The Boy With the U. S. Survey

by Francis Rolt-Wheeler

The beginning of a portage at the summit of a divide; often a road must be cut through the brush.

The portage took two days, Rivers making a forced march, and the cook was left at the new camp with the first day's supplies, the carry being to Cache Lake, a large slough which forms the headwaters of the Anaktuvuk River. Early the next morning the rest of the party returned to the old camp, where they had left the canoes, to bring them over to the Lake for their trip down to the Arctic Ocean.

Towards evening, as they were returning, and had just ascended a little knoll, Roger hurried up to the chief of the party.

"Mr. Rivers," he said, "there seems to be a lot of smoke over there, in the direction of the camp."

The geologist looked up sharply and then turned.

"Quick, boys," he said, "take the boats to that pond"—the tundra was dotted with small stretches of water—"and anchor them in the middle. The tundra is on fire, and if it's going to spread the boats must be saved. Harry, you go ahead to the camp." He dropped his pack and broke into a run.

Bulson, grasping the situation, stuck one of the punting poles deep into the shallow bottom and made fast the canoes to it in the middle of the slough. Then, with the rest of the men he followed the Indian and the chief for the camp. Roger's light weight and his training on the track had made him a good runner, but he did not try to outdistance the other men, and of course Harry was out of sight.

Plunging over and through the tundra, however, with veins swollen almost to bursting with the heavy going, the men kept on, no one speaking, though once, as a sheet of flame shot up, Gersup pointed with his finger. It was a welcome sight, on topping a small rise, to see in the distance that two of the three tents were still standing, though ringed round with a smoldering fire; in the foreground the blackened figures of the cook and the Indian, working for their lives, and the chief just pounding into the camp. With never a pause, save when some fellow tripped and fell, the men tore over the rough ground until they reached the flames. Under the vigorous work of all hands an impression began to be made, and two hours later the fire was under control.

"How did it happen, George?" the chief asked.

Twice the cook tried to answer, but the pungent smoke and the exertion had made him almost speechless, and he could only whisper hoarsely. Though the fire was officially out, every few minutes a puff of smoke would reveal a smoldering root of moss, and all night through two men watched, two hours apiece, to see that it did not break out anew. And these men never had five minutes' quietude, for the fire, which had been burning unseen in the network of roots for hours, would suddenly send up a flame, and the whole line of that smoldering glow would have to be beaten and drenched out.