the fut of a redskin now an' again. And
there's poplars, an' oaks, an' willows, as thick as they can grow."

March might have added that there were also elm, and sycamore, and ash,
and hickory, and walnut, and cotton-wood trees in abundance, with
numerous aspen groves, in the midst of which were lakelets margined with
reeds and harebells, and red willows, and wild roses, and chokeberries,
and prickly pears, and red and white currants. He might, we say, have
added all this, and a great deal more, with perfect truth; but he
didn't, for his knowledge of the names of such things was limited, so he
confined himself, like a wise youth, to the enumeration of those things
that he happened to be acquainted with.

"And," continued March, starting up and addressing his remark to a
hollow in the ground a few yards off, "there's grisly bars here, too,
for there's the futmark of one, as sure as I'm a white man!"

Most people would have been inclined to differ with March in regard to
his being a white man, for he was as brown as constant exposure in hot
weather could make him; but he referred to his blood rather than to his
skin, which was that of white parents.

The footprint which he had discovered was, indeed, that of a grisly
bear, and he examined it with more than usual interest, for, although
many of those ferocious denizens of the western woods had been already
seen, and a few shot by the trappers on their voyage to this point, none
had been seen so large as the monster whose footprint now attracted
Marston's attention. The print was eleven inches long, exclusive of the
claws, and seven inches broad.

While March was busily engaged in examining it, Black Gibault came
panting up the hill with a huge pack on his back.

"Ho! March, me garcon, vat you be find la?" cried the Canadian,
throwing down his pack and advancing. "A bar, Gibault; Caleb himself.
A regular big un, too. Just look here."

"Ah! oui, vraiment; dat am be one extinishin' vopper, sure 'nuff. Mais,
him's gone pass long ago, so you better come avay an' finish de
portage."

"Not I, lad," cried March gaily, as he flung himself upon the grassy
mound; "I'm goin' to admire this splendid country till I'm tired of it,
and leave you and the other fellows to do the work."

"Oh! ver' goot," cried Gibault, sitting down beside our hero, and
proceeding to fill his pipe, "I will 'mire de countray, too. Ha! it be
unmarkibly beautiful--specially when beholded troo