Sir Alexander Mackenzie himself couldn't have
beat that a hundred years ago."

II

THE SCOWS

"Well, well, young gentlemen," called out the tall and bronze-faced
man who now strode toward them across the railway platform, "did you
think I was never coming? I see that you are holding down your
luggage."

"Not a hard thing to do, was it, Uncle Dick?" said Jesse. "We haven't
got very much along."

"That all depends. Let me tell you, my young friends, on this trip
every fellow has to look out for himself the best he can. It's the
hardest travel you've ever had. You must keep your eye on your own
stuff all along."

"What do you mean--that we must be careful or some one will steal our
things?" demanded Jesse.

"No, there isn't so very much danger of theft--that is, from the
breeds or others along the way; they'll steal whisky, but nothing
else, usually. But it's a rough country, and there are many portages,
much changing of cargoes. Each chap must keep his eye on his own kit
all the time, and look out for himself the best way he can. That's the
lesson of this great North. It's the roughest country in the world. As
you know, there is an old saying among the fur-traders that no man has
ever whipped the North.

"I was thinking more especially about the dogs," he added, nodding
toward the luggage on which the boys were sitting.

"And what do you mean about the dogs, Uncle Dick?" asked Jesse.

"Well, those are the beggars that will steal you blind. They'll
eat anything they can swallow and some things they can't. I've had
them eat the heels off a pair of boots, and moccasins are like pie
for them. They would eat your hat if you left it lying--eat the
pack-straps off your bag. So don't leave anything lying around, and
remember that goes now, and all the way through the trip."

"Are there dogs all the way through?" asked John, curiously.

"Yes, we're in the dog country, and will be for five thousand miles
down one river and across and up the other. You'll not see a cow or a
sheep, and only two horses, in the next three months. North of
Smith's Landing, which is at the head of the Mackenzie River proper,
there never has been a horse, and I think there never will be one. The
dogs do all the hauling and all the packing--and they are always
hungry. That's what the fellows tell me who have been up there--the
whole country starves almost the year round, and the dogs worst of
all. I'm just telling you these things