It was storming heavily, with the snow drifting in good style, as early one morning we took the river for the journey. Our party had heavy loads, and we were glad when Smith, who was with us in 1863 and 1864, and who had recently come home from Edmonton, drove up with a flashing train of dogs and a light load, and signified his intention of accompanying us as far as Edmonton. We thought he would take a generous share in making the road, but in this we were sorely disappointed, for Mr. Smith and his five dogs kept well back in the rear. All day long Susa and I in turn ran ahead on snowshoes. The storm seemed to increase in strength, but our hardy dogs trotted steadily on up the river, and we camped for the night above the Vermilion, which was the half-way post on the road to Edmonton. The stormy March wind howled around in fierce gusts, and the snow swirled in all directions, but in the comparative shelter of our pine camp we were happy. Starting before daylight, on we went, Susa and myself in turn ahead, and our friend Smith never once offering to take the lead. The snow was growing deeper and our progress slower, and it was with glad hearts that about noon we saw the sign of sleigh tracks crossing the river, and soon were climbing the bank above the mouth of the Sturgeon, some twenty-three miles from Edmonton. "Now we will have a track; now we will make better time," we said to each other, as we climbed the bank. Then unhitching our dogs, we turned them loose to rest, while we chopped wood and made a fire in preparation for our dinner. After awhile Smith came up, and seeing the track ahead, had the impudence to drive his dogs past us and place his sled on the road ahead of ours, which action said louder than words, "Now, gentlemen, I will show you my heels from here to Edmonton." Susa and I looked at each other and winked, as much as to say, "Well, Mr. Smith, it is still twenty-three miles to the Fort, and perhaps we will be there as soon as you." While we felt rather hard toward this man, who with his light load and fresh dogs had sneaked behind thus far, still this was our camp, and for the present he was our guest, so we treated him accordingly. However, when lunch was over and he had his last dog hitched, ours was also, and old Joseph stood with whip in hand, putting the last coal into his pipe, and pressing it down with his fingers. In so doing there was a spirit manifest in the action and attitude of the old stoic which seemed to say, "Well, young man, when you reach Edmonton, I expect to be there also."