"Now I'll tell you my fix," said Yates confidentially. "I've got a tent
and some camp things down below at the customhouse shanty, and I want
to get them taken into the woods, where I can camp out with a friend. I
want a place where we can have absolute rest and quiet. Do you know the
country round here? Perhaps you could recommend a spot."

"Well, for all the time I've been here, I know precious little about
the back country. I've been down the road to Niagara Falls, but never
back in the woods. I suppose you want some place by the lake or the
river?"

"No, I don't. I want to get clear back into the forest--if there is a
forest."

"Well, there's a man in to-day from somewhere near Ridgeway, I think.
He's got a hay rack with him, and that would be just the thing to take
your tent and poles. Wouldn't be very comfortable traveling for you,
but it would be all right for the tent, if it's a big one."

"That will suit us exactly. We don't care a cent about the comfort.
Roughing it is what we came for. Where will I find him?"

"Oh, he'll be along here soon. That's his team tied there on the side
street. If he happens to be in good humor, he'll take your things, and
as like as not give you a place to camp in his woods. Hiram Bartlett's
his name. And, talking of the old Nick himself, here he is. I say, Mr.
Bartlett, this gentleman was wondering if you couldn't tote out some of
his belongings. He's going out your way."

Bartlett was a somewhat uncouth and wiry specimen of the Canadian