“What a jolly place for trout!”
“Trout!” we echoed. “You don’t mean it?”
A WAITING BREAKFAST.
“I do, every time, my hearties,” responded the Colonel, as he cast his line far out on the surface of a dark foam-flecked pool at the junction of the two rivers. The next instant we saw his rod bend like a whip-lash, and as the speckled prize which weighed above two pounds shot up out of the stream five hungry men fastened their eyes on it with ravenous fascination, and smacked their jaws in anticipation of a breakfast.
“Bravo, Colonel! Do it again!” we cried, as the trout was landed; and verily he did it again and again, while we did them all to a brown in the frying-pan.
During a few days rest here we secured a number of views, hunted partridges, and captured four fine beaver. Aside from the value of the pelts of the latter animals, they placed us once more beyond the chance of starvation; and having lived for a month almost entirely on their flesh, we had learned by experience that it was better than nothing.
We still retained the “shoes” on our canoes, for although each day the Aroostook River grew deeper and wider, we were obliged to repeat the experiences of Mansungun Stream.
On we paddled, day after day. Soon we passed the junction of the Mooseleuk and Aroostook Rivers, and great was our joy when at last we caught sight of the first house since leaving Chamberlin Lake.
From an architectural point of view it would hardly have interested the humblest carpenter, but to our longing eyes it was the assurance of perils over and the hardest part of the tour accomplished.