THE CHASE. 855 
camp right away.’ It was a cheerless prospect as we threw off 
our bundles on the wet ground; it was quite dark, and, though 
nearly calm, the drizzling rain still fell and pattered-in large 
drops, falling heavily from the tree-tops to the ground beneath. 
First we must get a good fire,—no easy thing to an un- 
practiced hand in the woods, saturated with a week’s rain. 
However it can be done, so seek we for some old stump of rot- 
ten wood, easily knocked over and rent asunder, for we may, per- 
haps, find some dry stuff in the heart. Joe has found one, and, 
with two or three efforts, over it falls with a heavy thud into the 
moss, and splits into a hundred fragments. The centre is dry, and 
we return to the spot fixed upon with as much as we can carry. 
The moss is scraped away, and a little carefully composed pile of 
the deadwood being raised, a match is applied and a cheerful 
tongue of flame shoots up and illuminates the dark woods, en- 
abling us to see our way with ease. Now is the anxious time 
on which depends the success of the fire, a hasty gathering of 
more dry wood is dexterously piled on, some dead hardwood 
trees are felled and split with the axe into convenient sticks, and 
in a few minutes we have arousing fire which will maintain 
itself, and greedily consume anything that is heaped upon it, in 
spite of the adverse element. A few young saplings are then 
cut and placed slantingly, which rest in the forks of two upright 
supports ; the canvas is unrolled and stretched over the prim- 
itive frame and our camp has started into existence. The branches 
of the young balsam firs, which form its poles, are well shaken 
over the fire and disposed in layers beneath to form the bed ; 
blankets are unrolled and stretched over the boughs, and I find 
to my joy that the rain had not reached the change of clothes 
packed in my bundle. I presently recline at full length under the 
sheltering camp, in front of a roaring fire which is rapidly va- 
porizing the moisture contained in my recent garments, sus- 
pended from the top of the camp in front. Joe is still abroad, 
providing a further stock of firewood for the night, while his son 
is squatting over the fire with a well filled frying-pan, and its 
hissing sounds drown the pattering of the rain-drops. 
“‘ After our comfortable meal, followed the fragrant weed, of 
course, and a discussion of what we should do on the morrow. 
The barrens we had come to were of great extent, and of a very 
bad nature for traveling, the ground being most intricately 
strewed with dead trees of the forest which once covered it; and 
the briars and bushes overgrowing and concealing their sharp, 
