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Updated: May 17, 2025
We passed the camp at Melsing Creek, and, exchanging salutations with the men there, who knew how we felt, proceeded slowly along the foot of the cliff, over the last riffle. Then, making fast the Mush-on among the other boats, we pitched our tent near the stream on the "reservation" there at last.
Sunday morning, September 9, breaking fair and favorable, burdened with only a few essentials, we set out in the Mush-on at half-past seven o'clock. How different it was from coming up! The boat seemed at times fairly to fly along, borne by the current and assisted by the oars.
Then he upreared, and with his fore paws threw his weight against it higher up. Leclere kicked out with one foot, but the rope bit into his neck and checked so abruptly as nearly to overbalance him. "Hi, ya! Chook! Mush-on!" he screamed. Batard retreated, for twenty feet or so, with a fiendish levity in his bearing that Leclere could not mistake.
Clinging to the gee-pole with his right band and with his left rubbing cheeks and nose, he stumbled over the rope as the dogs swung on a bend. "Mush-on, you poor, sore-footed brutes!" he cried. "That's it, mush-on!"
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