and he knew that they had left Manitoba when the last snows yet patched the earth, and that the leaves of fall would be orange and red on the long, silent forest trails before they homed at last to the new, unhandled places that waited them. The man's hands showed callosities along the palm. He and his mates had worked their way up these many hundred miles by splitting wood for the river-steamers; trenching ground for a farmer; cutting a much-needed trail with the aid of the Mounted Police. And the green summer moved over their heads, and their cattle fattened on the lush grasses, and their children grew brown and strong as they went, untroubled, trusting in their gods, to an unknown future.
"We heered there was apt to be a river somewheres," said the man, and touched his thick-haired head in vague salute. "You could likely tell us, sir. Would we want to raft our freight over?"
"There are a creek or two close by. You can cross those very easily," said Dick. "You'll have to raft over the Peace, of course. But you won't be there for a good while, I imagine."
"We've rafted two a'ready. Durned slow work. What's that, missus?"
A young, bright-eyed woman with a baby in her arms spoke at his ear.
"Ask the gentleman won't he have supper, Jerry. It's waitin'."
"No, thanks." Dick looked at the two. They were the kind of importations Randal would have approved. "I'll get something where I'm going. That's a remarkably young settler you've got there."
"Born on the trail." The man handed up the pink and white bundle with pride. "The missus she would have him christened in Grey Wolf yes'day. Guess we won't find no parsons where we're going."
"You'll have one monthly—like the bills in cities. But there are no doctors or nurses or hospitals." Dick looked at the woman. "If your children get sick, you'll have to cure them yourself," he said.
"Jerry can," said the young wife, and her face glowed. "He kin do most all things, I guess." And Dick's last
