flour and a side of bacon. These were merely a temporary provision; when
they should be exhausted, the men would rely wholly on the forest.

Sam Bolton hovered over the pile, after it was completed, his eyes half
shut, naming over its items again and again, assuring himself that
nothing lacked. At his side MacDonald made suggestions.

"Got a copper pail, Sam? a frying-pan? cups? How about the axe? Better
have an extra knife between you. Need any clothes? Compass all right?"

To each of these questions Sam nodded an assent. So MacDonald, having
named everything--with the exception of the canvas square to be used as
a tarpaulin or a tent, and soap and towel--fell silent, convinced that
he could do nothing more.

But Dick, who had been drumming his fingers idly against the window,
turned with a suggestion of his own.

"How're we fixed for shoe pacs? I haven't got any."

At once MacDonald looked blank.

"By George, boys, I ain't got but four or five pairs of moccasins in the
place! There's plenty of oil tan; I can fix you all right there. But
smoke tans! That Abítibi gang mighty near cleaned me out. You'll have to
try the Indians."

Accordingly Bolton and Herron took their way in the dusty little
foot-trodden path--there were no horses in that frontier--between the
Factor's residence and the Clerk's house, down the meandering trail