to be useful to you, because
we've got nothing along which we can afford to spare."

"When are we going to start, Uncle Dick?" demanded Jesse, once more,
somewhat mindful of the recent laughter of his companions at his
eagerness.

"Well, that's hard to say," replied his elder relative. "I'd like to
start to-morrow morning. It all depends on the stage of the water. If
a flood came down the Athabasca to-morrow you'd see pretty much every
breed in that saloon over there stop drinking and hurry to the scows."

"What's that got to do with it?" asked John.

"Well, when the river goes up the scows can run the Grand Rapids, down
below here, without unloading, or at least without unloading
everything. If the river is low so that the rocks stand out, the men
have to portage every pound of the brigade stuff. The Grand Rapids are
_bad_, let me tell you that! It is only within the last fifty years
that any one has ever tried to run them. I'll show you the man who
first went through--an old man now over seventy; but he was a young
chap when he first tried it. Well, he found that he could get through,
so he tried it over again. He and others have been guiding on those
rapids ever since. That cuts off the old Clearwater trail from here to
Fort McMurray, which used to be their old way of getting north.

"So now you see," he continued, "why these breeds like high water. It
means less work for them. It's hard work for them at best, but a breed
would rather risk his life than do any work he could escape. They know
there is danger--there is hardly a brigade goes north which brings
back all its men again.

"But come on now," he added. "It's almost time for supper. We'll go
fix up our camp for the night."

The boys, each stoutly picking up his own pack-bag, followed their
tall leader as he strode away. Their camp was far enough removed from
the noise of the hotel bar to leave them in quiet and undisturbed.

"My, but the mosquitoes are thick!" said Jesse, brushing at his face
with the broken bough which he had caught up. "I never saw them so
bad."

"Well, Jesse," said Uncle Dick, smiling, "just you wait. Before you
get back you'll say you never saw mosquitoes before in your life. The
traders tell me that they are worse the farther north you go. They say
it takes about two or three years for a new man to get used to them so
that he can sleep or work at his best--it's a sort of nervousness that
they stir up, though in time that wears