CROSSING THE CARRY. 121 



A\ilh the utmost gravity, and in a tone intended to 

 suggest a mystery, — " the fact is, John, I don't 

 nnite understand it. This Carry seems to be all 

 ered over with pork. I would n't be surprised to 

 find a piece anywhere. There is another junk, 

 now," I exclaimed, as I plunged my moccasin into 

 the mud and kicked a two-pound bit toward him ; 

 " it 's lying all round here, loose." 

 AA thought John would split with laughter, but 

 Bptime came, for as in one of his paroxysms he 

 turned partly around, I saw that his back w^as 

 covered with mud clear up to his hat. 



" Do you always sit down on your coat, John," 

 I inquired, " when you cross a Carry like this ? " 



"Come, come," rejoined he, ceasing to laugh 

 from very exhaustion, " take a knife or tin plate, 

 and scrape the muck from my back. I always 

 tell my wife to make my clothes a ground color, 

 but the color is laid on a little too thick this 

 time, anyway." 



" John," said I, after having scraped him down, 

 "take the paddle and spear my boots off from 

 1"I>at limb up there, while I tread out this pork." 



Ilunging into the slough, balancing here on a 

 bog and there on an underlying root, I succeeded 

 in concentrating the scattered pieces at one point. 

 As I was shying the last junk into the bag, a 

 disappointed grunt from John caused me to look 



rd. I took in the situation at a glance. The 



