, a tremendous slope of rock with its dark crest
overhanging them, ran up high above their heads; but they could see
the pines clinging to the hillside which rose from the edge of the
other wall across the river, so steep that it appeared impossible to
find a foothold upon it.

The four men were down in the bottom of a great rift in the hills,
and, though it would be day above for at least two hours, the light
was faint in the hollow and dimmed by drifting mist. It was a spot
from which a man new to that wild country might well have shrunk, and
the roar of water rang through it in tremendous, nerve-taxing
pulsations. Nasmyth and his companions, however, had gone there with
no particular purpose--merely for relaxation--though it had cost them
hours of arduous labour, and the journey had been a more or less
hazardous one. Wheeler, the pulp-mill manager, was waiting for his
machinery, and, Nasmyth had finished the dam. When they planned the
journey for pleasure, Mattawa and Gordon had gone with them ostensibly
on a shooting trip. There are game laws, which set forth when and
where a man may shoot, and how many heads he is entitled to, but it
must be admitted that the Bush-rancher seldom concerns himself greatly
about them. When he fancies a change of diet, he goes out and kills a
deer. Still, though all the party had rifles no one would have cared
very much if they had not come across anything to shoot at.

Now and then a vague unrest comes upon the Bushman, and he sets off
for the wilderness, and stays there while his provisions hold out. He
usually calls it prospecting, but as a rule he comes back with his
garments rent to tatters, and no record of any mineral claim or timber
rights, but once more contentedly he goes on with his task. It may be
a reawakening of forgotten instincts, half-conscious lust of
adventure, or a mere desire for change, that impels him to make the
journey, but it is at least an impulse with which most men who toil
in those forests are well acquainted.

Nasmyth and Mattawa pulled the canoe out, and when they sat down and
lighted their pipes, Wheeler grinned as he drew up his duck trousers
and surveyed his knees, which were raw and bleeding. Then he held up
one of his hands that his comrades might notice the blisters upon it.
He was a little, wiry man with dark eyes, which had a snap in them.

"Well," he observed, "we're here, and I guess any man with sense
enough to prefer whole bones to broken