“Yes, indeed, I don’t suppose we’d be here if we hadn’t read that old book. It’s going to be our guide all the way through. I want to see just how close we can come to following the trail Mackenzie made when he crossed this very country, a hundred and eighteen years ago this very month.”
“Some say they can’t see how Sir Alexander made so many mistakes,” said Alex, smiling. He himself was a man of considerable intelligence and education, as the boys already had learned.
“I know,” said Rob, nodding. “For instance, Simon Fraser—”
“Yes, I know those Simon Fraser—he’s beeg man in the Companee,” broke in Moise, who very likely did not know what he was talking about.
Alex smiled. “There have always been Mackenzies and Frasers in the fur trade. This was a long time ago.”
“How’ll those boy know heem, then?” said Moise. “I don’t know. Some boy she’ll read more nowadays than when I’m leetle. Better they know how to cook and for to keel the grizzly, hein?”
“Both,” said Alex. “But now we’ll read a little, if you please, Moise. Let’s see where we are as nearly as we can tell, according to the old Mackenzie journal.”
“I’ll know where we ought for be,” grumbled Moise, who did not fancy this starting-place which had been selected. “We’ll ought to been north many miles on the portage, where there’s wagon trail to Lake McLeod.”
“Now, Moise,” said Rob, “what fun would that be? Of course we could put our boats and outfit on a wagon or cart, and go across to Lake McLeod, without any trouble at all. Everybody goes that way, and has done so for years. But that isn’t the old canoe trail of Mackenzie and Fraser.”
“Everybody goes on the Giscombe Portage now,” said Moise.