hour, Milton ran ahead, caught them up, and brought back the axe. It was another hour’s work to cut him out and re-pack, but we found our companions not far before us, and indeed there was little danger of their leaving us any great distance behind. The river still continued a grand rapid, and a short distance more brought us to a place where the ravine suddenly narrowed to about fifty feet, with high straight-cut rocks on either side, through which, for about 100 yards, almost at a right angle, and down a swift descent, the waters raged so frightfully about huge rocks standing out in the stream, that it was instantly named by The Assiniboine the “Porte d’Enfer.” No raft or canoe could have lived there for a moment, and we thankfully congratulated ourselves that we had decided to make our way by land. We camped for the night close to where we had started in the morning, and The Assiniboine, having cut his foot to the bone on the sharp rocks, amongst which we walked nearly barefoot, was completely disabled. That night he was thoroughly disheartened, declared the river we were following was not the Thompson at all, and we must make up our minds to perish miserably. Mr. O’B. of course heartily concurred, and it required all our powers of persuasion, and an explanation by the map, to restore hope. Another day similar to the last brought us to the end of the rapid. The woman had bravely taken her husband’s place ahead with an axe, and worked away like a man. The last of the dried horse-flesh, boiled with the scrapings of the flour-bag, formed our supper. We had only three charges of powder left, and this we kept for special emergency. The Assiniboine, however, and his son had succeeded in “nobbling” a brace of partridges, knocking the young birds out of the trees with short sticks, missiles they used with great dexterity. We had been cheered during the day by observing the first traces of man--except the dead body of the Indian--we had seen for sixteen days. These were old stumps of trees, which bore marks of an axe, though now decayed and mossed over. The next day, however, was cold and wet, and we felt wretched enough as we forced our way for hours through a beaver swamp, where the bracken grew higher than our heads, and tangled willows of great size required cutting away at every step. Slimy, stagnant pools, treacherous and deep, continually forced us to turn aside. At last a stream, whose banks were densely clothed with underwood, barred the path, and we could not find a practicable ford. Drenched to the skin, shivering, miserable, having had no food since the previous evening, we felt almost inclined to give way to despair, for we seemed to have gained nothing by our labours. There was no sign of the end. Our journey had now lasted nearly three months; for five weeks we had not seen a human being, nor for the last three had we seen the smallest evidence of man’s presence at any time in the wild forest in which we were buried.