Once more, as had now been their custom for several days, in their anxiety to get as far forward as possible each day, our party arose before dawn. If truth were told, perhaps few of them had slept soundly the night through, and as they went about their morning duties they spoke but little. They realized that, though many of their dangers now might be called past, perhaps the worst of them, indeed, they still were not quite out of the woods.

Moise, who had each night left a water-mark, reported that the river during the night had risen nearly a foot. Even feeling as they did that the worst of the rapids were passed, the leaders of the party were a trifle anxious over this report, Leo not less than the others, for he well remembered how the rising waters had wiped out such places as the Death Eddy, which once he had known familiarly. They all knew that the rise of a foot here in the broader parts of the river would mean serious trouble in any caÑon.

“How far now, Leo?” asked John once more of the Indian guide, on whom they placed their main reliance.

“Maybe-so forty mile, maybe fifty,” said Leo. “Maybe not run far now. Down there ten mile, come Tom Boyd farm. Steamboat come there maybe. Then can go home on steamboat, suppose our boat is bust.”

“Well, the Bronco isn’t quite busted,” said Uncle Dick, “but she has sprung something of a leak, and we’ll have to do a little calking before we can start out with her this morning. Come on, Moise, let’s see what we can do.”

So saying, they two went down to repair an injury which one of the boats had sustained on a rock. Of course, in this lining down, with the boats close inshore in the shallower water, they often came in contact with the rocks, so that, although both the boats were practically new, the bottom boards were now ragged and furry. A long crack in the side of the Bronco showed the force with which a boat sometimes could be driven by the swift current, even when the men were taking the best of care to keep it off the rocks.

“Leo doesn’t tell much about his plans, does he?” remarked Rob. “I was thinking all the time we’d have to run the whole fifty miles to Revelstoke.”

Uncle Dick laughed. “Leo believes in saving labor even in talking,” said he, “but I am not complaining, for he has brought us this far in safety. I’m willing to say he’s as good a boatman as I ever saw, and more careful than I feared he would be. Most of these Indians are too lazy to line down, and will take all sorts of chances to save a little work. But I must say Leo has been careful. It has been very rarely we’ve even shipped a little bit of water.”

“One thing,” said John, “we haven’t got much left to get wet, so far as grub’s concerned. I’m pretty near ready to go out hunting porcupines or gophers, for flour and tea and a little bacon rind leave a fellow rather hungry. But I’m mighty glad, Uncle Dick, that you came through that rapid all right with the boats and found us all right afterward. Suppose we had got separated up there in some way and you had gone by us, thinking that we were lower down—what would you have done in that case—suppose we had all the grub?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied his uncle, “but I fancy we’d have got through somehow. Men have done that in harder circumstances. Think of those chaps Milton and Cheadle we were talking of the other night; they were in worse shape than we were, for they had no idea where they were or how far it was to safety, or how they were to get there, and they had no guide who had ever been across the country. Now, although we have been in a dangerous country for some days, we know perfectly where we are and how far it is to a settlement. The trail out is plain, or at least the direction is plain.”

“Well, I’m glad we didn’t have to try to get out alone, just the same.”

“And so am I, but I believe that even if you had been left alone you’d have made it out some way. You had a rifle, and, although game is not plentiful in the heavy forest, you very likely would have found a porcupine now and then—that is to say, a porcupine would very likely have found you, for they are very apt to prowl about the camp almost anywhere in this country. You wouldn’t even have been obliged to make a noise like a porcupine if you had used anything greasy around your cooking or left any scraps where they could get at them. Or you might even have tried eating a little pine bark, the way the porcupines do. Again, in almost any clearing this far down to the south you might have run across some of these gophers which you have seen on the grassy banks lately. Not that I would care to eat gopher myself, for they look like prairie-dog, and I never did like prairie-dog to eat. Besides, they tell bad stories about these mountain gophers; I’ve heard that the spotted fever of the mountains, a very deadly disease, is only found in a gopher country; so I’m very glad you did not have to resort to that sort of diet.”

“We might get some goats back there in the mountains if we had to,” said Rob, “but goat-hunting is hard work, and I don’t suppose a fellow would last long at it on light diet.”

“Well, I wish we had one or two of those kids that we left up on the mountain at Yellowhead Lake,” said John. “Moise says a goat kid is just as good to eat as any kind of meat. And any kind of meat would be better than bacon rind to chew on.”

“Never mind, John,” said Rob; “we could go two days without anything to eat if we had to, and in two days, at least, we’ll be where you can get as square a meal as you like. Maybe even to-day we’ll land where we can get supplies, although Leo doesn’t seem to tell us very much about things on ahead.”

Leo and his silent but hard-working cousin George now came down to the waterside and signified that it was time to start off, as by this time the sun had cleared the mists from the river. As the light strengthened, they could see that the river had lost something of its deep blue or green color and taken on a tawny hue, which spoke all too plainly of the flood-waters coming down from the snow-fields through the many creeks they had passed on both sides of the river.

It took but a few moments now for them to embark, and soon they were plying their paddles once more and passing swiftly down the great river. Although they knew Leo was not very loquacious, and so not apt to say much of dangers on ahead, the general feeling of all the others was that the worst of their route had been traversed and that now they were in close touch with civilization.

They were moving along steadily in the bright, warm sunlight, and John and Rob were assisting with paddles on each side of the boat, when all at once they saw the lead-boat leave the center of the channel and shoot to the left toward a high bluff, which, they could see, was surmounted by several buildings.

“What’s the matter?” said Jesse. “Rapids on ahead?”

“No,” said Uncle Dick, “not rapids, but houses and barns! This must be the Boyd farm, and, if so, we’re very likely done with our boating. Heave ho, then, my hearties, and let’s see how fast we can paddle!”

They pulled up presently at the foot of the bluff, where Leo and George lay waiting for them.

“Hallo, Leo! What place is this?” called Jesse.

“This Sam Boyd farm. Steamboat come here—not go more higher,” answered Leo. He steadied the bow of the Bronco as they swung in, and soon all were standing on the shore.

“Plenty house here, plenty farm—trail up there, all way to Revelstruck,” said Leo.

The boys looked at their boat and at the river, and then gazed up the bank, at the summit of which, as they now learned, lay what might be called the skirmish-line of civilization, the point which practically ended their adventures. A feeling of regret and disappointment came over them all, which was reflected in their countenances as they turned toward their leader.

“I know how you feel, boys,” said their uncle, “for I never want to leave the woods myself. But we’ll go up and have a look over things, and find out maybe more than Leo has told us about our plans.”