Late in the afternoon, the treeless expanse of the river-bottom became narrowed by broken ground covered with a forest which encroached from the west. The trail followed by the Indian led them into the midst of this forest, taking the course of a small stream which wound through it. In places, no ice had formed along the bank, and the bottom of the brook could be seen to consist of a rusty red mud. Long Peter drank very sparingly of this water, and cautioned the others, saying several times, "No good, no good." "Why isn't it good?" asked Roly, to whom the water looked clear enough. "It may be swamp water," answered his uncle, "or it may be heavily charged with minerals. Perhaps it would not hurt you, but it is always best to follow the advice of the natives in such matters. They are careful to choose only pure streams or springs for drinking purposes, and this brook appears to be impregnated with bog iron, so probably the water comes from some stagnant pond." Soon after five o'clock, when Mr. Bradford and the boys were growing very weary, and even Uncle Will, who was accustomed to the work, had admitted that the march was a long one, Long Peter gave a satisfied grunt and pointed forward. The others looked, and saw a row of tent-poles on a low bluff. They had reached the spot where the Thirty-six had spent the previous night. "Good!" exclaimed Uncle Will. "We've made as long a march as they did, sure enough, though we haven't come more than seven miles this afternoon. We will camp right here, and thank the mysterious gentlemen for the use of their poles and boughs." On the succeeding day, there was a well-defined trail, much cut up by the heavy sleds of the party ahead, for the snow was now deep and rather soft. In spite of the excellent manner in which the three long sleds were loaded, and the care with which they were drawn, upsets occurred quite frequently, and even the light loads of Roly and David sometimes overturned in the deeper ruts. Re-lashing was seldom necessary, however, thanks to the instructions of Uncle Will. As the sun mounted higher, the snow became softer, and progress increasingly difficult. To deviate from the beaten path was to sink hopelessly, while to remain in it was to encounter hollows and ruts, from which two men could hardly extricate a single sled. They were constantly obliged to help each other, and at last Uncle Will gave orders to wait until the snow hardened again in the afternoon. By nightfall, they had covered about nine miles, reaching a point opposite the Indian village of Klukwan, which lay on the eastern bank of the river. Here again they found a deserted camp. CHAPTER IX KLUKWAN AND THE FORDS