This day was Sunday, and aside from the principle of the thing, David would have liked to rest on account of his lameness, but circumstances were against him. It was clearly necessary that he should make an exception to the usual rule of the Bradfords, and travel throughout this Sabbath. Smith's stock of food was running as low as his own. Breakfast over, he himself had only a piece of jerked beef and two biscuits for a luncheon. His only course was to proceed. Smith caught and saddled the poor horse, which had been a fine animal, but was now so weak with overwork, starvation, and sickness that it could hardly stand. David mounted with misgivings as to whether the tottering beast had strength to carry him, but they crossed the ford in safety. Dismounting on the farther bank, he turned the horse back into the water, and headed him for the point where Smith was standing; then shouting his thanks and a good-by, he limped off along the trail. Twenty miles on a foot which could scarcely bear the touch of the ground! He set his teeth hard and plodded on until the pain compelled him to sit down for a brief rest. Every mile was earned with suffering. All day long the struggle continued, and it required all the grit he possessed to keep him going. Not a person did he see, though he caught sight of several horses grazing, and heard distant shouts of men who were probably searching for them. At seven in the evening he threw himself into Reitz's camp utterly spent. CHAPTER XXXVII HOMEWARD BOUND The condition of David's foot obliged him to remain two days at the fishing-camp with Reitz and Humphrey, who feasted him royally on fresh-caught salmon. Under the teaching of Reitz he soon acquired the knack of using the long gaff, tipped with an iron hook, with which the fish were caught. Standing on the bank beside one of the deeper pools of the Klukshu River, which here was little more than a brook, he would poke about the bottom with the gaff until it struck against a salmon, when by a quick and dexterous jerk the fish would be hooked and drawn up out of the water. Often the salmon were so heavy that they had to be dragged out rather than lifted, for fear of breaking the pole. The finest variety was the king salmon, very large and with flesh of a deep pink tint. Then there was a smaller kind whose flesh was red. Not infrequently a fish was caught which, in its long journey from the sea, had been bruised and gashed on the sharp rocks. Such were unfit for food, but the healthy salmon were split and dressed and hung upon a frame of poles to dry, a smoky fire being built underneath to promote the curing and keep the flies from laying their eggs in the meat.