first time this happened, Churchill
dived and groped in three feet of water for the gripsack. He lost half
an hour in recovering it, and after that it was carried securely lashed
to the canoe. As long as the canoe floated it was safe. Antonsen jeered
at the grip, and toward morning began to curse it; but Churchill
vouchsafed no explanations.

Their delays and mischances were endless. On one swift bend, around
which poured a healthy young rapid, they lost two hours, making a score
of attempts and capsizing twice. At this point, on both banks, were
precipitous bluffs, rising out of deep water, and along which they could
neither tow nor pole, while they could not gain with the paddles against
the current. At each attempt they strained to the utmost with the
paddles, and each time, with heads nigh to bursting from the effort, they
were played out and swept back. They succeeded finally by an accident.
In the swiftest current, near the end of another failure, a freak of the
current sheered the canoe out of Churchill's control and flung it against
the bluff. Churchill made a blind leap at the bluff and landed in a
crevice. Holding on with one hand, he held the swamped canoe with the
other till Antonsen dragged himself out of the water. Then they pulled
the canoe out and rested. A fresh start at this crucial point took them
by. They landed on the bank above and plunged immediately ashore and
into the brush with the tow-line.

Daylight found them far below Tagish Post. At nine o'clock Sunday
morning they could hear the _Flora_ whistling her departure. And when,
at ten o'clock, they dragged themselves in to the Post, they could barely
see the _Flora's_ smoke far to the southward. It was a pair of worn-out
tatterdemalions that Captain Jones of the Mounted Police welcomed and
fed, and he afterward averred that they possessed two of the most
tremendous appetites he had ever observed. They lay down and slept in
their wet rags by the stove. At the end of two hours Churchill got up,
carried Bondell's grip, which he had used for a pillow, down to the
canoe, kicked Antonsen awake, and started in pursuit of the _Flora_.

"There's no telling what might happen--machinery break down, or
something," was his reply to Captain Jones's expostulations. "I'm going
to catch that steamer and send her back for the boys."

Tagish Lake was white with a fall gale that blew in their teeth. Big,
swinging seas rushed upon the canoe, co