he murmured.

"That's all right, old fellow," replied Peter; and then he gave a
sudden start.

"The canoe!"

In the excitement over Fred's rescue they had entirely forgotten it.
It had drifted downstream. If lost or destroyed they would be left
stranded in the wilderness--almost as hopelessly as castaways at sea.

Without another word Mac began to run at full speed down the bank in
the deepening twilight. If the canoe had drifted right down the
stream, he might never have overtaken it, but luckily he came upon it
within a mile, lying stranded and capsized. By the greatest good luck,
too, it was not ruined. It had several bruises and a strip of the rail
was split off, but it was still water-tight.

The next morning Fred was fairly recovered of his hurts, but felt weak
and dizzy, so that not much progress was made. During the whole
forenoon they remained in camp. Horace went hunting with the shotgun
and got a couple of ducks. None of them felt much inclined for any
more fishing in that almost fatal spot.

On the following day, however, Fred was able to take his share of the
work again, and the party proceeded. That day and many days after were
much alike. They tracked the canoe up long stretches of rough water,
where two of them had to wade alongside in order to keep it from going
over. They made back-breaking portages over places where they had to
hew out a trail for a quarter of a mile. At night when they rolled
themselves into their blankets they were too tired to talk. But the
hard training they had undergone before they started showed its results
now. Although they were dead tired at night, they were always ready
for the day's work in the morning. They suffered no ill effects from
their wettings in the river, and their appetites were enormous.

The supplies, especially of bacon and flour, decreased alarmingly.
Although signs of game were abundant, they did not like to lose time in
hunting until they reached the prospecting grounds; but a couple of
days later meat came to them. They had reached the foot of the worst
rapid they had yet encountered. It was a veritable cascade, for the
river, narrowing between walls of rock, leaped and roared over fifty
yards of boulders. The portage led up a rather steep slope. The three
boys, each heavily burdened, were struggling along in single file, when
Horace, who was in front, suddenly sank flat, and with his hand
cautioned the others to be silent.

"S