A little band of three had struggled about two hundred miles up the stream in the face of apparently insurmountable difficulties, having to unload their boat and "portage" the whole of their year's provisions over rocky, precipitous banks, which were often densely wooded, or tow her up rapids, under the fierce Canadian sun, when the strain on the rope must not be relaxed for a single moment lest the bows of the boat should be wrenched round by the current and the towers jerked backwards into the boiling waters. They camped at last on a part of the bank that was low and grassy and clear of the eternal spruce trees for a short distance. Here they built a rough shack, laid up the boat, and took a spell of prospecting. Into their camp on the second day limped a tattered, woe-begone, helpless-looking individual, a Swede, who explained in broken English, almost on the verge of tears, that he and his friends, seeing the business-like way in which the others had prepared to meet the difficulties of the river, had come to the conclusion that they were old hands, and followed at a safe distance, hoping to be able to keep modestly in the background till those in front had made a find, and then, as the Yankee of the party put it, they were ready to "whirl in and get the pickings of a right soft job." However, they had been forced to come into undue prominence because their boat had become hopelessly jammed between two rocks in a rapid and they could not move her without help. He ended his tale of woe and stood looking from one to the other of the three disgusted men who faced him. "Well, of all the derndest cheek!" said the Yankee. "To explain so nicely how they planned to jump us, and then expect help so's they can do it!" "We must sho'ly lend a ha-and," drawled the Southerner. "Oh, yes," said the Englishman, the youngest of the party. "Of course we must help the poor beggars." It was arranged at last that Bantling and Fox, the two Americans, should go to the rescue, while Rogers, the Englishman, kept camp. They had dinner, and then, with the Swede as guide, started off down the river bank to the rapids. Left alone, Rogers washed up the dinner-things, put up some grub, got his blanket and a rifle, and set off into the scrub. The day before, when getting wood, he had come upon the track of a moose, and was determined to try for a shot at him, picturing to himself the delight of the other two when they returned, to find a store of fresh meat. He followed the trail through a thicket of ground alder and willow, stumbling into muskegs and bursting through tangled undergrowth. It was frightfully hot, for this was the Canadian summer, and when he at last reached a small clearing, through which ran a little stream from a "sienega" or small lake higher up, he thankfully camped there for the night.