al passenger-agent
whom he had met at a convention told him about that wilderness gem,
and lauded it with a certain attractiveness of detail that made
Jerrard anxious to test the veracity of New England railroad men,
whose "fishin'-story" folders he had always doubted with professional
scepticism.

The journey by rail was a long one, and it afforded leisure for so much
cogitation that when Jerrard napped he dreamed that the ends of his
nerves were nailed to his desk back in the P. K. & R. general offices,
and that as he proceeded he was unreeling them as a spider spins its
thread.

When he left the train at Sunkhaze station he was still worrying as to
whether the assistant traffic-manager would be able to beat the O. & O.
road on the grain contract. In thinking it over about a month later it
occurred to him that he had dropped all outside affairs right there on
that station platform.

In the first place the mosquitoes and black flies were waiting. He had
never seen or felt black flies before. He would have scouted the idea
that there were insects no bigger than pinheads that in five minutes
would have his face streaming with blood.

"They do just love the taste of city sports," said the guide. "We old
sanups ain't much of a delicacy 'long side of such as you. Here, let
me put this on." He daubed the white face of the city man with an
evil-smelling compound of tar and oil.

Jerrard's mind was rapidly freeing itself from transportation worries.
Then came the long paddle across Spinnaker Lake, with only the
unfamiliar insecurity of a canoe beneath him, and after that the
six-mile Poquette carry.

By this time Jerrard had forgotten the P. K. & R. entirely.

The canoe and duffel went across the carry slung upon a set of wheels.
Jerrard rode in the low-backed middle seat of a muddy buck-board.

The wheels ran against boulders, grated off with indignant "chuckering"
of axle-boxes, hobbled over stumps and plowed through "honey-pots" of
mud.

"For goodness' sake," gasped Jerrard, holding desperately to the seat,
"why don't you get into the road?"

The driver, a French-Canadian turned and displayed an appreciative grin.

"Eet ban de ro'd vat you saw de re," he explained, pointing his whip to
the thoroughfare they were pursuing.

"This a road?" demanded Jerrard, with indignation.

"Oui, eet ban a tote-road."

"I never heard of this kind before," ejaculated Jerrard, between bumps,
"but the name 'road' ought not t