ON THE PORCUPINE RIVER.

We must now pass over an interval of several weeks. During this period our readers are to imagine the numerous rapids and perils of the Upper Yukon conquered and the permanent camp of the silver fox hunters established upon the swift Porcupine River, not far above its junction with the Yukon and amidst a country wilder than any into which the Bungalow Boys had yet penetrated.

The work of setting out the peculiarly constructed traps in which the silver and black foxes were to be trapped had occupied much time, and some exciting adventures with bears and wolves had accompanied the work. When completed, the "trap-line" extended for more than twenty-five miles from the camp, which was pitched on the bank of the river to which the Yukon Rover was tied.

Did space permit we should like to tell in detail, and may at some future time, the numerous exciting episodes that marked those weeks of our young friends' lives. But we must now hasten on to an event which was to try their resources as they had rarely been tested before, and which was peculiarly characteristic of the life in that wild region "north of fifty-three" which they were exploring.

It is first necessary to explain that the work of overseeing the trap-line was attended to every week, the work being divided into "shifts," one of the party, or more, being left to guard the camp during the absence of the others. At the particular time we are now dealing with Mr. Dacre was disabled with a slight fever, and Sandy, also, was a "little under the weather" from the same cause. So that it devolved upon Tom and Jack to assume the task of going over the trap-line, a duty which had to be performed, while Mr. Chillingworth remained behind with the invalids.

And right here it is proper to explain that although the traps had been set and baited, the trappers did not expect any results till later in the season when the "big cold" set in. Nevertheless, in order to guard against the possibility of vicious or unprincipled trappers or "dog Indians" interfering with them, a rigid patrol was necessary to insure the well being of the trap-line. The actual trapping was destined to come later when the wastes of forest to the north were frozen and the creatures of the wild came toward the river in search of food.

Well used to roughing it as the boys were, they carried little more with them on these expeditions than flour, "erbwurst,"—a sort of concentrated soup, not very palatable, but nourishing,—teas, salt and sugar. Their rifles, blankets and canteens completed their loads, with ammunition, of course, sufficient to enable them to "live on the country."

The trap-line led back into a wild range of mountains known as the Frying Pan Range, though just why that name had been given to the section is beyond the present chronicler to explain.

On the particular morning with which we are dealing, we find Tom and Jack almost at the end of the trap-line. Not much to their surprise, their investigation of the fifty or more traps scattered through this territory had not resulted in their discovering any silver foxes ensnared. Other wild creatures, though, had been entrapped, but they were not bothering with these. In every instance, if they were not maimed, the creatures were set loose, with one exception. That was the ugly "glutton" or wolverine, a notorious robber of trappers' and miners' camps, and a savage, truculent animal. When such creatures were found, they were despatched without mercy.

Tom, the first to open his eyes that morning, gave a glance of astonishment as he gazed about him from his blankets. On every side of them was a fleecy blanket of fog as thick and blinding as that which had encompassed them at Kadiak. He awakened Jack and the two looked about them rather anxiously. In pursuit of a deer, the carcass of which hung in a neighboring tree, high up so as to be beyond the reach of wild animals, the boys had, the evening before, wandered rather far from their beaten track.

They had, in fact, been overtaken by night in a part of the mountains which was entirely strange to them. But they felt no apprehensions on that score. They, of course, carried, like all wilderness travelers, a good compass and had the accurate bearings of their camp. The trap-line itself was marked by a blazed trail, so that once upon it their course was as plainly recognized as if they had been on a public highway.

After breakfast, consisting of deer-meat steaks, which when freshly killed are by no means as good as asserted, flap-jacks and tea, well sugared, the two young trappers took earnest counsel as to the best course to pursue.

The fog enwrapped them closely in billowy folds of white. On the mountain top on which they had halted, the mist was peculiarly dense and heavy.

"Well, Jack," said Tom, "we're in cloudland, all right. Are you in favor of waiting till the clouds roll by or striking out for camp?"

Jack at once declared for the latter course. Mr. Dacre's illness and Sandy's indisposition had not a little to do with Tom's falling in with this plan. He was anxious not to remain away longer than necessary for, as he knew, the river fevers sometimes resulted quite seriously.

Accordingly, the blankets were rolled up, some meat cut from the deer, canteens filled at a nearby spring, and the march back to the river begun. The fog still hung heavy and dense, and the boys strode along through the steamy vapor talking little, but saving their wind and their strength for the rough stony ground they were traveling over.

About noon the mist lifted and rolled away like a drop-curtain in a theater. And it was then that the boys made a disquieting discovery. The general scenery adjacent to the trapping line was familiar to them. But the spot which they now had reached held nothing that struck a reminiscent note.

Instead of being surrounded by noble forests of huge, somber trees, they were in a place that resembled more the scenery found in the "Bad Lands" than anything else the boys could call to mind. Grotesque piles of rocky hills, pinnacled like cathedrals and minsters, with here and there the semblance of some strangely formed animal, surrounded them on every side.

Towering columns and immense, fantastically-shaped masses of clay, suggesting pre-historic monsters of the pre-glacial period, rocky cliffs resembling enchanted castles,—these were only a few of the remarkable features of the section of the country into which they had strayed.

They looked about them with awe. The strata of the various weird formations were brilliantly tinted with blue, red, white, yellow and other colors mingled and mixed like the hues of a kaleidoscope. The utter barrenness of the place suggested a city of the dead, untrodden by man or beast for centuries.

"Where under the sun have we wandered?" asked Jack in an awed tone, gazing about with wonderment not untinged with alarm.

"I've not the slightest idea. We've never even seen a suggestion of such country on our hunting excursions off the trapping line. We must have strayed far off our course."

"But the compass?"

"I followed what should have been our direction," declared Tom. "I cannot understand this at all."

"Nor can I. Let's have a look at that compass."

Tom fished it out of his pocket and extended it. He glanced at the dial and then uttered a cry of astonishment. The needle was dipping and plunging and behaving in a very odd manner.

"Gracious, what's the matter with the thing? Is it bewitched?" gasped Jack.

"It is certainly behaving in a very mysterious fashion. Something must have deflected it and led us out of our way."

"What could have done this?"

"I don't know, unless—hullo!"

Tom stooped and picked up a bit of stone which glittered with bright, shining particles.

"Iron pyrites!" he exclaimed. "I remember the professor back at school showing some to the geology class. No wonder the needle was deflected! Look, Jack, those cliffs yonder are almost solid masses of pyrites!"

"And those deposits of iron switched the needle of the compass?"

"Beyond a doubt."

"Then we are lost."

"I don't like to say that."

"But we are far out of our way?"

"No question of it."

"How far?"

"I have no idea. It's a nasty predicament, Jack, but we'll get out of it, don't worry."

"But you haven't any idea in which direction to go?"

"No; we must scout around and try to get our bearings. I would suggest that we strike out for that high hill yonder that will place a ridge between us and the pyrites cliffs, and perhaps the compass will behave normally."

They struck off in the direction that Tom indicated. But it was hard traveling in that broken, uncanny country into which they had wandered in such a strange manner. The hill, too, was further than they thought, the clear air being deceptive. But dripping with perspiration and not a little anxious at heart, they gained it at last.

As Tom placed his hand in his pocket to draw out the compass, he almost let the instrument drop to the ground.

A sudden sound had broken the stillness of the place. It was a sound that ordinarily would have caused confidence in the hearers. But heard under the circumstances in which it was, it was so unexpected, so out of keeping with the wild surroundings, that it startled and shocked them both.

It was the sound of laughter.