our shade hats.

The ferry-boat came for us at last, and as we drove over the prairie at a
moderate rate, delays having become things of the past, we were for the
next hour almost merry. This transient joy was soon dispelled by our
driver, who, without any warning, turned off the road through some swampy
ground. Pulling up suddenly before an apparently unbroken line of trees,
he craned his neck first one way and then the other in search of an
opening, unheeding the expostulations in French and English with which he
was assailed, until, finding what he sought, and nicking his whip over
the horses' ears, he condescended to reply, "_Je fais le detour!_
Bad, _voila!_" Then, urging his horses on, he charged into the
bushes, and drove along what had been once a cart trail (one could hardly
call it a road), overgrown with underbrush. Long branches met overhead,
and we were kept busy, alternately warding them, off our faces and
holding on to our seats--for the track was a succession of uneven hills,
hollows, and short turns, with which our driver seemed as unacquainted as
ourselves.

About six o'clock we came to the high-road, which crossed the end of our
track--the highroad that has cost our country over thirteen million
dollars--the far-famed and much-talked-of Dawson road. It was some two
feet higher than our rough track, and separated from it by a large mud
puddle, in which, after a lurch to one side and a violent jerk from the
horses, the waggon-wheels sank on the other. A volley of oaths was
discharged by our half-breed, followed by a crack of his long whip, and a
sharp struggle, and then the near horse fell back on his haunches and we
stuck fast. Down rolled the best valise, out sprang Jehu, carrying with
him into the mud our biggest blanket. Mr. C----, in slippers, sat on the
top of the waggon demanding his boots, which where _somewhere_ at