ruefully, for he was by no means burdened
with wealth, but he was, after all, not greatly astonished. Few of the
small ranchers can feed their stock entirely on their little patches
of cleared land, and it is not an unusual thing for most of the herd
to run almost wild in the Bush. Now and then, the cattle acquire a
somewhat perilous fondness for wrecking road-makers' and prospectors'
tents, which explains why a steer occasionally fails to be found and
some little community of axemen is provided with more fresh meat than
can well be consumed.

"I'm afraid it's rather more than likely I'll have to pay a good
price," said Nasmyth. "Do you feel anxious for any more shooting
to-night, Wheeler?"

"No," said the pulp-miller, with a grin, as he surveyed his bemired
clothes. "Guess it's going to prove expensive, and I've had 'most
enough. I don't feel like poling that canoe any farther up-river,
either. What's the matter with camping right where we are until we eat
the steer?"

There was, however, as Mattawa pointed out, a good deal to be done
before they could make their first meal off the beast, and none of
them quite relished the task, especially as they had only an axe and a
couple of moderately long knives. Still, it was done, and when they
carried a portion of the meat out of the swamp, and had gone down to
wash in the icy river, they went wearily back to their tent among the
firs.

CHAPTER XI

THE GREAT IDEA

The night was cold, and a frost-laden wind set the fir branches
sighing as Nasmyth and his comrades sat about a snapping fire. The red
light flickered upon their faces, and then grew dim again, leaving
their blurred figures indistinct amid the smoke that diffused pungent,
aromatic odours as it streamed by and vanished between the towering
tree-trunks.

The four men were of widely different type and training, though it was
characteristic of the country that they sat and talked together on
terms of perfect equality. Two of them were exiles, by fault and
misfortune, from their natural environment. One had forced himself
upwards by daring and mechanical genius into a station to which, in
one sense, he did not belong, and Mattawa, the chopper, alone, pursued
the occupation which had always been familiar to him. Still, it was as
comrades that they lived together in the wilderness, and, what was
more, had they come across one another afterwards in the cities, they
would have resumed their intercourse on