CHAPTER XLII 



FORT SMITH AND THE TUG 



Here again we had the unpleasant experience of sleep- 

 ing indoors, a miserable, sleepless, stifling night, fol- 

 lowed by the inevitable cold. 



Next day we rode with our things over the portage 

 to Smith Landing. I had secured the tug Ariel to 

 give us a lift, and at 7 p. m., October 5, pulled out 

 for the next stretch of the river, ourselves aboard 

 the tug, the canoe with a cargo towed behind. 



That night we slept at the saw-mill, perforce, and 

 having had enough of indoors, I spread my blankets 

 outside, with the result, as I was warned, that every 

 one of the numerous dogs came again and again, and 

 passed his opinion on my slumbering form. Next 

 night we selected an island to camp on, the men did 

 not want to stay on the mainland, for "the woods are 

 full of mice and their feet are so cold when they run 

 over your face as you sleep." We did not set up our 

 tents that time but lay on the ground; next morning 

 at dawn, when I looked around, the camp was like a 

 country graveyard, for we were all covered with leaves, 

 and each man was simply a long mound. The dawn 

 came up an ominous rose-red. I love not the rosy 

 dawn; a golden dawn or a chill-blue dawn is happy, 

 but I fear the dawn of rose as the red head-light of a 



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