BRIGHT AGAIN 299 



The heavenly weather of the Indian Summer was 

 now upon us. We had left all storms and frost behind, 

 and the next day, our final trouble, the lack of food, 

 was ended. A great steamer hove in sight — at least 

 it looked like a steamer — but, steadily coming on, it 

 proved a scow with an awning and a stove on it. The 

 boys soon recognised the man at the bow as William 

 Gordon, trader at Fort McMurray. We hailed him 

 to stop when he was a quarter of a mile ahead, and he 

 responded with his six sturdy oarsmen; but such was 

 the force of the stream that he did not reach the shore 

 till a quarter-mile below us. 



"Hello, boys, what's up?" He shouted in the 

 brotherly way that all white men seem to get when 

 meeting another of their race in a savage land. 



"Had an upset and lost all our food." 



"Ho! that's easy fixed." Then did that generous 

 man break open boxes, bales, and packages and freely 

 gave without a stint, all the things we needed: kettles, 

 pans, sugar, oatmeal, beans, jam, etc. 



"How are you fixed for whiskey?" he asked, opening 

 his own private, not-for-sale supply. 



"We have none and we never use it," was the reply. 

 Then I fear I fell very low in the eyes of my crew. 



"Never use it! Don't want it! You must be pretty 

 damn lonesome in a country like this," and he seemed 

 quite unable to grasp the idea of travellers who would 

 not drink. 



Thus the last of our troubles was ended. Thence- 

 forth the journey was one of warm, sunny weather and 

 pleasant travel. Each night the sun went down in 



