tly to Athabasca Landing, and in a
week from now there is no reason why we should not be drifting down the
big river again."

"Then your trouble'll begin again, won't it?" asked Norman.

Instead of answering, Colonel Howell sat in silence a few moments.

"There's a good deal I might say about the country I'm going into," he
continued at last, "but I think you young men understand it pretty well."

"Pretty well up into the Barren Lands, isn't it?" asked Roy.

"The last of the wilderness before you reach the treeless plains,"
explained the colonel, "but as far as Fort McMurray the region is a vast
trail-less extent of poplar and spruce. The winter comes in November and
lasts until June. In that period, when the nights grow long, you have a
pretty good imitation of the Arctic. There are Indians here and there and
game abounds, but the white man passes only now and then. The dog and
sled are yet the winter means of transportation and here you may find the
last of the trappers that have made history in the great Northwest.

"Some of this region will undoubtedly in time provide farms, but as yet
no farmer has learned how to use the rich black soil of its river lands
in the short summer seasons. In time, powerful steamers will navigate the
Athabasca and also, in time, there will be railroads. When they come,"
the speaker went on with a chuckle, "I hope to be able to supply them
with oil. This at least is why, for the third time, I'm making my way
into that little-known country."

"I hope you don't get dumped again," suggested Norman.

"How genuinely do you hope that?" asked Colonel Howell instantly and with
renewed animation.

"Why, I just hope it," answered Norman, somewhat perplexed.

Colonel Howell hesitated a moment and then said abruptly: "You two boys
are the best guarantee I could have against another accident. I want you
to help me make a success of this thing. I've an idea and I got it the
moment I saw your aeroplane to-day. Come with me into the wilderness."

"Us?" exclaimed both boys together.

"Why not?" hastily went on the oil man. "Don't you see what I've been
driving at? Don't you recall the two long trails I made back to
civilization--a month each time? Think of this: When I leave Athabasca
Landing, the only way by which I can communicate with the world behind me
is by courier, on foot; from Fort McMurray this means a tramp of four
weeks for me, and even to a skilled Indian it means three hundred mi