the afternoon to the Nechaco River, a deep, rapid stream which
rose far to our left in the snowy peaks of the coast range. All day
the sky to the east had a brazen glow, as if a great fire were raging
there, but toward night the wind changed and swept it away. The trail
was dusty for the first time, and the flies venomous. Late in the
afternoon we pitched camp, setting our tent securely, expecting rain.
Before we went to sleep the drops began to drum on the tent roof, a
pleasant sound after the burning dust of the trail. The two trampers
kept abreast of us nearly all day, but they began to show fatigue and
hunger, and a look of almost sullen desperation had settled on their
faces.

As we came down next day to where the swift Nechaco met the Endako
rushing out of Fraser Lake, we found the most dangerous flood we had
yet crossed. A couple of white men were calking a large ferry-boat,
but as it was not yet seaworthy and as they had no cable, the horses
must swim. I dreaded to see them enter this chill, gray stream, for
not only was it wide and swift, but the two currents coming together
made the landing confusing to the horses as well as to ourselves.
Rain was at hand and we had no time to waste.

The horses knew that some hard swimming was expected of them and
would gladly have turned back if they could. We surrounded them with
furious outcry and at last Ladrone sprang in and struck for the
nearest point opposite, with that intelligence which marks the bronco
horse. The others followed readily. Two of the poorer ones labored
heavily, but all touched shore in good order.

The rain began to fall sharply and we were forced to camp on the
opposite bank as swiftly as possible, in order to get out of the
storm. We worked hard and long to put everything under cover and were
muddy and tired at the end of it. At last the tent was up, the outfit
covered with waterproof canvas, the fire blazing and our bread
baking. In pitching our camp we had plenty of assistance at the
hands of several Indian boys from a near-by village, who hung about,
eager to lend a hand, in the hope of getting a cup of coffee and a
piece of bread in payment. The streaming rain seemed to have no more
effect upon them than on a loon. The conditions were all strangely
similar to those at the Muddy River.

Night closed in swiftly. Through the dark we could hear the low swish
of the rising river, and Burton, with a sly twinkle in his eye,
remarked, "For a semi