hard work of "bucking the river" began again. The Missanabie
had lowered somewhat since the boys had come down it, but it still ran
so strong that they could not make much progress by paddling. Their
canoe poles were far back on the Smoke River, and they did not dare to
land in order to cut others, for in doing so they would mark their
trail.

Straining hard at every stroke, they dug their paddles into the water;
but they made slow work of it. The least carelessness on their part
would cause them to lose in one minute as much as they had gained in
ten.

A stretch of slacker water gave them some respite; but then came a
long, tumbling, rock-strewn rapid.

"We'll have to portage here," said Mac.

"It'll be a long carry," Horace said. "We'd lose a good deal of time
over it. I think we can track her up."

Mac and Horace carried the cage of foxes along the shore to the head of
the broken water, and Fred carried up the guns. Returning to the foot
of the rapid, they prepared to haul the canoe against the stream.
Luckily the tracking-line had always been kept in the canoe. Horace
tied it to the ring in the bow, took the end of the rope and, bracing
himself firmly, waded into the water; Macgregor and Fred, on either
side, held the craft steady.

The bed of the river was very irregular. Sometimes the water was no
more than knee-deep; sometimes it reached their hips. The water was
icy cold, and the rush and roar of the current were bewildering. Once
Mac lost his footing, but he clung to the canoe and recovered himself.
Then, when halfway up the rapid, Horace stepped on an unsteady stone
and plunged down, face forward, into the roaring water.

As the towline slackened, the canoe swung round with a jerk against
Macgregor, and upset him. Fred tried to hold it upright, but the
unstable craft went over like a shot.

Out went the venison and everything else that was in her. Fred made a
desperate clutch at the stern of the canoe, caught it and held on. As
the canoe shot down the rapid, he trailed out like a streamer behind
it. He heard a faint, smothered yell:--

"The venison! Save the meat!"

Almost before he knew it, Fred, half choked, still clinging to the
canoe, drifted into the tail of the rapid. He found bottom there, for
the water was not deep, and managed to right the canoe. By that time
Macgregor had got to his feet, and was coming down the shore to help
Fred. They were both dripping and chilled;