GOING UP THE LOWER SLAVE 273 



how far it is to such a point, his reply commonly is, 

 "Oh, not so awful far," or "It is quite a piece," or 

 "It aint such a hell of a ways," conveying to the 

 stranger no shadow of idea whether it is a hundred 

 yards, a mile, or a week's travel. Again and again 

 when Sanderson was asked how far it was to a given 

 place, he would pause and say, "Three miles and a 

 half," or "Little more than eight roiles," as the case 

 might be. The usual half-breed when asked if we 

 could make such a point by noon would say "Maybe. 

 I don't know. It is quite a piece." Sanderson would 

 say, "Yes," or "No, not by two miles," according to 

 circumstances; and his information was always correct; 

 he knew the river "like a book." 



On the afternoon of September 27 we left "Dog- 

 town" with Sanderson in Weeso's place and began 

 our upward journey. George proved as good as his 

 reputation. The way that active fellow would stride 

 along the shore, over logs and brush, around fallen trees, 

 hauling the canoe against stream some three or four 

 miles an hour was perfectly fine; and each night my 

 heart was glad and sang the old refrain, "A day's 

 march nearer home." 



The toil of this tracking is second only to that of 

 portageing. The men usually relieve each other every 

 30 minutes. So Billy and George were the team. If I 

 were going again into that country and had my choice 

 these two again would be my crew. 



Once or twice I took the track-line myself for a quar- 

 ter of an hour, but it did not appeal to me as a pef- 



