“But when you get above the rapids it’s a prairie river,” said Conacher. “We came through three hundred miles of it, and there’s likely three hundred miles more above that.”
“Then I’ll work up to the mountains,” said the old man undisturbed.
“You fellows ought to study a little geology before you break your hearts with a journey like this,” said Conacher nettled. “Nobody has ever found any amount of gold on the easterly slope of the Rockies.”
“Mebbe this river comes right through the mountains like the Spirit and the Sinclair,” said the old fellow obstinately.
“Look at it!” said Conacher. “There’s damned little snow water in that. It’s pure prairie mud.”
“Oh, well, I’ve come so far I might as well go see,” he said calmly. “I got all summer. All I want is to get into the mountains before I go into winter quarters.”
Conacher gave him up. He described the upper reaches of the river for his benefit. “How will you get your canoe around the big fall?” he asked.
“Chop a trail through the bush, and then come back for it,” said the old man calmly. “It don’t weigh but forty pound.”
Looking into his canoe they perceived that his entire worldly goods consisted of three bags of flour, a box of ammunition, and a slim dunnage bag of odds and ends. It appeared that his gun was of the same caliber as that carried by Conacher. The old man looked at the other’s still partly filled ammunition belt desirously.
“You’ll be joining your outfit to-morrow,” he said suggestively.