Part 33 (1/2)

”Is that British Columbia?” I said, to break an awkward silence, for he stood perfectly silent, fixing me with that one piercing eye.

”No, not yet--that's Yankee-land still. We've got to get into the Straits yet before we can see our country.”

”Straits--Gibraltar?” I said thoughtlessly; and then I felt red in the face at my stupidity.

”Not exactly, my lad,” he said, laughing. ”Why, my geography is better than yours. The straits we go through are those of Juan de Fuca, the old sailor who discovered them. But from what I know of it, the country is very much the same as this. Think it will do for you?”

”It is lovely,” I cried, enthusiastically.

”Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, and speaking in a quiet soft way that seemed to be very different from his appearance; ”a lovely land--a land of promise. I hope your people will all get up yonder safe and sound.

It is a long, weary task they have before them.”

”Can't be worse than ours has been,” I said.

”Well, no, I suppose not; but very trying to those poor women. Look here, my lad,” he said, after a pause, ”how are you going to manage when you get ash.o.r.e at Victoria?”

”Start at once for Fort Elk.”

”How?”

”Get somebody who knows the way to tell us, and then walk on a few miles every day. It can't be very difficult to find if we keep along the river bank.”

”Along the towing-path, eh?”

”Yes, if there is one,” I said, eagerly.

”Towing-path! Why, you young innocent,” he cried, angrily, ”don't you know that it's a fierce wild mountain-torrent, running through canons, and in deep mountain valleys, with vast forests wherever trees can grow, all packed closely together--sometimes so close that you can hardly force your way through?”

”I did not know it was like that,” I said; ”but we must make the best of it, I suppose. If we can't go twenty miles a day we must go fifteen.”

”Or ten, or five, or one,” he cried, with a contemptuous laugh. ”Why, Mayne, my lad, that last will often be the extent of your journey.”

I looked at him in dismay.

”You have no friends then at Victoria--no introductions?”

I shook my head.

”And you do not even seem to know that Victoria is on an island, from which you will have to cross to the mouth of the Fraser.”

”I'm afraid I am very ignorant,” I said, bitterly; ”but I am going to try to learn. I suppose there are villages here and there up the country?”

”Perhaps a few, not many yet; but you will find some settler's place now and then.”

”Well, they will be English people,” I said, ”and they will help us.”

”Of course.”

”Where are you going?” I asked suddenly.