THE HALCYON IN CANADA. 227 



mile or more of a brawling stream in the valley be- 

 low us, and now and then caught a glimpse of foam- 

 ing rapids or cascades through the dense spruce, a 

 trout stream that probably no man had ever fished, 

 as it would be quite impossible to do so in such a 

 maze and tangle of woods. 



We neither met, nor passed, nor saw any travelers 

 till late in the afternoon, when we descried far ahead 

 a man on horseback. It was a welcome relief. It 

 was like a sail at sea. When he saw us he drew rein 

 and awaited our approach. He, too, had probably 

 tired of the solitude and desolation of the road. He 

 proved to be a young Canadian going to join the 

 gang of workmen at the farther end of the road. 



About four o'clock we passed another small lake, 

 and in a few moments more drew up at the bridge 

 over the Jacques Cartier River, and our forty-mile 

 ride was finished. There was a stable here that had 

 been used by the road-builders, and was now used by 

 the teams that hauled in their supplies. This would 

 do for the horse ; a snug log shanty built by an old 

 trapper and hunter for use in the winter, a hundred 

 yards below the bridge, amid the spruces on the bank 

 of the river, when rebedded and refurnished, would 

 do for us. The river at this point was a swift, black 

 stream from thirty to forty feet wide, with a strength 

 and a bound like a moose. It was not shrunken and 

 emaciated, like similar streams in a cleared country, 

 but full, copious, and strong. Indeed, one can hardly 

 realize how the lesser water-courses have suffered by 



