One day the clouds grew tired of sending forth snow and rain, and the
wind forgot to blow, and the waters became weary of their rushing. The
morning broke clear and beautiful, and the sun, in a blaze of red and
orange grandeur, displayed the world in all its rugged primeval
beauty. The travellers had reached Lake Wonakapow, a widening of the
river, where the waters were smooth and no current opposed their
progress. For the first time in many days the sails were hoisted, and,
released from the hard work, the men sat back to enjoy the rest, while
a fair breeze sent them up the lake.

"'Tis fine t' have a spell from th' trackin'," remarked Ed as he
lighted his pipe.

"Aye, 'tis that," assented Dick, "an' we been makin' rare good time
wi' this bad weather. We're three days ahead o' my reckonin'."

How beautiful it was! The water, deep and dark, leading far away,
every rugged hill capped with snow, and the white peaks sparkling in
the sunshine. A loon laughed at them as they passed, and an invisible
wolf on a mountainside sent forth its long weird cry of defiance.

They sailed quietly on for an hour or two. Finally Ed pointed out to
Bob a small log shack standing a few yards back from the shore,
saying:

"An' there's my tilt. Here I leaves un."

Bill Campbell was at the tiller, and the boat was headed to a strip of
sandy beach near the tilt. Presently they landed. Ed's things were