The previous days had been so full of excitement that they had altogether forgotten that they were to go on a week's trip. Mr. Waterman went ahead making preparations. On Sunday evening, after the short devotions they always held on that day, said he:

"Boys, you remember that we are going on an exploring trip this week. So get ready. You will have to carry everything with you, so take those things that are absolutely necessary. In addition, remember that each of you boys is expected to carry his share of the grub for the week."

The boys began to plan and they went to their blankets filled with the idea of taking a real trip under old-time voyageur conditions.

"Supposing it rains?" suggested Pud.

"Well, what of it?" replied Bob. "Do you think that we're sugar and that a little rain will hurt us?"

"Don't worry very much," said Mr. Waterman. "If we have any really bad weather you will be surprised how quickly the guides will make a wood hut out of birch bark, and a few supports quickly cut in the woods."

Very early the next morning they were astir. Bob had to give many suggestions to Pud and Bill, too, but at last they had their duffle all ready so that by means of tump lines they could not only bear their own blankets and sleeping bags, but also their share of the week's supplies.

"We are going north," said Mr. Waterman.

"Let's go to the spy's cabin," said Pud.

"Ah, do," chimed in Bill. "You see, Pud and I had no part in that adventure."

"Very well," said Mr. Waterman, "it won't be a bad thing for us to go there and see how much of the place the Government agents have left."

"Have the police been there?" asked Bob.

"You can bet they've been there," said Mr. Waterman. "A party left Escoumains the very day we were there."

They were a picturesque party as they set out. Pierre was the only one left behind. Jean, Jack and Joe were there; Joe with his little pointed hat, mackinaw and shoe pack, looking all the world like the pictures of the old voyageurs that one sees in the illustrations of the early French occupation of Canada. With the three guides, Mr. Waterman, Mr. Anderson, and the three boys, there were eight in the party. Mr. Waterman led the way, taking Bob in his canoe. Jack had Pud with him, Jean was paired with Bill, while Mr. Anderson and Joe brought up the "honorable rear," as they say in Japan. In their blue shirts, khaki trousers, bandanna handkerchiefs around their necks and shoe packs, they looked ready to tackle a journey to James Bay. In fact, Jean and Joe had both made the trip to James Bay and back, over the Great Divide almost due north of Tadousac, going first up the St. John River from Chicoutimi. They would have been quite willing to make the trip again but, no doubt, they would have objected to the presence of the boys on such a trip. Such a canoe journey needs real woodsmen and is not for novices such as the boys were.

They were soon over into the lake from which the path led to the spy's cabin. Mr. Waterman steered straight for the trail. They got out and were soon over the short divide and into the big gulch. They found the cabin still standing and apparently with everything just as it had been left by them. When, however, they came to the wireless on the top of the mountain, they could not find a trace of it. It had been taken away entirely. The boys enjoyed the view from the top of the mountain.

"I almost believe that in clear weather Field and his mates could recognize the ships on the St. Lawrence if they had strong glasses, as they most probably had," said Mr. Waterman.

"Yes, it's so clear to-day," said Mr. Anderson, "that your idea seems not only possible but very probable. This was a very fine place for such a purpose. They could read the wireless messages that were sent from vessels going or coming from Quebec, and if they could get out to the United States now and then they could very easily keep their Government informed as to the movements of the British vessels, at least the most important vessels plying in and out of Quebec."

In a short time they were down the mountain and at the cabin once more.

"I must come in here some time and look for the outlet of this gulch," said Mr. Waterman. "There is quite a big watershed here, and the fact that there is no lake shows that there is a good outlet. Unless this outlet is underground it will lead down to either the Portneuf River or the Escoumains or some lake that empties into one or other of these streams."

"Have we time to look for it now?" asked Mr. Anderson.

"No," was the reply, "I have planned the trip for the week and it will be best to make a day's trip here just for the purpose."

They then went on their way and were soon over into another lake.

"Do you think you can stand another carry?" asked Mr. Waterman, turning to the boys.

"Sure," said Bob.

"Ab-so-lute-el-y," said Bill.

"All right," replied Pud.

"Why so modest?" asked Mr. Anderson.

"I find it hard work," said Pud. "I not only have to carry my load but about twenty-five pounds of superfluous flesh. I guess I can stand it if they can. I'm here to get in shape, so go ahead."

"We can stay here just as well and go on to the other lake in the morning. It is only mid-afternoon now, though," said Mr. Waterman, "and we could make the next lake easily. I plan to stay there all day to-morrow."

"Don't mind me," said Pud.

So they went ahead. Bob carried the canoe and a duffle bag full of grub, while Mr. Waterman kept piling on stuff until he had at least one hundred and fifty pounds on his back. With a tump line over his forehead, he moved ahead, apparently little concerned about the weight of his load. Mr. Anderson and the guides were also similarly loaded. Pud elected to carry his bag and the portion of the grub. Jack kept on piling up the stuff with a merry wink to Bob. Finally they moved off. The carry proved to be about a mile and a quarter long. They had to go up a fairly steep hill first. All did very well, though Pud was puffing and blowing like a porpoise and sweating like a foundryman when they stopped at the top of the hill for a short rest. They were soon on their way again. Jack stayed behind with Pud and the others were soon lost to view. Bob and Mr. Waterman walked ahead at a good pace and were soon at the lake, which opened out before them most invitingly. They were all in swimming when at last Jack and Pud hove in sight. Pud was certainty the picture of fatigue.

"Don't overdo it, Jack," said Mr. Waterman. "That was really too big a load for him to carry."

"I guess you're right," replied Jack. "I put it on him more for a joke than anything else, intending to take it myself later. But that kid's game. He would not let me have it, although I thought he would melt away before we got here. I won't overload him again. When he gets back to Philadelphia he'll be hard as a rock. With his gameness and his weight and strength, he should tear things loose on that football team. I don't know much about the game, but they tell me it's rough.

"It is a little rough," said Mr. Waterman, who himself had been a noted player when he went to college. "A little roughness in sport is really necessary for the full development of boys. They must get that personal contact and feel that they have to get the best of the other fellow through their own efforts. If this is done fairly, the roughness will not deteriorate into anything dangerous."

In the meantime Pud prepared for a swim, which was certainly a reward for him after such a long stretch of portage.

"Oh, you water," said Pud, as he luxuriously lay out on his back floating. "That last carry was some hike. It had all the Plattsburg full-equipment hikes beaten to death. I'm just going to load my pater down some day with what I had on my back and then ask him how he would like to tote that over a young mountain."

"You did very well, Pud," said Mr. Waterman. "I did not notice how much Jack was piling on you or I would have taken part of it myself."

"Not on your life," said Pud. "I'm here, and that extra sweat I had will do me good. I told Jack I would switch with him now and then. I did not realize what a load he had. On the previous carries he walked along just as if he was out for a little jaunt. He's getting old, too. I don't see how how he does it."

"They get used to it and know just how to distribute the load so that it will be carried most easily," said Mr. Waterman.

While the boys were enjoying the water, the guides were busy. Already they had cut a couple of poles, and with the aid of two trees they had made a very serviceable fireplace and was getting ready to make biscuits.

"Hey, you boys," called Mr. Waterman, "get busy. We'll clear up around here, but you fellows get out and catch us some trout for supper."

"Nothing easier," said Bob, as he came ashore and put on his clothes. In a little while they were all three out on the lake casting like veterans. Bob was in one canoe alone while Pud paddled Bill in the other canoe. In a very short time they had over thirty fine trout, and at a shout from Jack they came back to camp.

"Well, did you have any luck?" asked Jack, as they came to the shore.

"Bully!" said Bob. "This lake is full of trout as fine as I have ever seen."

"No wonder," replied Jack. "There is no one here to catch them, and they keep on increasing."

"Well, I'll reduce the supply if we stay here a few days," said Pud. "I could eat an ox, let alone a few trout."

"You'll get all you want to eat and then some," said Jack.

The fish were soon cleaned, and twenty minutes later they sat around a table made of two big logs with birch bark spread over it. It was not quite so comfortable as in their home camp, where they had a rude bench to sit on, but not one of them even thought of any such luxuries. They had had a strenuous day with but a very small lunch, and they were as hungry as wolves. The way the biscuits, the trout and everything else disappeared was a tribute to Jack's cooking. Even Pud at last drew back from the improvised table fully satisfied.

"The Germans have a proverb to the effect that 'Hunger is the best cook,'" said Mr. Anderson.

"That's true," broke in Pud, "but when you have a fine cook and hunger too, then there is real enjoyment in eating even the most simple fare."

"Well said, old top," remarked Bill. "'But first tell me when you got to be a philosopher."

"The best time to philosophize," said Mr. Waterman, "is just after such a meal as we have had. Then there is such a sense of bodily satisfaction that everything else appears to us as if detached from our own selves. The true philosophers are the woodsmen. They have time to think over life and its many chances, and they get to know things at their true worth. That is why men who are brought up near to nature are always such good judges of character either in men, women, or animals."

"Now we are philosophizing," said Mr. Anderson. "I think you're right, though, for practically the only true philosophers that I have ever known are men of the woods. Pierre is a good example of this. His views of life and death would do credit to Dr. Talmage or any other of our great preachers."

"Well, all I can say is this," said Pud, "I'm glad I'm here."

At this everybody laughed, for it was typical of big, hearty, jovial Pud, that any real serious conversation should go over his head, even though his own ideas may have started the talk.

After supper the boys got their sleeping bags ready and everything else so placed that they would not be wet by the dew, which is very heavy in the Saguenay region. Then, like true sons of Nimrod, they once more sought the limpid waters of the little lake in quest of the ever elusive and ever interesting trout. They all had good luck, which guaranteed them a hearty breakfast. As Bob and Pud came back to the camp they found Jack out on a log casting. The woods were back of him and almost directly above him, but in some uncanny way he managed to cast his fly just where and just as far as he wanted to. As they came by he showed them a dozen fine specimens that he had hooked.

"Why go so far from camp?" said he, in his quizzical way. "They bite just as good here."

"For you," said Bob. "You're a wizard with the fly, but for a poor novice like myself it is better to seek the fish where they are pretty sure to be found. I'm no Pied Piper of Hamlin to be able to draw fish to my fly as he did rats with his pipe."

The camp fire proved more than usually attractive that evening. All gathered around, even the guides, after they had straightened everything up.

"Well, we don't need to worry much now," said Mr. Waterman. "We'll stay right here to-morrow and have a good day's fishing and possibly hunting."

"What kind of hunting?" asked Pud.

"I was thinking merely of a partridge or two," replied Mr. Waterman.

"Arc you going to use your sleeping bag to-night?" asked Bob.

"Sure thing," replied Mr. Anderson. "We're going to have a fine night, but about four o'clock to-morrow morning you are liable to make the acquaintance of some of those moustiques or gnats that Pierre tells about. If you are in your sleeping bag you can then just pull over the flap and have another snooze."

"It certainly looks like fine weather," said Bill. "I think that I'll get up real early and visit that trout hole I found to-night. They just jumped at the fly. It was almost dark when I struck the place, so I had time only for a 'strike' or two."

"I'm with you," said Pud, with a yawn.

"Swell chance," said Bob. "We won't be able to waken you to-morrow morning until you hear Jack's voice yelling that breakfast is ready."

"Is that so?" replied Pud. "Now, don't you believe it. I've turned over a new leaf, and I'm going to get up promptly from now on."

"The only thing you'll turn over to-morrow at dawn is yourself for another nap," said Bill.

"Just try me and you'll see," said Pud.

"You're on," was the reply, "but I warn you that I'll call you just once."

Just then Mr. Waterman broke in by asking Joe if this was not the lake where he had had such an experience with wolves some years before. Joe nodded. The boys immediately wanted to know the story. Bob sat down by Joe and was soon lost as he listened to the vivacious tale of the French habitant.

"That isn't fair," said Bill, to no one in particular.

"What isn't fair?" asked Mr. Anderson.

"Why, Bob knows French, so he is having Joe tell him the wolf story. We'd like to know that too."

"It is really a fairly common occurrence; at least was some years ago in this country," said Mr. Anderson.

"But Bob will tell us, won't you?" said Pud, turning to him.

"Sure." So Bob began the interesting tale.

"Joe was up here with Pierre and another Indian hunting some years ago. The winter had been a very severe one with a wealth of snow. On this account, the wolves had been able to get but little to eat. They were then much more numerous than they are to-day. At that time there was a bounty on wolves and hundreds of heads were turned in to the government each winter and spring. Joe and his party were coming back to Escoumains after a good winter's hunt. They stopped on the next lake at a hunter's shack that was there at that time. As the weather promised to keep cold, they determined to stay there, feeling that if the spring should come with a rush that they would be able to get down to Escoumains, as it was only a week's journey distant.

"They therefore set their traps and went methodically about their business of gathering in the furry harvest made profitable to them through the desires of 'My Lady' in the large cities, whose fair necks must be covered and protected from even the cold autumn's breath. One fine day Joe set out to make the round of the traps. He had good luck and was going home about four o'clock in the afternoon, laden with two foxes and four rabbits. Joe was hurrying on, for there was no moon and the shades of night fall very early in these latitudes even in March. They had heard a wolf occasionally, but had felt no fear of them, so that when Joe heard the long-drawn note, he did not give it even a thought. He was intent on getting back before nightfall, so he failed to note that the howls were rapidly approaching.

"As he reached the surface of the lake, which was of course frozen tightly at that time of year, he was astonished to hear the howl of a wolf, immediately followed by other howls only a short distance in his rear. He hurried on, but before he could get across the lake, he saw several dark forms dash out on the ice behind him. He broke into a run, but the pack rapidly overtook him. Raising his gun to fire, he was thunderstruck to find that in some way he had jammed the trigger and that it would not work.

"He did not have any time to waste, so he threw down two rabbits and hurried on. The wolves stopped only a moment, when they came to the rabbits. He could hear them snarling and quarreling over their small carcasses. He felt his blood run cold and wondered if he was to be torn to pieces in like manner. Once more the pack came on, so he threw another couple of rabbits to them and ran ahead. They got quite near to him the next time, so he dropped the remainder of his load and fled for the shore. He felt that his only chance lay in getting ashore and up a tree. As he ran he tried to fix the trigger of his gun, but he could not get it working. He was quite near the shore now, but the wolves were close behind. With a last desperate rush, he sprang up the steep bank. Turning around, he was just in time to strike down with his clubbed gun a big gray form that leaped at him with gleaming fangs. This lucky stroke probably saved Joe's life, for the rest of the pack stopped to devour their comrade, thus giving Joe time to get safely into the branches of a tree. The wolves, now with bloody mouths and glaring eyeballs, surrounded the tree and let out howls of such fierceness that they made Joe tremble even though he knew that he was safe for the present. He was only about a mile and a half away from their shack, and he knew that if he did not turn up, that sooner or later Pierre would be out to hunt him.

"But, can you imagine how pleasant it must be to be up in a tree, with broken gun, a dozen hungry wolves beneath you and a cold night coming on? Already Joe began to get very cold, for in his race across the lake through the heavy snow he had broken out into a heavy perspiration. As darkness came down he could feel the cold hand of King Frost, as it were, reaching for him and trying to throw him down to the beasts below. This idea took possession of Joe's mind and he fought it off with all his strength. He tried as best he could in the gathering darkness to fix his gun, but it was hopelessly jammed. At last he gave this up and settled down to wait for the morning, which would surely bring Pierre to his rescue.

"As the cold became greater, his desire to sleep became the stronger. He felt himself nodding several times and once awoke just as he was on the point of falling from the tree. He grabbed a branch lower down, but his feet swung beneath and before he could get back safely on the limb one of the watchful band below by a mighty leap snapped at his leg and took a piece cleanly out of the calf, tearing his trousers leg almost entirely off him. The smell of the blood put the wolves into a frenzy and they tried again and again to reach him by leaping. They seemed maddened by hunger, for when one of their number fell after making a mighty upward bound, the pack was on him in a minute, and before the horrified eyes of Joe, they tore their mate to pieces and in ten minutes there was neither hide nor hair of him to be seen.

"Joe now had to bind up his leg as best he could. He bound the rags of his trouser leg around so that it kept out the cold pretty well. This excitement kept him up for some time, but about twelve o'clock Joe felt that the cold was sure to get the better of him if he did not do something. He thereupon undid the leather strap that he used ordinarily to carry his gun over his back when not in use. This strap, together with his belt, made a strap sufficiently long so that he was able to bind himself to the tree. He then felt easier, for he knew that at least, even though he went to sleep, that he would run no risk of falling down as prey for the murderous pack below. He wondered if he would be able to stand the cold night or whether when Pierre came in the morning he might not find him stark and rigid, tied to the branch of the tree.

"He shuddered as he remembered the gruesome sight he had once noted far to the north one day. Then, on one of his fishing expeditions, he had come upon the body of a man hanging in a tree, evidently treed by wolves and then frozen. He wondered if some chance passer-by in after years would find his skeleton in a similar way and would pass on with only a 'Dieu benisse' (May God bless) as he had done, and not even give him decent burial. He commenced to think that his present position was directly due to his haste on this former occasion. He begged God to forgive him and promised to burn a hundred candles for the soul of the unknown if he ever got back to Escoumains.

"At last human strength could hold out no longer and Joe fell asleep, asleep with the cold, that forerunner of death. Joe knew nothing until he awoke in the cabin with Pierre busy about him. It seems that when he did not return Pierre had gotten uneasy. He and his mate had started out. With pine torches they followed his trail, and when they saw the numerous wolf tracks they feared for the worst. They followed across the ice and were themselves attacked by the pack. Their guns soon put them to flight and a few minutes later they found Joe insensible up in the tree. They hurried him back to the hut and in a few days Joe was none the worse for his experience except for the painful wound on his leg made by the champion high jumper of the pack."

"Are there any wolves up here now?" asked Pud, as he looked out into the forest with its dark avenues of trees.

"Not so many," replied Mr. Anderson, "but Sandy, down at Escoumains, told me the other day that they were getting numerous again, and that a bounty had once more been put on their heads."

"Don't be dreaming of wolves and pounce on me again, as you did when dreaming of bears," laughed Bob.

"Yes, to bed, to bed, now," cried Mr. Waterman. "I'm sure we all need the rest, for we have had a great day."

They all agreed with him and were soon warm and cozy in their sleeping bags, sleeping as only tired men can sleep out of doors. The fire died down, the greenness of the nearby branches became gray and then black and were finally merged into the blackness of the surrounding woods, and not a sound told that here under God's own canopy slept human beings enjoying nature as the primeval men of old did.