rifle in hand, on the bank. Cautiously he stole down among the
alders and willows that lined the shore, and then crawled on hands and
knees through the marsh until the duck was opposite to him. It seemed
a very small thing for a rifle target while it was moving, and as
George put the rifle to his shoulder and carefully aimed, Hubbard and I
watched him with nerves drawn to a tension. Once he lowered the rifle,
changed his position slightly, then again raised the weapon to his
shoulder. He was deliberation personified. Would he never fire? But
suddenly the stillness of the wilderness was broken by a loud, clear
report. And Hubbard and I breathed again, breathed a prayer of
gratitude, as we saw the duck turn over on its back. With his long
black hair falling loosely over his ears, ragged, and dripping wet with
the marsh water, George arose and returned to us. Stopping for a
moment before entering the canoe, he looked heavenward and reverently
said:

"The Lord surely guided that bullet."

It was still early in the morning when we arrived at the point where we
had portaged into the river. George prepared the duck--small it was
but very fat--for a delicious, glorious luncheon, and while it was
cooking we had our last discussion as to whether or not we should leave
the river.

"Well," I at length said to Hubbard, "a final decision can be deferred
no longer. It's up to you, b'y--which route are we to take?"

"I firmly believe," said Hubbard, "that we should stick to our old
trail."

George and I said no more. The question was settled. Hubbard was the
leader. Immediately after luncheon we set to work preparing for the
march overland. In addition to several minor articles of equipment, we
decided to leave behind us the artificial horizon, the sextant box, and
one of the axes. When our light packs had been prepared, we turned the
canoe bottom up on the river bank. I hated to leave it. I turned once
to pat and stroke the little craft that had carried us so far in
safety. To me it was one of our party--a dear friend and comrade. It
seemed cruel to abandon it there in the midst of the wilderness. In my
abnormal state of mind I could scarcely restrain the tears.

But the best of friends must part, and so, shouldering our light packs,
we bid the canoe a last farewell, and staggered forward to the horrors
in store for us on the trail below.

XVI. AT THE LAST CAMP

We began our march back to the Susan