resentment had vanished, and
the sky was clear of clouds once more.

Before beginning his story, Arthur turned to introduce Bruce to his new
acquaintance, but the man had disappeared, having indeed taken his horse
away to rub him down after his tremendous exertions.

"Oh, dear!" said Arthur regretfully, "he's gone already, and I never
thanked him for being so kind to me; but," he added, "I expect he's just
taken his horse to the stable, and I'll see him again."

Having thus relieved his mind, he hastened to tell Bruce all that had
happened since the train went off without him, and how glad he was that
they were together again.

When he had finished, Bruce said: "Well, your luck is certainly amazing.
You're always falling on your feet. Here, now, instead of being alone at
Port Arthur until to-morrow's train could bring you along, you've had a
good dinner and an exciting ride, and you're all ready for another
adventure."

Arthur laughed, and looked well pleased at his chum's words.

"You see I'm a good chap to travel with. There must be a good fairy in
special charge of me, and you'll be all safe so long as you're in my
company. And now what are we going to do with ourselves for the rest of
the day?"

"Why, let us do the lions, if there live any," suggested Bruce. "What
can those big buildings on the other side of the railway tracks be?"

"Those must be the elevators," responded Arthur. "Suppose we go over and
see them."

So they made their way across by the overhead bridge, and on reaching
the great wooden wharves that lined the bank of the river Kaministiquia,
and above which the big buildings towered high and broad, they were
delighted to find a fine iron steamer moored alongside.

"Why, that's an ocean steamer!" exclaimed Bruce in surprise. "I never
expected to see one like that away up here."

"I wonder will they let us on board," said Arthur, with a longing look
at the gangway. "Suppose we try. They can only turn us back, and that
won't hurt us."

"I'm agreed," answered Bruce.

They accordingly climbed the gangway, and no one making any objections
or asking any questions they went all over the steamer, admiring the
solid comfort of her appointments, and surprised that such a steamer
should be needed for fresh-water navigation.

Encountering an officer with a gilt cap they ventured to ask him some
questions, which, being politely answered, led on to a conversation in
the course of which they learned that the steamer was one of three
belonging to the Canadian Pacific Railway, which voyaged between Fort
William and Owen Sound, on Lake Huron, the big buildings being grain
elevators for storing vast quantities of wheat from the cars, and
pouring it out again into the holds of the steamer.

Having seen the steamer, nothing would do Arthur but that they should
see the inside of one of the elevators. This was not so easily managed,
however, but, thanks to the intervention of the officer, they were
permitted to go over one, and got themselves finely powdered with grain
dust in the process.

The afternoon was gone by the time they were through with the
sight-seeing, and they went back to the hotel, where Arthur was glad to
find the man who had given him so thrilling a drive.

"Oh, sir!" he cried, running up to him, "please forgive me for not
thanking you for that splendid ride. But you went off before I had a
chance to. Is your horse all right?"

"I reckon he is, young fellow," answered the man pleasantly. "A little
break like that don't hurt _him_. But, say, didn't those galoots on that
train look sick when we made the station a hundred yards ahead of
them?"

"They did, indeed," said Arthur. "They never imagined that a horse could
beat them, and they found out their mistake."

The man from the West then went on to talk about Blackie, and other
horses that he owned, and the boys learned that his name was Ralston,
and that he was a horse-dealer who was there awaiting a consignment of
horses from the ranches near the foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains.

He had many good stories to tell that evening as he sat with the boys on
the veranda, and they were sorry enough when he took his departure for
Port Arthur, having urged upon them to be sure and visit some of the
cattle ranches when they were out in that part of the country.

Among the guests at the hotel was a man who might have stood as a model
for some painter depicting Methuselah, and the boys happening to look at
him with a good deal of interest the hotel-keeper said:

"That's our oldest inhabitant. Would you like to be introduced to him?
He used to be in the Hudson's Bay Company, and he can tell you a good
many interesting things about the place long before the railway came
here."

Bruce replied that if the old man wouldn't mind they would like to know
him, so they were presented in due form to the veteran, whose name was
Andrew Graham, and who readily responded to their request to be told
something about the early days of Fort William.

Considering the weight of years he bore, Mr. Graham was a remarkably
vigorous man, and evidently found keen enjoyment in recalling the past
when the Hudson's Bay Company held sovereign sway over the whole
Northwest, and Fort William was one of the most important of its posts.

Situated at the very head of lake navigation, and connected by a
wonderful net-work of rivers and lakes with both the semi-arctic waters
of Hudson's Bay and the vast grass-covered prairies that began at Red
River and stretched clear across to the Rocky Mountains, every one
coming and going between Montreal and the Northwest territories stopped
at Fort William on their way, and it was always full of life and bustle.

Mr. Graham had been a clerk at the Fort in the palmy days of its
prosperity, and he made the boys' eyes shine with delighted interest as
he graphically described the visits of the chief officers of the
Company, swelling with dignity and surrounded with luxury; the arrival
and departure of the bronzed _voyageurs_ and fur-hunters, as dark of
skin almost as the Indians themselves, the Chippewas, Sioux, and Crees,
who were so apt to give trouble if they succeeded in getting bold of the
fire-water, for which they were always willing to barter their very
souls.

So romantic was it all that the sentiments of the old man found a ready
response in the boys' hearts when he regretfully exclaimed:

"Ah! those were the good old days, my lads, when a man had to be a man
every inch of him if he would amount to anything. But now it's all
changed. The fur trade isn't a circumstance to what it used to be, and
the railroad's taken all the romance out of our life. Eh, ho! it's the
way of the world, I suppose, and we old chaps that can't keep up with it
must be satisfied to lie by in a corner, as I'm doing, until their time
comes to go under the sod."

For the sake of seeing Fort William in its glory the boys would gladly
have had the railroad and the big grain elevators and the fine steamship
vanish, and the portage path and the canoe resume their places.

But there was no chance of that, and they had to content themselves with
accompanying Mr. Graham the following morning to see the only relic of
the old Fort still visible,--a shabby stone building used as an
engine-house!

Having exhausted the resources of the place by mid-day they were very
glad when the train from the East came in to the station, and they could
take their places to complete their journey to Winnipeg.

It was about nine o'clock of the following morning when they rolled into
Winnipeg, and before doing anything else set about seeing that the
trunks forwarded from Montreal had duly arrived and were awaiting them.

After some little difficulty they were all found in good order and
condition, and their minds being made easy on that point, they set out
to explore the place.

"Why, this is a regular city!" was Arthur's exclamation as, turning away
from the station, they looked up Main street, a thoroughfare of mighty
breadth, well paved with cedar blocks, lined with attractive shops, and
crowded with hurrying carts and wagons.

"Well," queried Bruce, "and what else did you expect it to be?"

"I don't know," answered Arthur, with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Something of the same kind of a place as Port Arthur or Fort William, I
suppose."

"But this is the capital of the province, and it ought to be a good deal
more of a city than they are," returned Bruce. "By the way, we mustn't
forget those letters of introduction Mr. Gillespie gave us. Hadn't we
better go to a hotel, and put on some better togs, and see if we can
find the people to whom they're addressed?"

"I suppose that is our best plan," assented Arthur.

So they strolled along until they came to a hotel the appearance of
which was satisfactory, and having engaged quarters, sent for all their
baggage, as they wanted to overhaul their belongings before setting out
from Winnipeg again.

While they were thus engaged they had a visitor in the shape of a
reporter from one of the evening papers, who had been told something
about themselves and their plans by one of their fellow-passengers on
the train, and who was determined to interview them.

Bruce would have much preferred declining to say anything, but Arthur,
feeling flattered by this attention of the press, welcomed the caller
cordially, and talked freely with him, the result being that the
"Evening Palladium" contained nearly a column of brightly written matter
relating to the boys, their experiences since coming to Canada, and
their novel idea of walking across the remainder of the continent.

Of course this made them the objects of much notice, and several
gentlemen called upon them to express their interest in their
undertaking. They also received numerous invitations to lunch and
dinner, were put up at the club for the period of their stay, and
Arthur, happening to mention something about Bruce's skill on the
cricket-field, he was invited to play in a match against the Brandon
Club the following Saturday.

As much to please Arthur as himself, Bruce accepted the invitation, and
made a very creditable performance, his score of thirty-five runs being
a substantial contribution to Winnipeg's success, while he did very good
work in the field.

So hospitable did they find the good people of Winnipeg, and so many
were the forms of amusement offered them, that they might have spent a
month there without having a dull hour. But Bruce soon grew impatient to
start on their long tramp, and they had to forswear many social
beguilements in order to set about the necessary preparations.

The advice they received was sufficient in quantity and variety to have
bewildered much older and more experienced heads, while of solemn
warning against the possible perils of the route they had enough to have
frightened less daring spirits out of the enterprise entirely.

Arthur was inclined to pay a good deal of heed to the different
counsellors, and would eagerly indorse this suggestion and that, and
want them immediately acted upon. But Bruce took things more coolly,
listening with due courtesy to the often conflicting counsel offered,
yet not committing himself to the adoption of any of it.

Every day added to the number of friends who were anxious to do
something for them, and one of the pleasantest incidents of their stay
was their visit to Silver Heights, which occupied an afternoon.

They drove out in a big open wagon behind a spanking team of bays, there
being half a dozen in the party, and the going was so smooth and
pleasant that they felt sorry when they reached their destination.

Silver Heights (so called because the prairie knoll on which it stood
used to shine as with a silver rim when the sun was reflected from the
polished culms of the buffalo-grass) was placed near the left bank of
the Assiniboine river, about five miles from the city. It was formerly
the residence of the Chief Commissioner of the Hudson's Bay Company, who
had taken an old log-house and enlarged and beautified it until it
became a stately mansion, surrounding it with garden, farm, and orchard
that made the show-place of the prairie province.

"I think I wouldn't mind spending a summer here," Arthur remarked
with a significant smile as they sauntered through the grounds and
noted the abundance of fruit-trees,--apples, cherries, currants,
gooseberries,--and on the sunny side of the walls sprawling grape-vines
that promised luscious bunches in due time.

The cherries were already ripe, and the leader of the party being well
known to the man in charge, they were permitted to pluck a quantity, and
found them very juicy and sweet.

But what interested the boys most deeply was a small herd of buffalo, a
surviving remnant of the vast herd that once populated the boundless
prairies. These were carefully maintained in a large enclosure by
themselves, and evidently throve well in captivity, to judge by their
well-covered ribs.

"Well, what do you think of them?" asked Mr. Martin, whose guest the
boys were. "You've read a good deal about buffalo, no doubt. Now, tell
me frankly, do they come up to your expectations?"

Both Bruce and Arthur hesitated to reply for the same reason, they were
afraid of giving offence if they spoke their minds, yet, as Mr. Martin
evidently expected an answer, Arthur said in a hesitating way, "They'd
look a great deal better if they were only groomed, wouldn't they?"

Mr. Martin burst into a hearty laugh, in which the other three
Winnipeggers joined.

"Well said, my boy," he exclaimed, giving Arthur an approving clap on
the back. "You'd make a first-class politician. I know you're dreadfully
disappointed in the looks of the brutes, but you're too polite to say so
for fear of hurting our feelings."

In truth, the dishevelled, dilapidated appearance of the buffalo (which
had not yet got through shedding their winter coats and were
consequently hung all over with matted tufts of rusty hair), combined
with their sleepy and spiritless bearing, like that of stall-fed cattle,
could not fail to be a sharp disappointment to the boys, whose
conception of the former monarchs of the prairie had been formed from
pictures representing magnificent creatures with superb manes thundering
over the turf with head lowered and tail aloft.

"If you don't mind my saying so, they're not just what I thought they
would be," responded Arthur. "They're not a bit fierce, are they?"

"Not as a rule," said Mr. Martin. "At certain times in the year the
bulls become dangerous, and have to be watched, but usually they're as
quiet as other cattle."

While they were talking, a saucy little fox-terrier belonging to one of
the party darted through the fence and began springing at the big bull
of the herd with noisy barking.

The old fellow rose ponderously to his feet, his great bulk, as he did
so, causing the boys to revise their first impressions considerably,
and, after standing a moment as if in blank astonishment at the
impertinence of his tiny assailant, gave a dull roar of anger, and moved
down upon the dog.

The dog's owner did his best to call him off, but the little rascal paid
no heed to him; in fact, he seemed to be urged on by the vigorous shouts
and whistling.

All the buffalo were now on their feet, and showing signs of excitement,
which greatly improved their appearance. But the fox-terrier paid
attention to none of them save the bull, and the more the big creature
resented his worrying the more zealously did he persecute him.

"Confound the little wretch!" exclaimed Mr. Martin, shying a stick at
the pertinacious terrier. "It'll serve him right if that bull tosses
him clear over the fence."

There seemed little danger of this happening, however, the dog being
altogether too agile for the clumsy creature he was annoying.

Presently, after tempting the bull well out into the field, the terrier,
seeming suddenly to weary of his sport, turned tail and fairly scooted
for the other side of the fence.

As it happened, he chose where the gate was for his exit. The bull
charged furiously after him, gaining speed at every stride, until, by
the time he reached the gate, he was under full headway.

"By Jupiter! if he hits the gate going at that rate he'll go through it
sure," cried Mr. Martin, in a tone of alarm.

He had hardly spoken before the bull, following close on the terrier,
which slipped under the bars not more than five yards in advance, struck
the gate in the centre with such tremendous force as to shatter the
fastenings, and throw it wide open, and the next instant he was out in
the road ready for any mischief.

"Look out for yourselves, everybody!" Mr. Martin shouted. "He means
murder."

For one moment the enraged animal paused, as if uncertain which of the
party to attack, then, singling out Bruce, probably because he chanced
to be the nearest, he charged furiously at him.




CHAPTER IX.

BY FOOT AND BUCKBOARD.


"Look out for yourself, Barclay!" cried Mr. Martin, picking up a large
stone and hurling it at the animal, hoping thereby to divert his
attention, but only succeeding in intensifying his fury.

Bruce was doing his best to look out for himself, and his eye lighting
upon an apple-tree that stood not far away with low-hanging limbs
offering an easy refuge, he made a fine sprint for it, the buffalo bull
not far in the rear.

Meanwhile Arthur had been tortured with anxiety for his chum, and
wondering what he could do to aid him. It was not according to his
nature to be a mere spectator of such an affair, and nothing else
occurring to him he laid hold of a stout stick and rushed after the
bull, shouting:

"Go it, Bruce, he'll not catch you!"

By dint of utmost effort Bruce reached the apple-tree a little in
advance of the bull, but his lead was not enough to enable him to more
than clear the animal's horns as he charged madly after him.

Then a very curious and comical thing happened. The bull's huge head
struck the trunk of the tree with such tremendous force that Bruce, who
was at that instant reaching for a higher branch, missed his hold, and
fell, like a ripe apple, plump on top of the creature's hump, which he
frantically clutched lest he should fall under his hoofs and be trampled
to death.

Completely bewildered by this unexpected movement on the part of his
intended victim the buffalo came to a full stop, and tossed his shaggy
head violently up and down, in wild endeavor to free himself of his
living load.

This halt gave Arthur time to come up, and recking nothing of the risk
to himself in his generous passion for help to his imperilled friend, he
proceeded to belabor the hind-quarters of the bull most vigorously with
the stick, although it would be pretty hard to make out just what he
expected to accomplish by so doing.

By this time Mr. Martin and the others of the party had also got hold of
sticks, and they came nobly to Arthur's support, the whole of them
shouting at the top of their voices as they hammered away.

Now, to have a big heavy boy astride of his hump, and to be beaten with
many sticks into the bargain, was something the bull had not at all
taken into account when he charged so blithely after Bruce, and these
most persuasive arguments to desist did not fail of their due effect
upon him.

[Illustration: "BRUCE HAS AN UNEXPECTED RIDE."]

For a bare moment he stood his ground, shaking his head furiously, and
roaring with baffled rage. Then, with a wild plunge and upward fling of
his heels, he dashed off at a tangent in manifest flight.

"Jump off, Barclay, jump off!" shouted Mr. Martin, seeing a new danger
for the boy unless he promptly dismounted.

To jump was out of the question, but Bruce did the next best thing, he
let go, and came flop on the ground, while his strange steed went
careering off, no doubt immensely relieved at being rid of his rider.

Bruce got his clothes very dusty, but suffered no other damage; and when
the others had congratulated him upon having come off so well, and he
had regained his breath, he was not disposed deeply to regret the
experience, which would in all probability be a unique one, and well
worth telling about.

Feeling themselves responsible for the buffalo being at large, Mr.
Martin and his companions did not rest until by their united efforts he
had been driven back into the field, and the broken gate secured again.
They then returned to Winnipeg in high hilarity over their memorable
outing.

Amid the pleasant surprises of Winnipeg, the boys had one great
disappointment, and that was the almost total disappearance of Fort
Garry, nothing remaining of the famous old fort save a dilapidated
stone gateway, standing solitary and shamefaced in the middle of a
grassy common.

They had looked for strong high walls and sturdy towers, such as the
pictures had promised; but this was all they found, and they felt as if
they had been cheated.

"I think they might have left the fort just as it used to be," was
Bruce's regretful remark. "Everybody who came here would want to see it.
Wouldn't Ballantyne be disgusted if he were to come back and find that
they had torn the old place to pieces, just to turn it into building
lots!"

Arthur had not much sentiment in his composition, and just how
Ballantyne might feel did not concern him greatly; but he shared in
Bruce's disappointment, because any kind of a fortification appealed to
his military spirit, and he would have appreciated the peculiar interest
of one set in the heart of the Canadian wilderness, which had been the
centre of so many stirring episodes.

But barring this, the few days spent in Winnipeg were filled with
enjoyment, and only their impatience to begin the really important part
of their novel enterprise enabled them to withstand the many temptations
they had to prolong their visit.

It was on a bright sunny Monday morning when they finally got started,
with all the omens in their favor, despite the kindly croaking of some
friends who would fain have persuaded them to at least take horses,
since they would have nothing to do with the cars.

"You're very good," was Arthur's reply, to which Bruce gave assenting
silence. "But we've pledged ourselves to try walking it, and we'll do
our best first. Of course, if we've got to give up, why, we'll do so,
but not before we've made the attempt."

They arranged matters in this wise: Their trunks were forwarded by train
to Regina, three hundred and fifty miles ahead, to await their arrival,
so that they might be able to get a fresh supply of clothing, which they
would be sure to need.

They themselves went in as light marching order as possible, their only
baggage being light knapsacks, containing extra stockings,
handkerchiefs, matches, and a few other necessaries, and their
revolvers, which hung at their belt.

In their hands they carried stout sticks that could be used as weapons
of defence, if necessary, and in their breasts as light a pair of hearts
as ever crossed the billowy prairies.

The track of the Canadian Pacific Railway was to be their pathway, and
they lost no time in passing through the maze of sidings and railway
shops that covered nearly a square mile on the western edge of the city.

Having shaken off this cinder-strewn suburb they found themselves right
out on the prairie with a suddenness that was surprising. The city did
not taper off gradually, but came to a full stop, and the level green
prairie began, seeming as little influenced by the proximity of a centre
of population as if it had been only a collection of Indian tepees.

The reason of this sharp division lay in the greed of the speculators,
who held the land all about the city at altogether too high a price for
the settlers, and the latter were therefore driven farther afield.

"Isn't this just glorious?" Arthur exclaimed, after they had left the
city some miles behind, pausing to look back at the line of yellow
buildings, and then ahead at the long, green level stretching away to
the verge of the horizon. "Aren't you glad we are going to walk instead
of flying across in the train, and hardly seeing anything at all?"

"I don't mind saying I am," answered Bruce, his own face lit with a glow
of pleasure at the beauty of the landscape, which, however monotonous
when viewed day after day, could not fail to inspire when seen for the
first time.

North, south, and west of them lay a world of verdure, "vast emerald
meadows where the slightest breeze marked its progress in waves of
glancing light as the pliant grasses yielded to its undulating
pressure."

"Why, this is just like the ocean!" Arthur went on; "and those houses
away over there," pointing to a far distant farm with its little group
of buildings, "might be vessels coming towards us. Oh, if we only had
wings, so that we could fly here and there, and see everything, instead
of having to keep in a straight line as the railway does, there'd be any
amount of fun in that."

"How would a balloon suit you?" queried Bruce, who liked to humor Arthur
in his flights of fancy, although be rarely indulged in them himself.

"Tiptop!" responded Arthur ecstatically. "It would be the very thing;
and then think, when we come to the mountains, how grand it would be to
be able to go right up to their summits without any risk of slipping and
breaking your precious neck. I tell you what it is, Bruce, I'm going to
have a balloon some day."

"You'll certainly never be quite satisfied until you do, Arthur,"
responded Bruce, smiling; "but in the meantime we had better be pushing
on if we want to reach Rosser Station in time for dinner."

A few miles out from Winnipeg they were able to leave the track and take
to a road that ran parallel. They were glad to do this, as they found it
tiresome work walking on the ties, which were placed too close together
to allow of a good stride between them, and yet far enough apart to make
it impossible to skip one without jumping.

"I do wish the people who built this road had been more considerate in
placing the ties," Arthur had said in quite an injured tone, after they
had been making use of them for over an hour. "If they'd only put them
about a foot farther apart they'd just suit my stride to perfection."

"I don't imagine they took pedestrians into account, Arthur," answered
Bruce. "This line was built for people to ride over in cars, not to walk
upon. See, there comes the train now. How fine it looks rushing down
upon us!"

They stood to one side as the train swept by, and waved their hats to
the passengers looking out of the windows.

"Do you wish yourself on board?" Bruce asked, with one of his quizzical
smiles.

"No, sir, not a bit of it," responded Arthur stoutly. "What adventures
would one have riding in one of those cars? Nothing to do but sit and
sleep and eat all day long."

The train presently vanished among the billows of shimmering grass, and
the boys kept up a steady tramp, until, not long after mid-day, they
came to Rosser Station, a cluster of some half-dozen houses, at one of
which they were able to obtain a simple but substantial dinner that they
were in excellent humor to appreciate.

After an hour's rest they set forth again, and plodded on diligently
until sundown, by which time they reached Marquette, where they halted
for the night, feeling very well satisfied with the day's progress.

Refreshed and strengthened by a good night's rest in comfortable beds,
and rejoicing in the continuance of perfect weather, they kept very
close to their work all next day, and thus had the satisfaction of
getting into Portage La Prairie that afternoon.

They were pleased to find this place quite a flourishing little city,
with a cluster of big elevators and flouring-mills near the railway
station, and a capital hotel, whose comforts were particularly welcome
after the plain fare of the past two days.

After their evening meal they strolled about the city, which is situated
upon high, level ground sloping southward to the Assiniboine river, and
were tempted by the long twilight to continue their walk down to the
river bank, about a mile distant.

No sooner had Arthur seen the water than the desire for a swim took
possession of him.

"Happy thought! Let us have a plunge, Bruce," he cried, giving a joyous
snap of his fingers. "I'm just grimy with dust, and it'll be ever so
much more fun taking a bath here than at the hotel."

"I'm with you," responded Bruce, "though the water doesn't seem very
clear, and the bank is decidedly muddy."

Seeking out a spot where the grassy bank jutted well into the stream,
they lost no time in throwing off their clothes and diving into the
brown flood of the Assiniboine.

The water was deliciously warm, and had a soft, smooth feeling that was
inexpressibly grateful to them after their two days of steady walking
under a bright sun.

"Isn't this just fine?" exclaimed Arthur enthusiastically. "Come now,
Bruce, I'll race you across the river and back."

"All right, my boy," answered Bruce; and in a moment they were hard at
it, cutting swiftly through the tawny water.

Arthur was first to touch bottom on the other side, but on the way back
Bruce drew up to him, and they were head and head together, puffing and
blowing like a pair of porpoises.

Arthur, in his eagerness to win, hardly looked ahead, but Bruce, not
being familiar with the river, kept a good lookout forward, and was not
a little startled to see through the gathering gloom a dark figure
stealing stealthily over the grass towards the spot where they had left
their clothes.

"Arthur! Arthur!" he called softly to his companion, who at once stopped
his vigorous strokes, fearing that something had happened. "Look there!"
he continued; "what's the meaning of that?"

Arthur glanced toward the shore.

"Some rascal is trying to pick our pockets, or perhaps steal our
clothes. What shall we do?" he whispered.

Bruce thought for a moment, and then answered: "You go up the river a
little, and I'll go down, and we'll get ashore as quietly as we can, and
try to run the fellow down."

Arthur approved of the plan, and so they separated, and swam shoreward
in different directions, not uttering a word, although they could easily
make out the figure of the person, who was evidently taking some
liberties with their clothing.

Strangely enough he did not seem to be looking out for them, but was
giving his whole attention to the examination of their belongings, and
they consequently were enabled to land before he took alarm.

Then, as if waking up to his danger, he gathered an armful of clothes
and started to run in the direction of the city, at which proceeding
both boys set up a shout, and recking nothing of their nakedness, for
the case was manifestly desperate, made after him at the top of their
speed.

It was well for them that the grassy sward offered a soft carpet for
their bare feet, or otherwise they would have been at a sore
disadvantage; as it was, the odds were, if anything, in their favor,
barring the head-start the thief already had.

The chase that ensued was so exciting that it seemed a great pity there
were not some spectators--of the male sex, of course--to witness it.
Certainly a more diverting foot-race had not been run across the prairie
since the days when the Indians held undivided sway.

The boys were somewhat fatigued and out of breath from their exertions
in the water, but on the other hand the thief was burdened by the bundle
of clothes so that he could not run as rapidly as if his hands were
free.

"Keep it up, Arthur, we're gaining on him!" Bruce cried, as they raced
up the slope from the river's edge to the level of the prairie.

"I'm all right," Arthur panted back. "We'll catch him."

The thief at this point evidently began to have some fears of the
success of his rascally enterprise, as he dropped a couple of articles,
perhaps with the hope that the boys would pause to pick them up. But his
pursuers were not to be fooled by any such device. Paying no heed to
these lures they kept right on, and their fine running powers commenced
to tell in their favor.

The distance between them and the object of their pursuit lessened so
rapidly that in sheer fright he dropped everything he had picked up,
and, with empty hands swinging at his side, fled frantically from them.

Seeing that he had surrendered everything Bruce stopped short.

"Let him go, Arthur," he said; "he's got nothing, and we'll have enough
to do to find all our things before it gets too dark to see them."

Bruce's counsel was indeed of the best, for it was no easy task to
discover all their things as they lay scattered on the grass, and by
the time they had got them together it was so dark that but for the
lights of the city they would hardly have been able to find their way
back there.

Yet the whole episode had so comical a side to it, that in spite of
their natural irritation at the attempted rascality they could not help
breaking out into hearty laughter over it, as they hurried on their
clothes.

"What a pity somebody hadn't been on hand with a Kodak to take an
instantaneous photo of us as we raced after that villain!" exclaimed
Arthur in a well-simulated tone of regret. "It would be such an
interesting memento of the occasion, you know."

"I'm afraid our friends would think there was too much of the naked
truth about it," said Bruce, with a quiet smile; "as it is, I'm only too
glad that there were no spectators, for certainly we were never in so
absurd a position before in our lives."

"I wonder who the fellow was that tried to make off with our precious
garments," soliloquized Arthur, "and what he took us to be. I imagine if
he knew that these were all we had in the world nearer than Regina, he'd
be considerably surprised."

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he was an Indian, or half-breed, or
something of that kind," suggested Bruce. "The trick was worthy that
kind of a creature."

They were on their way back, and had got within half a mile of the city
when the figures of three men showed dimly ahead of them, and a gruff
voice called out:

"Hold up there! You've got something we want."

The boys gave a simultaneous start, and pressed close together, Bruce
saying in a whisper:

"Get your revolver ready, Arthur. These fellows mean mischief."

Then, speaking in a clear, firm tone, he replied to the ominous summons:

"Stand aside there, or we'll shoot you."

In answer to this came a rude, mocking laugh, and a challenge to the
boys to show their "guns," if they were not simply trying to put up a
bluff.

The clicking of the revolver was the boys' reply, and it sounded
remarkably distinct on the still evening air.

"Eh!" sneered the man who alone of the three had spoken. "So ye _have_
got guns. Well, in that case we bid ye good-evenin', as we was just
taking a little walk for our health, and don't feel any particular
hankerin' for lead."

Neither of the boys made any response to this sally, although Arthur
found it very hard to hold his tongue, and indeed would have blurted out
something but for a warning nudge from Bruce, who, realizing that they
now had the whip-hand of the would-be footpads, did not want to imperil
their advantage by further irritating them.

There was a moment's awkward silence, and then, with a murmuring of
muttered curses, the foiled scoundrels slunk away into the darkness,
carrying with them Arthur's explosive, "Avaunt, ye villains! Vanish into
the womb of night," which he gave forth with an exaggerated stage accent
as the best way of expressing his relief at their welcome retirement.

Keeping a sharp lookout to right and left, and holding their revolvers
in hand ready for use, if need be, the boys hurried toward Portage La
Prairie, determined to be more careful in future as to the place they
chose for an evening swim.

On their telling the hotel-keeper about their adventure he had an
explanation ready at once. It seemed that the city was fairly invested
with the worst kind of tramps, beating their way across the continent,
stealing rides on the brake-beams and axles of the cars when they could,
and using "shanks' mare" when they could not.

"These three rascals were tramps, without a doubt, and you were very
lucky to have your revolvers or they would have taken everything of
value you had. They're mostly a bad lot, those fellows."

"Are there many of them about here?" Arthur asked.

"Why, the woods are full of them, as the saying goes," replied the
hotel-keeper. "Hardly a train pulls out from Winnipeg without some of
them hanging on by their eyelids underneath, and you'll see them at
'most every station along the way. They're an everlasting nuisance. The
Government ought to do something to put an end to them."

The idea of often encountering such characters on their journey was very
displeasing to the boys, and they had a good deal to say to each other
about it, but without coming to any conclusion in the matter except the
resolve to be very much on the alert for these suspicious customers.

The glorious weather continued as they set out from Portage La Prairie
next morning, but the country through which they passed was not at all
so pleasing as it had been, a few miles of walking bringing them to a
region of rough and brushy sand-hills,--the old branches of Lake
Agassiz,--which they found utterly uninteresting and monotonous, so that
they were especially glad to reach Austin, and the end of these
sand-hills, ere the evening shadows closed about them.

Beyond Austin it was the real prairie again, and very pleasant walking
indeed. For the first time they came across the genuine article of
"tramp," not the amateur affair like themselves. It was a small party of
four, two being men of middle age, and the other two mere youths.

Without being positively ragged, their clothes were much the worse for
wear, and their faces betrayed great economy in the use of soap and the
razor.

They at once accosted the boys, and asked a number of questions as to
who they were, whence they came, and whither they were going.

At Bruce's request Arthur left altogether to him the answering of these
inquiries, and he did it with such discretion as to prevent the tramps
from being much wiser in the matter.

But while it was comparatively easy to foil their curiosity, it was a
more difficult matter to part company with them, as they evidently
intended to inflict their society upon the boys, whether the latter
desired it or not.

It was out of the question to provoke an open rupture, so they plodded
along together for some miles, both Bruce and Arthur with admirable
success adopting a tone of good-fellowship that put the tramps at their
ease, so that they became very communicative, and told a number of
stories of their experiences that were decidedly amusing, albeit at
times somewhat coarsely expressed.

There was no shaking off their uncongenial fellow-travellers, until late
in the afternoon they all came to Carberry, a thriving town of about a
thousand inhabitants, on the outskirts of which Bruce handed the oldest
member of the quartet a dollar to get supper for them all, and then the
two boys made haste to the hotel.

That evening as they were lounging restfully on the hotel piazza they
overheard a conversation between some men, in the course of which one
of them stated that he was going to drive over to Brandon the following
morning. This gave Bruce an idea that he at once submitted for Arthur's
approval.

"We're sure to see more of those wretched tramps to-morrow," said he,
"if we go right on, and I certainly don't want to have them hanging on
to us. What do you say to asking that man who is going to drive over to
Brandon, which is about thirty miles ahead, if he'll take us with him?
We'll pay him properly for it, of course."

"The very idea!" assented Arthur heartily. "And we'll not only get rid
of the tramps, but we'll be as far on by mid-day as we should be by
night, if we walked all the way. So we'll have the afternoon to spend in
Brandon, which is quite a big place, they say."

Being thus supported Bruce at the first opportunity addressed the man,
and presented his request.

"And who may you be, young chap?" was the response, uttered in a tone of
curiosity rather than suspicion. "And what may be your business in
Brandon?"

"Oh, we're just travellers going across the continent," answered Bruce
frankly. "And we've been walking a good part of the way just for fun.
But we want to ride from here to Brandon."

"There's a good many folk," began the man, looking the boys over
narrowly, and then hastening to add, "but not, perhaps, just of your
kind, who walk a good part of the way, too, though they don't do it
mostly for fun, and they're not exactly popular in these parts."

"Oh, yes, we've seen some of them," exclaimed Arthur brightly,
anticipating Bruce. "And it's just because we want to get rid of their
society that we'd like to be allowed to drive over with you. We'll pay
you, of course, whatever you may charge."

"Why, now," said the man, with an exaggerated air of comprehension,
"that's something like business you're talking; and how much do you feel
like giving for the lift?"

"Would two or three dollars be enough?" Bruce asked.

The man laughed, and his face relaxed into an expression of entire
friendliness as he brought his heels down with a thud on the floor of
the piazza, and rose up from his chair.

"It would be just two or three dollars too much, young fellow," he
replied. "I'm satisfied you're all right, and you're welcome to come
along with me for nothing. I'll be starting at eight o'clock sharp, and
you be on hand just here."

The boys joined in thanking him warmly, and promised to be ready for him
when he came in the morning, and he went off seeming well pleased at the
arrangement.

Some time before the hour appointed they were awaiting the wagon, and
when eight o'clock passed without its appearing Arthur began to get
anxious and to wonder if the man were going to disappoint them.

But a few minutes later he drove up, calling out pleasantly:

"Hope you ain't tired waiting. I had to fix a hit of my harness. Will
this outfit suit you?"

It was the first buckboard the boys had seen, and they examined it with
interest. A better style of carriage for driving across the prairies
could not be imagined. It was as admirably adapted to its purpose as the
canoe and toboggan to theirs.

The wheels were placed far apart, and joined together by three thin,
hard-wood boards, elastic enough to render springs unnecessary. Upon
these boards were placed two ordinary wagon-seats, leaving sufficient
space at the rear for a couple of trunks or bags of grain to be tied on.

The strong, supple boards yielded readily to all the irregularities of
the road; but there was no risk of their breaking, no matter how severe
a shock they might be exposed to, so that even with a heavy load one had
never to stop to consider the vehicle.

The driver, who now introduced himself as Joe Edwards, invited Bruce to
take a seat beside him, saying in an apologetic way to Arthur:

"Ye can have the other seat to yourself until we catch up to some pretty
girl going our way, and then, I reckon, ye'll not object to having her
for company?"

The improbability of finding a pretty girl tripping over the vast
prairie alone was so patent that the boys saw through the joke at once,
and laughed heartily over it, Arthur responding briskly:

"Object! no, indeed. I'll be only too happy. But do you really think
there's much chance of our seeing any ladies out here?" This last with a
fine pretence of eagerness.

It was now Mr. Edwards's turn to laugh, and an easy footing being thus
established at the start, the drive began most auspiciously under an
unclouded sky, and with a pleasant breeze blowing from the west.

As they passed through the outskirts of Carberry, the boys saw their
frowsy companions of the previous day loafing along the road, and a
thrill of joy went through them as they realized that they were rid of
their undesirable society.

The tramps recognized them at once, and the oldest of them snarled out
viciously after them:

"Oh my, ain't we fine a-riding in our kerridge! Won't yer ask yer
coachman to give us a lift?"

Mr. Edwards's response to this was to toss the reins into Bruce's lap,
saying, "Just hold them a minute," and then to leap to the ground,
flourishing his long, heavy whip, and swearing roundly at the tramps.

Lazy as they certainly looked, they were not too lazy to save their
skins from the stinging lash. They stood not upon the order of their
going--they went at once; and as they skedaddled over the prairie in
different directions, the boys almost rolled off their seats for
laughter at the ludicrous sight they presented.

Having chased them until he was out of breath, Mr. Edwards returned, his
anger, which had been aroused at the tramp's insulting remark, appeased
by the completeness of their rout.

"The consarned trash!" he panted, as he climbed into his seat and set
the horse off at a canter. "If they had more of the whip they wouldn't
be the everlasting nuisance that they are around here."

The horses were strong, spirited, and speedy, the buckboard ran smoothly
over the soft prairie road, the air was just pleasantly warm, and the
boys fairly revelled in the enjoyment of their drive.

Mr. Edwards had been a good many years in the Northwest, having been
engaged upon the construction of the railway, and presently he began to
talk of the days when the iron road was being built at a rate never
equalled in any other part of the world.

"Those were great times, I tell you, young fellows," said he
enthusiastically. "We beat everything that had ever been done in the
line of railroad-making, and we were mighty proud of our job. I was
foreman of a gang of Scotchmen, big chaps every one of them, mostly
from Glengarry county, in Ontario, and we weren't going to let any other
gang give us the go-by in our work.

"Of course it was like child's play, building the line across these
prairies, compared with what it was along the north of Lake Superior,
and I had a pretty good taste of that, too, before I settled down here.
But there was lots of hard work in it all the same.

"You see this prairie ain't all level, as the city folk think it is.
It's all up and down hill when you come to look at it, and in laying the
track we had to keep the rails on a level, and put the line out of reach
of the winter snow. And do you know, it took nearly twenty thousand
cubic yards of earthwork in every mile to fix it all right.

"Then, you understand, we were building a road that had to last, not a
temporary track, and we made everything as solid as we knew how. The
line was laid from one end only, full tied and full spiked as we went,
and the rails were laid one right after the other. They were never
hauled ahead by teams.

"That being so, now how fast do you think we built this railroad?"

Having propounded this question Mr. Edwards paused for a reply, and
Bruce, seeing that he was expected to hazard a guess, said tentatively:

"I don't know much about building railways, but it seems to me that if
you got ahead at the rate of a mile a day you did splendidly."

Mr. Edwards laughed long and loud. Bruce's modest estimate evidently
tickled him immensely.

"A mile a day!" he shouted, with a vigor that made his horses jump so
that Arthur nearly performed an involuntary somersault over the back
seat. "Wouldn't my gang laugh to hear that! Just listen, now, and I'll
make your eyes open.

"In 1882, in seven weeks the construction company laid no less than one
hundred and thirty-four miles of main track, or an average of three and
one-fifth miles a day, not counting sidings."

"Phew!" came from the boys simultaneously. "Just think of that!"

"But we did better still the next year," continued the ex-railway
builder exultingly. "In forty-eight working days one hundred and
sixty-six miles were put down, five and a half miles a day, and one day
we actually laid six and one-third miles, requiring six hundred and
forty tons of steel rails."

The boys were silent, these astounding figures taxing their credulity to
the utmost. Yet they felt full confidence in the truthfulness of the
narrator, who went on to put the marvellous progress of the railroad in
another way.

"Work was begun in the month of May, 1881, and before the end of that
year trains were running one hundred and sixty-five miles westward from
Winnipeg. Next year four hundred and nineteen miles more were done, and
in 1883 another three hundred and seventy-six, the whole distance
between Winnipeg and the Rockies being completed in three seasons' work.

"I don't think any railroad-building in the world ever beat that,"
concluded Mr. Edwards triumphantly, "and there's no man deserves more
credit for the same than him that's now president of the road."

"We know him," exclaimed Arthur, jumping up in his seat. "We saw him in
Montreal, and he was very nice to us, and he had our tickets fixed so
that we can ride on the cars whenever we don't care to walk."

The fact that they had the acquaintance of the great man who ruled over
the Canadian Pacific evidently caused the boys to rise in their
companion's respect, and he asked a number of questions about him and
about Montreal, which gave them a chance to do the talking, of which
they fully availed themselves.

Steadily and swiftly over the undulating road the horses trotted hour
after hour, passing an occasional solitary rider, or a buckboard with a
single horse, whose driver responded cordially to the greeting Mr.
Edwards never failed to give.

There were some good farms along the way whose grain-fields spread out
on the flats in the bends of the Assiniboine river, and swept up the
sloping sides of the hills to the level of the plateau. The river
itself, although nearly one hundred yards in width, was hardly visible
through the dense growth of cottonwood, willow, and maple trees that
lined its banks, and made a welcome break in the monotony of the
prairie.

Soon after mid-day tall elevators came into sight ahead, and half an
hour later the buckboard came to a stop before the chief hotel in
Brandon, the second largest city in Manitoba.

Enjoyable as they had found both the drive and Mr. Edwards's
companionship, they were very glad to get to their destination, for they
were as hungry as bears, and needed no sauce in order to whet their
appetites for the excellent dinner soon set before them.

After dinner Mr. Edwards went off to attend to his business, and left
them to their own devices. Having been "on the go" steadily tor several
days, it quite fell in with their inclinations to "take a loaf" that
afternoon, and they strolled about the well-kept streets of the
prosperous little city, looked in at the elevators, went over the big
flour-mill, sipped ice-cream at the confectioner's, and thus whiled away
the hours very pleasantly.

They saw nothing more of Mr. Edwards until late that evening, and then
it was under circumstances which enabled them to do him a service that
made a good return for his kindness to them.

They had been roaming about the streets in an aimless fashion, the
night being too fine and warm to spend in the hotel, when their
attention was attracted by the sound of men's voices raised to so angry
a pitch that the coming to blows could not be far off.

"Let's see what the row is," said Arthur, hurrying off in the direction
whence the voices came.

Bruce would have protested had Arthur given him time, but he had darted
away so quickly as to leave Bruce no other alternative than to follow
him.

They were in one of the lower streets of the city, where bar-rooms
abounded, and before one of these they saw their friend of the morning
in fierce altercation with a big shaggy-bearded ranchman.

Both men had evidently been indulging too freely in strong drink, and
were just in the mood for a fight, their furious dialogue flaming with
fierce oaths, and their fists being clenched ready to strike.




CHAPTER X.

CREE AND CONSTABLE.


Fascinated by the exciting scene, and stirred to fervent sympathy for
their friend, whose side they as a matter of course espoused, the boys
stood not far from him, wondering in what manner they could be of
assistance to him.

Mr. Edwards's opponent was unmistakably his superior in size and
strength, but lacked his agile frame and knowledge of the noble art of
self-defence, and when at last they did come to blows the big ranchman
soon found that the task he had undertaken was by no means so easy as he
had imagined.

Making no pretence of parrying his opponent, he struck out furiously
with both right and left fists, swinging his long arms around like the
sails of a wind-mill.

In this way he did get in some heavy blows at Mr. Edwards that made the
boys wince, and utter horror-stricken murmurs, but the railroad-builder
was as tough as he was active, and he returned these favors with more
than interest.

In the meantime, although there were no signs of the police, a crowd of
deeply interested spectators had gathered, who evidently thought it a
pretty fight, and a welcome bit of amusement for a fine summer night.

Mot so the boys. It was all horrible to them, these two strong men
smiting one another and besmearing their faces and hands with blood, and
they would have put a stop to it at once if they had the power to do so.
Only anxiety for their friend kept them among the on-lookers, and but
for this they would gladly have hurried away.

Presently the two men came to close quarters, they clinched, they
strained for a moment in a fierce wrestle, and then with a sudden pitch
the big ranchman went over Edwards's shoulder headlong to the ground,
while the crowd broke into a roar of applause at the latter's clever
tactic.

Filled with murderous fury at being thus ignominiously worsted to the
manifest approval of the spectators, the giant sprang to his feet, and
drawing his revolver levelled it at Edwards, while the startled crowd
scattered to right and left, thinking more of keeping their own skins
whole than of protecting their endangered fellow-being.

But if they had no generous impulse to interfere, there were others
present who had. Like a flash Arthur darted forward, and struck up the
ranchman's hand with a smart blow of his fist just as the trigger was
pulled, the bullet flying harmlessly over the roofs of the houses; and
when the foiled ruffian turned madly upon the daring boy, Bruce, who
had followed close, threw out his foot so deftly that he tripped heavily
over it, and measured his length on the ground.

At that moment the police put in an appearance, and the crowd vanished
like spectres, leaving Edwards and his prostrate antagonist with the two
boys to explain what was the matter.

The ranchman, being already down, made an easy capture, and Edwards,
stating that he would quietly accompany the officers to the station, the
boys accompanied him, resolved not to desert him until they knew what
would befall him.

As they walked along Edwards thanked them warmly for their timely
interference in his behalf.

"It was a pretty close call for me, young fellows," he said. "That chap
can shoot straight even when he's drunk, and he was just in the humor to
kill me, although he'd have been sorry enough when the liquor was out of
him again."

On arriving at the police-station the sergeant in charge made a
preliminary investigation into the affair, as the result of which
Edwards was released on his promising to appear before the magistrate in
the morning, while the ranchman was locked up, as he had fought the
officers every inch of the way, and given them any amount of trouble.

Having washed off the marks of the fight, Edwards returned to the hotel
with the boys, and there related to an admiring audience how they had
rushed to his rescue, and saved him in all probability from death, so
that they found themselves the object of quite a bothersome amount of
attention, receiving many pressing invitations to "have something," or
at least to take a cigar.

The next morning they went with Edwards to the court, and were called as
witnesses in the case. It was their first appearance in that capacity,
but they both acquitted themselves very well, although Arthur was
inclined to say too much, and Bruce to say too little.

The magistrate's judgment was that both Edwards and the ranchman should
be fined, the latter's impost being much heavier than the former's, and
should also be bound over to keep the peace for six months. They were
then discharged; and both by this time having forgotten their anger at
the other they shook hands heartily, and came away together, quite
reconciled.

Having parted from Edwards with many expressions of mutual esteem, the
boys set out from Brandon in the best of spirits, and quite ready for
some more walking.

The railway, the course of which they followed closely, although they
preferred the prairie turf to the ties, now drew away from the
Assiniboine river, which had been in sight so long, and rose from the
valley to a rolling prairie over which the eye could sweep unchecked
clear to the horizon.

The weather, which had been so fine and favorable ever since they left
Winnipeg, took a sudden change for the worse as they tramped along.
Heavy clouds darkened the sky, and the wind began to blow in angry gusts
that betokened a nearing storm.

"I'm afraid we're in for a wetting," said Bruce, glancing apprehensively
at the sky, "and there's no shelter in sight, so we'll have to grin and
bear it."

"I suppose we'll have to bear it, but I'm blest if I'll do any
grinning," responded Arthur. "It's bad enough to get a soaking without
pretending to like it."

The rain at first fell in stray drops, which soon, however, thickened
into a heavy pour, and, quite unprotected as they were, it did not take
long for the boys to become thoroughly drenched.

"Dearie, dearie me!" sighed Arthur as he wiped the teeming drops off his
rain-beaten face, "what a time we are having! Is this just your idea of
fun, old chap?"

Bruce laughed, and shrugged his shoulders. "Not quite," he replied. "I'd
rather have the sunshine, hot as it was sometimes. But keep your spirits
up, chum. If my poor, damp eyes don't deceive me, that's a station
ahead, and we shall be able to get shelter there until the storm is
over."

Cheered by the sight of the house, they plodded resolutely on until they
reached it. They looked so disreputable in their dripping and bemired
condition, that the station-master evidently hesitated about offering
them any hospitality. But when they showed their railway tickets and
their well-filled purses in proof of their not being ordinary tramps all
his suspicions vanished, and he was ready to do his best for them.

Their clothing was so thoroughly soaked that in order to dry it properly
they had to strip completely, and, the station-master kindly lending
them some of his spare garments, they lolled about, looking very absurd,
but feeling thoroughly comfortable, while the woman of the house dried
their own things in the kitchen.

As the rain showed no signs of letting up, the station-master suggested
that they take the west-bound train, which was due at four o'clock, and
by which they could get to Broadview, one hundred and twenty miles
ahead, by ten o'clock in the evening. Then, if they felt like it, they
could resume their tramp the next morning.

The suggestion approved itself at once, and their clothes being fit to
put on again in good time before the train appeared, they paid the
station-master liberally for his hospitality, which had included a
substantial dinner, and got on board, well pleased to be able to
progress in spite of the rain.

They did not take places in the Pullman, as they would be on board the
train so short a time, but were content with seats in the first-class
car.

Having no books to read, and finding nobody to interest them, they
wandered into the colonist car, which was crowded with men, women, and
children coming to settle in the rich wheat-lands of the Northwest.

Some of the children were quite pretty little creatures, albeit somewhat
grimy, and the boys began to play with them. The boy who sold candy and
peanuts happened along just then, and his appearance gave Arthur a happy
thought that he put into execution with his wonted impetuosity.

"Hold on there!" he cried. "What's your basket worth?"

"Do you mean with all that's in it?" the boy asked, looking surprised.

"Certainly," answered Arthur. "I don't want the basket. I want its
contents."

The boy made a hurried calculation, and said:

"You can have the whole thing for a dollar."

"I'll take it," said Arthur, pulling out his purse and handing over a
dollar bill.

Looking as if he felt sorry he had not asked more, seeing how promptly
his price had been agreed to, the boy gave up the basket, and Arthur at
once called out:

"Now, then, children, come along. I'm going to give you a regular
blow-out."

For a moment or two the children hung back. The news seemed too good,
and they were incredulous. But when Arthur pressed packages of candy and
handfuls of peanuts into the hands of the youngsters nearest him, those
farther away quickly closed in, and the two boys were surrounded by a
regular swarm of children, thrusting up eager, dirty little hands, and
crying:

"Give _me_ some candy! Give _me_ some nuts!" and so on, until the basket
was completely emptied.

As may be readily supposed, the parents viewed with lively approval the
liberal distribution of dainties among their offspring, and in their own
rough way sought to express their gratitude, so that Arthur felt that he
was well repaid for his investment.

After spending an hour with the immigrants, the boys returned to their
own seats just in time to hear the announcement that supper was ready in
the dining-car.

They lingered at the table as long as they thought seemly, and with
this, and a comfortable snooze, managed to put in the time until their
arrival at Broadview.

Not feeling in any hurry for bed when they got to the hotel, they hunted
around for something to read. Arthur found a paper-covered novel that
satisfied him, and Bruce a copy of the poems of William Cullen Bryant,
which he had not been reading in long before he called out:

"Arthur, listen to this a minute, it is such a splendid description of
these prairies we're now in the midst of."

Arthur, who had no passion for poetry, lifted his head, to listen with
a very resigned air, and Bruce read the following lines with admirable
expression:

    "'These are the Gardens of the Desert, these
    The unshorn fields, boundless and beautiful,
    For which the speech of England has no name--
    The Prairies. I behold them for the first,
    And my heart swells, while the dilated sight
    Takes in the encircling vastness. Lo! they stretch
    In airy undulation, far away.
    As if the ocean, in his gentlest swell,
    Stood still, with all his rounded billows fixed
    And motionless forever. Motionless?
    No--they are all unchained again. The clouds
    Sweep over with their shadows, and, beneath,
    The surface rolls and fluctuates to the eye.
    . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
    Man hath no part in all this glorious work;
    The hand that built the firmament hath heaved
    And smoothed these verdant swells, and sown their slopes
    With herbage. . . .
                          The great heavens
    Seem to stoop down upon the scene in love,--
    A nearer vault, and of a tenderer blue,
    Than that which bends above the eastern hills. . . .
                          . . . In these plains
    The bison feeds no more, where once he shook
    The earth with thundering steps--yet here I meet
    His ancient footprints stamped beside the pool.'"

"Now, Arthur, isn't that fine? Wouldn't it be grand to be able to write
such poetry?"

"I suppose so," assented Arthur, burying himself again in his book,
while Bruce, giving an expressive shrug of his shoulders, went on to
read "Thanatopsis," and to let his heart go out in longing for the gift
of poetic expression, of which, so far as he knew, he had not a trace in
his composition.

During the night the storm came to an end, and the next morning dawned
clear and cool. For an hour or two after setting out, the boys kept to
the railway track, the turf being too wet for walking upon.

But as it got toward mid-day they wearied of the ties, and took to the
prairie, which felt very soft and pleasant underfoot, and had by this
time dried off sufficiently not to wet their feet.

About ten miles from Broadview they were overtaken by a small band of
Cree Indians on their way to Indian Head, some forty miles farther on.

They had such a shabby, disreputable appearance, being dressed
principally in dirty and tattered hats, shirts, and trousers, which
seemed to have been cast off by their white brethren, that the boys
viewed them with considerable distrust, and hoped they would ride on
past them.

But the Crees had no idea of so doing. Curiosity and cupidity combined
to make them eager to offer their company to the boys, and they were
evidently not to be easily got rid of.

The band was comprised of four men and two squaws, and there was not a
pleasing countenance amongst them. Prepared as the boys had been by the
Indians seen at different stations along the route for the upsetting of
their cherished conceptions of the "noble red men," yet the
disillusioning these reamers of the prairies gave them was unpleasantly
sharp.

"They look like a lot of cut-throats," said Bruce in an undertone to
Arthur, after an apprehensive glance at their unwelcome
fellow-travellers.

"That they do," responded Arthur, putting his hand to his hip to make
sure that his revolver was in its place.

The Indians were all mounted, the women riding in the same way as the
men. Their mounts were poor scraggy creatures, mere ponies in size, with
dirty blankets for saddles and bits of rope for bridles, and they had
some spare ponies, which followed in the rear along with the dogs.

Having surrounded the boys, who had kept walking on stolidly as though
unconscious of their nearness, the Indians strove to enter into
conversation.

"Fine day, boss," said the senior member of the party, with a wolfish
grin that was intended to express an amiable respect. "You taking big
walk? Perhaps you tired, eh?"

Seeing that it was impossible to avoid an exchange of speech, Bruce
looked up at him, and answered briefly:

"We're not at all tired. We prefer walking."

The hint seemed too broad even for an Indian to miss its meaning, but it
made no impression upon this fellow.

[Illustration: "ARTHUR PUT HIS HAND TO HIS HIP TO MAKE SURE HIS REVOLVER
WAS IN ITS PLACE."]

"Riding heap better than walking. You take pony. We give you pony to
ride."

Without waiting for the boys to accept or refuse his offer, the Cree
then said something in his own language to the squaws, at which they
halted their ponies, and slid off to the ground without a word of
protest, whereupon the Indian, taking hold of the rope bridles, led the
ponies up to the boys, saying in his most engaging manner:

"Good ponies--you take them--you like them."

Now, neither of the boys had any desire whatever to accept the loan of a
pony, but even if they might have been persuaded to this, they could not
have been guilty of such discourtesy as to dispossess the two poor
women. The moment had come for decided action. Straightening himself up,
and looking the Indian resolutely in the face, Bruce said in his most
manly tone:

"We don't want to ride, and even if we did we wouldn't take the ponies
from your women. You ought to be ashamed of yourself for offering them."

Having thus spoken, while Arthur's eyes flashed in indignant assent,
Bruce wheeled about to resume walking. But he found their progress
barred by the other men, who, at a sign from their leader, had placed
themselves in their way, and there was that in their looks which gave
Bruce pause. He realized that he and Arthur were in a trap, from which
they could not escape by show of force, and that their only policy was
to accept the situation, and await the first chance of deliverance from
it.

Controlling his feelings by a great effort he therefore stood still,
having whispered to Arthur, "We'll have to give in, or there'll be
trouble."

Arthur, recognizing Bruce's right to leadership, had kept silence from
the beginning. He felt quite sure that Bruce would manage the matter far
better than he could. So he now just answered with a nod of
acquiescence.

Interpreting their step to mean the acceptance of his offer, the Indian
again put forward the squaws' ponies. But Bruce shook his head most
decidedly.

"No, no," he cried, stamping his foot vigorously. "We won't take the
women's ponies. Since you are so anxious for us to ride with you, let us
have a couple of the spare ponies you have there, and give your women
their own back again."

Seeing that the boys were quite determined, the Cree, after some talk
with his men, had two of the spare ponies brought up, and rope bridles
put on them. There were no saddles for them, however, so that the boys
had to ride bareback, which was not entirely pleasant owing to the
animals being so thin and sharp-boned.

But it satisfied the Indians, and, only too glad to secure temporary
immunity at the price of a little discomfort, the boys got astride their
ponies, and the whole party moved on again in apparently the best of
humor.

None of the Indians, save the leader, offered any attempt at
conversation, but he made amends for the rest by pouring forth a flood
of questions that Bruce found it quite a task to answer without telling
more than he thought expedient. He wanted to know all about the boys,
and what their business was, and whether they had come to buy a farm,
and if they wanted any cattle or horses, and so on, and so on.

In the meantime they were making steady progress across the prairie. But
presently Bruce noted with apprehension that they were steadily drawing
away from the railway line. Pulling his pony up short, and pointing in
the direction he wished to go, he asked:

"Why, are you getting away from the railroad? You're taking us out of
our route?"

The Indian smiled sardonically as he answered: "That's all right. Me
know heap shorter way than that. Me show you how get there quick."

"I don't believe him a bit, whispered Arthur in Bruce's ear; while the
latter stood still, sorely puzzled as to what was best to be done.

"No more do I," Bruce whispered back. "But how can we help ourselves?"

That they could not help themselves was the next moment made clear by
both their ponies receiving a sharp cut on the hind-quarters from the
Indians nearest them, that caused them to start off at a gallop straight
away from the track, the Indians whipping up their ponies at the same
time, and following close behind.

Just at this moment Arthur's quick eye caught sight of two horsemen just
appearing above a swell of the prairie far ahead, and the thought
flashed into his mind that they might be white men who would render them
assistance.

Running his pony close beside Bruce's, he pointed to the distant
figures, exclaiming:

"Look, Bruce, those are not Indians. Let us make for them," at the same
time digging his heels into the gaunt ribs of his pony, and urging him
forward with his utmost energy.

After one glance ahead Bruce followed his example, and before the
Indians realized what they were about, they had a clear lead of fifty
yards. Then, with wild whoops, the red men set off in pursuit, and a
most exciting chase for all concerned ensued.

The boys had not only the advantage of a head start, but of being
lighter weights and having fresher ponies than their pursuers, and,
consequently, although the latter were far better riders, they gained
but slowly.

Yet, gain they manifestly did, as the boys, throwing anxious looks
backward, could not fail to see. And Arthur, growing desperate, was
about to draw his revolver with the idea of risking a shot at the
nearest pony, when Bruce called out:

"Don't do that! See, the men are coming toward us."

The two horsemen had, up to this point, seemed to be oblivious of what
was taking place, the breeze blowing from them, and thus preventing the
cries of the Indians from reaching their ears.

But now they looked toward the on-comers inquiringly, and after
exchanging a few words, wheeled their horses, and putting spurs to them,
galloped towards the boys.

The moment the Indians saw this they pulled up short, and with many an
angry imprecation scurried away as fast as their ponies could carry
them, while the boys, keeping straight on, were soon in the presence of
the horsemen, who proved to be a corporal and constable of the mounted
police on outpost duty.

"Hello! what's up?" demanded the corporal, as the boys with some
difficulty brought their ponies to a stand-still. "Were those Indians
chasing you?"

Both boys were considerably out of breath, but Bruce soon got his voice
sufficiently to answer:

"Yes; they're Indians. They wanted us to go along with them, and we
didn't like the idea, so we cleared out when we saw you coming."

"And may I ask who you are, and what your business here may be?" asked
the corporal courteously, for Bruce's voice, and the general appearance
of both boys, showed him that the new-comers were persons of good
position, however odd the circumstances in which they found them.

Deeming it full time he had something to say, Arthur hastened to account
for their presence, and to explain their plans.

The corporal and his companion were evidently quite amused at what he
said.

"Well, gentlemen," said the former, "begging your pardon for saying so,
but it seems to me a rum go, it does, your footin' it across these
prairies when ridin' 's so cheap. Why, you can buy a fairish pony for
the matter of twenty dollars, ride him as long as you like, and
providin' you take right care of him, sell him again, when you've done
with him, for as much as you gave for him. Isn't that so, Bill?"

The constable nodded assent, and seeming well pleased at having so good
an opportunity to impart counsel the corporal continued:

"If I may be bold, young gentlemen, as to give you a bit of advice, I'd
say come along with us to Broadview, and get a couple of ponies there,
and ride the rest of the way to the mountains, if you don't want to go
in the cars."

"But how about these ponies that belong to the Indians?" asked Bruce,
who had too tender a conscience to think of depriving the Crees of their
property, even if the use of it had been forced upon him.

"Oh, you needn't bother about them," was the corporal's reply. "Just
turn them loose when you get to the town, and their owners will find
them quick enough. They'll not let them long out of their sight, you
bet."

Accepting this solution of the difficulty the boys rode on to Broadview
with easy minds, and enjoying the company of the mounted policemen,
which they found more congenial than that of the ragged Crees.

The corporal on parting with them urged them to visit the headquarters
of the police at Regina, and having become much interested in this
unique organization by what he told them about it they promised him they
would.

Reaching Broadview in time for supper they made inquiries as to the
west-bound train, and, finding that it would pass about ten o'clock,
they decided to go on board, and ride as far as Regina, a hundred miles
ahead, thus gaining sufficient time to allow them to spend a day there.

It was not yet daylight when they arrived at Regina, but they found
their way to the hotel, and made up for the broken night's rest by
sleeping far into the forenoon.

There was not much to be seen about the town. So immediately after
dinner they set out across the prairie for the establishment of the
mounted police, which was in plain view a mile away.

They were feeling in very good trim, because having once more caught up
with their trunks, which they found awaiting them, they had been able
to get a fresh outfit of clothes, and they presented a very
prepossessing appearance as they strode along.

The corporal had told them to ask for the officer of the day on reaching
the barracks, and to tell him they would like to go over the place.

It happened that just as they came to the gate, which was protected by a
guard-house with a sentry on duty before it, the officer of the day was
going his rounds, and they were at once brought to him.

He was a young man whose whole appearance and manner suggested an
officer in the regular army. Even the eye-glass was not missing, while a
light riding-whip took the place of the cane.

He received the boys courteously, and, on their explaining the object of
their visit, invited them to accompany him through the establishment.

They were surprised to find everything closely resembling cavalry
barracks that they had seen in the Old Country. 'Tis true, the buildings
were plain wooden structures, for the most part only one story in
height, but their occupants were fine soldierly fellows, fit for places
in the Life Guards, indeed in many cases the marked refinement of their
countenances showed that they were much above the ordinary soldier
class.

This fact so impressed Bruce that he could not refrain from saying
something about it to the officer, who had made himself known to them
as Inspector Stark.

"Oh, yes," he replied with a smile, "our men are quite out of the
common, as a rule. We have Oxford and Cambridge graduates amongst them,
and many fellows from first-class families in England and eastern
Canada. Why, one of Charles Dickens's sons was an officer on the force
for years."

The boys opened their eyes at this. Their respect for the force was
vastly increased by this information, and they looked upon the young
officer, whom these high-born privates were so dutifully saluting, with
feelings akin to awe.

Having looked over the stables, with their rows of bred-up bronchos,
whose intelligent eyes scanned them curiously, and visited the huge
riding-school in which the cavalry exercises were performed in winter,
at Inspector Stark's invitation the boys went over to the mess-rooms,
where they were invited to have something to drink.

They had no taste for wine or brandy, but they were glad to have big
bumpers of ice-cold lemonade, that were inexpressibly refreshing that
hot afternoon.

While they were sipping their lemonade several of the other officers
dropped in, to whom the boys were duly introduced. Arthur happening to
ask Mr. Stark if he had ever had any adventures, the inspector referred
him to one of the older officers, who, finding he had two eager
listeners, readily consented to relate some of his experiences while on
the force.

"When the mounted police force was first organized," he began, "things
were very different in this Northwest to what they are now, and it's but
fair to the police to say that they deserve the largest share of credit
for the improvement that has taken place. They've had to keep a sharp
eye, and, if necessary, a strong hand, on the Indians, indignant at the
limiting of their hunting-grounds; on the French half-breeds, suspicious
of their English rulers; on the whiskey-smugglers, willing to carry on
their illegal traffic at the muzzle of the rifle, if need be; and on the
horse-thieves, whose revolvers were always ready in case of argument as
to the rightful ownership of a horse.

"That's the sort of work we had to do, and it was pretty exciting
sometimes, I can tell you. It's a good many years now since word came to
Winnipeg, where I was then stationed, that a most notorious
whiskey-smuggler and horse-thief, whose hands were freshly stained with
the blood of the United States marshals, was reported by a scout as
having fled across the boundary line, on his way northward.

"One afternoon, not being on duty, I rode out across the prairie with no
special object in view, but thinking that possibly I might light upon
some track of the undesirable immigrant.

"Cantering rather carelessly along I came upon an encampment concealed
in a _coulée_ that at once aroused my suspicions. I had only my
revolver, but I resolved to investigate a little, nevertheless.

"On getting close to the camp a sinister-looking man, whom I at once
recognized from the description sent us as the fugitive desperado, came
out and gruffly demanded what I wanted.

"Determining to put a bold face on the matter, I replied that I wanted
him, at the same moment covering him with my revolver.

"He swore furiously and vowed he wouldn't stir, but I kept him at the
point of my revolver, and after some little difficulty drove him before
me back to Winnipeg, and landed him safely in jail."

"That was capital, wasn't it?" exclaimed Arthur. "I'd like to do
something like that."

"You'd better join the force, then, and you may have the chance," the
officer responded; then adding, "While I'm about it, I'll tell you
another incident. Word was brought to our post at Fort Macleod that
three noted horse-thieves we were most anxious to catch were spending
the night at an encampment about thirty miles distant. Taking ten picked
men, with a good scout, I set off soon after sundown. We rode hard but
warily through the gathering darkness until we reached a thick clump of
trees within half a mile of the camp. There we halted to rest our
horses, and wait until midnight. When midnight came, six of us, led by
the spy, crept cautiously into the midst of the camp, and reached the
tepee in which the horse-thieves were sound asleep.

"Not a dog barked nor an Indian moved, and in a trice we had entered the
lodge and grabbed our men, hurrying them away at the muzzle of our
revolvers, before the bewildered Indians could offer any resistance. By
breakfast-time next morning they were secure in the cells at the post."

"While you're about it you'd better tell the boys the story of the
'pinto' horse," suggested one of the officers with a laugh, in which the
others joined.

"Not a bit of it," was the response. "Let Harrison tell that himself, as
he was the hero of it. Speak up, now, Harrison."

At this, an inspector, who had been reading a magazine, looked up, and
said good-humoredly:

"Oh, all right, if the boys would like to hear it. I don't mind telling
the yarn even if I didn't figure quite as brilliantly as Baker did in
what he told."

"It was this way: a large theft of horses had been reported at our post,
and I went off with six men to try and recover them. We had been
searching fruitlessly for several days, and were inclined to give up,
when late one afternoon, while the men were getting ready to camp for
the night, I rode out alone for several miles.

"Suddenly I came upon a narrow _coulée_ with a thicket filling its
bottom, and what did I see, partially concealed in this thicket, but the
big 'pinto' horse which had been specially described as one of those
stolen.

"While I stood there congratulating myself upon having located the
robbers, and wondering what would be the best thing to do, a man emerged
from the underbrush, and I shouted to him:

"'What are you doing with that pinto horse?'

"'Pinto horse, is it?' he shouted back, promptly covering me with a
well-aimed Winchester. 'That's none of your ---- business. I'll give you
two minutes to get out of sight. Now, git!'

"I looked at the man, and saw he was in dead earnest. I had no rifle,
and even if I had had one, he already had the drop on me. There was
nothing for me to do but to back out ingloriously, which I did, vowing
that I'd never again go reconnoitring alone and without my rifle."

A murmur of laughter followed the conclusion of the story, and then,
having expressed their gratitude for the courtesy shown them, the boys
took their leave and wended their way back to Regina, well pleased with
their visit to the headquarters of the Mounted Police.




CHAPTER XI.

BEAR AND BRONCHO.


In view of the troublous times they had been experiencing at the hands
of tramps and Indians, and of the fact that they were beginning to weary
of the monotonous expanse of prairie, the boys, after consulting
together, decided to take the train from Regina to Medicine Hat, a run
of three hundred miles.

They did this very comfortably in a luxurious Pullman, enjoying the view
from the windows, and congratulating themselves--for it was intensely
hot--on not being afoot.

At the Old Wives' Lakes, which they were much disappointed to learn
contained not fresh water, but an undrinkable solution of alkali, their
attention was attracted by the water-fowl that congregated there in
myriads,--swans, geese, ducks, and pelican,--causing Arthur to exclaim:

"I wish we could stop here for a couple of days and have a try at these
birds. That looks like splendid shooting, doesn't it, Bruce?"

"You may well say so," replied Bruce. "I'd like very well to have a shot
at them myself. But we mustn't stop off, and, besides, we have no guns.
We'll have to let them alone until some other time."

"I'm afraid that some other time's a long way off," said Arthur, with a
rueful expression. "But look, Bruce, do you see those marks on the
prairie like paths worn in the sod--what can they be? There are no sheep
out here, surely."

"I'm sure I don't know what they are," responded Bruce; "and see those
curious round places like gigantic saucers that are so much greener than
the grass all around them. They all seem to be about the same size and
shape. I'd like to know what they are."

Just at that moment the conductor passed through, and Arthur put the
inquiry to him.

"Why," he replied, with an expression of surprise at his questioner's
ignorance, "those long, dark lines are the old buffalo trails, and the
round ones are their wallows. There've been no buffalo in these parts
for a good many years, but they've left their marks so that they won't
be forgotten in a hurry."

The boys looked at the prairie, still bearing these pathetic memorials
of a vanished race of noble animals, with renewed interest. Along those
narrow paths the shaggy, humpbacked bison had passed in Indian file by
the uncounted thousands, until their myriad hoofs had written their
signature so deep that the changing years had done little to blur it,
and in the cool, soft mud which once filled these circular depressions
they had luxuriously wallowed for relief from blaze of sun and bite of
insect, undisturbed by the twang of the cruel bow or the crack of the
murderous Winchester.

Unconsciously Bruce sighed deeply. What senseless, wicked waste there
had been when the monarch of the prairies was hurried out of existence!
Despite his adventure with the bull at Silver Heights, no sight would
have been more welcome to his eyes than that of a herd of bison. But
they were not to be seen out of the books, and he had to content himself
with gazing at the plains over which they had once roamed in plethoric
regiments.

As he went back through the car, the conductor stopped to say:

"They've got a fine bear at Medicine Hat you mustn't miss seeing. He's
down past the end of the platform. Be sure and look at him."

Both boys pricked up their ears at this bit of information, and Arthur
promptly responded:

"We'll look at him, you may depend, and the bigger he is the better
we'll like him."

About the middle of the afternoon they got to Medicine Hat, a thriving
town situated on the bank of the South Saskatchewan river, and the
moment the train pulled up they raced off to see the bear.

They found him a little beyond the railway platform, securely confined
in a large pen fenced with strong pickets, and having a stout platform
in the centre, and a strong cage at one end for his bear-ship to retire
into when he felt sulky or sleepy.

He was a superb specimen of a grizzly, of great size, and many hundred
pounds in weight; his fur was very thick, and of a dark-brown color,
slightly touched with gray.

So big a bear the boys had never seen before, and they watched him for
some time with lively admiration while one of the residents of the place
told how fierce the creature was, and how he had torn out the arm of a
man and bitten off the hand of a woman who had been so incautious as to
put them within reach of his pitiless claws.

Some of the people were feeding the bear with biscuits, which he
evidently relished, and Arthur, not to be outdone, ran off to a
neighboring shop, and procuring a quantity, amused himself tossing them
to the insatiable monster.

After a little of this he took the notion of getting the bear to stand
on his hind legs, as he wanted to see how tall he was in that position.
So, going round to the other side of the pen he got on top of the
pickets, and, despite the warnings of the others, held up a biscuit for
the bear to rise to.

Bruin responded promptly, reaching up his huge paws, and snapping at the
biscuits, as Arthur let them drop from his fingers.

Thus standing on his hind legs and straining up as far as he could, the
bear made an imposing picture, which the spectators heartily applauded,
and Arthur was feeling rather proud of himself, when, in changing his
position on the pickets, he lost his balance for a moment, and lurched
forward just as the bear flung up his right paw in quest of another
biscuit.

The great curved claws that projected from the paw, by an unfortunate
chance caught in the boy's coat-sleeve, and the next moment, amid a
chorus of horrified cries from the on-lookers, he was dragged over the
pickets, and tumbled headlong in the mire at the grizzly's feet.

Had the bear been endeavoring to seize him, and been counting upon his
fall, it is likely that a most pitiful tragedy would there and then have
taken place. But he had not exacted anything more than a biscuit, and
Arthur's sudden descent so startled him that with a strange compound of
grunt and roar he shambled hurriedly off towards his cage.

Then did Bruce's calm good sense manifest itself in brilliant fashion.
Arthur's respite from attack was perhaps only momentary. For him to
attempt to climb back over the lofty pickets might mean that the bear,
recovering his wits, would be upon him ere he was out of reach. But in
the middle of the enclosure was the stout platform, and underneath it
Arthur might be safe until the brute could be secured.

[Illustration: "THE GREAT CURVED CLAWS THAT PROJECTED FROM THE PAW
CAUGHT IN THE BOY'S COAT-SLEEVE."]

So, while others were shouting all kinds of foolish advice, Bruce's
voice rang out steady and clear:

"Get under the platform, Arthur, quick!"

Arthur heard him, and, without waiting to straighten himself up,
scuttled under the platform on his hands and knees.

He accomplished it just in time. Turning at the door of his cage, the
bear, having got over his first fright, hurried back to the spot where
Arthur had fallen, and was evidently much surprised to see nothing of
him.

A little nosing around, however, told him whither the boy had fled, and
he began to circle about his refuge, rubbing his nose against the
planks, and reaching in his great paws.

Happily, while the planks were too close together to let the bear get
more than his head through, there was sufficient space to allow Arthur
to move about freely, and keep out of reach of the creature's claws.
Unless, therefore, he had the sense to rip off the planks, Arthur was
safe enough from him for the time being.

But how long would it take the shrewd animal to find this out, and in
the meantime how was Arthur to be rescued from his perilous position?

There were almost as many suggestions as there were anxious spectators,
and a furious shower of sticks and stones descended upon the bear's
back, in the hope of driving him to take refuge in his cage.

But neither the multitudinous suggestions nor missiles accomplished
anything, and rifles and revolvers were being called for when a couple
of cow-boys from the Fort Macleod district appeared on the scene with
their lassos in hand.

They at once took in the situation, and proceeded to work as coolly as
if lassoing a bear was quite in the ordinary routine in their lives.

Mounting the pickets, they tried one after the other to get their ropes
over the bear's head, but the clever brute, rearing on his hind legs,
parried their most artful throws with his fore paws as skilfully as a
practised boxer could have done.

Again and again it seemed as if the noose must settle down over the
shaggy head only to be astutely evaded, and even the cow-boys began to
despair, when one of them bethought him of going to the opposite side of
the pen, and then having the two lassos flung simultaneously.

The plan proved successful. In parrying one rope the bear missed the
other, and it fell around his neck, while a glad cheer went up from the
excited crowd.

The next moment the second rope was in place, and then, both being
hauled taut, the great creature, in spite of his enormous strength, was
practically powerless.

The moment Bruce saw this he called to his chum:

"Now, then, Arthur, this way, quick!"

Arthur instantly crawled out of his shelter and darted across the pen to
where half a dozen hands were eagerly extended from the top of the
pickets. He sprang up to grasp them. They caught his wrists, and he was
hauled up and over the palisade, while the half-choked bear was still
struggling with the lassos.

Bruce gave him a hug almost worthy of the bear itself, and the people
crowded around to clap him on the back and wring his hands, and
otherwise express their relief and delight at his fortunate escape,
until Arthur broke away from them in order to get to the cow-boys and
thank them for their timely service.

While all this was taking place the time spent by the train elapsed, and
as it could not, of course, be detained for the benefit of the boys, it
rolled away without them.

But they were not very deeply concerned. They had saved so much time by
the run from Regina that to lose a day did not matter, so they let the
train go without regret, and went up to the hotel with the cow-boys, who
showed a desire for closer acquaintance.

They were fine, manly fellows, whose air of good-breeding rather
surprised Bruce, until he learned that they were both gentlemen by right
of birth, and had taken to the ranching life because they liked it, not
from necessity.

A basis of good-fellowship was quickly established between them and the
boys as they took their evening meal together, and the result of a long
talk afterwards was that Bruce and Arthur agreed to accompany the
cow-boys to their ranch, near Fort Macleod, which lay to the south of
the railway, returning to the railway at Calgary.

The cow-boys, whose names were Cochrane and Harper, promised to supply
bronchos for the boys, and they regarded the prospect of the long ride
across the prairies with lively delight.

Soon after breakfast the following morning the horses appeared before
the hotel, and, full of pleasurable anticipation, the boys essayed to
mount.

But they found the doing so a great deal more difficult affair than it
had ever been before in their experience.

The bronchos had been shut up in the stable for several days, and were
consequently as wild as colts. In spite of the commanding shouts of
their owners, they refused to stand still for an instant, rearing and
plunging and lashing out with their heels whenever their would-be riders
attempted to get into the saddle.

Had Bruce and Arthur been made of softer stuff, they might have given up
in despair, but the former's stern resolution and the latter's fiery
temper were roused to the utmost, and they were both in the spirit to
hazard broken necks rather than acknowledge defeat.

It did not take long for a deeply interested crowd of spectators to
gather, some of whom were disposed to be merry at the expense of the two
"tenderfoots," as they were pleased to regard the boys.

But the ranchmen quickly put a stop to that. They would not allow their
friends to be laughed at before their faces, although they were quite
ready to enjoy the humor of the situation themselves.

The bronchos certainly did behave most outrageously. More than once they
tried to bite the boys, and, failing that, to trample them under their
feet, but their vicious endeavors were deftly evaded, and the lads stuck
to them resolutely.

At last the wild creatures sobered down a bit, and almost simultaneously
Bruce and Arthur succeeded in springing into their saddles with shouts
of exultation.

But if they thought their troubles were all over, they were sadly
mistaken. Their triumph over the bronchos were not yet by any means
complete. Having got into the saddle, the difficulty was to stay there,
and this proved to be a no less trying feat than the getting in, for,
before they were fairly settled into the stirrups, the provoking animals
began to buck.

Now, the boys had read many accounts of "bucking bronchos," but they had
never witnessed their performance before, much less been made the
subject of it, and that it transcended all their expectations, is to
state the case very mildly.

This was the way the horses went about it: Bounding high into the air
they gathered their feet closely together under them, with the legs
rigid at every joint, and, arching their backs so that the rider had
nothing before or behind him, came down on the ground with a thud like
that of a pile-driver.

The shock that went through the boys' bodies at this made them feel as
though their spines were being driven up through the back of their head.
It was more than electric--it was well-nigh paralyzing.

"Oh, heavens!" gasped Arthur, gripping the front of his saddle to save
himself from an ignominious tumble, "this is awful."

Bruce said nothing, but his face whitened, and a thin, red line running
down his chin told that his teeth had been driven into his lip.

Yet both of them held their seats, and the cow-boys shouted approvingly:

"Well done, boys! Stick to them. You'll get the better of them soon.
Give them the whip."

In their right hands the boys held stout rawhide riding-whips called
"quirts," which they had not let drop in spite of the horses' struggles,
and, acting upon the advice given, they began to ply these vigorously.

Again and again the animals bucked, but their riders refused to budge,
and responded to each vicious effort with fresh blows of the quirts,
until, at last, stung into forgetfulness of everything but their own
suffering, the bronchos put up their heads, and dashed off at a mad
gallop down the street.

Putting spurs to their own horses, Cochrane and Harper made after the
boys, and thus the quartet vanished from the town in a cloud of dust, if
not of glory.

The runaway bronchos were happily going in the right direction, so their
owners, seeing that the boys held their seats firmly, gave themselves
little concern, knowing that the burst of speed was only temporary, and
that they would soon be able to catch up.

As it proved, the boys' animals only went about a mile at top speed, and
then came under control sufficiently to enable their riders to bring
them down to a moderate canter, which made the riding easy and
comfortable.

When the cow-boys came up they congratulated Bruce and Arthur warmly on
the way they had stuck to the bronchos through all their antics.

"No one who saw you would ever think of calling either of you a
tenderfoot," Cochrane said. "I don't think I ever saw fellows who were
new to bucking keep their saddles as well as you did. You were certainly
cut out for cow-boys, both of you."

"You're just right," assented Harper heartily. "They did us proud, and
no mistake, and"--turning to the boys--"if you'd like a job at looking
after cattle, just say so, and I know a rancher that'll hire you right
off on our recommendation. Isn't that so, Cochrane?"

As Cochrane nodded affirmatively, Bruce, with a well-pleased smile,
replied:

"It's ever so good of you to say such kind things about us, and I'm sure
we'd both like to try it for awhile, anyway, but we couldn't spare the
time. We've got to be in Shanghai by the end of October at the latest,
you know."

"Oh, well," responded Harper, "perhaps you'll be along this way again
some time, and if you do come, be sure and look us up at Fort Macleod.
Shall probably be there for some years yet."

The long ride to Fort Macleod was rendered very delightful by the
pleasant companionship, and the beautiful country through which the
little party passed.

The prairie was not so monotonous as it had been between Regina and
Medicine Hat. Many streams diversified its character, while ponds and
lakes, much resorted to by wild-fowl, were not uncommon.

The bronchos the boys bestrode having realized the futility of
attempting to get rid of their riders, behaved very well, and proved
most comfortable mounts.

One feature of this region, that was new to the boys, interested them
keenly, to wit, the antelopes, of which small bands were visible from
time to time. Arthur was full of the idea of chasing some of them, and
although the more experienced cow-boys laughed at him, saying that he
might as well try to catch his own shadow, he kept hankering after the
making of at least an attempt, until finally his ardor would no longer
be restrained, and a band of four suddenly springing up from a hollow
just a little in front of his horse he dashed off in hot pursuit.

Bruce shouted to him to come back, but the ranchmen said:

"Oh, let him alone. He'll soon find out that he's on a wild-goose
chase."

Away over the prairie the antelopes flew in long, light bounds as if
they had wings to help them, while Arthur galloped after, his horse
entering into the spirit of the chase, and putting forth its utmost
speed.

As it happened the course taken by the antelopes was in the very
direction the party was travelling, so that even though Arthur got
nothing for his pains he would not be going out of his way to have his
sport.

Quickening their pace so as to keep Arthur in sight, the ranchmen
watched the progress of the chase with amused interest, but Bruce felt a
little anxious.

The prairie was by no means as smooth as a tennis-lawn. There were lots
of holes into which if a horse should put its foot a tremendous tumble
would be inevitable, and Arthur was at the best of times anything but a
careful rider.

However, for a time it seemed as if his fears were groundless. Arthur
kept bravely on, and indeed seemed, so far as could be made out, to be
positively gaining on the antelopes. His horse certainly was a good one,
and was doing its level best.

"Why, look!" Bruce exclaimed. "He's catching up to them, isn't he? Do
you think he'll run them down?"

"Not much," laughed Cochrane. "They're only fooling with him. They'll
let out a few more links in a minute, and then you'll see how they'll
leave him."

Sure enough just as he spoke the antelopes manifestly increased their
speed, while Arthur could be seen digging his heels into his horse's
sides and plying his quirt with unstinted vigor.

The next moment the broncho dropped as if he had been shot, and Bruce
gave a cry of horror as Arthur described a long parabola in the air, and
landed violently upon the prairie sod, where he lay motionless.




CHAPTER XII.

FROM THE PLAINS TO THE PEAKS.


Putting their horses to the gallop the three were soon beside Arthur,
and while Cochrane and Bruce sprang to the ground to lift him up, Harper
went after the horse, which had scrambled to its feet again, and seemed
disposed to bolt.

Arthur lay as still as though dead, the fact being that the shock had
knocked both the wind and the senses out of him.

Bruce felt greatly alarmed, but Cochrane reassured him. To be thrown in
that fashion was no uncommon experience for a cow-boy. He had been in
precisely the same situation himself more than once.

"Just get your cap full of water," said he, pointing to a pond near by,
"and if there are no bones broken I'll bring him to in no time."

Bruce ran off and got the water, which Cochrane dashed vigorously into
Arthur's face, and almost at once the latter revived sufficiently to ask
in a faint voice full of bewilderment and pain:

"What has happened to me? My head hurts so."

"You're all right, old chap," responded Cochrane cheerily, for Bruce
somehow could not find his voice at first. "You've had a bad toss,
that's all. Just stay where you are until you feel better."

Arthur lay still a little longer, and then he woke up completely, saying
brightly:

"I did have a toss, didn't I? Serves me right for not taking your advice
and letting the antelopes alone. But I'll know better next time, I tell
you."

With Bruce's assistance he got on to his feet, and it was a relief to
all to find that he had not even a sprain, let alone a broken bone, and
that after the dizziness passed away he would be none the worse for his
tumble.

"You may thank your stars you lit on a nice soft bit of our prairie, and
not on the hard ground, my boy," said Harper, as he led up Arthur's
horse for him to remount.

"Yes," replied Arthur, "that's so. But if I had been riding on hard
ground my horse wouldn't have put his foot in a hole and pitched me over
his head, you see."

The ranchmen laughed at the ready response, and Arthur, having got into
his saddle, the party set off again, and in due time reached Fort
Macleod without further mishap.

The cattle-ranch to which Cochrane and Harper belonged lay to the
westward of the settlement, almost in the shadow of the foot-hills, and
after a couple of hours' stay at the fort they pushed on thither,
arriving at their destination in time for supper.

"Here we are," cried Cochrane, throwing himself off his horse. "This is
Bachelors' Hall. You mustn't expect any luxuries of a first-class hotel
here. We'll give you the best we've got, but you mustn't be too hard to
please."

"You needn't worry about that at all," said Bruce, looking about him
with a pleased smile, for he was delighted to be at a real ranch. "Don't
take any trouble on our account. We'll just share pot-luck with you."

There were four other young men at the ranch, to whom the boys were duly
introduced, and then they all sat down to a plain but bountiful meal,
for which they had rare, good appetites.

Two very happy days were spent with their kind hosts, during which the
boys were in the saddle nearly all the time, riding over the ranges to
see the cattle as they were scattered in bunches here and there, and
visiting some of the neighbors, if that term could be accurately applied
to people living from five to ten miles distant.

It was during the second afternoon that Bruce had an adventure which
made a deep impression upon him. They had been away off to a distant
range, and on the return he had fallen behind the others, because his
interest in flowers moved him to study them more closely than was
possible while riding rapidly.

In a little dell he caught sight of a flower he had not seen before, and
determined to pick some blossoms. So he dismounted, and slipping the
bridle rein over his arm was walking towards the flowers when his horse
suddenly started, and, jerking the rein free, ran off a little distance,
then stopped, and looked back at him, as though to say:

"Catch me now, if you can."

Bruce glanced in the direction of the others, but they had disappeared
beyond a swell of the prairie, and even his vigorous hail fell short of
them, so, with an exclamation of vexation, he started after his horse.

The provoking animal, without running far from him, would not permit him
to approach near enough to grasp the reins, and kept moving towards a
large herd of cattle that were grazing quietly a couple of hundred yards
away.

"You miserable sinner!" cried Bruce angrily, "once I get on your back
again, I'll make you pay for playing me such a trick."

But his threat of punishment had no effect upon the horse, which
certainly laughed, or, at all events, curled its lip in derision at his
vain efforts to overtake it, although he pursued it almost to the edge
of the herd, around which it circled in manifest enjoyment of the
situation.

[Illustration: "HE HAD RUN MANY A RACE BEFORE, BUT NEVER ANYTHING
APPROACHING THIS ONE."]

Bruce was not many yards away from the herd, or "bunch," as the ranchmen
call it, when some of the big steers lifted their heads from the
buffalo-grass they were lazily munching, and looked at the intruder
with wonder in their big, dark eyes. They were not accustomed to seeing
human beings on foot, and the sight aroused their curiosity.

They presented so fine an appearance that Bruce paused in the pursuit of
his horse for a moment to look at them, and then he became aware that
the interest was mutual. The cattle were all returning his stare, and,
more than that, were moving towards him as if for a closer inspection.

They had come within ten yards of him, moving slowly yet steadily,
before Bruce realized his danger. Alone and on foot with that great mass
of cattle, full of curiosity concerning him, unless he got away from
them at once he must inevitably be borne down by their irresistible
advance, and crushed out of all life and recognition beneath their heavy
hoofs. They would not mean him harm, but in their ponderous ignorance
they would kill him as surely as if they thirsted for his blood.

"Heaven help me!" the poor boy cried as this flashed into his mind. "How
can I escape them?"

There was but one way--to run for his life, with the certainty of
starting a stampede among the cattle, and then having to keep ahead of
it until some avenue of escape presented itself.

Ejaculating a prayer he began to run in the direction of the ranch,
bending his head, and putting forth his whole energy. He had run many a
race before, but never anything approaching this one, for, the moment
he started, the cattle quickened their pace until they broke into a
gallop, and, with tossing horns and flying tails, came thundering after
him.

He had the advantage of the start, and gained a clear fifty yards by it;
but once the cattle were fully under way they got through the long grass
far more quickly than he did, so that it could be only a question of
time when they must over-run him.

Bruce could see them gaining upon him as he cast anxious glances over
his shoulder, and the fear of death fell coldly on his brave young
heart.

To attempt to evade the great creatures' onset by a sudden dodge to one
side was out of the question. As they ran they had broadened out so that
they presented a broad front which could not be thus avoided. He could
do nothing but keep straight on, praying for deliverance he knew not
how.

It was difficult running, the grass being rank and strong, so that more
than once he narrowly escaped a tripping, and soon his breath came
short, and his head seemed as though it wore nigh to bursting.

Nearer and nearer drew the mob of cattle, excited by their own foolish
action, until its original cause was forgotten in the frenzy of their
charge. They were not really pursuing Bruce now. They were running,
simply, because having got started they knew not how to stop until
exhausted by their preposterous efforts. _But Bruce was right in their
path, and that meant an awful death for him unless he could get out of
their way._

He felt his legs failing beneath him, and his lungs refusing their
office, when there came a shout from the swell of the prairie just
ahead, and Harper and Cochrane appeared galloping at full speed toward
him.

Another minute and they would have been too late. They had just time to
race up and place themselves between Bruce and the herd, waving their
hats and shouting with all their might, before the bovine regiment
thundered down on them.

The horns of the front rank were almost touching the horses' breasts
before the brutes swerved aside, and those behind following their
example, a lane was opened through the mob which then swept on, leaving
Bruce and the horsemen unscathed.

"Oh, what an escape I've had!" panted Bruce, looking the gratitude to
his rescuers that he felt no words could adequately express. "It was
perfectly awful to have all those cattle rushing down on me, and not to
be able to get out of their way. It was like a dreadful nightmare."

"You had a close call for it, certainly," said Cochrane. "They're clean
crazy when they get running like that, and if they'd got on you they'd
have trampled you as flat as a pancake. I saw one man that had been
disposed of that way, and I tell you I never want to see such a sight
again."

Bruce shuddered at the idea, and, Harper having brought his horse up,
remounted, and rode on for some time in silence. The flowers had for the
time lost all interest. His thoughts were engrossed with the thrilling
experience through which he had just passed.

The boys would have been glad to spend some time at the ranch, where
they were being so hospitably treated, but felt bound to make further
progress in their journey, so the following morning they bade "good-by"
to their kind friends and set off for Calgary, mounted upon horses which
they were to leave there at an appointed place for the ranchmen to get
them back subsequently.

The road ran along the valley at the edge of the foot-hills, and allowed
distant glimpses of the higher peaks of the Rocky Mountains. The picture
was very beautifully illuminated by the full rays of the summer sun, and
the boys' hearts grew full of eagerness for a closer acquaintance with
those glorious mountains.

"We must take our time going through the Rockies," said Arthur. "I don't
want to be whisked along in a railway train at the rate of thirty miles
an hour. We'll walk it, won't we, Bruce?"

"I'm quite agreed," responded Bruce. "We still have three weeks before
we take the steamer at Vancouver, and we can't do better than spend the
time among the mountains."

Being thus of one mind they laid out their program as follows: Starting
from Calgary they would foot it as far as Banff without delaying on the
way, and there spend several days, proceeding thence by easy stages,
according to the interest of the route, until their tramp ended at salt
water.

"We'll find the walking a good deal harder through the mountains than it
was anywhere else," said Bruce; "but we needn't hurry, and there'll be
plenty of places to stop at when we are tired."

They rode to Calgary without mishap or adventure, left the horses at the
stables appointed, and, having got their trunks from the station, went
to the hotel, for general refitting.

Having the evening on their hands they spent it looking about the city,
and were much impressed by the many signs of wealth and prosperity. The
streets were lined with fine stores and handsome residences; they were
well paved and brilliantly illuminated by electricity, and were filled
with throngs of well-dressed, well-mannered people, among whom the boys
felt thoroughly at home.

"Who would ever have thought of seeing such a fine city as this away out
on the prairies?" said Arthur. "Before we came out here I used to think
that the people lived in tents and little log-huts. Wouldn't they laugh
at us if we were to tell them that!"

"You may be sure they would," replied Bruce, "if the idea of it didn't
make them angry. We certainly are getting our eyes opened on this trip
in a way that I never imagined."

It was a perfect morning when they set forth from Calgary with their
faces toward the white peaks of the Rockies, which would thenceforth
dominate their route for many a long mile. In the clear, calm air the
mountain range seemed far nearer than it really was, and Arthur, in his
usual sanguine way, predicted that they would be at the base of the
great barrier, which lifted itself so proudly above the plateau, before
nightfall, if they put in a good day's work.

But Bruce took a more cautious view.

"There are more miles between us and the mountains than you imagine,
Arthur," he said. "My own idea is that we will do very well if we get to
them by mid-day to-morrow."

Arthur laughed jauntily, and stepped out as though he would keep right
on to the Rockies without stopping; but, as the sequel showed, both he
and Bruce were out in their estimate of the distance, for it was not
until the evening of the second day that they reached Kananaskis
station, where the mountains really began.

The scenery through which they had passed was of exceeding beauty and
remarkable variety, and they appreciated it all the more after the vast
monotony of the plains.

Each mile they tramped they were getting higher up in the world, passing
through the region of rounded, grassy foot-hills, and up the river
"benches" or terraces where the ranchmen with their multitudinous
animals held sway; great herds of horses grazing in the lower valley,
thousands of cattle upon the terraces, and flocks of sheep sprinkling
the hilltops, every creature of them looking well-fed and contented,
although they spent the year round in the open air, and had never fed
from crib or stall.

Just beyond Cochrane station they crossed the Bow river, a rushing
mountain stream in which they would have liked to have taken a bath but
that its waters were so turbulent, and, had they known it, too icy-cold
to be endured for more than a moment.

Presently they reached the top of the first terrace, and got a glimpse
of the glorious panoramas in store for them, as, looking toward their
left, they saw the foot-hills rise in successive tiers of sculptured
heights to the snowy range beyond.

It was at this point that Arthur developed a taste for landscapes that
he had not previously manifested. He liked to halt from time to time and
look around him, taking a comfortable seat on a bowlder or tree-trunk
for the purpose.

Bruce, who had hitherto shown the most interest in the beauties of
nature, was very glad to recognize this new phase of his companion's
character, yet his exultation over it was somewhat dampened by a lurking
question in his mind as to whether a desire to rest a bit had not
something to do with it.

In fact, he could not help gently hinting as much to Arthur, who
therefore fired up, and asserting that he was not tired in the least,
strode away at a pace that would soon have left Bruce far in the rear
had he kept it up for any length of time.

But he didn't. After a mile or so of rapid walking he came upon a lovely
little spring of water bubbling clear and delicious from the breast of
the cliff, and it gave him an opportunity to cool his indignation, and
to wait for Bruce to catch up.

At Morley station, where they stopped for dinner on the second day, they
saw something of the red-men in what was to them a new relation; namely,
as tillers of the soil. It was the headquarters of the Assiniboine
reserve, and under the teaching of Wesleyan missionaries, and the
fostering care of a considerate government, these roamers of the plains
had settled down to the prosaic occupations of farming and
stock-raising.

Arthur could not conceal his feeling of disappointment at seeing the
Indians thus domestic. They did not look at all so natural or
interesting in red woollen shirts and gray homespun trousers as in
feathered buckskin and brilliant blankets.

But Bruce took a more practical view of the matter.

"If they hadn't taken to farming, they'd just become extinct like the
buffalo," he said. "There's hardly anything left for them to hunt, and
who was going to support them in utter idleness?"

"That's so," assented Arthur, recognizing the irresistible logic of his
chum's argument. "But it seems a pity all the same that they've had to
choose between dying out, and turning into such scarecrows as that," and
he pointed at two Indians who certainly might have done good service in
a wheatfield.

Bruce laughed, and the Indians, noticing this, smiled and bowed in
return, their dusky countenances lighting up so pleasantly that Arthur
felt quite ashamed of having spoken in such disparaging terms of them.

As they drew near Kananaskis, the mountains towered right up before
their face, and seemed to offer an impenetrable barrier to further
progress, looking very grand and beautiful, with their purple-tinted
bases, and their white and gold flecked flanks, while high above, dimly
showing through a veil of mist, soared their snowy peaks.

"This alone is well worth coming all the way to see," said Bruce, with a
deep sigh of content, for his eye was one that lost nothing of nature's
varied beauty; "and if the beginning is so fine, what must it be like in
the heart of the mountains? But hark! what is that deep roar coming from
below there? It sounds like a big water-fowl. I should like to have a
look at it."

They were just crossing the Kananaskis river on a high, iron bridge
when Bruce said this; and Arthur, being always ready for anything that
offered variety, they followed the sound, which led them away from the
Kananaskis, and up the Bow river for half a mile, where they were
rewarded for their tramp by getting a view of the great falls of the
Bow, vouchsafed to none of those who travel by train.

"Do you happen to see any ferns growing anywhere out of reach that you'd
like to have a try for?" asked Arthur, giving Bruce a roguish look.

"No, thank you, my boy," responded Bruce, smiling back at his companion,
"no more Montmorency experiences for me, if you please. Once is quite
enough. But these falls are grand, aren't they? I suppose we shall see
lots of cascades in the next two weeks."

The falls deserved their warmest admiration, but they could not linger
long beside them, for the sun was setting, and they had to arrange for
accommodation for the night at the station.

In this they had no difficulty, finding both board and bed very
comfortable and welcome, weary and hungry as they were.

Making an early start the next morning, they soon came to the Gap, where
the railway, taking advantage of the portal prepared for it by the Bow
river, ran boldly in between two almost vertical walls of dizzy height,
and keeping steadily along on the track, which indeed offered the only
pathway, they presently passed through this glorious gateway into the
precincts of the Rocky Mountains.

It took them all that day to get to Banff, and when they reached the big
hotel there, which the railway company maintained so luxuriously, their
eyes were as tired as their legs, for every turn of the track had opened
up some fresh vista of grandeur and beauty.

Wind Mountain, its summit wreathed in writhing clouds, and bearing on
its shoulder that projecting spur so strangely resembling the bull's
head, after which it is called; the Three Sisters, rising into the azure
side by side, and overhanging the valleys in terrific precipices laden
with snow that was ever melting yet never lessened; Cascade Mountain,
its perpendicular massive front streaked with a multitude of varied
tints glowing in the sunshine, and marked by a slender water-fall,
glacier-fed, trailing almost from brow to base; the tongues of
tree-growth creeping up the gulches, the broken outlines of the ledges,
and the snow-white torrents splashing down the ravines,--of these, and a
thousand other wonders, the boys missed nothing as they tramped along,
Arthur finding it delightfully easy to call a halt whenever he felt
disposed, for Bruce could not get enough of the ever-changing panorama
of nature's magnificence.




CHAPTER XIII.

BY MOUNT AND STREAM.


The boys had not been an hour at Banff before they were both entirely of
one mind as to remaining for several days. The hotel was the acme of
comfort, the views in all directions were superb, there were mountains
to be climbed, rivers to be boated upon, lakes to be sailed over, and
fish to be caught to their hearts' content. Their portmanteaus had come
on all right from Calgary, and they could dress like gentlemen or like
tramps, according to their humor. They had ample funds in their purses,
having drawn on their letter of credit at Calgary. Therefore, they had
nothing to prevent them from putting in a thorough good time, and this
they were very determined to have.

"We must see all there is to be seen, and do all there is to be done,
before we leave this place," said Arthur, "and then we can hurry over
the rest of it if we want to."

And this way of putting it expressed Bruce's idea as well as his own.

The first thing, of course, was to map out some sort of a program, and
with the assistance of Mr. Mark, the hotel manager, this was presently
accomplished to their satisfaction.

In accordance therewith, their first undertaking was a trip to the
Vermilion lakes. Going down to the boat-house in the Bow river, they
came near to having a serious falling out over the question as to what
kind of craft they would take.

Bruce wanted to take one of the boats. They were light, graceful
affairs, easily rowed and safe to manage, and the current running
swiftly, and the course of the stream being entirely unknown to them,
his natural caution declared in favor of the boat.

But Arthur would have none of it.

"Why, Bruce," he exclaimed, "the very idea of taking anything but a
canoe! Isn't this the country of the canoe, and aren't we right out in
the midst of it? We can have boats anywhere, but this is the place for
canoes, and we'd be just disgracing ourselves to take anything else."

It was all very well for Arthur to adopt this exalted line of argument,
but the simple truth was that the taste of canoeing that he had enjoyed
at the Nepigon had been so pleasing that he was delighted to have
another opportunity of wielding a paddle, and the question of the risk
involved counted for nothing.

The canoes were not the broad, deep birch-bark affairs of the Nepigon.
They were of the wooden variety, lighter, stronger, and prettier than
their bark prototypes, but quite as cranky, if not indeed more so.

"That's all well enough, Arthur," responded Bruce, "but let us take a
boat first, anyway, and if we get along all right, then we can try a
canoe." But Arthur was obdurate. He must have a canoe at the start, and
the boat-keeper supporting him (for the excellent reason, which, of
course, he kept to himself, that he charged more for the canoes than for
the boats), Bruce reluctantly yielded, taking his place in the ticklish
craft with a good many misgivings.

Fitted out with cushions and paddles, they pushed off from the platform
into the stream, and at once realized that, as the saying is, they had
their work cut out for them, if they wanted to go far up the river.

The current of the Bow ran strong, swift, and silent, and to propel a
light canoe against it meant the expenditure of much elbow-grease.

Bruce, who had the stern paddle, being the heavier of the two, smiled
grimly as he plunged his blade in deep, and put his whole strength into
each stroke.

"I guess Arthur will soon get tired of this," he said to himself, "and
then he'll be quite willing to take a boat."

But Arthur did not get tired, or rather, if he did, he successfully
concealed the fact, toiling away resolutely, stroke after stroke, while
the perspiration poured down his face, and his breath went out in sharp
pants like those of a high-pressure steamer.

Of course such exertions had to tell. Steadily, if slowly, the canoe
crept up stream, Bruce holding her straight in her course, and presently
they came to a point where there were two courses to choose between. On
the left lay a long stretch of river like that over which they had
passed, while on the right was a narrower stream, flowing more slowly.

"Which way do we go, Arthur?" asked Bruce. "Did you ask the boatman?"

In some confusion Arthur answered that he had not done so, and Bruce was
about to poke fun at him when he joyfully cried:

"Oh! there are the directions. See!" and he pointed out a wooden arrow
stuck upon a tree, and bearing the legend, "To the Vermilion lakes."

Obeying this sign they turned to the right, and found themselves in a
narrow but deep stream, whose water was as clear as crystal, that of the
Bow river having been turbid and milky.

"What beautiful water!" Arthur exclaimed. "I must have a drink of it."

There was a tin cup in the canoe, and, picking this up, he leaned over
the side to fill it, when, in some way or other that Bruce did not
understand, he overbalanced, and, with a cry more of vexation than of
fright, plunged head first into the water, almost overturning the
canoe, which Bruce, however, by a sort of miracle, kept from altogether
upsetting.

As soon as Arthur's mouth appeared above the surface, there issued forth
from it a wail whose sincerity could not be doubted.

"O-o, O-o!" he groaned. "It's awfully cold. It's regular ice-water. Help
me out quick, or I'll have the cramps, sure."

Bruce could not forbear laughing a little, although it did seem somewhat
cruel. But, then, Arthur had been so obstinate about the canoe that this
being tumbled out while Bruce was left in had such a look of just
retribution.

"Oh, you needn't laugh," gasped Arthur, who was making his way towards
the canoe, which the current had carried from him; "it's no joke, I can
tell you. Keep her steady, now, till I get hold of her."

When he did grasp the gunwale, the temptation came upon him strongly,
for a moment, to tip his companion out, so that he might feel for
himself how cold the water was. But he magnanimously resisted it.

"Paddle to the bank, now, as hard as you can, Bruce," he directed. "I
can't climb in without upsetting you, so you have to tow me ashore."

A mere tyro as Bruce was at canoeing, he found it no easy task to do as
he was bid, with Arthur hanging on to the side, and the current running
strongly against him. But by dint of heroic exertions he worked into
shallow water, and as soon as Arthur could touch bottom, he scrambled
out of the icy flood and threw himself down on the grass, saying:

"That's the coldest dip I ever had in my life."

Beaching the canoe, Bruce jumped ashore, and, with an amused glance at
Arthur's dripping condition, asked:

"Shall we go back to the hotel?"

Arthur at once fired up. The suggestion of defeat touched him to the
quick.

"_You_ may, if you like," he shouted, springing to his feet; "but I'm
going right on to the lakes, if it takes me the rest of the day to get
there."

It was well for the boys that they were the opposites of one another in
disposition, for, had they both been as hot-tempered as Arthur, they
must certainly have had a quarrel then and there that would have cast a
serious cloud over their friendship.

But one of the finest features in Bruce's character was this: his spirit
was ever most under control when the temptation to anger was strongest.
He could be angry enough at the right time and place, but he understood
perfectly how to remain cool when to be irritated was inexpedient.

And so, instead of flinging back at Arthur some sharp retort that would
only have inflamed him further, he was silent for a moment, looking
thoughtfully westward, where the Vermilion lakes lay, before he said,
quietly:

"You're satisfied to be your own clothes-horse, then?"

"What do you mean?" asked Arthur, in a puzzled, suspicious tone, still
thinking that his chum was having fun at his expense.

"Why, that you're going to let your clothes dry on you, and not get
fresh ones at the hotel," replied Bruce, with unruffled placidity.

"Oh, as to that," laughed Arthur, his wonted amiability all coming back
to him, as he realized that he was quite misjudging his friend, "I don't
mind being wet on this lovely, warm day, and it won't hurt the clothes,
so we'll go right on, if you're agreed."

They accordingly relaunched the canoe, and followed up Forty-mile Creek,
into which they had turned from the Bow river, until another sign-board
directed them to turn to the left into a narrow waterway, almost choked
with wild rice and overhung by low bushes, which they would otherwise
have passed unnoticed, and yet which was the only passage into the lakes
of which they were in search.

Any child could have managed the canoe in these still, smooth waters,
and they were able to give themselves up to the full enjoyment of the
romance and grandeur of their surroundings as they paddled lazily along
through a path so narrow at times that they could touch either bank
with their blades.

"Do you know, Arthur," said Bruce, whose clear, far-seeing eyes had been
ranging north, south, east, and west with ever-growing wonder and
appreciation, "this is nearer to being in Paradise than anything in my
life before. If we could only spend a whole summer here, and leave not a
single one of those glorious mountains unscaled!"

They had reached the first lake now, and, floating on its placid bosom,
the whole marvellous panorama was open to their vision.

On their left rose the green terraces of Sulphur and Bourgeau mountains;
northward, the wide slopes of Squaw mountain were over-topped by the
crags of Cascade and by the broken turrets of Hole-in-the-Wall, while
westward was the most inspiring prospect of all.

There, stretching in superb array, the monarchs of the Rockies stood
before them robed in a royal ermine of snow, and crowned with coronets
of ice. Rising in domes, pyramids, cubes, and spires of every shape,
"tinted and shaded by pencils of air," the sharply cut summits in front
showing firm against the remoter peaks revealed behind, they composed a
picture that was a miracle of beauty, and stirred the admiration of the
boyish travellers so profoundly that they were silent from sheer
inability to express their feelings.

"Poor, dear old Scotland!" Bruce murmured presently, as if speaking to
himself; "how would your Ben Nevis and Ben Macdhui look beside these
giants? Little better than foot-hills, and yet, Arthur, do you remember
how proud we were the day we reached the top of Ben Nevis?"

"Indeed I do," responded Arthur; "but I'll be a good deal prouder when I
get to the top of that big fellow," pointing at Mount Rundle, whose bare
limestone ridge glowed golden-brown in the sunshine.

"We must try that to-morrow morning," said Bruce. "We'll take our lunch
with us, and give the whole day to it."

"That's the idea," assented Arthur, to whom the plan at once approved
itself.

Paddling to the south end of the lake they landed for a ramble on shore,
and while roaming about, Bruce found himself on the banks of the Bow
river, which just there came close to the Vermilion lakes. The current
was sweeping swiftly downward, and the thought flashed into his
mind--why not make use of the very force that had at first opposed their
progress, to help them homeward. They had only to portage the canoe
across the meadow that separated the lake from the river, and then,
launching it on the rapid stream, to glide back to the boat-house at
their ease.

The moment he mentioned his thought, Arthur gave a whoop of delight.

"Why, what a genius you are, chum!" he cried, clapping his companion
enthusiastically on the back. "We'll get even with that provoking river
now, and I'll forgive it for all the bother it gave us, not to mention
the dousing it gave me."

It was an easy task to transport the light canoe from the lake to the
river, and once launched in the milky current of the latter, no further
exertion on their part was required than an occasional stroke of the
paddle to keep the graceful craft in its course.

"Isn't this the very poetry of motion?" said Bruce, as they glided with
the smoothness of a dream past the low green banks with their almost
unbroken palisade of trees, whose cool shadow came far across the water.

Silently and swiftly the canoe slipped down-stream until all too soon
the boat-house came into sight, and the end of their delightful voyage
was at hand.

"Oh! it's too soon to land yet," protested Arthur. "Let us go down to
the bridge, and paddle back."

The carriage road crossed the river by an iron girder bridge a couple of
hundred yards below the boat-house, and Bruce had no objection to
prolonging their paddle that far.

There was no one at the boat-house when they passed it, but on the
bridge were several people who watched the boys with evident interest,
for it must be confessed a glance was sufficient to show that they were
but inexperienced canoeists.

The rapidity of the current took a decided increase below the
boat-house, and Bruce was congratulating himself that he had not
consented to go any farther than the bridge, when a man who was standing
at the middle of that structure called out:

"Say, young fellows, you'd better turn round. The current's mighty
strong about here."

Believing the counsel good, Bruce gave a stroke that was intended to
turn the canoe up-stream, but for lack of skill he overdid the thing,
and the canoe veered suddenly from its course in such a way as to swing
her bow perilously close to one of the abutments of the bridge.

"Look out, Bruce! What are you doing?" cried Arthur, making a fierce
stroke with his paddle so as to avoid the danger.

But the canoe was now in the full force of the current, and only an
expert canoeist could have kept it under control. Swaying this way and
that, it rushed right at the abutment, and in desperation Arthur thrust
out his paddle to avoid the collision.

In some way the blade got caught between the bow and the abutment, so
that the handle was torn from his grasp, and the paddle fell into the
water beyond his reach.

"Good heavens! my paddle's gone!" he groaned. "What am I to do?"

What was he to do, indeed? In a trice the canoe had been swept under the
bridge, and was speeding on as lightly as a chip, Bruce being powerless
to restrain or direct it with his single paddle.

"Make for the shore! make for the shore!" shouted the man on the bridge,
as he dashed across it to the right bank of the river in order to follow
after the canoe.

The direction was easy to give, but, so far as Bruce was concerned,
impossible of being carried out. He could do nothing at all with the
canoe, which went dancing down with ever-increasing speed toward a
series of rapids that began not far below the bridge, and grew more and
more turbulent, until they ended in a roaring water-fall, to go over
which meant inevitable death.

"Stop her, stop her, or you'll go over the falls!" shrieked the man, who
was racing along the bank, in benevolent though unavailing sympathy.

At this warning the faces of both boys blanched. They knew nothing of
the falls, but they could easily understand how such rapids as their
canoe was now tossing in would lead to something of the kind.

"Oh, Bruce!" exclaimed Arthur despairingly, "this is awful. How can we
save ourselves?"

"Keep as steady as you can, Arthur," Bruce replied, his countenance firm
though pallid, and his eyes looking steadfastly ahead. "There are plenty
of chances yet."

Although he could not check the speed of the canoe he did manage to
direct its course sufficiently to keep it heading with the current, and
at the same time to work it a little nearer the bank along which the man
was running.

The rapids were growing rapidly rougher, and the light craft bobbed
about in them most vivaciously; but the motion was far from giving
pleasure to the imperilled occupants, whose ears already caught the roar
of the falls toward which they were being borne against their will.

"The falls! do you hear them, Bruce?" shrieked Arthur, in terror. "They
must be just ahead."

"Be still, Arthur, it's our only chance," was Bruce's reply, given in a
tone whose steadiness astonished himself.

By taking a short cut through the trees the man had got some distance
ahead of the canoe, and as it turned a bend in the river the boys saw
him standing knee-deep in the water, and stretching out his hands toward
them.

At the same moment they saw beyond him the snow-white billows which
marked the beginning of the fall.

"The rope! throw me the rope!" the man shouted at the top of his voice.
"It's your only chance."

By desperate strokes of his paddle Bruce forced the canoe towards the
man, while Arthur gathered together the rope at the bow of the canoe,
which fortunately was of a good length, and prepared to fling it.

"Now! Throw it now!" cried Bruce, when he had got the canoe within five
yards of the man.

Arthur flung the rope, which was indeed no more than a stout cord, so
straight at the man that its loose end struck him full in the face. But
he did not flinch, and caught it fast in both hands, bracing himself for
the strain when the rope tightened.

So great was the impetus of the canoe that the jerk of its sudden
stopping nearly dragged the man off his feet, and the boys had a narrow
escape from being tumbled into the water.

But happily they held on to their seats, and the man to the rope, and in
another moment they had sprung ashore, and all danger was over.

"By Jupiter! but that was an escape!" exclaimed Arthur; "and but for
you, sir," turning to the man and holding out his hand, "we'd have been
over those falls, sure. You've saved our lives."

"Yes, indeed," said Bruce, holding out his hand, "and I don't know how
we can thank you enough. We had no business to go past the boat-house
when we're such poor hands at managing a canoe."

The man smiled pleasantly as he returned the grateful hand-shakes.

"I was thinking ye hadn't much practice at it as I was watching ye from
the bridge. No doubt ye've had a close call, but a miss is as good as a
mile, ye know, and ye'll just have to be more careful next time. How's
ye goin' to get your canoe back to the boat-house?"

"I suppose we'll have to carry it," answered Bruce.

"That'll be rather a tough job," said the man. "Jest leave it here a
little, and I'll bring my cart down, and tote it back on that."

This suggestion suited the boys admirably, and so, having rewarded their
friend in need for his timely services, and settled with the boat-keeper
for the hire of the canoe, they returned to the hotel, which they
reached just in time for lunch.

Having had their fill of excitement and adventure for the day, they
spent the afternoon quietly at the natural sulphur baths, which were one
of the wonders of the place.

They first visited the cave, a beehive-shaped pit in the limy deposit
that had grown up through the ages around the spring, and which was
formerly entered by a hole in the top. But some years previously a short
tunnel had been driven from the outside right into the cave, and it was
through this they made their way, hardly able to see for the steam that
filled the atmosphere.

The tunnel brought them into a grotto some thirty feet high, and twice
as wide, the domed roof of which was adorned with glittering
stalactites, while the floor was of water, clear as crystal, and of an
exquisite aquamarine tint; from the rippled surface the steam was rising
in unceasing whiffs.

A plank-walk extended around the wall, and from it steps led down into
the water, which was not more than five feet deep at the most. Pure
quartz sand lined the bottom of the pool, and looking down carefully,
the water could be seen bubbling up with constant vigor.

The temptation to have a plunge in so novel a bath was not to be
resisted, and the boys wasted no time in doffing their clothes and
donning a bathing-suit.

They entered the water gingerly, fearing it might feel too hot at first,
but soon were rolling and splashing about in its luxurious depths, for
they found the temperature just right, and the taste not unpleasant,
charged with sulphur though it was.

"Isn't this perfectly delicious!" exclaimed Arthur, floating lazily on
his back, "I'd like to stay here all the afternoon, wouldn't you,
Bruce?"

"I'm afraid we should be pretty limp creatures if we did that," replied
Bruce; "and then, we've got the Basin to see yet, you know."

"That's so," assented Arthur, with a sigh; "but we needn't hurry over
there. It can't be much better than this."

When, however, after dressing again, they did go on to the Basin, Arthur
was inclined to modify his opinion. Here was the same circular pool of
pellucid water, that came bubbling up through the same white quartz
sand, but instead of being closed in by high walls of limestone that
permitted only a glimpse of the sky, it was wide open to the sky, so
that the steam escaped at once, and the atmosphere was entirely free
from it. Thus, flooded with sunlight, it was a veritable Naiads' bath,
and looked so irresistibly attractive that although his hair was not yet
dry from his sousing in the cave, nothing would satisfy Arthur but that
he must have a dip in the Basin also.

Bruce would not be bothered undressing again, and lounged comfortably on
a bench, while Arthur amused himself trying to stand on the places where
the water gushed up, the force of the springs being sufficient to send
him floating off in spite of all his efforts.

The afternoon was well spent before they came away from this enchanting
place, and the idea of being able to have such a bath every day if they
liked increased their desire to spend at least a month in this
wonderland, had it been at all practicable.

The next morning they set forth to scale Mount Rundle, whose massive
front filled half the landscape as one looked from the rear balcony of
the hotel.

They prepared for a day's outing, and, on the advice of the
hotel-manager, took with them as guide an Indian boy rejoicing in the
nickname of "One Cent," probably because of the coppery tint of his
complexion.

Mr. Mark guaranteed that One Cent knew the easiest way to the top of the
mountain, and his services were well worth the half-dollar he demanded
for them, so the boys were only too glad to have him.

In his impatience to reach the mountain's foot, and begin the climbing,
Arthur started off at a lively pace, that caused One Cent to shake his
head sagely and murmur:

"Better go slow. Get plenty tired soon, you bet."

"Good advice that, Arthur," said Bruce, smiling. "He knows what he's
talking about. There's more work ahead of us than you imagine, perhaps."

And so it proved, indeed. In the first place the mountain turned out to
be a great deal farther from the hotel than it looked, and in the second
place its lower slopes were much steeper than they appeared.

At first they had to make their way through dense masses of scrub pine,
which grew thinner as they ascended, until they disappeared altogether
over wide spaces, leaving the rock bare, to be beaten upon by the rays
of the hot summer sun.

The heat was trying enough, but the mosquitoes were worse. They came in
clouds, blowing their tiny trumpets for joy at having such fine, fresh
victims, and leaving One Cent almost untouched, while they devoted
themselves with striking unanimity to his white brothers.

The boys had not accomplished more than one-half of the ascent before
they realized that the undertaking was no mere holiday task, but one
that would test their endurance and strength to the utmost.

As might be expected, Arthur was the first to cry out for a halt. A tiny
stream of water, gushing cool and clear from a gray crag, furnished a
good excuse, of which he was not slow to take advantage.

"Let's stop and have a drink," he suggested. "I'm as dry as a
lime-kiln."

The pause gave them a chance to look back over the way they had come,
and to take in the view from their elevation. They could command the
whole valley of the Bow, and the grandeur of the picture inspired them
to renewed effort.

"If it's so fine from here, Arthur," said Bruce enthusiastically, "what
must it be like from the top?"

The remaining portion of the climb proved exceedingly difficult, in
spite of the intelligence shown by One Cent in picking out the most
practicable way.

There was no pretence of a path, but the Indian instinct for the right
direction never failed him; and although their line of progress was much
after the manner of a cork-screw, they had the constant satisfaction of
realizing that, if the top was not drawing rapidly nearer, the bottom
was certainly falling farther beneath them.

The mosquitoes contested every inch of the way. It seemed as if they
must be the guardians of the mountain, commissioned to oppose intrusion
upon its solitary state. Arthur was driven nearly frantic by their
stings, and his hands were going continually in furious, though futile,
endeavors to protect himself.

Higher and higher the three boys worked their way until only the curious
saddle-back which forms the topmost ridge of Mount Rundle was left to be
conquered.

"Must take plenty care now," said One Cent, looking very grave. "Heap
easy get bad fall."

The difficulty was that the steep slope which led to the crest of the
mountain was composed of a soft rock that crumbled and broke away under
the foot, and the footsteps had to be planted slowly and with much
circumspection.

At the last the boys had to crawl painfully on their hands and knees,
One Cent setting them the example. But when they did reach the summit,
and, seating themselves upon it, were able to sweep the whole superb
amphitheatre of mountain peaks with unchecked vision, they at once
forgot all the toil and torment of the ascent.

One Cent knew the name of every mountain within sight, and pointed them
out one after another, pronouncing their names in his quaint Indian way
that was not always entirely intelligible.

Right across the valley of the Spray the broad tree-clad flanks of
Sulphur Mountain were bathed in sunlight, while at the right the round
shoulders of Tunnel Mountain showed gray and bare. Northward, the huge
mass of Cascade Mountain was streaked with snow-drifts, and farther away
Mount Inglesmaldie and Mount Peechee towered above all their fellows,
the one falling a little short of, and the other exceeding, ten thousand
feet in height.

Away below them lay the hotel, looking little larger than a summer
cottage; so close beneath them, it seemed, that Arthur pretended he
could throw stones upon its roof, and wished he had a parachute to try a
flying descent to it, after the manner of the aeronaut at the
exhibition.

They remained for over an hour at the summit, Arthur being in no hurry
to leave it, because there was a most refreshing breeze up there, and,
moreover, the mosquitoes had ceased from troubling, having been parted
company with some hundreds of feet below.

When they did set out upon the return journey Arthur would not consent
to retracing their steps.

"No, sirree," he exclaimed emphatically, "I'm not going to let those
pestiferous mosquitoes have another feed off me. I'll let a fresh lot
have a chance, if there's no help for it. But I believe if we go down
the side of the mountain where the wind's blowing we shan't be bothered
half so much. It's worth trying, anyway."

As they were not pressed for time Bruce had no objections to taking
another way down, but One Cent shook his head, saying:

"Better go back same way. Other side plenty steep."

"Oh, come now, One Cent," responded Arthur in a bantering tone, "you're
just lazy, that's all. You're anxious to get back to the hotel. But
you're not going to do it, so start ahead down this other side and we'll
follow."

With a decidedly glum look One Cent did as he was bid, but so slowly and
reluctantly that Arthur, growing impatient, pushed past him, saying
rather roughly:

"Tut! you're slower than a funeral. Let me show you how to move along."

This he did so recklessly that Bruce had for the second time warned him
to be more careful, and was just hastening forward to lay a restraining
hand upon him when the rock crumbled underneath Arthur's feet, and,
uttering a shrill cry of terror, he went sliding down a sharp declivity
which led towards a tremendous chasm.




CHAPTER XIV.

BANFF, AND BEYOND.


Had it not been for the timely interposition of One Cent Bruce would
have gone sliding down after Arthur. But the sharp-witted Indian laid
hold of him just as his feet were slipping, and by a quick, strong jerk
threw him back in a sitting posture that enabled him to retain his
place.

"Plenty fool chap that," said the Indian with a significant shrug of the
shoulders as he watched the unfortunate Arthur making frantic though
futile endeavors to stay his fall.

"But we must save him," cried Bruce in a tone of agonized anxiety. "Oh,
what can we do?"

Down went the boy, stirring up a small avalanche of loose stones in his
descent, and it seemed as if nothing could save him from the fatal
plunge over the precipice, when happily his course was arrested by a
projection of harder rock than the debris which composed the slope.

He came upon this projection in such a way that one leg went on each
side of it, and he got astride of it, so to speak.

The instant he felt the firm rock underneath him his self-control,
which had deserted him in the first fright of his fall, came back to
him, and, clasping the friendly pinnacle firmly, he turned his head
towards where he had left Bruce, and shouted back:

"I'm all right! This thing's solid."

"Thank God!" exclaimed Bruce fervently. "He says he's all right. Now,
how can we get him up out of that?"

One Cent had no suggestion to offer. He was glad Arthur had not gone
over the precipice, but, that danger being past, he felt no especial
concern about getting him out of his uncomfortable, if not dangerous,
situation. Bruce could see about that.

And Bruce did proceed to see about it without a minute's delay. His
clear, active brain quickly had a scheme of action devised.

"Look here, One Cent," said he impressively, laying his hand upon the
Indian's arm, "I'm going to stay here to keep Arthur company, and you
must hurry back to the hotel and get help. Bring back a good strong rope
and a lantern, for it may be dark before we all get away from here.
Hurry up now, and be back as quick as you can."

One Cent looked sulky. The idea of racing down to the hotel, and toiling
back again, was not at all attractive, and he hung back in evident
reluctance to start.

Bruce's first impulse on noting this was to wax wrathy, and express his
indignation at such cold-blooded indifference to another's peril in no
measured terms.

But he checked himself promptly; a more politic method of dealing with
the phlegmatic red man was imperatively necessary. He therefore adopted
a different style of argument. Taking out his purse he extracted a
two-dollar bill, and waved it before the Indian's avid eyes, saying:

"See, now, One Cent. Bring me what I told you as soon as you possibly
can, and this money is yours."

Not another word was necessary. After a longing look at the note, One
Cent darted off, descending the mountain side in long leaps from ledge
to ledge which no white man would have dared attempt.

When he had started Bruce shouted cheeringly to Arthur:

"You'll be all right soon, chum. One Cent has gone back to the hotel for
a rope, and we'll pull you up out of that before long. Keep a tight hold
there, and be as patient as you can."

"You'll stay there, won't you, Bruce?" Arthur called back in a most
pitiful tone. "It would be awful to be left here alone."

"Of course I will," responded Bruce heartily, "if I have to stay all
night; and, say, Arthur, couldn't you manage to turn round so as to be
facing up this way? It'll be more sociable than having your back to me."

"I'll try," said Arthur, and he began to squirm around very carefully,
moving only a few inches at a time, for the loose stones had a startling
way of getting dislodged, and making mimic avalanches.

After some minutes of anxious work he succeeded in changing his
position, so that his face was turned towards Bruce.

"Ah!" said his companion, "that's better now. We can talk to one another
properly."

It was certainly a curious situation in which to sustain a conversation,
and little wonder if it flagged during the long minutes that dragged
themselves on so slowly, while One Cent was on his mission.

Arthur's position was both awkward and wearisome, and he gave many a
groan of tribulation as the afternoon slipped by, and still there was no
sign of One Cent.

"Do you think he'd leave us here, and not come back for us at all?"
Arthur asked with pathetic anxiety in his voice.

"Not a bit of it," replied Bruce in his most positive tone. "He hasn't a
chance to make a couple of dollars very often, and he'll be here before
another half-hour's gone."

Nor was Bruce's judgment in the matter at fault. The half-hour had about
elapsed when One Cent appeared, his face shining with perspiration and
pride, and over his arm a coil of rope, while in his right hand was a
lantern.

"Me get 'em all," he panted, as he put the lantern down at Bruce's
feet, and let the coil of rope drop from his shoulder.

"Well done, One Cent!" cried Bruce, not until that moment realizing how
terribly anxious he had been, the load being now lifted from his mind.
"You couldn't have done it better. Here's your money. You've earned it
nobly."

One Cent's dusky fingers closed exultantly over the note, but with not a
whit less joy did Bruce's lay hold of the precious rope which meant his
companion's release from peril.

"Here's the rope, Arthur!" he shouted gleefully as he gathered it in a
coil, and then flung it down the slope.

The first throw fell short, but the second earned it within Arthur's
reach, and he grasped it with a hearty "hurrah!" that showed he had
plenty of vigor still left.

"Now, then, Arthur," Bruce called out, "take a turn of the rope around
your waist, and grip it with all your might. We'll have to pull you up
slowly, for fear of your starting an avalanche."

Settling themselves firmly against the rock so that they could not
possibly overbalance, Bruce and One Cent joined forces, and proceeded to
haul Arthur up hand over hand.

It was slow work, but, with characteristic caution, Bruce would not
allow of any haste, and all in good time Arthur was brought back to
safety, with only some slight injuries to his hands, and a big rent in
his trousers, to show how narrow an escape from death had been his.

After resting a little while they set out for the hotel, and before the
journey was more than half completed Bruce's foresight in having One
Cent get the lantern was amply justified, as it grew so dark that
without it even the Indian could not have kept the trail, and they would
have been compelled to remain out all night.

When they did reach the hotel they found Mr. Mark and many of the guests
awaiting their return with a good deal of anxiety. In fact, a volunteer
relief expedition was already in process of organization, some of whose
members seemed rather to regret that this opportunity to distinguish
themselves was not allowed them.

When the story of the escape had been told, the general opinion was that
Arthur bad been extremely fortunate, as if that projection had not
stopped his fall he must infallibly have gone over a precipice hundreds
of feet in height, to be dashed to pieces on the pitiless bowlders
below.

The interest this incident awakened, combined with the novelty of the
boys' method of travelling, led to their receiving an invitation for the
following day which they were not slow in accepting.

Among the guests at the hotel was a prominent member of the Canadian
Parliament, and the inspector of the Mounted Police in charge of the
National Park at Banff had offered to take the member and a limited
number of his friends for a drive to Devil's Lake in a four-in-hand
turnout.

The member, having taken a fancy to the boys, was moved thereby to offer
them seats in the big wagon, and they, of course, jumped at the chance,
which was one that fell to few of the many tourists visiting Banff.

They were sitting in the shade of the veranda the following morning when
the four-in-hand appeared, and as it came up the hill at full gallop,
and swung round in the narrow space before the door, coming to a stop at
exactly the right spot, they could not refrain from expressing their
admiration aloud, it was such a superb piece of driving.

"Wasn't that splendidly done?" cried Arthur, clapping his hands. "It
will be grand fun having a drive with a man who can manage his horses
like that."

The driver was the officer in command of the Mounted Police, Inspector
Taylor, a magnificent specimen of manhood, to whom the control of four
strong, spirited horses was a mere holiday task.

The conveyance, which was a kind of long, heavy express wagon with four
seats, quickly filled up, the boys being put in the rear seat with the
member's daughter, a bright, attractive young lady, with whom they were
soon on excellent terms.

The seat of honor beside the whip was given to a bride spending her
honeymoon at Banff, while the other seats accommodated the member of
Parliament and his friends.

It was a merry, noisy party, and without any anticipation of the
exciting time in store for them they rolled away amid a cloud of dust,
and a round of cheers from the other people who were not lucky enough to
be with them.

"They say we go over some roads that will make your hair stand up," said
Bruce. "I suppose we've got a good, strong brake on the wagon."

"Oh, you may be sure of that," replied Miss Montague, with a sunny
smile. "It's a Government turnout, and my father's a member, you know,
and they're bound to take the best of care of _him_."

The boys both laughed, as it was evident their fair companion was
speaking more in jest than earnest.

"Your father, then, is our guardian angel," said Bruce, "and we shall be
all safe so long as we keep close to him--is that it?"

"If you like," returned Miss Montague. "He's my guardian, anyway, and
he'll take good care that nothing happens to me that he can help."

As they were thus pleasantly chatting the heavily freighted carriage
rattled down into the valley, crossed the iron bridge, and began the
series of ascending curves by which the height of Tunnel Mountain was
scaled.

The road, admirably built, albeit somewhat narrow, made long loops in
the mountain-side, and it was collar-work for the horses every inch of
the way, but the glorious views that successively opened out made the
passengers content with the slow progress.

Indeed, as they climbed higher and higher, and yawning declivities
opened out on their right, they were glad enough to creep along rather
than hasten, since a slight diversion from the road might be attended
with such disastrous effects.

They had all but completed the ascent, and were just turning a sharp
bend where the road was built out by trestle-work on a shoulder of the
mountain in such a way that one had a clear look into the rapids of the
Bow river hundreds of feet below, when the bride, who had been evincing
a good deal of nervousness, gave a shrill cry, and, throwing up her
hands, would have pitched forward out of the carriage in a dead faint
had not Mr. Taylor, rapidly shifting all the reins into his right hand,
cleverly caught her with his left, and held her firmly.

It was a critical moment, not only for the helpless woman and the
inspector, but for the other occupants of the wagon. The strain of the
steep climb having ended, the relieved horses had started off briskly,
and needed the full attention of their driver. But this he could not
give, because of being encumbered with his fair burden. Yet, no one
could take either the woman or the reins from his hands until the
horses had been brought to a halt, and this could not be done at once.

Happily Mr. Taylor's wonderful strength and self-possession proved equal
even to so trying a dilemma. Keeping his left arm around the bride, he
skilfully reined up the horses in a favorable place, and the moment he
did so, the lady's husband sprang to the ground and lifted her out of
the wagon.

She was not long in recovering her senses, and then, his anxiety being
relieved, her husband was fool enough to feel indignant at Mr. Taylor
for having put an arm around his wife, instead of being deeply grateful
to him for having saved her from injury.

The lady showed considerably more sense on that point, but vowed she
would under no circumstances reënter the wagon, and the result of it all
was that the newly wedded couple decided to walk back to the hotel,
leaving the remainder of the party to continue the drive without them.

As the wagon rolled on, leaving the couple standing in the road, Arthur
remarked, with a significant laugh, to Bruce:

"Tied to his wife's apron-strings, eh, chum? We won't be in any hurry to
get into that scrape ourselves, will we?"

"Oh, you ungallant young man!" cried Miss Montague, with a
well-pretended pout, "to say such a thing before me. You deserve to
become nothing but a crusty old bachelor, with the gout to plague you,
for being so horrid."

"Perhaps that wouldn't be any worse than having a wife to henpeck you,"
suggested Bruce demurely.

"Oh, dear! and you're just as bad," sighed Miss Montague. "I did expect
better things from you, you seemed so staid and sensible."

With such like harmless banter the young people amused themselves while
the four-in-hand went rattling down the mountain road, often turning
corners so sharply that the leaders disappeared from sight until the
wagon swung round after them. Inspector Taylor's handling of his
handsome team was a revelation in driving. He rarely spoke to them above
a conversational tone. His hand on the reins was as soft as velvet yet
as firm as steel, and although he cracked the long whip over the horses'
heads it never touched their shining flanks. They fully understood its
music, and needed not to be startled by its sting.

"How in the world should we manage if we met another team on this road?"
asked Bruce, looking thoughtfully down into the abyss below. "There's
certainly not room enough for us to pass each other."

The words had barely left his lips before the precise problem he had
been pondering over presented itself. Swinging around a sharp corner
they came upon a light phaeton drawn by a single horse, and containing
two people, a man and a woman, whose faces blanched with fright as the
four-in-hand bore down upon them.

There was but scant space in which to bring the heavy wagon with its
impetus to a full stop, yet Mr. Taylor did it as easily as though it
were nothing at all difficult, the wheels ceasing to revolve just as the
leaders' noses touched that of the horse in the phaeton.

"Please keep quite still now," Mr. Taylor called out to the frightened
couple. "There's no danger if you do so."

The lady was just about to spring from the phaeton, but fell back on the
seat on hearing these reassuring words, and Mr. Taylor, handing the
reins over to Mr. Montague, who took his place on the box, jumped down,
and after patting his own horses, and telling them to stand steady, went
to the head of the other animal.

Then, bidding both the lady and gentleman to get out, he carefully
backed the team until it came to a place where the road had been widened
by cutting into the bank so as to make room for passing; crowding the
phaeton against the bank, and directing its driver to hold the horse
there, he went back to his own seat, gathered up the reins, released the
brake, and drove gayly past the other carriage, saying as he did so:

"Good-by--and keep a sharper lookout ahead next time."

The boys had followed every move of the inspector with growing
admiration for his coolness and resource, and when the difficulty was
over, Arthur exclaimed enthusiastically:

"Well, if Mr. Taylor isn't equal to anything!" little imagining that
before the drive was ended a crisis would develop which would put his
powers to a far severer test than either of the previous incidents.

After the crossing of Tunnel Mountain, the road ran through a valley,
and then by hill and dale to Devil's Lake, where it ended at a pretty
little vine-covered hotel, before which the party alighted.

There was a small steam-launch moored to the end of a long wooden pier,
and this the visitors hired for a run up the lake, which they all found
extremely pleasant after the drive along the hot, dusty roads.

Arthur took care to secure a place in the launch near the bow, but Bruce
was content with one at the stern; and while the former had the best of
it at first, on the return trip he would gladly have exchanged places,
for a fresh breeze having sprung up, the waves rose sufficiently to send
many a liberal splash over the bulwarks, and by the time the pier was
regained Arthur had got pretty well drenched.

The views obtained while on the launch were very impressive: the
mountains rising sheer from the water's edge in beetling crags, and
sky-piercing pinnacles, their many-colored sides made white with snow
wherever the drifts could linger, and here and there ribboned with
glacier-fed streams that came cascading down to add their waters to the
volume of the lake.

There were fish to be caught in the lake, if the tourists had had time
to try for them, but, much as the boys would have liked to do so, they
could not tarry for that purpose, and after partaking of some
refreshments at the hotel, the wagon was filled up again, and the return
drive begun.

They went back over the same road, and quite uneventfully, until they
came to the famous Corkscrew, as it was called, on Tunnel Mountain.
Going out, they had ascended this, and it was not a very difficult
matter, but returning they had to descend it, which was a very different
affair.

This Corkscrew was certainly a remarkable bit of road-building. It would
seem as if the engineer of the road, getting tired of overcoming the
heavy gradient by long loops, had determined to make a great gain in a
small compass by attacking the steep slope with a series of short
curves, that made of the road a gigantic double letter S lying upon the
mountain-side.

So sharp were the turns, that, going up, the wheelers had to practically
pull the wagon by themselves, there not being room for the leaders to
make their traces taut, and the consummate ease with which Mr. Taylor
managed his spirited team had drawn forth unqualified tributes of
admiration from the passengers.

On the return trip they were just in the middle of the Corkscrew, and
with reins held firmly and brake pressed hard Mr. Taylor was skilfully
turning the dangerous corners, while every one in the wagon was scarce
breathing with suppressed excitement, when the off wheeler stumbled over
a loose rock, and went down in a heap, almost dragging his mate with
him.

For one thrilling moment there was harrowing suspense as the good horse
strove to recover his footing, and then came a crash that startled even
the iron-nerved driver. The wheeler did succeed in getting up again, but
in the struggle the pole was somehow snapped in two, just a little in
front of where it was set into the fore-axle.

Here, indeed, was an emergency calculated to test the most superb
self-control. The safety, if not the lives, of half a score of people
depended upon the action of the next minute. Were the horses to break
away and dash down the mountain-side, it could mean naught save horrible
injury, and perhaps death, to the helpless beings behind them.

But not for an instant was Inspector Taylor flustered or dismayed.
Putting his whole vast strength upon the brake, so that the hind wheels
skidded until the wagon came to a full stop, he spoke quietly to the
horses, bearing hard upon the reins, yet not jerking them nervously, and
thus retaining perfect control over the frightened animals.

"Now, then, ladies and gentlemen, will you please jump out as quietly as
possible while I keep the wagon steady?" he said, without taking his eye
off the horses, and in as calm a tone of voice as if there were nothing
unusual in the situation.

The boys were the first to touch the ground, and Miss Montague promptly
sprang into their arms. The others followed in good order, and in a
trice the wagon was empty.

Actuated by a common impulse, Bruce and Arthur, as soon as they had set
down Miss Montague, went to the leaders' heads, receiving from Mr.
Taylor a nod of quick approval of their forethought.

Mr. Montague showed similar wit by blocking the front wheels with
stones, and thus the peril was met and provided against without one of
the party complicating the situation by displaying great excitement, or
making any blunder. The members of the party certainly well merited Mr.
Taylor's brief, yet comprehensive compliment:

"You're a lot of bricks. You couldn't have done it better."

After complimenting their driver on his perfect mastery of the
situation, and congratulating each other on having escaped so
handsomely, the next thing in order was to contrive how to fix the pole
so as to complete the drive home.

Here, again, it was the inspector that filled the breach. With the aid
of a tough young fir-tree, cut down with a jack-knife, and sundry bits
of rope, the broken pole was so spliced as to do, with careful
management, and, after the delay of an hour, the drive was resumed, to
be completed without further mishap ere sundown.

Next day, the boys bade good-by to Banff.

Very gladly would they have lingered there for many days longer, but
Bruce felt bound to move on, as there were many things yet to be seen
and done before they reached the ocean-side, so they set out in the cool
of the morning for more tramping along the railway track, which here
furnished the only pathway through the wilderness of mountains.

They were anxious to get as far as Laggan station before nightfall, and
to accomplish this meant very strict attention to the business of
walking, as the distance exceeded thirty miles.

"We shall have to peg away like good fellows, Arthur," said Bruce,
setting his companion a good, steady pace. "We can get to Eldon, anyway,
even if we don't make Laggan."

The road ran alongside the Bow river, for some distance, through a
densely timbered valley, with stupendous mountains guarding it on either
hand, one of them bearing the curious name of Hole-in-the-Wall, because
of a big cavern high up its craggy side, which was reputed to be a great
resort of the wild goats and big-horn sheep.

The boys could see the mouth of the cavern quite plainly, and Arthur
would have liked very much to try the climb up there.

"It would be splendid to be able to say that we'd really seen some of
those strange animals," he said, "and I wouldn't mind staying over a day
for the sake of it."

Bruce looked thoughtfully up at the cavern.

"We'd need a regular outfit of guides, provisions, and things to get
there," said he. "We couldn't possibly manage it by ourselves. Let us
wait until we get to Laggan. That's a better place still for sheep and
goats, they say. We shall have a chance to get a sight of them there,
perhaps."

This suggestion satisfied Arthur, and they plodded on steadily with
occasional pauses for a refreshing drink from the ice-cold waters of the
Bow, reaching the station at Castle Mountain not long after mid-day, and
remaining there for dinner and a good rest.

Their stopping-place was at the base of the great peak whose name it
bore, and which towered up five thousand feet above it like some vast
giant's keep, with turrets, bastions, and battlements complete.

In every direction rose ranges of snow-covered peaks, and when the boys
resumed their tramp, fresh vistas of grandeur and beauty opened out at
every turn of the road.

Pilot Mountain, Copper Mountain, Mount Temple, and beyond it, standing
supreme over all, the prodigious, isolated, helmet-shaped mountain named
Lefroy, the loftiest and grandest in the whole panorama. Such were the
glorious objects upon which the young pedestrians feasted their
appreciation of the sublime and beautiful, the varied tints of the
scarred and splintered mountain-sides contrasting finely with the
absolute whiteness of the snow-wreaths about their summits.

As the afternoon waned the boys began to weary with the steady walking.
It was five o'clock when they reached Eldon, and Laggan was still ten
miles ahead, so that they had pretty well made up their minds to stay
there for the night, when Arthur noticed a couple of the section-men
getting a hand-car ready to go in the direction of Laggan.

"I wonder would they take us on," he said to Bruce. "I'll ask them,
anyway."

"Certainly, if you'll work your passage," was the prompt reply when he
had preferred his request.

To this condition the boys readily acceded, and the next minute they
were off for their first ride on a hand-car.

For some time they were permitted to be simply passengers, and they
found the experience highly enjoyable, the hand-car running along
smoothly and steadily while the sturdy section-men toiled at the handles
of the motive power, which worked up and down like those of a vessel's
pump.

To sit on the front of the platform and command a perfect view of the
glorious landscape while thus being carried on their way pleased the
boys immensely, but when, after one-half the distance had been
accomplished, one of the section-men suggested that they might now take
a hand, they found that the work of pumping out motion was no child's
play.

The perspiration was soon pouring down their faces, and aches that were
increasingly hard to endure developed in their arms and backs. But they
would have persevered until they dropped in sheer exhaustion, rather
than cry out for relief, and so they kept valiantly at it until the man,
taking pity on their evident distress, said, good-humoredly:

"You've got lots of sand, you have, young fellows, but I guess you're
pretty sick of that pumping. Let us take the handles for the rest of the
trip."

Right gladly did the boys resign their places and resume their seats on
the platform, where the cool evening breeze fanned their heated brows
luxuriously as they rode at their ease to Laggan.

By great good fortune they found Mr. Ashdown, who kept the Châlet Hotel
at Lake Louise, which was their objective point, just about to leave the
station, and lost no time in securing seats in his express wagon.

A rough and rather tedious ride over a newly made road, which climbed
the mountain-side by cautious curves, brought them to the margin of the
lake by nightfall, and, thoroughly tired with the day's undertakings,
they were glad to dispose of a bountiful supper, and tumble into bed
immediately after.

They were up with the sun next morning, and were well rewarded for their
enterprise by a spectacle the like of which had never greeted their eyes
before.

Before them lay the full expanse of Lake Louise, the first of the famous
lakes in the clouds, a beautiful sheet of water set in the midst of
towering mountains, whose wonderful variations of tint and outline were
repeated with marvellous fidelity in its unruffled bosom.

On their right, the tree-clad steeps slanted sharply up, until their
peaks seemed to touch the clouds; on their left, a mighty mountain rose
right from the water's edge, two thousand feet or more, its precipitous
face glowing in the bright morning sunshine with gorgeous hues of red
and brown and yellow, while off at the far end of the lake there was an
opening as of a vast proscenium, revealing range upon range of gleaming
glaciers and snow-wreathed cliffs.

The almost supernatural beauty of this scene awed the boys into silence,
and they had been looking long upon it before Bruce broke the stillness
by saying, as he drew a deep breath of admiration: "This is fit for the
home of the gods!"

[Illustration: "THE ALMOST SUPERNATURAL BEAUTY OF THIS SCENE AWED THE
BOYS INTO SILENCE."]

Arthur, assenting to his chum's classical suggestion, added, one more
practical, as he gazed at the aquamarine-tinted water, "Let's have a
dip. It looks lovely."

Seeking out a secluded cove, they stripped off their clothes and plunged
in, without waiting to try the temperature of the water.

The first splash was instantly followed by howls of pain and dismay. The
lake, fed by melting snows, was deathly cold, and to swim in it was
utterly impossible. Chilled to the very marrow, both boys struggled
frantically ashore, and had to lie in the warm sun for some minutes
before they could reclothe their numbed bodies.

"Jerusalem!" chattered Arthur, "that was a cold reception with a
vengeance. No more dips in mountain lakes for me."

As soon as breakfast was over, they proceeded to make arrangements with
Mr. Ashdown for the day.

"We want to do two things here," Bruce explained. "We must see all the
lakes, of course, and, if at all possible, we want to get a sight of the
mountain sheep and goats. We don't want to shoot them, but simply to see
them."

"Well, I can't just promise you that I can manage the sheep and goats
for you," replied Mr. Ashdown, "but I'll do my best. It'll be an all-day
job."

A bright-looking Indian lad, who could be trusted as a guide, was placed
at the boys' disposal, and, taking a good supply of sandwiches, they
set out, having no other arms than their revolvers, although Mr. Ashdown
offered them one of his own rifles. They expected to be away until
evening, and they impressed upon their host to have a good dinner
awaiting their return, for they would assuredly be as hungry as wolves.

Fifty yards from the house they plunged into the dense pine woods,
through which a rough trail crept in an undulating fashion up the steep
ascent. There was no pretence of a path. Roots of trees, rocks, and
fallen trunks had to be avoided as best one could, and, sturdy as they
were of limb, the boys soon realized that they had a tough job, seeing
that the third lake lay some two thousand feet above Lake Louise, and
that from its margin the mountains and glaciers rose to still loftier
heights.

But the climbing was not half so bad as the insect pests. There were
mosquitoes in troops, gnats in myriads, and "bull-dogs" in battalions.
The bull-dogs were the worst, when they got their work in properly. They
were large, powerful flies, something like blue-bottles, which took a
piece right out whenever they bit, the pain inflicted being intense for
a while, but soon passing away, as there was no poison in their fangs.

It was not until the boys bound up their faces in their handkerchiefs
that they got any relief from their persistent tormenters; yet the
Indian lad stepped lightly along without the slightest discomfort.

"Look here, Brownie," said Arthur, giving the guide a name off-hand, not
knowing what he ought to be called, "how is it the flies and mosquitoes
don't bother you when they're biting us as if they've been starved for a
month?"

"Wah! that's all right," was the grinning reply; "they got plenty tired
bitin' me. Give it up for a bad job. But you--you're fresh. They glad to
get you, um! um!" And he smacked his lips as if he could fully enter
into the insects' appreciation of new victims.

"Confound the pests! what on earth were they created for?" cried Arthur,
swiping savagely at a bunch of buzzing bull-dogs. "Why can't a fellow be
left in peace?"

"They're to teach us the virtue of patience, I suppose," said Bruce
consolingly, "and to prevent our getting too fond of this beautiful
world."

As he spoke the forest opened before them, and they found themselves at
the edge of Mirror Lake, a smaller sheet of water than Lake Louise, yet
no less lovely in its way.

So deeply was it sunk amidst the spiky pines that not a breath of wind
rippled its waters, and every detail of the mountains towering above it
was photographed upon its crystal surface.

Thence the trail, ever growing steeper and rougher until finally it
became almost perpendicular, led up past the tree limit to the third
and last of the lakes in the clouds, Lake Agnes, filling a great cup,
carved out of the mountain-top, with its dimpling azure-hued waters.

The boys had accomplished the main part of their climb, and were glad to
throw themselves down beside the outlet, and have a good rest, while the
brisk breeze not only cooled their heated countenances, but blew away
from them the provoking mosquitoes, which were on hand even at that
height.




CHAPTER XV.

GOOD LUCK IN THE MOUNTAINS.


From their lofty eyrie the boys could look down upon both the other
lakes, Mirror Lake showing little more than a gleam of blue amidst the
dark green of the pines, but Lake Louise spreading out its smiling
breadth, with the Châlet nestling cosily in a cove at the lower
extremity.

A couple of sandwiches, washed down by the ice-cold, crystal-clear water
that tumbled joyously past them, made a refreshing lunch, and they were
then ready for further explorations.

Bruce, who had great faith in the potency of the "almighty dollar," held
one up before Brownie's eyes as he said:

"Bring us within sight of some sheep or goats, and this dollar is yours,
besides your wages for the day."

Brownie's eyes glistened. He was a very intelligent-looking chap, and
had quite a pleasing countenance.

"You want to shoot 'em?" he asked, with a doubtful glance at the
revolver at Bruce's hip.

"No," Bruce replied. "Not to shoot them, but simply to see them. You
bring us as near to a band of them as you can, that's all you've got to
do."

"All right, boss," responded Brownie. "Me do it, you bet, but," and he
gave both boys a scrutinizing look, "you'll have plenty climb."

"Oh, we'll do the climbing right enough," said Arthur confidently. "You
just show us the way, and we'll follow you."

They accordingly set off along the left-hand shore of the lake, picking
their way carefully over the bowlders which King Frost had hurled down
from the heights above. Near the upper end of the lake lay a great
snow-bank, and on reaching it, Brownie, his dusky features lit up with
excitement, pointed to a line of tracks plainly marked in the snow.

"Bear!" he exclaimed eagerly. "Big bear make that."

The announcement sent a curious thrill through the boys. It was the
first time in their lives that they had seen the actual foot-marks of a
wild animal nearer acquaintance with which might be dangerous, and their
feelings at first were by no means innocent of fear. In fact, either of
them would have been rather glad if the other had suggested going no
farther.

But they were both too proud to be the first to speak, and, moreover,
there was a twinkle in Brownie's dark eyes that helped to close their
lips.

By way of concealing their temporary embarrassment, they proceeded to
give the bear tracks as close an inspection as if thereby they would be
enabled to pronounce upon the exact variety of bruin that made them, and
the length of time that had elapsed since they were made. Of course, as
a matter of fact they had to depend upon Brownie for information on both
points, and in response to the inquiring looks they turned to him, he
said, with a kind of chuckle:

"Yas, plenty big bear that. He make tracks last night. Gone away now,
verra far," and he gave an expressive sweep with his arms in the
direction of the distant peaks.

"All right. We'll follow him. Go ahead!" said Arthur, putting a bold
face on the matter, and Brownie starting off with a smiling face, they
completed the circuit of the lake, and attacked the terminal moraine of
the glacier at its head.

It was hard climbing, the bowlders being heaped upon one another in wild
confusion, and they could make but slow progress; but they kept at it
sturdily until they had overcome the moraine, and reached the rocky
slope beyond.

Not being provided with proper appliances for mountain-climbing, such as
hobnail boots and alpenstocks, they had to proceed very cautiously, and
they were fortunate in having an unusually intelligent and careful guide
in their dusky companion.

Onward and upward they made their way, taking in little of the majestic
and awe-inspiring scenery around them because of their intense
absorption in the search for the animals they hoped to see.

Such manful energy and enterprise deserved success, yet it was not until
long after mid-day that there seemed any hope of the boys being
rewarded. Indeed, they were growing quite discouraged, and were in the
mood to give up the chase, when Brownie, who had climbed a sharp ridge
in advance of them, suddenly drew back his head, from the summit, and
beckoned vigorously to them.

Creeping to his side as silently as shadows, they peered expectantly
over the edge, and their hearts simultaneously leaped for joy at what
their eager eyes beheld.

Beyond the ridge lay a wide cleft in the range, and on the farther side
of this, too distant even for rifle-shot, a fine band of mountain sheep
was going slowly in single file led by a superb ram whose massive horns
were fit to adorn a ducal mansion.

The boys drew deep breaths of grateful admiration as they saw this
monarch of the mountains moving in his pride from one pasture to another
with his docile following of ewes and kids, and it seemed almost too
good to be true when the sheep had hardly disappeared before a pair of
goats, white and shaggy, bearded like ancient Druids, and looking quite
as wise and solemn, came up over the other side of the ridge beyond the
valley, and picked their way deliberately downward as if to cross to
where the boys were concealed.

"Oh, if they will only come right close to us!" whispered Arthur,
trembling all over with excitement.

It really seemed as if his desire would be granted, for the
curious-looking creatures had advanced one-half the distance when
suddenly they stopped, sniffed the air suspiciously, and, the larger one
giving a peculiar whistle of alarm, the two dashed away up the steep
slope at a rate that soon carried them out of sight.

"See!" hissed Brownie, grasping Bruce's arm; "big bear scare them, and
there was a strange expression in his eyes, whether of fear or mere
excitement it was not clear."

Sure enough, lumbering lazily along as if nothing were farther from his
thoughts than a supper of mutton chops, a great brown bear came into
sight at the upper end of the valley. He was apparently looking neither
to right nor to left, and the three human spectators watched him with
bated breath until he went on past them, and vanished in the direction
taken by the sheep.

"Upon my word," exclaimed Arthur, when Bruin had undoubtedly
disappeared, "what an afternoon we're having! Sheep, goats, and bear on
view almost at the same time. Brownie, you shall have an extra dollar
from me as well as from Bruce."

"And now," added his cool-headed companion, "let us start for home.
We've no time to lose in getting there."

Bruce's statement was true enough. In the ardor of their search for the
sheep they had not taken into account either the flight of time or the
distance traversed, and now that their ambition had been gratified, and
their excitement had subsided, they were rather dismayed to realize what
a long way it was back to the Châlet Hotel, beside Lake Louise.

However, it was a case of the less said the sooner mended, and off they
started, resolved to spare themselves no exertion until they had come
within hail of Mr. Ashdown, who would, no doubt, ere long be looking out
for them.

But the fates, which had been so propitious hitherto, betrayed them
shamefully ere they had got more than half-way back to Lake Agnes, for a
mountain mist, arising as if by magic, enveloped them in its bewildering
folds, so that even the shrewd, sagacious Indian lost his bearings, and,
after wandering about for some time, refused to proceed any farther for
fear of falling over some precipice.

Their situation now became decidedly serious. They were practically lost
on those wild, bleak mountain-tops, where they stood a fair chance of
having to spend the night without fire, food, or shelter, and moreover,
besides all the risk of injury through such exposure, there was the
well-grounded fear of bears which might see fit to attack them for
daring to intrude upon their hunting-grounds.

They were brave enough boys, as has been already shown, but such a state
of affairs was sufficient to try the stoutest heart, and it must not be
put down to their discredit if at the first they both gave way to a kind
of petulant despondency that was not at all like them, and made Brownie
regard them with wondering looks.

But they did not allow this mood to hold them long.

"Tut, tut!" exclaimed Bruce, jumping up from the bowlder upon which he
had been seated, and shaking himself as if to be rid of something.
"There's no use in our acting like children even if we are in a bad fix.
Try again, Brownie, and see if you can't make some headway in the right
direction."

"That's the idea," said Arthur, brightening up in his turn. "Go ahead,
Brownie. You'll hit the trail soon again."

Thus encouraged Brownie began again to work out a way home, the boys
cautiously following a little behind him. It was an arduous, dangerous
task, and one that tested the Indian's native instinct and intelligence
to the utmost, but he persevered in it until even his sinewy frame had
to yield to fatigue, and still Lake Agnes had not been reached.

"We've got to stay here all night if that mist does not disappear soon,"
said Bruce, in a tone more of resignation than despair.

Brownie nodded affirmatively, while Arthur groaned; and just at that
moment, as if the fates were satisfied with the sport they had made of
them, the enfolding mist began to roll up towards the peaks, and in a
few minutes there was not a whiff of it between them and the sky,
already crimsoned by the setting sun.

"Hurrah!" shouted Arthur gleefully. "Now we can see where we're going.
Fire ahead, Brownie, we'll follow you!"

Brownie led off at the best pace possible under the circumstances, and
the three youths slipped and scrambled and slid and jumped from ledge to
ledge and over bowlders, taking all chances rather than lose time.

It was really remarkable how rapidly they progressed; nevertheless, so
far had they to go that darkness closed in around them, ere they made
Lake Agnes, and only the subtle instinct of the Indian enabled them
finally to reach its rocky margin.

There was no moon--only the jewel-like stars gave light, and although
Brownie seemed perfectly confident of his ability to guide them safely
down to the hotel, whose lights they could just discern twinkling like
fire-flies in the dim distance, Bruce thought it best to spend the
night beside the lake. There was wood at hand in plenty. They had
matches, and no harm could befall them with a blazing fire for comfort
and protection.

This plan commended itself to Arthur, more because of its romantic
aspect than as a measure of prudence, and he heartily assented to it,
while Brownie had no particular objection.

Accordingly, the wood was gathered, the fire started, and, basking in
its genial warmth, the boys quickly forgot weariness and cold.

That night on the mountain was a wonderful experience. Their
camping-place was a broad, turf-covered ledge that formed the boundary
of the lake, and through a channel in whose centre the waters rushed
musically down the mountain-side. Behind them lay the lake itself,
reflecting in its placid bosom every antic of the leaping flames, while
before them opened out a stupendous amphitheatre, now filled with
darkness, but displaying by daylight a scene of unsurpassed majesty and
beauty.

Brownie took first watch, while the tired boys stretched themselves out
for a sleep, and they had got well into the Land of Nod when a moving
light appeared in the darkness below, and presently a strong voice
shouted up:

"Hullo, is that you, Brownie?"

The Indian sprang up joyfully, and going to the edge of the cliff,
replied:

"It's me, boss. We's all right."

So soundly were the boys sleeping that they did not awaken until Mr.
Ashdown shook them, saying:

"Wake up, gentlemen, and I'll show you the way back to the house."

When they did get their eyes open, they both felt somewhat reluctant to
leave so romantic a sleeping-place, but in view of Mr. Ashdown's
kindness in coming for them, and of the attractions of a good dinner,
followed by a more comfortable bed than the best of turf, they decided
to go back with him. Guided by his lantern, the descent of the mountain
was made rapidly and safely, and they got to the Châlet in fine fettle
for the substantial repast Mrs. Ashdown had awaiting them.

They amused their host very much by an account of the day's adventures,
and he congratulated them warmly upon their rare success in getting a
good view of the wild creatures of the mountains.

"I can tell you, my young friends, that many a chap has come up here
with a full climbing and hunting outfit, and has gone away again without
a sight of a horn or hoof. The goats and sheep are getting shyer every
year, and soon they'll disappear altogether, I suppose."

The boys slept late the following morning, for they were thoroughly
tired, and the sun had got well on its way toward the zenith ere they
left Laggan behind. But this did not matter seriously, as they were
not going to make a hard day's tramp of it, Field Station, less than a
score of miles ahead, being as far as they planned to get before night.

[Illustration: "ALL THAT AFTERNOON THEY WALKED IN THE SHADOW OF MOUNT
STEPHEN."]

Seven miles steady walking brought them to the highest point reached by
the railway in crossing the Rockies. Thenceforward they would be on the
down grade until the ascent of the Selkirk Range was begun.

A little beyond the summit they came to the beautiful Wapta Lake, on
whose margin was Hector Station, where they were able to get a
satisfactory lunch. From this point the scenery became almost terrible
in its sublimity, and the boys were glad that they had not to hurry
through it behind a panting engine.

The railroad track was cut into the mountain-side at the left, while on
the right the valley dropped sharply away with the Kicking-Horse river
foaming furiously at the bottom, and showing a ribbon of snowy white
through the dark green of the close-set pines.

All that afternoon they walked in the shadow of Mount Stephen, the
monarch of the range, whose mighty dome, glowing with many colors,
soared high above the nearer peaks, and upon whose broad shoulder they
noted with admiring wonder a huge glacier, nearly a thousand feet in
thickness, pressing forward and over a dizzy precipice, its translucent
green contrasting finely with the stern gray rock.

Arriving at Field Station just as the sun sank behind the mountain-tops,
they were delighted to find there a pretty little hotel, fitted up in
the most modern style of comfort and convenience, where they secured a
room, and hastened to brush up for dinner.

This meal was served to them in the same style as if they had been in
Montreal, instead of in the midst of the mountains, and they relished it
all the more on that account.

"I tell you, my boy," said Arthur, at the end of the fourth course,
laying down his knife and fork and looking about him with an air of
supreme content, "this tramp of ours is the greatest scheme we ever hit
upon. Why, we've been having simply no end of fun, haven't we? And we're
not by any means through with it yet."

"We'll have to be through with it by the end of a fortnight at the
most," responded Bruce, who never allowed present enjoyment to make him
oblivious of duty. "If we miss the steamer at Vancouver we shall have to
wait a month there, and that would never do. But a fortnight's long
enough to walk the rest of the way, and, of course, if we should get
pressed for time we can take the train, and hurry up that way."

They were up betimes the next morning, and had despatched breakfast and
settled their bill before the west-bound train rolled into the station.
While its passengers were having breakfast at the hotel, the boys got
into conversation with the engine-driver, who was standing by his
engine, and Arthur, with his wonted communicativeness, told what they
were doing.

The engineer showed a good deal of interest in them on hearing this, and
after asking a number of questions, which they readily answered, said:

"You're a bright pair of lads and you've got lots of grit. How would you
like to have a ride in the engine with me, as far as Donald, where my
run ends?"

Arthur looked at Bruce, and Bruce looked at Arthur, and they each read
eager assent in the other's eyes.

"Oh, thank you!" they answered together. "We'd like it ever so much."

"Climb up, then, and take seats on the left side of the cab. We'll be
starting right away."

In a veritable ecstasy of delight, for a ride on an engine had been a
long-cherished dream with both, they disposed themselves on the narrow
bench that ran under the windows on the left side of the cab, and with a
delicious sense of superiority, watched the passengers hurrying into the
cars.

Presently the bell rang, the engineer opened the throttle-valve, the
wheels began to revolve, and they were off for a two-hours ride in the
cab of a locomotive, without a doubt the two happiest boys in the
country.




CHAPTER XVI.

THROUGH THE ROCKIES TO THE SELKIRKS.


The engineer was a highly intelligent man, who took as much pride in the
scenic splendors of his "run" as if they had been his private property,
and he was careful that the boys should miss nothing that ought to be
seen.

The Ottertail Mountains on the left, and the Vanhorne Range on the
right, bearing glaciers high up on their massive shoulders, shut in the
valley through which the train sped, the line now rising from the flats
beside the Kicking-Horse river, and again descending to follow its
impetuous course until it reached Mount Hunter, where the famous cañon
began along whose narrow bottom the daring constructors of the road had
disputed for room with the furious torrent.

The ride through the cañon was a wonderful experience, and the boys,
having at Palliser Station with some difficulty obtained permission to
ride on the cow-catcher in the very front of the engine, were glad
beyond description at having such an opportunity for sight-seeing.

Just beyond Palliser the mountain-sides became absolutely
perpendicular, rising straight up for thousands of feet, and so close
together that a school-boy's throw would have carried a stone from one
to the other.

Down this stupendous chasm went railway and river together, the former
being carried on ledges cut out of the living rock, and twisting and
turning like some gigantic serpent, every minute or two diving through
projecting angles of the crags that were easier to tunnel than to build
around.

With the towering cliffs almost shutting out the sunlight, beautiful,
bright day though it was, and the roar of the train and of the river
that seemed to be competing with each other, echoed and reëchoed from
the mighty walls, the full sublimity of their situation revealed itself
to the boys, and they made no attempt to speak, but clung to their
precarious seats in silence.

It was not until the train suddenly emerged into the bright valley where
the city of Golden stretched itself beside the broad Columbia that
either of them found speech.

"Wasn't that a glorious ride?" exclaimed Arthur. "We may never have a
chance like that again in our lives."

"I shall never forget it as long as I live," responded Bruce. "But say,
Arthur, what would have become of us if we had run into something on the
track? We should have been done for, sure, shouldn't we?"

"I suppose we should," assented Arthur; "but I never thought of that, I
was enjoying myself too much."

"Well, I'm very glad I've been through it," rejoined Bruce, "but I don't
think I should care to do it again. We must get back into the engine cab
as soon as the train stops."

When the train pulled up at Golden they resumed their seats, and
remained there during the rest of their friend's run, which terminated
at Donald, a little before mid-day.

After a good dinner at the hotel they resumed their tramp, being minded
to make Bear Creek Station by evening, and there spend the night.

Crossing the Columbia river they left the Rocky Mountains behind, and
began the ascent of the Selkirk Range, which looked supremely beautiful
as bathed in the afternoon sun it rose from forest-clad base to
ice-crowned peak, presenting a radiant warmth and glory of color that
made it seem more like an outlying province of fairy-land than a section
of British Columbia.

Indeed, it was this aspect of them that impressed Bruce most deeply.

"Just look, Arthur," said he, sweeping his hand across the unbroken line
of mountains, matchless in form; "how perfect they are! and how easy it
is to imagine them the home of some marvellous genii such as we used to
read about in our old fairy-books."

As they advanced they ascended rapidly, the grade of the railway being
as high as one hundred and sixteen feet to the mile, and the river sank
almost out of sight in the densely forested valley below.

By keeping op a steady pace they got to Bear Creek Station in good
season for supper, and secured quarters for the night, which were
comfortable, if not particularly commodious.

The next day brought them to so many new wonders that it was in some
respects the most memorable of the whole tramp.

Making an early start from Bear Creek, the road took them away from the
Beaver river, which had now diminished to a silver thread one thousand
feet below, and they went up the gulf-like gorge of Bear Creek, with
majestic trees,--Douglas fir, spruce, and cedar,--casting cool shadows
on their path.

In this portion of the railway the tremendous difficulty the brave
builders had to overcome was that caused by the numerous torrents, many
of them indeed splendid cascades, which pitched furiously down the steep
slopes, cutting deep gulches in the mountain-sides.

These had to be spanned by iron-girder bridges, or lofty wooden
trestles, whose construction called for the highest skill and the most
liberal outlay. The most remarkable of all was the one at Stony Creek--a
single arch of superb sweep, springing clear across a gorge but little
short of three hundred feet in dizzy depth.

When the boys came to it they thought it the most beautiful bridge they
had ever seen, and they halted a while to look down from its centre to
the foaming torrent beneath, and to have a little chat with one of the
section-men whose cabin stood at the western end.

"How did they ever manage to get that bridge across?" asked Arthur in a
tone of mingled wonder and admiration. "It looks to me as if the
builders must have been hung from balloons, or something like that."

The section-man laughed. He had small knowledge of balloons, but he knew
that they had not been called into requisition for the construction of
Stony Creek bridge.

"Oh, they managed it right enough, with false work, and all that; but,
look ye here, young strangers, how long do ye think it took them to put
that bridge up?"

Bruce studied the iron viaduct, as graceful as a spider's web, but as
strong and enduring as the crags which it united, for some moments in
silence, and then hazarded a guess.

"Three months at least," he said, feeling sure that he had kept well
within the mark.

The section-man slapped his thigh, and chuckled until he got quite
alarmingly red in the face, for he was inclined to aldermanic
proportions.

"Three months!" he exclaimed, and then, after another violent chuckle,
he repeated it, "_three months!_ and would ye believe me if I told you
it didn't fairly take _three days_?"

The boys suddenly found themselves between the horns of a dilemma. To
express incredulity would not only be a very rude proceeding in view of
their short acquaintance, but it might be a perilous one. The
section-man might be as ready with his cuffs as he was with his
chuckles.

Yet he had directly challenged them as to belief in his statement, and
they certainly could not conscientiously accept it without some further
explanation.

"It seems hardly possible," began Bruce cautiously, "but"--

"I knew ye wouldn't believe it at first," rejoined the section-man with
a fresh chuckle, for he was evidently enjoying this little bit of a
"gossip" very much, his opportunities for such social relaxation being
very limited at his lonely post; "but it's true all the same. Ye see,"
he went on, "there used to be one of the biggest and highest bits of
trestle in all the world across that there Stony Creek, and it was
costing a pile of money to keep in order, and to guard it from fire, so
the Company decided to tear it down and put an iron bridge in its place;
and now I'm telling you the God's truth, that great big trestle was
pitched out of the way and the new bridge all put together in its
place, and the trains were delayed not much more than twenty-four
hours!"

There was no doubting the man's sincerity, and marvellous as his story
seemed, the boys felt bound to believe it, yet Arthur had to ask one
more question.

"And how did they do it all so quickly?"

"Well, you see it was this way," was the ready answer. "Every bit of the
bridge, every girder, and bracket, and panel, and plate, had its number,
and every man knew just what pieces he had to handle, and what he was to
do with them, and they were all drilled aforehand, and so they went to
work just the same as so many soldiers, and not a slip did they make.
Oh, it was a fine job, and no mistake. It's not easy to beat the Company
when it means business."

The boys were quite convinced by this time, and having delayed as long
as they had intended, they thanked the section-man for his courtesy, and
continued their walk with an increased admiration for the company whose
extraordinary enterprise made such engineering achievements possible.

But they had not long left the bridge behind before a new wonder broke
upon them, to wit, the first of the snow-sheds.

These remarkable constructions, which might indeed be more fitly called
artificial tunnels, had been devised to save the railway from
destruction by the avalanches that all the way from Bear Creek to
Glacier are a fruitful source of danger in late winter and spring.

They were built of heavy squared timber, dove-tailed and bolted
together, backed by rock, and fitted into the mountain-side in such a
manner as to bid defiance to the most terrific "snow-slide" that could
possibly occur, because the roof of the tunnel formed a continuous line
with the slope of the mountain, so that the mass of snow would shoot
across it and plunge harmlessly into the valley below.

Never having seen anything of the kind before, the boys were at a loss
to fathom the purpose of the shed, but this did not daunt Arthur from
avowing his purpose to go through it.

They found the cool shade of the interior very grateful after the heat
of the sun, and were walking leisurely along, noting the tremendous
strength of the structure, and speculating as to its purpose, when a
thunderous sound in their rear warned them of the swift approach of the
train.

Yielding to a sudden impulse of fear, they both started to run, in the
hope of reaching the end of the snow-shed before the train overtook
them. Skipping two ties at every spring, they put forth an admirable
burst of speed, but it proved a vain effort.

The dark, heavily-timbered tunnel was far longer than they imagined, and
the train, coming on with an appalling roar, overhauled them with
unpitying rapidity.

"We can't beat it," gasped Arthur, his breath being pretty well spent.
"On which side shall we stop?"

Bruce looked to right and left. On the one side was the scarped rock, so
close to the track that there could be no safety there. On the other,
the sharply slanting side of the snow-shed.

"Let us get in there," he panted, pointing to a nook where two massive
beams made an angle.

Stopping short, they went down on their hands and knees in this refuge
just as the locomotive dashed by like a thunderbolt, sending out a jet
of steam that blinded them for an instant, and following it with a dense
volume of smoke that nearly suffocated them.

But that was all the harm it did them, and when the cars had all rolled
by, the boys crept out of their corner, and looked at one another,
laughing.

"Well, what a precious pair of fools we've been," said Arthur. "We were
in no danger at all, and instead of getting ourselves all out of breath
we might just as well have stayed where we were when we heard the train
first."

"Oh, we'll be wiser next time," responded Bruce, taking a philosophical
view of the matter.

"There'll be no next time, so far as I'm concerned," rejoined Arthur.
"The next one of these affairs we come to I intend to take an outside
ticket. It may not be quite so cool."

"But we won't miss any of the scenery," interjected Bruce, whose
appetite for fine views was insatiable.

After that, accordingly, whenever they came to a snow-shed,--and they
passed a good many of them before they were done with the Selkirk
Mountains,--they walked along the top, unless, as in some places, there
was an extra railway-track outside for summer use.

They were much struck with the abundant provision against fire in
connection with these sheds. At nearly every one of them a stream had
been captured on the mountain above, and led down by wooden channels so
as to run the whole length of the roof, and every day during the heat of
summer the section-men would drench the roof so that no spark would find
a ready reception there.

Between Stony Creek and Glacier Station, where they made a halt for the
day, the boys passed through the grandest scenery of all the route. The
gorge of Bear Creek deepened into a tremendous ravine, with Mount
Macdonald towering up on one side to the height of a full mile and a
quarter above the railway track, its base being but a stone's throw
distant, while it rose sheer into space, a bare, stupendous monument of
surpassing grandeur; on the other side of the ravine, and scarcely less
lofty, stood Hermit Mountain, to whose base the line clung carefully,
until through the majestic portal formed by these mighty mountains it
ventured into the famous Rogers' Pass, whereby the crossing of the
Selkirks was achieved.

Continuing on through this narrow valley, with mountain monarchs looking
down upon them at every turn, the boys presently reached Selkirk Summit,
an unimportant station, where they rested a few minutes, and then,
resuming their tramp, made no further halt until they arrived at Glacier
Station, a little before mid-day.

There was a good deal to be seen here, so they decided to remain
overnight at the very comfortable railway hotel provided for the
accommodation of tourists.

Dinner would be served upon the arrival of the west-bound train in the
course of an hour, and while waiting for it they amused themselves
playing with a brown bear which was chained to a post at the rear of the
hotel.

Being a very tame, good-humored creature, and only half-grown, the bear
had the range of a bit of lawn, so far as his chain would allow him, and
readily responded to the boys' overtures of friendliness.

They procured some pieces of biscuit and lumps of sugar from the hotel,
and were still engaged with their new acquaintance when the train rolled
into the station.

Among the passengers was a globe-trotting Englishman, duly attired in
knickerbockers, checked stockings, Norfolk jacket, and deer-stalker hat,
who came up to have a look at the bear before going in to dinner.

"Ah!" he drawled, regarding boys and bear through his monocle as though
they were all three of the same order of creation, "what a rum little
beggar, and quite harmless, of course? By Jove! but I must bring him
something after dinner."

Sure enough, as soon as he had finished his dinner he filled his pockets
with sugar lumps and sweet biscuit, and returned to the bear. The boys
were also on hand, and were rewarded by witnessing one of the most
ludicrous sights they ever beheld.

After emptying his pockets for the insatiable creature the Englishman
began to maul him about, and to try his strength, not noticing that this
proceeding brought him well within the circle round which the bear had
ranged.

Indeed, he was not far from the post when the conductor's "All aboard"
summoned him back to his place on the train. Exclaiming "By Jove! I must
cut and run for it," he let go of the bear and started for the train.

But Master Bruin had found him quite too generous and genial an
acquaintance to be willing to part with him so hurriedly, and
accordingly, as the Englishman turned to leave him, he rose suddenly on
his hind legs, and threw his fore-paws around the man's waist.

Somewhat startled by this unexpected demonstration, and fearful of
missing the train, the Englishman strove to wrench himself free, and,
after a momentary struggle, succeeded.

But, alas! the bear's claws had sunk too deeply into the soft cloth of
the knickerbockers to be readily loosened, and as the creature, not, of
course, with any malignant intent, but simply in affectionate zeal, held
on the more tightly, the consequence that was inevitable ensued.

There was a sound of rending cloth, a volley of by no means edifying
oaths from the Englishman, a chorus of uncontrollable laughter from the
many spectators, and then, with the whole back of his breeches left in
the bear's possession, as some consolation maybe for this unceremonious
leave-taking, the unfortunate tourist dashed madly down the slope,
across the platform, and disappeared in the Pullman car.

The two boys, whose proximity to this most comical scene had given them
a perfect understanding of it, threw themselves down on the grass and
fairly rolled over one another in paroxysms of laughter. The broad humor
of the whole affair was perfect in its completeness, and it was some
time before they regained composure.

Then Arthur went up to the bear, who, after pawing over the fragment of
cloth left in his possession in a puzzled way, had evidently come to
the conclusion that he had no use for it, and, patting the animal on the
head, said effusively:

"Oh, Brownie, you did that to perfection! It was the funniest thing I
ever saw in my life."

Whereupon Brownie, seeming much pleased at the compliment, rubbed his
nose lovingly against the boys' hands, and they had a good time of it
together.

But the bear was not the main attraction at this station. Only a mile
and a half away, the great Glacier showed white and vast above the thick
green forest between it and the hotel, and a visit to this wonder--whose
bulk was said to be equal to that of all the Swiss glaciers
combined--was to be the business of the afternoon.

It was a comparatively easy matter getting to the foot of the Glacier,
for a good path led through the forest, along which the boys could walk
at their ease.

But when they reached the terminal moraine, their difficulties began.
Here were piled in riotous confusion a multitude of bowlders of all
shapes and sizes that the irresistible might of the icy monster had torn
from the mountain-side, and carried down with its slow advance.

Over these bowlders, many of them smooth and slippery, and across the
numerous torrents that got their vigorous life from the Glacier's decay,
the boys had to pick their way with exceeding care.

More than once they narrowly escaped a nasty fall, and Arthur did, by a
sudden slip, plunge one foot into an ice-cold bath.

This, however, was the worst that happened to them ere they reached the
fore-foot of the Great Glacier, and, after a brief rest, ventured upon
its ascent.




CHAPTER XVII.

DOWN THE GLACIER AND INTO THE CAÑON.


Not having provided themselves with crampons or ice-sticks, both of
which they could have obtained at the hotel for the asking, the boys
were in no wise fitted out for climbing glaciers, and their enterprise
was a foolhardy one, had they known it.

But of this they had no suspicion, and there was no one at hand to warn
them, so, without taking much thought about it, they began the ascent.

At first they had not much difficulty. The lowest portion of the Glacier
was, of course, the oldest, and the ice which composed it was seamed and
scored with cracks and wrinkles which afforded good foothold for the
boys' feet, and enabled them to make promising progress.

"Why, it isn't so hard as I thought it would be," cried Arthur
exultantly. "We shall be able to get right up on to that beautiful white
place, and see the whole glacier, shan't we?"

"It looks like it," said Bruce, "and I shall be very glad if we do, for
I should like to see the view from there. It must be very fine."

The higher up they climbed the more difficult became the work, for they
came to fresher ice, and their feet were prone to slip, still the slope
was comparatively slight, and by digging their heels in well, and not
pressing on too fast, they continued to progress.

But presently, after they had ascended some hundreds of feet, they came
to a place beyond which Bruce's caution would not allow him to go. The
slope grew suddenly steep, and what he feared was that even if they
should succeed in getting up some part of the way, a slip of the foot
might send them sliding back again at imminent risk of broken bones.

Arthur did not want to stop. He quoted some verses of "Excelsior" as
illustrating his spirit, and vowed he would go on alone. An argument
ensued which soon waxed warm enough to endanger the happy relation which
had hitherto existed, and which Arthur brought to a close by exclaiming
in a tone of mingled indignation and content:

"You're just a coward, Bruce! You're always thinking of your precious
neck, and afraid of its being broken. You can stay where you are, and
watch me, if you daren't come along," and then he continued the climb.

Bruce's face blanched, and then flushed. Hot, stinging words of retort
sprang to his lips, but by a heroic effort he held them back, and stood
in silence, the same power of self-control which had closed his mouth
enabling him to resist the temptation to respond to his companion's
challenge.

For a little distance Arthur, by dint of digging his toes deeply into
the crumbling ice, managed to make headway, and feeling proud of his
success, he glanced back to see what Bruce was doing.

That moment both feet slipped from under him, and falling over on his
back in a frantic effort to recover his standing, he glissaded down the
slippery slope, gathering speed with every yard, until he carromed
violently against Bruce, who had stood his ground hoping to stop him.

Then a curious thing happened. The collision did check Arthur
sufficiently to enable him to get his fingers into a convenient crack,
and thus bring himself to a full stop. But the headway he had acquired
transmitted itself to poor Bruce, who, all unwillingly, was sent
spinning down the slope towards the foot of the glacier, while Arthur
watched him with helpless horror and concern.

"Oh, Bruce, Bruce!" he cried, "can't you stop yourself?"

The question seemed superfluous. Short of a miracle no chance appeared
of Bruce's swift descent being checked, in spite of his frantic
endeavors to find something to grasp with his eager hands, until he was
dashed against the pitiless bowlders at the glacier's foot.

Reckless of consequences to himself, Arthur began to scramble down the
treacherous slope in the wake of his chum without any definite plan for
helping him, but determined to share his fate, whatever that might be.

Now, it happened that a hump in the ice changed the course of Bruce's
descent and sent him off to the left, where there was a kind of hollow
half-filled with water.

As he was going down feet first he could not see what was before him,
and knew nothing of this icy bath until he plunged into it with a splash
that sent the water flying up on all sides.

The sensation was far from pleasant, yet that pool of water undoubtedly
saved him from injury, if not from death, for it acted as an effectual
check upon his perilous slide, and he was able to bring himself to a
full stop on its farther edge.

Arthur noticed this with a joyful relief, and changing his direction,
took a coast down towards the pool that carried him right into it, so
that he got nearly as wet as his companion.

But he recked nothing of this. Bruce was safe, and that was all he
cared, and he felt so glad about it that he threw his arms about him and
gave him a great hug, while saying, in a voice that had more than a hint
of a sob in it:

"You're all right, aren't you, Bruce? and I'm so sorry for acting as I
did."

"Well, I'm not much hurt, but I'm pretty wet, and so are you, for that
matter," responded Bruce, shaking himself to get rid of some of the
superfluous water. "But," he added cheerfully, "it might have been ever
so much worse, and we mustn't grumble, but get back to the hotel as
quickly as possible."

The remainder of the descent of the glacier was safely accomplished, and
once across the troublesome moraine, they raced back to the hotel, where
they had to go to bed until their clothes were dried, as they had no
change of garments with them.

They did not mind this, however, for they were both very tired, and the
long rest quite fell in with their inclinations, so that they stayed
between the sheets till early the following morning.

After breakfast they were idling about the station, not being in any
hurry to set out again, when a hand-car came down from the Rogers' Pass
with two men on board and stopped at the station.

Remembering the pleasant trip they had enjoyed on the other side of the
Laggan, the boys looked at the car with longing eyes, and when the men,
after a brief talk with the station-master, resumed their places. Arthur
made bold to speak to them.

"Would you mind taking us with you as far as you're going?" he asked in
a most beseeching tone.

The men grinned and glanced at each other.

"Take you to Illecilliwaet for a quarter a piece," said one of them
curtly.

"All right," responded Arthur, springing on to the car. "Come along,
Bruce," and in a trice they were both seated on the front edge of the
platform as composedly as if they belonged there.

The men started the car immediately, but that was all they had to do,
for once they were beyond the level stretch in front of the station
their business was to check its speed rather than to increase it, and
they gave their attention to the brakes instead of to the "pump."

As it chanced, the boys could not have chosen a finer bit of the road to
traverse on a hand-car, for they were about to make the descent of the
famous Loops, the most remarkable piece of engineering on the whole
route, by means of which the extraordinary difficulties here presented
by nature were successfully surmounted.

The Loops began around the mountain-side, and as the car whirled swiftly
down the gleaming rails, turning now to the right and again to the left,
rattling over long and lofty trestles, and across strongly timbered
bridges, the boys were astonished to see that their course was much like
that of the well-remembered Corkscrew on Tunnel Mountain, only on a
greatly enlarged scale.

First crossing a valley leading down from the Ross Peak glacier and
touching for a moment the base of Ross Peak, the line doubled back upon
itself a mile or more to the right, until hardly a stone's throw
separated the two tracks; then sweeping around to the left, it brushed
Cougar Mountain on the other side of the Illecilliwaet river, and,
crossing again to the left, went on down the valley, parallel with its
former course.

"Look, Arthur, look!" exclaimed Bruce, as the car spun around the final
curve; "that's the way we came down. Isn't it wonderful?"

It did indeed seem wonderful, for far above them were two long gashes in
the mountain-side showing plainly against the splintered crags, and
running parallel to each other, that were the handiwork of man,
indicating where he had ventured to build the iron road down which the
car had swiftly sped.

The ride over the Loops was a memorable experience. Seated comfortably
at the front of the hand-car, and having absolutely nothing to do but to
hold on and gaze about them, the boys were enabled to enjoy it all to
perfection. So smoothly and steadily did the car roll along that they
took no thought of the distance traversed, and when they reached the end
of the descent, and ran into Illecilliwaet Station, they were no less
surprised than sorry.

"I wish we could do it all over again," said Arthur, after they had paid
and thanked the section-men. "It didn't last half long enough."

"That's so," responded Bruce. "But it was splendid while it did last."
Then, glancing back over the way they had come, he added with a quiet
smile, "But just think, Arthur, what a job it would be working back
again! I'm afraid it would take us as many hours as we were minutes
coasting down."

Arthur shook his head very decisively. Such an undertaking had no
attraction for him, even to walk up that steep grade would have more
than contented him.

Losing no time at Illecilliwaet, they kept on until they reached Albert
Cañon, the most striking of several deep fissures in the mountain whose
edges the track skirted.

Here they halted for a good look at this remarkable rift in the solid
rock, many hundreds of feet deep, and at the bottom holding the river
within such narrow limits that it boiled and foamed like a caldron as it
forced its way through into larger space.

As they stood near the edge of the chasm, Bruce challenged Arthur to a
contest in stone-throwing. The other side of the cañon seemed within
easy range, and there was plenty of small stones lying at hand.

"Do you think you could throw a stone across there?" said Bruce,
indicating the widest part of the chasm.

"Of course I could," answered Arthur confidently, "I believe I could
jerk one over," and he stooped to pick up a stone.

"Don't be too sure," rejoined Bruce. "The distance is greater than it
seems."

They had some difficulty in finding just what they wanted, but soon were
suited, and after Arthur had made a couple of vain attempts to jerk a
stone across they both threw with all their might.

To their great chagrin the missiles fell short, Bruce's hitting the
cliff far down, and Arthur's not going even that distance.

This naturally roused them to greater efforts, and in his eagerness to
accomplish the feat Bruce forgot his wonted caution, and went so near
the edge of the cliff where it was scaly and soft that a piece of it
broke away beneath him, and with a wild cry of fright he disappeared.

Arthur had his back turned at the moment, being engaged in looking for a
stone, but, hearing the cry, he wheeled around just as Bruce's head
vanished.

Uttering an exclamation of horror he rushed to the spot, fearing nothing
less than the sight of his companion falling headlong into the boiling
torrent far below.

But, happily, Bruce's case, though desperate enough, was not so hopeless
as that. By a marvellous piece of good fortune his fall had been
arrested by a stunted spruce tree which was making a brave struggle for
life on a narrow ledge, and he was clinging to this precarious hold with
the strength that is born of despair.

"Oh, Bruce!" cried Arthur, with a sob of relief, "can you hold on there
till I help you up?"

"I can hold on all right," was the calm reply, for in spite of his
appalling situation the boy had not lost his self-control, "but I'm not
so sure about this little tree. Get help as quick as you can."

Arthur looked around with anxious eyes. Bruce was too far down to be
reached without a rope or a long pole, and neither was at hand. He hated
to leave him for an instant, but he must do it if he would help him.

"Hold on tight, Bruce, dear, and I'll try and hunt up something," he
said, and darted back to the railway track.

Not a human being was in sight, nor could his sharp eyes discover
anything to suit his purpose. His anxiety was intense. He was desperate
enough to attempt the impossible, if it would do poor Bruce any good.

A little way up the track there was a railed platform erected by the
railway company to enable the passengers to get a good view of Albert
Cañon, the trains always stopping a few minutes for that purpose.

The sight of this gave Arthur an idea. Darting to it he strove to wrench
off the rail. It would not budge. But he was not to be foiled. Taking a
short run he hurled himself against it with all his force. His shoulder
got a cruel bruise, but his expedient succeeded. With a crash the rail
broke away from the posts, and, shouting for joy, Arthur dragged it over
to the chasm, calling out:

"I've got it, Bruce! I've got it!"

The rail was amply long, and letting go his hold on the tree, which,
indeed, could not have borne him many moments longer, Bruce grasped it
firmly and strove to pull himself up.

But now a new peril presented itself. The side of the cliff was too
perpendicular to allow him to get any sort of a purchase for his feet,
while Arthur had not strength enough to pull him up to the top, Bruce
being much the heavier of the two.

All that poor Arthur could do was to keep Bruce suspended against the
cliff side, and this for but a few minutes, the strain being too great
to be longer endured.

Neither of the boys spoke, but they looked into each other's face with a
pitiful expression of passionate anxiety.

Arthur's strength was waning, and it seemed as if he would have to let
go, or himself share his companion's doom, when there broke upon his
ears the whistle of an approaching train.

"Hurrah, Bruce!" he gasped, for he was well-nigh exhausted, "there's a
train coming. Keep your grip, and you're all right."




CHAPTER XVIII.

THE END OF THE TRAMP.


It was well for both boys that the passenger trains made a rule of
pausing at Albert Cañon, since to this circumstance alone did Bruce owe
his escape from an awful death that would have thrown a dark shadow over
Arthur's life.

The moment the locomotive appeared Arthur began to shout for help, and
soon the brakemen and conductor were running towards him.

They did not require the situation to be explained. They took it in at a
glance, and relieving the exhausted boy of the strain he had borne so
nobly, and encouraging Bruce to hold on "like the ----," they drew him
up slowly and carefully to the top of the cliff, where he sank down at
their feet limp, and almost fainting.

The passengers quickly gathered about, and many were the questions which
Arthur had to answer, and very hearty the congratulations showered upon
both boys at the fortunate termination of their adventure.

Being too wearied for further walking that day, the boys boarded the
train ere it started again, and went with it as far as Sicamous
Junction, which they reached shortly after sundown, remaining there for
the night.

Thoroughly set up again by a good night's rest they took to the road in
good time, and for the following two days had most delightful walking
along the south shore of the great Shuswap Lake.

This superb sheet of water, which, as Bruce aptly said, was just like a
Scotch loch magnified many times, lay among mountain ridges, filling the
intervening valleys with its placid, pellucid waters, and the builders
of the railway had thought it more economical to run around the numerous
arms than to bridge them.

The road, therefore, turned and twisted like a mighty serpent, but
always had the lake on the one side and the mountain on the other, and
the view was ever changing, as point after point was rounded and new
vistas opened up.

The boys did not hurry. Twice each day they halted for a bathe in the
inviting water, and frequently they came upon flocks of wild ducks,
which they amused themselves by scaring with stones, sending them off
with a wild whirr of beating wings.

They were always able to obtain some sort of a meal when they got
hungry, and they met a good many people by the way with whom they would
stop and chat for a little while.

And so they came to Shuswap Station, where, to save time, for they now
had not many days left, they took the train as far as Savona's, thus
getting through the Thompson valley, where the scenery was least
remarkable, at a rate that left them more time for the wonders which
were to follow.

Just beyond Savona's the mountains drew close to the railway, and the
series of Thompson-river cañons was entered, which led westward through
marvellous scenery.

Their first day's tramp ended at Ashcroft, a busy little town, which was
the point of departure for the Cariboo and other goldfields in the
northern interior of British Columbia.

Here they were much interested by the big freight wagons, drawn by six,
eight, or even ten span of sturdy oxen, which took the place of the
railway train over the difficult mountain roads; and where there was no
road at all, but merely a trail, the patient, sure-footed mules bearing
heavy packs went in long trains which were made up at Ashcroft.

And then there were the Chinamen, met with for the first time in
numbers, who worked away as busy as bees, and quite as oblivious of the
curiosity with which the two boys studied them.

"They're funny little fellows, Bruce, aren't they?" said Arthur, after
watching their ceaseless activity, and listening to their
incomprehensible chatter. "They don't seem to be quite the same kind of
beings as we are. They're more like some sort of educated monkeys."

Bruce laughed, for a similar train of thought had been running through
his mind.

"I must say I don't feel much inclined to call them my brothers," he
responded. "Although, of course, they are all the same. But they know
how to work, don't they, and to talk, too? Wouldn't you like to be able
to make out what they're saying to each other? Perhaps they're making
remarks on us."

"I'd be inclined to pound their pig-tailed heads if I thought so,"
exclaimed Arthur with assumed indignation. "Come along, or they'll think
we're admiring them."

Leaving Ashcroft the boys kept on steadily, and presently came to Black
Cañon, a winding gorge cut by the Thompson river, of almost terrifying
gloom and desolation, by which they were reminded of Albert Cañon.

The marvellous skill and daring shown by the builders of the road in
combating with the tremendous difficulties of this cañon, called forth
their constant admiration. They felt glad they were on foot, if only to
get a full view of what had to be done to make a smooth, solid highway.

Emerging from the cañon they saw before them, arising rank upon rank,
and peak upon peak, the glistening pinnacles of the Cascade Range, the
last mountain barrier between them and the Pacific Ocean, and they gave
a loud hurrah, and waved their caps at the sight, for they were growing
weary of their long journey.

A little beyond Black Cañon they got their first sight of the famous old
wagon-road built in the days of the Cariboo gold rush to connect the
mining camp with the coast, and as soon as Arthur's eyes fell upon it he
exclaimed:

"Look here, Bruce, let us take that road. It will be ever so much better
fun than this tiresome track. Don't you think so?"

Bruce looked long and carefully at the road. It certainly had an
attractive appearance, as it wound along the rocky bank of the rushing
stream, and, knowing nothing of its ruinous condition farther on, he
said:

"All right, Arthur. We can try it for a while, anyway, and if we don't
like it, we can come back to the track by one of the bridges."

So they deserted the railway for the road, and were delighted with the
change, the old highway, although considerably the worse for wear and
neglect, still affording excellent walking, even if entirely unfit for
the four-horse coach that used to be driven over it at a reckless rate
in by-gone days.

The scenery of this part of the Thompson valley was full of interest.
The river whirled down its winding course as green as an emerald, when
not lashed into snowy foam, and on either side of it the hills were
carved into infinite variety of form, and decked with constantly
changing colors.

Sometimes the banks were rounded cream-white slopes; then came cliffs
of richest yellow dashed with maroon, followed by masses of rust-red
clay or slopes of brilliant olive-green grass.

As the mountains drew together, and the valley deepened into another
cañon, the scenery grew wild beyond description, so that the boys
marvelled at men having the daring to run a wagon road, not to speak of
a railway, through such a place.

Yet there, just across the gorge, was the iron highway cut into the face
of the crags hundreds of feet above the struggling river, and by means
of tunnels bored through the solid rock, or iron bridges flung across
yawning ravines, or abutments of massive masonry so securely fastened to
the cliffs as to become part of itself, overcoming every obstacle stern
nature had presented.

Nor was the road upon which they were walking much less worthy of
admiration. Twisting and turning around the corners of the cliffs it
sometimes descended to the river's edge, and then climbed again far up
the inhospitable crags, seeming rather to beg its way along rather than
force it, as did the railway.

No portion of their long tramp made so deep an impression upon the boys
as this, and had they not been so near the end of their time limit they
would gladly have lingered over it instead of pressing on.

At the small trading town of Lytton, whose population seemed to consist
chiefly of Indians and ranchmen, they put up for the night, and the
next morning's walk took them into the famous Fraser Cañon, where that
greatest of British Columbian rivers, coming down from the north between
two great lines of mountain peaks, had cut for itself a strangely jagged
and contorted passage through the rocky barrier.

The clear green waters of the Thompson were exchanged for the turbulent
yellow flood of the Fraser, which surged and splashed its way downward
with fearful velocity.

"Not much temptation to take a swim here," said Bruce, as he stood
watching the furious torrent from a projecting point. "I suppose Captain
Boynton himself could not live in it many minutes."

"And to think that it's going as hard as that all the year round," said
Arthur musingly. "How tired you would get of its everlasting noise if
you had to live close to it! I'm sure I couldn't stand it for a week."

"Oh, you'd get used to it in a little while," said Bruce, "and then it
would be a sweet lullaby for you, to sing you to sleep. Don't you
remember how delightful it was at Banff to have the water-fall just
below our window?"

"Oh, yes, but that was very different," responded Arthur. "There was
music in that water-fall, but there's none in this tremendous roar."

They were close by the river as they talked, but soon the road mounted
again, and went on climbing higher and higher, until at length it
reached an altitude of a thousand feet above the yellow flood, being
fastened to the face of a gigantic precipice by succession of timber
trestles that were fast rotting away, rendering extreme care necessary
in passing over them.

Their attention was now attracted by small parties of Indians stationed
on projecting rocks at the waters edge, and spearing or scooping out
with dip-nets the salmon which abounded in the eddies.

"That's a funny way to catch salmon, isn't it?" said Arthur. "I wonder
if we could do anything at it."

"I'm quite sure we couldn't," responded Bruce so decidedly that it
nettled Arthur sufficiently to make him reply:

"Well, if you are, I'm not. It doesn't seem so very difficult."

"If you think so, you'd better try it for yourself," rejoined Bruce,
with a smile.

"So I will if one of the Indians will lend me his scoop-net," retorted
Arthur. "I'll ask them, at all events;" and so saying he made his way
down to where a stumpy, swarthy Indian was balancing himself in what
seemed a very perilous position upon a point of rock, and sweeping the
boiling whirlpool below him with a large scoop-net at the end of a long,
elastic pole.

Arthur watched his dexterous movements for some little time in silent
admiration before he plucked up courage to proffer his request. Then he
said in a humble, hesitating voice, for the Indian had anything but a
prepossessing appearance:

"Would you please lend me your scoop-net for a few minutes? I want to
see if I could catch a salmon with it."

The Indian's only response was to give Arthur a suspicious, searching
look, and with an expressive "Ugh!" to resume his fishing operations.

This put rather a damper upon Arthur's ardor, but when he saw the
brown-skinned fisherman deftly land a big salmon he was stirred up to a
second attempt to get the scoop-net into his own hands.

This time he bethought himself of trying the effect of money as an
argument, and putting a quarter of a dollar in his palm, held it out,
saying:

"I'll give you this if you'll lend me your net."

The aborigine's eyes sparkled in their circle of dirt like stars in an
ebony sky, and, making a quick snatch at the quarter, he thrust the pole
into Arthur's hands, grunting out:

"Take him--try little while; all right."

Arthur grasped the pole, his cheek flushing, and his eyes flashing with
excitement, and, taking the Indian's place, plunged the net into the
foaming eddy fifteen feet or more beneath him.

It was no easy task to balance upon that narrow, jagged point of rock,
and to sweep the swirling waters with the big scoop-net, which became
so heavy the moment it sank beneath the surface.

But when, by a strange freak of fortune, two heavy salmon were enmeshed
simultaneously, and the strain upon the slender pole became so great,
that the Indian, fearing for the precious apparatus by which he got his
livelihood, sprang forward to Arthur's assistance, the rashness of the
boy's undertaking was manifest.

The Indian, grown expert through long practice, would have landed both
salmon without much difficulty, but the achievement was one beyond
Arthur's powers, and it would have been better for him if he had given
it up at once, and resigned the pole to its owner.

To do that, however, was not according to his nature. His blood was up,
and he would at least make a brave attempt at the feat.

In spite of Bruce's warning cry, "Take care, Arthur, let the Indian have
it," he took a firmer grasp upon the pole, and, thinking he saw better
footing on a projection slightly below him, tried to leap down to it.

Just at that moment the salmon gave a violent bounce in the net,
sufficient to impart a twist to Arthur that made him miss the projection
with one foot.

Encumbered as he was he could not regain his balance with the other, and
down he went into the whirlpool, just missing by a hair's breadth
smashing his skull against the ragged edge of a shattered bowlder.

Both Bruce and the Indian uttered cries of horror at the sudden
accident. The latter, perhaps, thought more of the scoop-net than he did
of the boy, but as they were equally imperilled he was no less eager
than Bruce to effect a rescue.

Poor Arthur had disappeared completely at the first plunge, and the
waters were so turbid, as well as turbulent, that there seemed small
chance of his reappearing.

Indeed, full half a minute of harrowing suspense passed before there was
any sign of the boy. Then his hand showed above the gray foam, followed
by his pale, frightened face, and he gave a faint cry for help.

With a sure-footed agility, such as no white man could have shown, the
Indian had already leaped down to the edge of the eddy, and by a happy
chance just at that moment the long handle of the scoop-net, having been
let go by Arthur, swung toward him.

He made a gallant dash for it, and caught it cleverly, his face lighting
up with manifest relief as he drew it in.

Seeing this gave Bruce an idea.

"Reach it to him! reach it to him!" he shrieked at the top of his voice

For a moment the Indian hesitated. He had already run one risk of losing
his scoop-net. Would he take another even to save a white boy's life?

But the hesitation was only momentary. Relieving the net of its finny
captives by one quick turn he thrust it out again into the midst of the
eddy, where Arthur's head was just showing as he battled mightily for
his life.

The drowning lad felt the touch of the iron hoop and seized it with the
grip of despair. Very carefully, just as though the net had won its
usual prize, the Indian drew it in, and thus was Arthur brought safely
to land, ere the merciless flood of the Fraser could add him to its long
list of victims.

But he had not been permitted to get off unscathed. When he slipped from
the little shelf of rock upon which he had endeavored to jump he
wrenched his right ankle so badly that he could not put his foot to the
ground, and in the struggle with the whirlpool his head had come in
contact with a jagged rock, causing a nasty cut close to his left
temple.

Thus disabled, it was with no little difficulty that Bruce and the
Indian succeeded in helping him back to the road, and when that was
accomplished a fresh problem presented itself for solution.

How was the remainder of the tramp to be accomplished? Arthur was
suffering too severely in his head to make any further progress that
day, even had he been able to walk. He must rest until morning, anyway,
and then--?

The disused road along which they had been making their way was in worse
condition from this point on than it had been hitherto. In fact, in many
places it practically disappeared, leaving hardly a trace of its former
existence. No conceivable kind of a conveyance, had such been
procurable, could be used over it. The most sure-footed of mountain
mules would have found it a critical task to proceed along it with
anything of a load.

While Arthur was drying himself as best he could before a fire made by
the Indian, Bruce deeply pondered over the situation, and at length came
to this conclusion:

They would remain at the Indian's camp that night. Squalid and repellent
as the accommodation was, they must needs make the best of it. Then in
the morning they would resume their journey, engaging two Indians to
help Arthur along as far as the suspension bridge at Spuzzum, where they
could cross the river, and get the train at the station.

Bruce had just got this program mapped out when a question from Arthur
aroused him to the sense of a new course of concern.

"What day is it the steamer leaves Vancouver for Shanghai?" he asked.

"On Friday, according to the time-table," replied Bruce.

"And this is Thursday. Why, look here, Bruce, we've got to catch the
train to-morrow morning, or we'll run a good chance of missing the
steamer," said Arthur, an expression of anxiety coming into his face.

"That's so!" cried Bruce, springing to his feet; "and if we miss this
steamer we shall have to wait a whole month, and that would be
dreadful."

The boys looked anxiously into each other's faces as the full difficulty
of their situation became manifest to them.

By the time-table which Bruce had in his pocket the train for Vancouver
would pass Spuzzum at eight o'clock in the morning, and Spuzzum was on
the other side of the cañon, full ten miles farther on.

Arthur was the first to speak.

"Bruce," said he in a resolute tone that was at marked variance with his
haggard look, "we must catch that train."

"But how is it to be managed?" asked Bruce, with a glance at his
companion's swollen ankle and bandaged head.

"There is only one way," responded Arthur. "We must hire a couple of
Indians to help me, and get along just as fast as possible, and we must
start at daybreak."

"You're right," assented Bruce, after a moment's reflection. "It's the
only way it can be done, and now you must rest as comfortably as you can
for the night."

There was not much comfort to be had in that squalid, dirty Indian camp,
but Bruce made the most of what there was, and spent nearly the whole
night applying cold water to Arthur's ankle so as to reduce the swelling
and inflammation, in which he succeeded remarkably well.

With the dawn of the day they began their toilsome journey, the offer of
a dollar apiece having quickly secured the services of two sturdy
Indians, who agreed to act as crutches for poor crippled Arthur, and
help him on with the utmost possible speed.

If ever the resolution, endurance, and courage of two boys was put to
the test, it was during that fearful journey in the cool, calm hours of
the early autumn morning.

The condition of the old ruined road was bad beyond description. At best
it was sufficiently rough and stone-strewn to give trouble to the
stoutest pedestrian. But in many places it had been altogether carried
away by winter avalanches and spring slides, leaving only a treacherous
slope of _débris_ to serve as a means of passage.

Here it was necessary to descend right to the edge of the roaring,
foaming torrent, and there to ascend high above it, and then, maybe, to
cross a deep gorge on a trembling bridge the rotten timbers of which
threatened to break asunder at every step.

[Illustration: "THUS TOILING PAINFULLY, THE MILES WERE ONE BY ONE
OVERCOME."]

And through all this Arthur could put only one foot to the ground,
having to lean heavily upon his human crutches on the level places, and
allow himself to be practically carried by them over the bad spots,
Bruce being ever prompt to bear a hand when his help would be of
service.

What Arthur endured cannot readily be described, nor could it have been
estimated from his own actions. Bent upon getting to Spuzzum before the
train, he bore all the strain and suffering with a degree of composure
that was simply heroic, only now and then would some specially acute
pang extract from him a groan, and yet, in response to Bruce's
affectionately anxious inquiry, he would always manage to say cheerily:

"Oh, I'm all right. It does hurt a bit, you know. But I'll not give in."

And he was as good as his word.

Thus toiling painfully yet persistently onward, the miles were one by
one overcome, and at last a glad shout from Bruce, who had gone on ahead
a little, announced that the suspension bridge at Spuzzum was in sight,
while nearly an hour of their time still remained.

Pressing forward they soon reached the bridge, which indeed was in
little better condition than the road had been.

But they did not stop to consider chances of injury now. Creeping along
the side supports where the platform was broken away, hanging on by
their eyelids almost at one or two points, they succeeded in effecting a
safe crossing.

Then came the rush for the station. Summoning all his strength for one
final effort, Arthur bravely hopped along with the aid of his dusky
supporters, and reached the station platform just as the engine appeared
around the point not fifty yards away.

It was a narrow victory, but it was sufficient. The Indians were paid
and thanked, the boys clambered into the car, and Bruce had just time to
get Arthur to a seat when the poor lad, exhausted as he had never been
in his life before, collapsed in a faint.

But he soon recovered from this, and was able to share with Bruce the
enjoyment of the wonderful scenery which marked the remainder of the run
through the Fraser Cañon, the great river being forced between vertical
walls of sullen sombreness, where, repeatedly thrown back upon itself by
opposing cliffs, or broken by ponderous masses of fallen rock, it foamed
out its fury with unceasing thunder.

The railway was cut into the side of the cliffs two hundred feet or more
above the raging torrent, and the jutting spurs of rock were pierced by
tunnels that followed so fast upon one another that the boys got tired
counting them.

On through the morning the train sped, flying past Yale, the head of
navigation on the Fraser river, and Port Moody, which once hoped to be
the ocean terminus of the road, and at last coming to a full stop at the
fine new city of Vancouver, which marked the end of its transcontinental
journey.

The railway station was on the pier, to the outer side of which the
superb white steamship "Empress of China" lay moored, and the boys had
only to cross the wharf in order to change their quarters.

Having helped Arthur aboard, Bruce bustled about, looking after their
luggage, which was found intact, and seeing to the securing of
staterooms, and so forth, in all of which he found the president's
letter of immense assistance.

That afternoon the stately steamer began her voyage to the far Orient,
and as the boys sat on the upper deck watching the Canadian shore
recede, they were glad that their long tramp was over, but gladder still
that in the main they had so faithfully adhered to their program, and
that they had so interesting a story to tell to their parents anxiously
awaiting them beyond the broad Pacific.


[The end of _The Boy Tramps, or Across Canada_ by James Macdonald Oxley]