“I’m glad I came,” remarked John.
“And so am I,” added Jesse; “I believe we’re going to have a good time. I like those two men awfully well—they’re just as kind, and my! how strong!”
Presently they all met again at the eastern edge of the dim trail. “I stepped it myself,” said John, proudly. “Both Sir Alexander and old Simon Fraser were wrong—she’s just six hundred and ninety-three paces!”
“Maybe they had longer legs than you,” smiled Alex. “At any rate, there’s no doubt about the trail itself. We’re precisely where they were.”
“What made them call that river the Parsnip River?” demanded Jesse of Alex, to whom he went for all sorts of information.
“I’ll show you,” said Alex, quietly, reaching down and breaking off the top of a green herb which grew near by. “It was because of the wild parsnips—this is one. You’ll find where Sir Alexander mentions seeing a great many of these plants. They used the tops in their pemmican. You see, the north men have to eat so much meat that they’re glad to get anything green to go with it once in a while.”
“What’s pemmican?” asked Jesse, curiously.
“We used to make it out of buffalo meat, or moose or caribou,” said Alex. “The buffalo are all gone now, and, in fact, we don’t get much pemmican any more. It’s made by drying meat and pounding it up fine with a stone, then putting it in a hide sack and pouring grease in on top of it. That used to be the trail food of the voyageurs, because a little of it would go a good way. Do you think you could make any of it for the boys, Moise?”
“I don’ know,” grinned Moise. “Those squaw, she’ll make pemmican—not the honter. Besides, we’ll not got meat. Maybe so if we’ll get moose deer we could make some, if we stop long tam in camp. But always squaw make pemmican—not man.”