Owing to Gallup’s trick of lengthening the journey, our food gave out, but with fish, venison and partridge it was impossible to starve. The last-named, a grouse actually, perches in the branches, waiting to be shot; a bullet must take its head off or it is useless for the pot but whizzing bullets do not disturb it, and several birds, sitting close together, can be picked off _seriatim_. Some dried sturgeon we found, too, on an island--an Indian sturgeon fishery--where great odorous strips were hanging in the sun. The braves were away, and the squaw left in charge was persuaded to sell us slabs of this excellent meat. In a deep, clear pool some half-dozen living monsters, hooked by the nose, turned slowly round and round, waiting the moment of their death. The island was interesting for another reason--it was an Indian canoe factory. Here the Redskins built their craft of birchbark, and a dozen canoes in various stages of completion lay in the broiling sun.... To me it was all visible romance, adventure, wonder in the heart of an unspoilt spring, with Hiawatha round the next big bend. Paxton and R.M. took another view.... On the eighth night--our last, had we known it--there was an “incident.” Gallup had been unusually silent and extra offensive all day, had “galloped” at top speed, had refused to answer a single question, and the idea came to us all three simultaneously that he was not losing his way with the mere object of more money, but was taking us out of our route with a more sinister purpose. We depended on the fellow entirely; words or violence were equally useless; we were quite helpless. He was convinced we carried money, for no three Englishmen of our type would make such a trip without it. What was easier, we whispered to one another, than to murder us and bury our bodies in the trackless, lonely forest? We watched him.... That night, exhausted to the bone, we camped on a point of wooded shore against the sunset. Across the broad reach of water, three miles away perhaps, was an Indian encampment. Pointed wigwams and the smoke of many fires were visible; voices were audible in the distance. The wind had died down as usual with the sun. A deep hush lay over the scene. And, hardly had we landed, almost too weary to drag ourselves up the bank, when Gallup stepped back into his Maine canoe and pushed off downstream without a word. He stood upright; he did not sit or kneel. His figure was outlined one minute against the red sky, the next his silhouette merged into the dark forest beyond. He disappeared.