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"Well, we must get back to camp," she said. "Can you walk?"

Jim got up quickly and gave her a suspicious glance. "I can walk to camp. I ought to have gone right off and sent the boys after that chopper. Looks as if you meant to keep me."

"I did mean to keep you. Let him go, Jim. He won't come back, and we have had trouble enough."

"He has not had much trouble," Jim rejoined. "However, I doubt if we could catch him, and I want the boys to move our truck at daybreak. Then, in a way, I'd sooner they didn't know. Of course, I've got to tell Jake."

"You mustn't tell him I came," Carrie said, firmly.

"Why not?" Jim asked with some surprise.

Carrie hesitated. "Oh, well, I don't want him to know. For one thing, he might think I was rash – "

"You were splendidly plucky," Jim declared. "Of course, I won't tell Jake, if you'd sooner not. For all that, I don't understand – "

"It isn't worth puzzling about," Carrie answered with a smile, and they set off.

CHAPTER IX
AN HONEST ANTAGONIST

It was very hot on the rocky hill, and Jim stopped in the shade of a stunted pine, for he had gone far through the bush. His Hudson's Bay blanket and a bag of food, made up in a pack with straps for his shoulders, and a small ax, were a rather heavy load. When he had lighted his pipe he looked about. Tangled forest rolled up the hills wherever the stiff, dark pines could find soil in which to grow. Some were charred by fire and the tall rampikes shone silver-gray in the strong light; some were partly uprooted by storms and leaned drunkenly against each other.

At the head of the valley there was a faint blue haze, and Jim, knowing this was the smoke of a camp fire, began to muse. Now he would soon meet the man he was looking for, he doubted if he had been wise to come, and wondered what he would say. He had set off when an Indian reached the telegraph line and stated that a white man with a number of packers was camped in the valley. Jim imagined the man was Martin, Davies' employer, and meant to see him. He did not know if Davies was with Martin or not.

By and by he set off, avoiding fallen trees and scrambling across round-topped rocks. It was rough work and he was tired, but he could get forward without using the ax, which he had been forced to do when he fell among the horrible devil's club thorns. For all that, dusk was falling when he came to an opening by a creek where a big fire burned and a double-skinned tent stood at the edge of the trees. Six or seven sturdy packers lounged beside the fire, and Jim saw this was not a poor man's camp. For a few hot weeks, a traveler need suffer no hardship in the North, if he can pay for packers and canoes. A double-roofed tent will keep out sun and rain and a mosquito bar will keep off the flies, but packers who carry comforts cannot carry tools, and a utilitarian journey is another thing.

Jim was not traveling for pleasure and had gone alone. He was mosquito-bitten and ragged, and his boots were broken. The packers looked up with languid curiosity as he advanced, and when he asked for the boss one indicated the tent. Jim stopped in front of the tent and a man came out. He wore clean summer flannel clothes and looked strangely neat, but he was sunburnt and strongly made. Something about him indicated that he knew the bush and had not always traveled luxuriously.

"Are you prospecting?" he asked. "If you have struck us for supper, you can see the cook."

"I came to see you, and got supper three or four miles back. I'm Dearham, of Winter & Dearham. You have probably heard about us."

"Sure," said Martin, rather dryly. "You hold the contract for the new telegraph line. Somebody told me there was a dame in the firm."

"My partner's sister; I expect Davies told you, but don't see what this has to do with the thing."

"Sit down," said Martin, indicating a camp-chair, and then beckoned one of the men. "Bring some green bark and fix that smudge."

The man put fresh fuel on a smoldering fire and pungent blue smoke drifted about the tent.

"Better than mosquitoes; they're pretty fierce, evenings," Martin remarked. "Will you take a cigar?"

"No, thanks," said Jim. "I'll light my pipe."

He cut the tobacco slowly, because he did not know where to open his attack. Martin was not altogether the man he had thought and looked amused. He was a bushman; Jim knew the type, which was not, as a rule, marked by the use of small trickery. Yet Martin could handle money as well as he handled tools.

"Won't you state your business?" the contractor asked.

"I expect you and the Cartner people didn't like it when we got the telegraph job?"

"That is so. We thought the job was ours," Martin admitted.

"And you got to work to take it from us?"

"How do you mean?"

"To begin with, Probyn, Cartner's man, offered us a thousand dollars to quit."

"A pretty good price," said Martin. "Since you didn't go, I don't see why you are bothering me."

"It looks as if you and Cartner had pooled your interests. When we got to work, your man, Davies, came along and tried to hold us up. It was not his fault he didn't; the fellow's a crook."

"I haven't studied his character. In some ways, he's useful," Martin rejoined coolly. "Well, you reckon I sent him! How did he try to embarrass you?"

"Don't you know?"

"It's for you to state your grievance."

Martin's face was inscrutable; one could not tell if he knew or not. It was curious, but Jim could not take it for granted that he did know and he told him about the broken wall.

"You imagine Davies paid the fellow to cut your underpinning?" the contractor remarked.

"The thing's obvious."

"Then I don't understand why you came to me. There's not much advantage in telling your antagonist he has hit you pretty hard."

"I wanted you to understand that you hadn't hit us hard enough. Your blow was not a knockout, and we mean to guard against the next. We have taken the contract and are going to put it over; I want you to get that. You can't scare us off, and while I don't know if you can smash us or not, it will certainly cost you high. Hadn't you better calculate if the thing's worth while?"

"You were far North for some time," Martin said carelessly.

"I was," Jim admitted with surprise, for he could not see where the remark led. "So were you."

Martin nodded. "A blamed hard country! Looks as if we were both pretty tough, since we made good yonder, and I think I get your proposition. Your idea is, we had better make terms than fight?"

"Something like that," Jim agreed.

"Very well," said Martin, who paused and smiled. "Now I'll tell you something. I don't like your butting in, but I did not put Davies on your track."

Jim looked hard at him, and although he was surprised did not doubt his statement. "Then, I imagine he made the plan himself; wanted to show you he was smart, but said nothing when it didn't work as smoothly as he thought."

Martin was silent for a few moments and Jim imagined he was thinking hard. Then he said, "It's possible; that's all."

"Perhaps the Cartner people sent him without telling you," Jim suggested.

"Cartner made you a square offer, and you can't grumble much because Probyn hired your men. Cartner is hard and I allow he'd like to break you, but I haven't known him play a crooked game."

"Then I can't see a light at all."

"It's puzzling," Martin agreed.

Jim filled his pipe again and pondered. There was something strange about his talking confidentially to a man he had thought an unscrupulous antagonist, but he was persuaded that Martin was honest. The latter seemed to be considering, for Jim saw his brows were knit when the firelight touched his face. It had got dark, but the fire leaped up now and then and threw a red glow upon the rows of trunks. The creek shone and faded; sometimes the smoke curled about the tent and sometimes blew away.

"You struck copper up North," Martin resumed after a time. "Has anybody tried to buy your claim?"

"Baumstein gave us an offer twice."

"Ah," said Martin, thoughtfully, "I suppose you wouldn't sell?"

"Not at his price. We thought we had better hold on; some day the Combine might buy."

"A pretty good plan," Martin agreed. "There'll be a demand for Northern copper before long. Well, I see you have a blanket. You'll find a bed in the tent."

"I picked a spot to camp a piece back," Jim said rather awkwardly, as he got up.

Martin laughed. "Since you reckoned Cartner and I were on your track, you felt you'd sooner not stop with me? Well, I don't think that ought to count. If we could have bought you off or scared you off, we might have done so, but since you are resolved to put the contract through, we'll be satisfied with seeing you don't get another. If you stop, you'll get a better breakfast than you can cook."

Jim's hesitation vanished and he went into the tent.

Next morning he got breakfast with Martin, and when he was going the latter remarked: "I guess you understand you needn't bother about our getting after you. Go ahead and finish the job."

"Thanks," said Jim, smiling. "Unless we go broke, we mean to finish."

"Very well," said Martin, "if you have to choose between quitting and selling your copper claim, you had better let the telegraph contract go." He paused and gave Jim a level glance. "Looks like interested advice, but I guess it's sound."

Jim strapped on his pack and started down the valley. He reached the telegraph camp three or four days afterwards, and in the evening told Jake and Carrie about his interview.

"Perhaps it's strange, but I really don't think we're up against Cartner and Martin," he concluded.

"We're up against somebody who hasn't many scruples," said Jake.

"That is so," Jim agreed. "I suggested that Davies might be playing a lone hand. Martin admitted that it was possible, but didn't look satisfied. In fact, I imagined he was thinking hard. Of course, the obvious line was to doubt his honesty, but somehow I didn't."

"The obvious line's not always best," Carrie interposed. "My notion is, it's a foolish habit to take it for granted your antagonist is a cheat. But what is he like, Jim?"

"Big and rather quiet, although he had a twinkle. Weighs all he says, and you feel that if he's satisfied he doesn't mind if you are or not. We know he was up North for some time; he looks like it, if you get me."

Jake nodded, for the men who push far into the frozen wilds conform to a type. Struggles with cold and hunger leave their mark, endurance breeds stubbornness, and fronting perils gives a quiet courage that makes for candor. The man who has conquered fear is not tempted to be mean.

"There are bad men, in some of the big camps, but no smooth rogues," he said.

"Martin is certainly not a smooth rogue," Jim declared. "I thought it curious he told me to hold on to the copper and let the contract go, if we couldn't stick to both. He admitted it looked as if he was playing for his side when he gave me the advice."

"Well," said Jake, thoughtfully, "if he meant to gain his object that way, it was a fool plan, but we know Martin's clever. To jump at a shallow suspicion is a blamed lazy habit that often puts you wrong. If he didn't mean well, I can't see what he did mean."

"I can't see," Jim agreed.

"Better let it go," Carrie interposed. "I like that man. If you have drawn him right, I think he could be trusted. However, you look as if you had been among the devil's club. What are you going to do with your clothes?"

"If you insist, I meant to hide them," Jim owned with a laugh.

"So I thought," said Carrie. "Bring them to the tent instead. If you don't, I'll come for them in the morning."

Jim promised to bring the clothes and lighted his pipe, feeling somewhat moved. He knew now how much he and Jake owed Carrie, and the thought she gave their comfort. If things went smoothly, it was because Carrie made them go; but this was not all. She was not satisfied with controlling the camp; Jim was beginning to see that now and then she controlled their talk and helped their decisions. She was a girl and had, for the most part, lived at a shabby store, but he admitted that her judgment was often sound. Carrie had qualities. Then he started, for she looked at him with a smile.

"What are you thinking about, Jim?" she asked.

"I was wondering how we would have got on if we hadn't brought you," he replied.

Carrie laughed. "I know. Yet you wanted to leave me!"

"If I did, I was a fool."

"No," said Carrie, thoughtfully, "you are not a fool, but sometimes you're rather dull. Now you're half asleep and had better go to bed."

Jim knocked out his pipe and went.

A few days afterwards he started for the settlement with two of his men. They were good workmen and Jake was unwilling to let them go, but they had been with Jim in the North and he needed helpers whom he could trust, for he was going to make a bold experiment. He needed food, powder, and tools, and it was hard to keep the camp supplied. Pack-horses could not carry much over the mountain-trail and the freighters' charges were high. Jim imagined he could bring up the goods cheaper by canoe, although the plan had drawbacks.

He reached the settlement, and after waiting a few days sat one evening on the hotel veranda. Burned matches and cigar-ends lay about the dirty boards; the windows of the mean ship-lap house were guarded by fine wire net. The door had been removed, and a frame, filled in with gauze and held by a spring, slammed noisily when one went in or out. For all that, the hotel was full of dust and flies, and mosquitoes hummed about the hot rooms at night. The snow had melted below the timber line and a long trail of smoke floated across the somber forest. A fire was working through the trees and a smell of burning came down the valley.

Three or four men in ragged overalls lounged about the veranda, and the landlord leaned against a post. He wore a white shirt with gold studs, and his clothes were good.

"Now you have got your truck, I reckon you'll pull out," he remarked.

"We start up river at daybreak."

"Then you're surely foolish. If you can't make it, there's trouble coming to you next time."

Jim understood the hint. The pack-horse freighters had enjoyed a monopoly of transport to the mining camps. The river was off the regular line, and its navigation was difficult except when the water reached a certain level, but if Jim's experiment proved that supplies could be taken by canoes transport charges would come down.

"There are some awkward portages, but I think I can get through," he said.

"I wasn't figuring on the portages," the landlord rejoined, meaningly. "Somas Charlie's a tough proposition to run up against." He indicated a man coming along the road. "Somas has his tillicums, and around this settlement what he says goes."

In the Chinook jargon, tillicum means something like a familiar spirit, and Jim thought he saw what the other implied. He had had trouble to get articles he needed and had met with annoying delays; and he studied the advancing freighter with some curiosity. Somas was big and powerful and walked with the pack-horse driver's loose stride. He had a dark face, cunning black eyes, and very black hair. It looked as if Indian blood ran in his veins. He came up the veranda steps and gave Jim an ironical glance.

"Got your canoes loaded up?" he asked.

"Not yet; the truck is ready," said Jim, who had thought it prudent to put his goods in a store.

"It's a sure thing you're not going to take your canoes through. Say, I don't want to see you lose the grub and tools. Drop the fool plan and I'll take off a cent a pound."

"If you had offered that before, we might have made a deal. You're too late."

"Thought you were bluffing; I guess you're crazy now. You can't make it, anyway."

"I'm going to try."

The freighter shrugged. "Trying's going to cost you something; you'll feel pretty mean when you meet the bill. Fools like you make me tired." He beckoned the landlord. "Get on a move; I want a drink."

He went into the hotel and when the door slammed Jim was thoughtful.

CHAPTER X
THE RAPID

In the morning Jim started with three canoes and a few Indians whom he had engaged at the settlement, because the Siwash are clever river men. Sometimes they tracked the canoes, floundering along the rough bank with a line round their shoulders; sometimes they poled against the rapid stream; and now and then carried the craft and cargo across a rocky portage. The canoes were of the Siwash type, cut out of cedar logs and burned smooth outside. The high bow was rudely carved like a bird's head; the floor was long and flat. They paddled well and a strong man could carry one, upside down, on his bent shoulders. Jim had loaded them heavily, and the tools and provisions had cost a large sum.

His progress was slow and he was tired and disturbed when one evening he pitched camp after toiling across a long portage. Speed was important and he had been longer than he thought, while he did not know if he could force his way up the dark gorge ahead. Besides, an Indian had shown him the print of somebody's foot on a patch of wet soil. There was only one mark and in a sense this was ominous, since it looked as if the fellow had tried to keep upon the stones. Moreover, he wore a heavy boot, and Jim could not see why a white man had entered the lonely gorge where there were no minerals or timber worth exploiting.

After supper he got ready to start again at daybreak. This was his usual plan, because one's brain is dull when one rises from a hard, cold bed at dawn, and in the wilds to leave tools or food behind has sometimes disastrous consequences. He saw he had forgotten nothing, and when dusk was falling rested for a time on the bank, although he thought it prudent to sleep on board. Up stream, the water threw back faint reflections, but its surface was dull and wrinkled where it narrowed at the top of the rapid, round which he had carried the canoes. Then it plunged down into gloom that was deepened by a cloud of spray and its hoarse turmoil echoed among the hills. A few charred rampikes rose behind the camp, and Jim sat beneath one, with his back against a stone. He had thrown off his jacket and his thin overalls were wet. His back and arms ached and his feet were bruised.

He pondered about the footstep. The pack-horse trail running North was not far off, and while he slowly poled up stream the freighter could have reached the river in front of him. When they talked at the hotel, the fellow's manner was threatening, but Jim hardly thought he would meddle. His party was strong, and if the other had meant to do him some injury, it was hardly probable he would have uttered his dark hints while the landlord was about. After all, the hints might forecast the difficulty Jim would have to engage transport another time. Still, somebody had passed the spot not long since.

The gloom deepened, and although some light would linger in the sky all night, it was nearly dark at the bottom of the gorge. The packers lay about the fire, and by and by Jim, calling one of the Siwash, hauled the first canoe to the bank. When they got on board, he let the craft swing out with the eddy, and the row, curving as the current changed, rode behind a half-covered rock a short distance from the stones. Blurred rocks and trees loomed in the mist up stream; below, the foaming rapid glimmered through the spray. The river, swollen by melting snow and stained green by glacier clay, was running fast.

There was not much room in the canoe, for bags of flour occupied the bottom and a grindstone and small forge were awkward things to stow. Jim, however, found a spot where he could lie down and the Indian huddled in the stern. He was a dark-skinned man, dressed like the white settlers, except that he wore no boots. As a rule, he did not talk much, but by and by he put his hand in the water as if to measure the speed of the current.

"Contox hiyu chuck," he said in Chinook.

Jim imagined he meant the river was rising and did not know if this was a drawback or not. A flood might make poling harder, but it would cover the rocks in the channel and probably leave an eddying slack along the bank. He agreed with the Indian, because the rock to which they had moored the canoe was getting smaller. It made a kind of breakwater, but it would be covered soon and the craft would feel the force of the current. Still they ought to ride safely, and an angry wash now beat against the bank of gravel where they had landed. There was no other landing, for, below the camp, the river ran in white waves between the rocks.

Although Jim was tired, he could not sleep. For one thing, he had lost time at the settlement and on the river; Jake was waiting for the tools, and since wages were high, delay was costly. Then the gorge echoed with pulsating noise. The roar of the rapid rose and fell; he heard the wash of the eddy against the bank, the sharp ripple where the current split upon the rock, and the rattle of gravel striking the stones. The canoes rocked, swung to and fro, and brought up with sudden jerks. He did not know if the Indian slept, but if he did, a new note in the confused uproar would waken him.

After a time, the fellow moved, and as his dark figure rose Jim became alert. The Indian was looking fixedly ahead, but Jim could see nothing in the gloom. He noted mechanically that the rock had vanished; its location was marked by a wedge-shaped streak of foam. He signed to the Indian, who grunted but did not speak.

Then there was a crash as something struck the rock and a vague dark mass rebounded from and swung round the obstacle. It rolled, and half-seen projections vanished and appeared again. Jim got on his knees and seized a pole, because he imagined a big log with broken branches was driving down on them. A river canoe is unstable, and to stand on the cargo might capsize her. He found bottom with the pole and saw the Indian paddling hard. The row of canoes swung towards the bank, but the backwash caught them and it looked as if they would not swing far enough. Jim felt the veins on his forehead tighten and the pole bend as he strained with labored breath.

The log came on; its butt under water, its ragged top riding high and swinging round. There was a heavy shock, the canoe lurched, and a broken branch began to drag her down. Jim could not push off the grinding mass and, letting go the pole, seized an ax. He cut the mooring line to ease the strain, but when the rope parted and the log swung clear he was faced by another risk; unless they could reach the gravel bank, they would go down the rapid. He could not find bottom now, and while he tried the log struck the next canoe. His canoe swerved outshore, the row was drifting fast, and he shouted as he felt for the ax.

It was, however, obvious that the men in camp could not help much and he nerved himself to make a hard choice. If he held on, all the canoes would go down the rapid; if he let two go, one might be saved. He cut the line made fast astern, the log and canoes vanished, and he and the Indian strained their muscles. They had lost ground they could not recover; the gravel bank was sliding past, and angry waves leaped about the rocks below. Somehow they must make the bank before they were carried down. There was some water in the canoe; Jim heard it splash about. She was horribly heavy and his pole would not grip the bottom. When it slipped the current washed its end under the craft.

He threw the pole on board and found a paddle. The canoe rocked on a white eddy, but he got her head round and the revolution carried her towards the shore. They must drive her in before the backwash flung her off, and for some moments he labored with weakening arms and heaving chest. Then a packer plunged in, the bow struck ground, and Jim jumped over. He was up to his waist in the white turmoil, but another packer seized the canoe and the Indian thrust hard on his bending pole. The bow went farther into the gravel and with a savage effort they ran her out. Jim leaned against a rock, trying to get his breath, and when he looked about the other canoes had vanished. His tools and stores had gone for good.

Now there was no need for watchfulness, he could sleep, and he lay down by the fire. When he wakened day was breaking, and beckoning the Indian he set off up the gorge. He had an object for his dangerous climb across the slippery rocks, and he noted that the stream flowed evenly along the bank. This implied that if a log were rolled into the water on his side of the straight reach, it would probably strike the rock behind which the canoes had been tied.

After a time, when the roughness of the ground forced them high above the water, the Indian indicated a clump of willows through which somebody had pushed. He declared two white men had gone through and one had carried an ax. Jim had been looking for a white man's tracks and his face got stern as they climbed a neighboring gully. At the top he sat down and sent the Indian to look about. It the other men had gone down again to the water, they must have had some grounds for doing so, and Jim thought he knew what the grounds were.

The Indian found steps in a boggy patch, and Jim, descending a ravine farther on, came back to the river bank. Here and there a tree had fallen into the ravine and two or three battered trunks lay on the gravel at the bottom. A hollow in some disturbed gravel at the water's edge indicated that another log had rested there, and Jim let the Indian examine the ground. By and by the latter began to talk.

He said the marks had been made by a trunk with branches broken short; one could see where it had rolled into the stream. The ravine was steep, but the other logs had not slipped down; the missing trunk had been helped on its way. In one place, the top had been lifted; in another, a pole had been pushed under the butt. Some of the gravel was scratched, as if it had been trodden by nailed boots. A man using a lever would push it back like that.

Jim nodded, because he knew something about woodcraft and thought the Indian had read the marks correctly. Now and then the fellow said "Contox," and Jim understood the Chinook word, which, roughly, means to know, rather implied supposition than certainty. For all that, if the Indian doubted, he did not. He knew the log had been launched where the current would carry it down on the canoes, and when he went back to camp his mouth was set hard.

After breakfast he broke up the party and, sending the Indians off, started again with the two white men. The canoe would not carry all, but this did not matter, since, for the most part, she must be tracked from the bank, and when they poled her one man could travel through the bush and overtake them at the next rapid. It was a strenuous journey and Jim was worn out when he climbed the hill to the telegraph camp. It was about six o'clock in the evening and the men had not returned from work, but Carrie was cooking and got up with a cry of welcome when he came out of the woods. She stopped, however, when she saw his gloomy face.

"What's the matter, Jim?" she asked. "Are you hurt or ill?"

He dropped the heavy bag of flour he carried and forced a smile. "Does it look as if I were ill? I've lost two canoes and their loads."

"Oh, Jim!" said Carrie, and added: "After all, it isn't so very important."

"Not important?" Jim exclaimed.

Carrie hesitated. "Oh, well; never mind. Where are the boys? You haven't lost them?"

"They're coming," said Jim, who sat down on a log, feeling embarrassed.

He was dull. Carrie had been disturbed about him because he had been away longer than he thought, and her obvious relief when she saw he was not injured was soothing. He needed soothing, since the loss of the canoes and stores weighed heavily, but Carrie had made him feel this did not matter much so long as he was safe. Although he could not agree, it was a comfort to know her satisfaction was sincere. Carrie always was sincere.

She was quiet and he resumed in an apologetic voice: "I felt mean about coming back like this; losing the truck is going to make things harder for you. Then I bought some new cookers; the steam went through a row of pans and I thought they'd save you work. There was a piece of stuff at the dry goods store the girl told me would make a dress; but it went down the rapid with the cookers."

Carrie gave him a gentle glance. "You bought them: the rest was an accident."

"It was not an accident, but we'll talk about that again. I'm glad to get back; I'm always glad to get back now, though I didn't bother about it much when we camped in the bush before."

Carrie took off the lid of a cooking-pot and while she was occupied the packers arrived with their loads. Soon afterwards Jake and the other men came up and they got supper. When the meal was over Jim told his story and Jake looked thoughtful.

"The obvious explanation is, the freighter tried to stop you by turning loose the log," he said. "I don't know if we ought to count on this; but we'll take it first."

"I'm doubtful," Jim replied. "Somehow I feel the fellow was bluffing; he wanted to scare me so I'd agree to his terms. Although I reckon he meant to charge me high when I came to him next time, I don't think he sent the log down. I haven't much ground for the conclusion, but there it is."

"In some ways, you're not a fool," Jake remarked with a twinkle. "I've known judgments you hadn't much ground for turn out sound. Very well; we come to the big contractors. Did they hire somebody to stop you?"

"It looks like that, but I imagine Martin's playing straight and he declared the Cartner people wouldn't use a crooked plan."

"Then who did try to stop you?"

Jim shrugged and his face got hard. "I don't know yet. We must wait."

"Very well," said Jake. "We'll trust our luck and hold on while we can, although I expect it won't be very long."

Jim did not answer. He was tired and now the reaction from the strain had begun, was glad to indulge his bodily and mental lassitude. The springy branches on which he lay were comfortable and the camp, with the red firelight flickering on the trunks and Carrie sitting by the hearth-logs, had a curious charm. She, so to speak, dominated the tranquil picture and gave her rude surroundings a homelike touch. On other expeditions, when Carrie was not there, Jim had thought about his camp as a place at which one slept. Now it was something else; a place from which one drew strength and cheerfulness. There was something strangely intimate about it; he was glad to get back.