Elbow the most trying stretch of water in the whole length of the
river. Beyond this great bend, still called the Elbow, the Saskatchewan
takes a swing north-east through the true wilderness primeval. The rough
waters below the Elbow are the first of twenty-two rapids round the same
number of sharp turns in the river. Some are a mere rippling of the
current, more noisy than dangerous; others run swift and strong for
sixteen miles. First are the Squaw Rapids, where the Indian women used
to wait while the men went on down-stream with the furs. Next are the
Cold Rapids, and boats are barely into calm water out of these when a
roar gives warning of more to come, and a tall tree stripped of all
branches but a tufted crest on top--known among Indians as a
'lob-stick,--marks two more rippling rapids. The Crooked Rapids send
canoes twisting round point after point almost to the forks of the South
Saskatchewan. Here, five miles below the modern fur post, at a bend in
the river commanding a great sweep of approach, a gay courtier of France
built Fort La Corne. Who called the bold sand-walls to the right Heart
Hills? And how comes it that here are Cadotte Rapids, named after the
famous voyageur family of Cadottes, whose ancestor gave his life and
his name to one section of the Ottawa?

[Illustration: A CAMP IN THE SWAMP COUNTRY From a photograph]

Forty miles below La Corne is Nepawin, the 'looking-out-place' of the
Indians for the coming trader, where the French had another post. And
still the river widens and widens. Though the country is flat, the level
of the river is ten feet below a crumbling shore worn sheer as a wall,
with not the width of a hand for camping-place below. On a spit of the
north shore was the camping-place known as Devil's Point, where no
voyageur would ever stay because the long point was inhabited by demons.
The bank is steep here, flanked by a swamp of huge spruce trees
criss-crossed by the log-jam of centuries. The reason for the ill omen
of the place is plain enough--a long point running out with three sides
exposed to a bellowing wind.

East of Devil's Point, the Saskatchewan breaks from its river bed and is
lost for a hundred and fifty miles through a country of pure muskeg,
quaking silt soft as sponge, overgrown with reed and goose grass. Here
are not even low banks; there are no banks at all. Canoes are on a level
with the land, and reeds sixteen feet high line the aisled water
channels. One can s