“Yes,” said Rob, “they weren’t afraid of anything. When they got to Fort Augustus they had three choices of routes west over the Rockies. They could go away north to the Peace River—old Sir Alexander McKenzie’s trail, which we followed last summer; or they could go up the Saskatchewan the way David Thompson used to go to the Columbia River; or they could strike west by cart or pack-horse from Fort Augustus and cross this rolling country until they struck the Athabasca, and then follow up that to the Yellowhead Pass. I shouldn’t wonder if old Jasper Hawse was one of the first trail-makers in here. But, as I was saying, those who came this route had to leave their boats at Edmonton. Here at Wolf Creek we are about one hundred and thirty miles west of there. For a long while they used to have a good wagon trail as far as Saint Anne, and, as you know, it has been pretty much like a road all the way out here.”
“I like the narrow trail best,” said John; “one made by feet and not wheels.”
“Yes,” went on Rob, “perhaps that’s why we’re so anxious to get on with this trip. The water does not leave any mark when you travel on it, but here is the trail of the old traders worn deep into the soil. A fellow can almost see them walking or riding along here, with their long rifles and their buckskin clothes.”
“That’s what I like about these trips Uncle Dick lays out sometimes,” said Jesse. “A fellow sort of has to read about the country and the men who found it first.”
“Yes,” John assented, “reading about these old places makes you begin to see that there is quite a world besides the part of the world where we were born. It seems as though these old fellows in the past weren’t making these trails just for themselves.”
“Pshaw! I’ll bet they just wanted furs, that was all,” ventured Jesse. “But, anyhow, they found the paths, all right.”
“The Indians found the paths ahead of the traders,” said Rob. “I fancy the white men did not have such hard times learning which way to go. The Indians must have worked backward and forward across almost every pass in the mountains before the white men came. It makes me feel kind of strange to be here, just where the great-grandfathers of white people used to travel, and then to think that before their grandfathers were born this country was all old to the red men, who held it long before the white men came.”
“Well,” said John, who was of a practical turn of mind, “it’s starting in pretty well. We’ve got some whitefish left that we caught at Lake Waubamun, and the grouse which we killed this afternoon will make up a good supper. I s’pose if we were the first to cross over we might have got antelope in here, or, anyhow, deer.”
“I’m glad Uncle Dick is going along,” said Jesse. “He went over with the first engineer party, so he knows about all the bad places. We certainly had muskeg enough yesterday and the day before. If it’s any worse ahead than it is behind it’s going to be pretty tough.”
“Look yonder, fellows!” said Rob, suddenly rising and pointing to the westward.