“So now, adding my story to the one you’ll be able to tell from here on down, you may say that you know almost as much about the Big Bend of the Columbia as Gabriel Franchere himself, or even Sir George Simpson, peer of the realm of Great Britain.
“Some day they’ll build a railroad around the Big Bend. Then I believe I’ll take that journey myself; it’s much easier than making it as we are making it now. Not that I wish to frighten you at all, young men, about the rest of our journey, for our men are good, and Leo and George have the advantage of knowing every inch of the river thoroughly—an Indian never forgets a place he once has seen.”
“Have you ‘got some scares,’ Leo?” inquired John, smiling. Leo also smiled.
“No, no get scare—not ’fraid of Columby.”
“You Shuswaps are white-water dogs, all right,” said Uncle Dick. “I’m not going to let you run all the rapids that you want, perhaps, between here and Revelstoke.
“Now,” he continued, “if John has finished his map work I think we can make a few more miles on our way down this evening, and every mile we make is that much done.”
“Bime-by below Canoe,” said Leo, “come on old man Allison’s cabin—him trap there two winters ago, not live there now.”
The boys looked inquiringly at Uncle Dick.
“All right,” said he. “We’ll stop there for the night.” So presently they took boat once more, and, passing the tawny flood waters of the Wood and the Canoe rivers, which only stained the edges of the green Columbia, not yet wholly discolored in its course through its snow-crowned pathway, they pulled up at length on a beach at the edge of which stood a little log cabin, roofed with bark and poles.