d
a shaving knife from somewhere among his private possessions, the boys
fought for the opportunity to work upon the hide.

For almost two days, Norman, Roy and Paul, by turns, scraped at the
muscle, sinews and fat yet adhering to the skins until at last their
first trophy shone as tight and clean in the sunshine as a drumhead.
Philip had also brought, from the upland, the animal's brains tied up in
his shirt. In the tanning process he then took charge of the cleaned skin
and buried it until the hair had rotted, and in this condition the
outside of the skin was also cleaned. Then came a mysterious process of
scouring the skin with the long preserved brains.

At Colonel Howell's suggestion, and with the complete approval of the
boys, this part of the process was carried on at some distance from the
cabin. Thereafter, when the weather was clear, Philip exposed the skin to
the smoke of a smouldering fire, devoting such time as he had to rubbing
and twisting the hide while it turned to a soft, odorous yellow.

Before the real winter began, the skin, which is the wealth of the
Canadian Indian, began to make its appearance in strong moccasins, which
were usually worn around the fireplace and often in bed.

From somewhere in the outfit a calendar had made its appearance, and this
had found a lodging place in the front of the fireplace. The morning that
Colonel Howell made a mark on September 1, with a bit of charred stick,
he remarked:

"Well, boys, the postman seems to have forgotten us. What's the matter
with running up to Athabasca and getting our mail? A piece of beef
wouldn't go bad, either. How about it?"

So intense had the interest of Norman and Roy been in the hundreds of
things to be done in camp that the aeroplane, although not out of mind,
was not always foremost in their thoughts. No reply was needed to this
suggestion. Instantly, the proposition filled the air with airship talk.

This first trip had been discussed many times. It required no particular
planning now.

"I like to travel about fifty miles an hour," exclaimed Norman, "and it's
three hundred miles to the Landing. We'll leave to-morrow morning at five
o'clock and land on the heights opposite the town at eleven. One of us'll
go across in the ferry--"

"Both of us," broke in Roy. "There's no need to watch the
machine--everybody's honest in this country."

"Let me go and watch it?" asked Paul, who was now the constant associate
of the other boy