The journey down the river had to be done in light marching order. Not
much baggage could be carried, so as not to burden too heavily the three
or four "_bonnes_," as they call the long, light, flat-bottomed boats
peculiar to lumbermen, which had been all winter awaiting the time when
their services would be required. The shore work being beyond his
strength, Frank was given a place in one of the _bonnes_ along with
Baptiste, Laberge, and part of the commissariat, and it was their duty to
precede the main body of the men, and have their dinner and supper ready
for them when they came up. In this way Frank would get a perfect view of
the whole business of river driving, and he was in high feather as they
made a start on a beautiful morning in early May, with the sun shining
brightly, the air soft and balmy, and the river reflecting the blue of
the unclouded heavens.

"Now take good care of Baptiste and the grub," said Johnston, with a
smile, as he pushed the boat in which Frank was sitting off into the
stream. "If you let anything happen to them, Frank, I don't know what
we'll do to you."

"I'll do my best, sir," replied Frank, smiling back. "The boat won't
upset if I can help it, and as Baptiste can't swim, he'll do his best to
be careful too; won't you, Baptiste?"

"_Vraiment, mon cher_," cried Baptiste. "If we upset--poor Baptiste! zat
will be the last of him." And he shrugged his fat shoulders and made a
serio-comic grimace that set everybody laughing.

If the Kippewa, through all its course, had been as deep and free from
obstructions as it was opposite the lumber camp, the river drivers