Two days later, being Monday morning, my brother and I, accompanied by a driver only, started out in a light vehicle in rear of the outfit. The weather was showery, and the trail in many places very soft. Occasionally deep mud-holes were encountered, bearing evidence of the recent struggles of the teams of our advance party, but as we were travelling “light,” we had little difficulty in making good progress. Later in the day the weather cleared, permitting us to enjoy a view of the beautiful country through which we were passing. As to the soil, it was chiefly a rich black loam, well covered, even at this early season, between the clumps of poplar scrub, by rich prairie grass. A few settlers were already in the field, and had just built or were building log cabins for themselves on one side or other of the trail. A little farther on our way the country became more hilly, the soil more sandy, and covered by the most beautiful park-like forests of jack-pine. Many of the trees were as much as fifteen inches in diameter, but the average size was about eight. [Illustration: A PIONEER OF THE NORTH. (_Drawn from life by Arthur Heming._)] After passing through some miles of these woods we again emerged into more open country, wooded alternately in places by poplar, spruce and jack-pine. About nine o’clock that evening, when half-way to the Landing, we reached the Height of Land between the two great valleys of the Saskatchewan and Athabasca rivers. Here, upon a grassy spot, we pitched our first camp. As the night was clear no tents were put up, but, after partaking of some refreshment, each man rolled up in his blanket and lay down to sleep beneath the starry sky. We rested well, although our slumbers were somewhat broken by the fiendish yells of prairie wolves from the surrounding scrub, and the scarcely less diabolical screams of loons sporting on a pond close by. An effort was made to have the latter nuisance removed, but any one who has ever tried to shoot loons at night will better understand than I can describe the immensity of the undertaking. About nine o’clock on the evening of the 30th of May we arrived at Athabasca Landing, only a few hours after the loads of supplies, which we were glad to find had all come through safely. [Illustration: INDIANS OF THE CANADIAN NORTH-WEST. BLACKFOOT IN WAR-PAINT. CREE WOMAN. BLOOD BRAVE IN WAR-BONNET. CREE DIGNITARY. SARCEE BRAVE. (_Drawn from life by Arthur Heming._)] CHAPTER II. _DOWN THE ATHABASCA._