unning the boats through the chute on the
north shore, but Alex's cautious counsel prevailed. There was not more
than thirty or forty feet of the very worst water, rather a cascade
than a long rapid, but they discharged the cargo and lined both boats
through light. This sort of work proved highly interesting and
exciting to all hands, and, of course, when superintended by such men
as Alex and Moise had no great danger, although all of them were
pretty wet when at length they had their boats reloaded at the foot of
the rapids.

"I know how Sir Alexander got across the mountains," said John. "He
had good _voyageurs_ to do the work! About all he had to do was to
write the story each night, and he didn't do that any too well, it
seems to me--anyhow, when you come to read his story backward you
can't tell where you are very well."

"That's right," said Rob. "I don't much blame Simon Fraser for finding
fault with Mackenzie's narrative. But maybe if we had written the
story they'd have found fault with us the same way. The same country
doesn't look alike to different people, and what is a mile to one man
may be two miles to another when both are guessing. But anyhow, here
we are below the 'Polly' rapids--as the traders call them to-day--and
jolly glad we ought to be we're safe, too."

"Plain sailing again now for a while," said Jesse. "Let's see the
map."

They all bent over the different maps they had, especially one which
Rob had made up from all the sources of information he had.

"Yes," said Rob, "it ought to be about sixty miles of pretty good
water now until we get to the one place on this river which the
boldest _voyageur_ never tried to run--the Canyon of the Rocky
Mountains, as the very first travelers called it."

"Those map she'll not been much good," said Moise, pointing to the
government maps of which Rob had a store. "The only good map she'll
been made by the Injun with a stick, s'pose on the sand, or maybe so
on a piece of bark. My onkle she'll made me a map of the Parle Pas.
He'll show the place where to go through the middle on the Parle Pas.
S'pose you'll tell my onkle, Moise he'll walk down the Parle Pas an'
not ron on heem, he'll laugh on me, heem! All right, when you get to
the Grand Portage sixty miles below, you'll get all the walk you want,
Alex, _hein_?"

Alex answered him with a pleasant smile, not in the least disposed to
be laughed into taking any risks he did not think necessary.

"We'd