318 THE DRAMA OF THE FORESTS 



at her beautiful face. Again I wondered about Son-in- 

 law. . . . 



A RACE FOR THE PORTAGE 



At three o'clock next morning the camp was astir. In the 

 half light of early day, and while breakfast was being pre- 

 pared, the men "gummed" afresh the big canoes. Whittling 

 handles to dry pinesticks, they split the butts half way 

 down, and placed that end in the fire. After a little burning, 

 the stick opened like a fork; and, placing it over the broken 

 seam, the voyageur blew upon the crotch, thus melting the 

 hardened "gum"; then, spitting upon his palm, he rounded it 

 off and smoothed it down. Ry the time breakfast was ready 

 the tents were again stowed away in the canoes along with the 

 valuable cargoes of furs. 



Paddling up the mist-enshrouded river the canoes rounded 

 a bend. There the eddying of muddy water told that a moose 

 had just left a water-lily bed. The leaves of the forest hid his 

 fleeing form; but on the soft bank the water slowly trickled 

 into his deep hoof-prints, so late was his departure. The 

 tracks of bear and deer continuously marked the shores, for the 

 woods were full of game. From the rushes startled ducks rose 

 up and whirred away. How varied was the scenery. Island- 

 dotted lakes, timber-covered mountains, winding streams and 

 marshy places; bold rocky gorges and mighty cataracts; dense 

 forests of spruce, tamarack, poplar, birch, and pine — a region 

 well worthy to be the home of either Nimrod or Diana. 



Later in the day, when all the canoes were ranged side by 

 side, their gracefully curved bows came in line; dip, swirl, 

 thud; dip, swirl, thud, sounded all the paddles together. The 

 time was faultless. Then it was that the picturesque brigade 

 appeared in wild perfection. Nearing a portage, spontaneously 

 a race began for the best landing place. Like contending 



