mighty rivers or the lapping waves of wide, far-reaching lakes. The
timber wolf will startle him from sleep in the dead of night with its
long, weird howl, rising and falling in dismal cadence, or the silence
will be broken perchance by the wild, uncanny laugh of the loon
falling upon the darkness as a token of ill omen, but in all the vast
land he will hear no human voice and he will find no human
companionship.

Indian Jake had told Thomas that he would camp above the mouth of the
Nascaupee River, a dozen miles beyond the point where the river enters
Grand Lake. It was a journey of sixty miles or more from the Post.

Eli set out at once. Five miles up a short wide river brought him to
Grand Lake, which here reached away before him to meet the horizon in
the west, and at the foot of the lake he camped to await day, for the
lake and the country before him were unfamiliar.

Early in the afternoon of the third day after leaving the Post, Eli's
boat turned into the wide mouth of the Nascaupee River, and keeping a
sharp look-out, he rowed silently up the river. It was an hour before
sundown when his eye caught the white of canvas among the trees a
little way from the river.

With much caution Eli drew his boat among the willows that lined the
bank and made it fast. Slinging his cartridge bag over his shoulder,
and with his rifle resting in the hollow of his arm, ready for instant
action, he crept forward toward Indian Jake's camp. Taking advantage
of the cover of brush, he moved with extreme caution until he had the
tent and surroundings under observation.