THE HALCYON IN CANADA 203 



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 prob- 

 ably 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 refur- 

 nished, 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 watercourses have suffered by the denuding of 

 the land of its forest covering, until he goes into 

 the primitive woods and sees how bounding and 

 athletic they are there. They are literally well fed 

 and their measure of life is full. In fact, a trout 

 brook is as much a thing of the woods as a moose or 

 deer, and will not thrive well in the open country. 



Three miles above our camp was Great Lake 

 Jacques Cartier, the source of the river, a sheet of 



