When Smith said "Marse" John and Susa and Joseph said "Marse" likewise; and away we went, climbing the banks and on up the sloping valley of the Big Saskatchewan. It was a glorious day for the testing of muscle and wind and endurance on the part of men and dogs. The clouds hung low. The gusts came quick and strong. The track was fast drifting full, the footing was bad, the sleds pulled heavily. Even before we reached the summit of the long incline to the river, Smith's dogs began to show distress. Old Draffan was rubbing against his heels all the time with his traces loose, as much as to say to Smith and his dogs, "My three companions are more than able to keep up to you, though our load is much the heavier," and Susa and Joseph were right up. Presently Smith ran up to thrash his dogs, and I saw my chance; so did old Draffan, and with a quick "Chuh" my noble dogs sprang past, and once more we had the road, and on we went. Gradually widening the distance between us and Smith, I knew that both Susa and Joseph would also watch their opportunity to pass. At any rate with even one ahead our credit as a travelling party was safe. After two or three miles of steady run in the loose snow, I looked back, and was delighted to see that Susa and Joseph had passed Smith and were coming on splendidly; and now our quondam companion was far in the rear. I waited for my men, and when they came up we congratulated ourselves, while old Joseph made us laugh when he said, referring to Smith, "He likes being behind anyway; let him have what he likes so much." And on we went to the Fort, reaching there a long time before our friend did. The same evening I met with what was to me a new experience. I had gone to the blacksmith's shop to see about the plough, and the blacksmith began to question me as to what we intended to do at Pigeon Lake. I told him that father hoped to establish a Mission there. "Oh," said he, "you want to delude some more people with your fanciful stories about God and heaven and hell." "Why," said I, "do you not believe in God?" "No, I do not," was the emphatic answer I received, and a strange feeling came over me. I was afraid of that man, and took the plough away as quickly as I could. The wild storm, the lonely night, the savage beast, or even more savage man, how often I had come in contact with these, and all this had not worried me very much. But here was something new and awful to my young and unsophisticated mind. No God! I found it hard to shake off the thought suggested by that man's expression.