The following morning Johnston was bestirring himself bright and early
getting his men and stores together, and before noon a start was made for
the Kippewa River, on whose southern bank a site had already been
selected for the lumber camp which would be the centre of his operations
for the winter. Johnston's gang numbered fifty men all told, himself
included, and they were in high spirits as they set out for their
destination. The stores and tools were, of course, transported by waggon;
but the men had to go on foot, and with fifteen miles of a rough forest
road to cover before sundown, they struck a brisk pace as, in twos and
threes and quartettes, they marched noisily along the dusty road.

"You stay by me, Frank," said the foreman, "and if your young legs happen
to go back on you, you can have a lift on one of the teams until you're
rested."

Frank felt in such fine trim that although he fully appreciated his big
friend's thoughtfulness, he was rash enough to think he would not require
to avail himself of it; but the next five miles showed him his mistake,
and at the end of them he was very glad to jump upon one of the teams
that happened to be passing, and in this way hastened over a good part of
the remainder of the tramp.

As the odd-looking gang pushed forward steadily, if not in exactly
martial order, Frank had a good opportunity of inspecting its members,
and making in his own mind an estimate of their probable good of bad
qualities as companions. In this he was much assisted by the foreman,
who, in reply to his questions, gave him helpful bits of information
about the different ones that attracted his attention. Fully one-half
of the gang were French Canadians, dark-complexioned, black-haired,