This proposition suited Frank admirably. A week in the woods in
Johnston's company could not fail to be a week of delight, and he thanked
the foreman in his warmest words for offering to take him on his
prospecting tour.

The following morning they set off, the party consisting of four--namely,
the foreman, Frank, Laberge, who accompanied them as cook, and another
man named Booth as a sort of assistant. The snow still lay deep enough to
render snow-shoes necessary, and while Johnston and Frank carried their
rifles, Laberge and Booth drew behind them a toboggan, upon which was
packed a small tent and an abundant supply of provisions. Their route led
straight into the heart of the vast and so far little-explored forest,
and away from the river beside whose bank they had been living all
winter. It was Johnston's purpose to penetrate to the foot of the
mountain range that rose into sight nearly thirty miles away, and then
work backward by a different route, noting carefully the lie of the land,
the course of the streams, and the best bunches of timber, so as to make
sure of selecting a site for the future camp in the very best locality.

He was evidently in excellent spirits himself at the prospect of a week's
holiday, for such it would really be, and all trace of his injury having
entirely disappeared, there was no drawback to the energy with which he
led his little expedition into the forest where they would be buried for
the rest of the week.

The weather was as fine as heart could wish. All day the sun shone
brightly, and even at night the temperature never got anywhere near zero,
so that with a buffalo-robe under you and a couple of good blankets over
you it was possible to sleep quite comfortably in a canvas tent.