e gold money in the world, and it
will not be so long either. I intend to buy as much of it myself as I
can afford, and if I can persuade the Christians of my own town to lend
me the money instead of building churches, I shall buy more than I can
afford. I have read much about this country, but I find it better to
come here and tread out the grapes for myself.

While I have been taking stock mentally of these things, we have
arrived at Soto Landing, on the Lesser Slave River, and already the
Indian women have come out of their tents to watch our movements.
These people are called squatters hereabout, but I prefer to call them
nesters. They sow not, neither do they gather into barns. They don't
care to do either.

They view us women with a quiet appraising look, but not understanding
"their dark, ambigious, fantasticall, propheticall, gibrish," I cannot
learn their conclusions. The Factor's widow, who is still with us,
heard one of the Indian men describe her hat as a pot, whereupon she
remarked to him in excellent Cree that her pot lacked a handle. If I
were to set down how the other Indians enjoyed this stabbing surprise,
and how they were contorted with laughter by reason of their fellow's
confusion, you would hardly believe me, so I shall not set it down.

One Indian woman wears a dress that has in it the many shocking colours
of a Berlin-wool mat. She is pleased when we stroke it with our hands,
and I can see she is as proud of it as I am of my dimity bed-gown with
the pink rosebuds on it.

Dinner is ready on the boat and our appetites are too sharp-set to
permit of delay. We eat and eat just as if eating were our chief and
ever-lasting happiness, and as if life itself lay in a fleshpot.

This is a larger and better equipped boat than those on the Athabasca
because it is meant for the lake traffic. We do not leave Soto Landing
till three hours past the scheduled time, for Mr. J. K. Cornwall, the
Member of Parliament for the Peace River Constituency, affectionately
known hereabouts as "Jim," has chosen to make the portage afoot.

This country, from Athabasca Landing to the Peace River, is commonly
described as "Jim's Country," and if you travel it over you will
understand the reason.

Who supports the stopping-places on the river? Jim's freighters.

Who cuts the wood on the bank? Jim's Indians.

Who hauls the passengers, the freight, and the mail-bags over the
portage? Jim's wagoners.

Who own