ve him," said Barry. "Harry Hobbs."

"Hobbs? Boozes a bit, doesn't he?"

"Not now. Hasn't for six months. He's a new man. I can guarantee him."

"You can, eh? Well, my experience is once a boozer always a boozer."

"Oh," said Barry, "Hobbs is different. He is a member of our church, you
know."

"No, I didn't know. But I don't know that that makes much difference
anyway," said Duff with a laugh. "I don't mean to be offensive," he
added.

"It does to Hobbs, he's a Christian man now. I mean a real Christian,
Mr. Duff."

"Well, I suppose there is such a thing. In fact, I've known one or two,
but--well, if you guarantee him I'll take him."

"I will guarantee him," said Barry.

"Let me have your answer to-morrow," said Duff as he bade them
good-night.

The Dunbars discussed the matter far into the night. It was clearly
impossible for Mr. Dunbar to leave his work, and the only question
was whether or not Barry should make one of the party. Barry greatly
disliked the idea of leaving his father during the hot summer months,
as he said, "to slave away at his desk, and to slop away in his bachelor
diggings." He raised many objections, but one consideration seemed to
settle things for the Dunbars. To them a promise was a promise.

"If I remember aright, Barry, we promised that we should join their
party on this expedition."

"Yes," added Barry quickly, "if our work permitted it."

"Exactly," said his father. "My work prevents me, your work does not."

Hence it came that by the end of August Barry found himself in the far
northern wilds of the Peace River country, a hundred miles or so from
Edmonton, attached to a prospecting-hunting party of which Mr. Osborne
Howland was the nominal head, but of which the "boss" was undoubtedly
his handsome, athletic and impetuous daughter Paula. The party had not
been on the trail for more than a week before every member was moving at
her command, and apparently glad to do so.

The party were camped by a rushing river at the foot of a falls. Below
the falls the river made a wide eddy, then swept down in a turbulent
rapid for some miles. The landing was a smooth and shelving rock that
pitched somewhat steeply into the river.

The unfortunate Harry, who after the day's march had exchanged his heavy
marching boots with their clinging hobnails for shoes more comfortable
but with less clinging qualities, in making preparation for the evening
meal made his way down this shelving rock