Frank did not at first see the drift of the question, and looking at
Johnston with a puzzled sort of expression, replied, questioningly,—
"I don't know. I've had a very good time here."
"Well, but can you think of anything you would like to do before you go back to Calumet?" persisted the foreman. "I'm asking you because there'll not be enough work to go round next week, and you can have a bit of holiday. Now, isn't there something you would like to have a taste of while you have the chance?" And as he spoke his eyes were directed toward the wall at the head of his bed, where hung his rifle, powder-flask, and hunting knife. Frank caught his meaning at once.
"Oh, I see what you are driving at now!" he exclaimed. "You want to know if I wouldn't like to go out hunting."
"Right you are," said Johnston. "Would you?"
"Would I?" cried Frank. "Would a duck swim? Just try me, that's all."
"Well, I do intend to try you," returned Johnston. "The firm have some limits over there near the foot of the mountain that they want me to prospect before I go back, and pick out the best place for a camp. I've been trying to make out to go over there all winter, but getting hurt upset my plans, and I've not had a chance until now. So I'm thinking of making a start to-morrow. There's nothing much else to do except to finish getting the logs on the ice, and I can trust the men to see to that; and, no odds what kind of weather we have, the ice can't start for a week at least. So if you'd like to come along with me and take your rifle, you may get a chance to have a shot at something before we get back. Does that suit you?"
This proposition suited Frank admirably. A week in the woods in Johnston's company could not fail to be a week of delight, and he thanked the foreman in his warmest words for offering to take him on his prospecting tour.
The following morning they set off, the party consisting of four—namely, the foreman, Frank, Laberge, who accompanied them as cook, and another man named Booth as a sort of assistant. The snow still lay deep enough to render snow-shoes necessary, and while Johnston and Frank carried their rifles, Laberge and Booth drew behind them a toboggan, upon which was packed a small tent and an abundant supply of provisions. Their route led straight into the heart of the vast and so far little-explored forest, and away from the river beside whose bank they had been living all winter. It was Johnston's purpose to penetrate to the foot of the mountain range that rose into sight nearly thirty miles away, and then work backward by a different route, noting carefully the lie of the land, the course of the streams, and the best bunches of timber, so as to make sure of selecting a site for the future camp in the very best locality.
He was evidently in excellent spirits himself at the prospect of a week's holiday, for such it would really be, and all trace of his injury having entirely disappeared, there was no drawback to the energy with which he led his little expedition into the forest where they would be buried for the rest of the week.