"Well, son," said he, "that's called 'sacking' the river. The rear crew
is the place of honour, let me tell you. The old timers used to take a
great pride in belonging to a crack rear on a big drive. When you get
one side of the river working against the other, it's great fun. I've
seen some fine races in my day."

At this moment two men swung up the river trail, bending to the broad
tump lines that crossed the tops of their heads. These tump lines
supported rather bulky wooden boxes running the lengths of the men's
backs. Arrived at the rear, they deposited their burdens. One set to
building a fire; the other to unpacking from the boxes all the utensils
and receptacles of a hearty meal. The food was contained in big lard
tins. It was only necessary to re-heat it. In ten minutes the usual call
of "grub pile" rang out across the river. The men came ashore. Each
group of five or six built its little fire. The wind sucked aloft these
innumerable tiny smokes, and scattered them in a thin mist through the
trees.

Welton stayed to watch the sacking until after three o'clock. Then he
took up the river trail to the rear camp. This Bob found to be much like
the other, but larger.

"Ordinarily on drive we have a wanigan," said Welton. "A wanigan's a big
scow. It carries the camp and supplies to follow the drive. Here we use
teams; and it's some of a job, let me tell you! The roads are bad, and
sometimes it's a long ways around. Hard sledding, isn't it Billy?" he
inquired of the teamster, who was warming his hands by the fire.

"Well, I always get there," the latter replied with some pride. "From
the Little Fork here I only tipped over six times, all told."