In this
manner, with infinite labour, it was worked to the top of the hill and
step by step hauled over the portage to the place where it was to
enter the water again. It was nearly sunset when they completed their
task and turned back to bring up their things from below.
They had retraced their steps but a few yards when Dick, who was
ahead, darted off to the left of the trail with the exclamation:
"An' here's some fresh meat for supper."
It was a porcupine lumbering awkwardly away. He easily killed it with
a stick, and picking it up by its tail, was about to turn back into
the trail when a fresh axe cutting caught his eye.
"Now who's been here, lads?" said he, looking at it closely. "None o'
th' planters has been inside of th' Traverspine, an' no Mountaineers
has left th' post yet."
The others joined him and scrutinized the cutting, then looked for
other human signs. Near by they found the charred wood of a recent
fire and some spruce boughs that had served for a bed within a day or
two, which was proved by their freshly broken ends. It had been the
couch of a single man.
"Micmac John, sure!" said Ed.
"An' what's he doin' here?" asked Bill. "He has no traps or huntin'
grounds handy t' this."
"I'm thinkin' 'tis no good he's after," said Dick.
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