"I 'lows it's time t' turn in. We'll have t' be movin' early in th'
mornin' an' we makes th' Muskrat Portage."

Then they went to the tent and rolled into their blankets and were
soon sleeping as only men can sleep who breathe the pure, free air of
God's great out-of-doors.

Before noon the next day they reached the Muskrat Falls, where the
torrent, with a great roar, pours down seventy feet over the solid
rocks. An Indian portage trail leads around the falls and meets the
river again half a mile farther up. At its beginning it ascends a
steep incline two hundred feet, then it runs away, comparatively
level, to its upper end where it drops abruptly to the water's edge.
To pull a heavy boat up this incline and over the half mile to the
launching place above, was no small undertaking.

Everything was unloaded, the craft brought ashore, and ropes which
were carried for the purpose attached to the bow. Then round sticks of
wood, for rollers, were placed under it, and while Dick and Ed hauled,
Bob and Bill pushed and lifted and kept the rollers straight. In this
manner, with infinite labour, it was worked to the top of the hill and
step by step hauled over the portage to the place where it was to
enter the water again. It was nearly sunset when they completed their
task and turned back to bring up their things from below.

They had retraced their steps but a few yards when Dick, who was
ahead, darted off to the left of the trail with the exclamation:

"An' here's some fresh meat for supper."