A narrow clearing, strewn with ashes and dotted by blackened stumps, ran along the track, and at its end were three or four shabby frame houses.  A rudely painted board on one stated that the building was the Strathcona Hotel.  Agatha felt very forlorn.  Except for a week or two with Thirlwell, and once with a band of merry companions at a summer camp she had not seen the rugged bush, and now it daunted her.  She was not going on a pleasure excursion, from which she could return when she liked, but to push far into the lonely wilds.  She had done with civilization until she came back; it could not help her when she left the railroad.  She must live and struggle with savage Nature as the prospectors and half-breeds did.  But this was not all; she had, perhaps, cut herself off from other things than the comfort and security that civilization offered.

Mabel Farnam’s warning was, no doubt, justified.  It was possible that the school managers would dismiss her and she would be unable to get another scholastic post.  She might have to give up her occupation and although she disliked business earn a frugal living as a clerk.  Her face got hot as she remembered Mabel’s statement that her rashness had given her friends a jar; but in one sense Mabel was wrong.  She had not been rash; she knew she could trust Thirlwell and the men he hired.  There was nothing to fear from them.  Still she had made a bold plunge that might cost her much, and now the reaction had begun she felt slack and dispirited.  The plunge, however, was made; she must carry out what she had undertaken, and it was foolish to indulge her doubts.  She tried to pull herself together and in a few minutes a man led a team out of the hotel stable.

He leisurely harnessed the lean horses to a very dirty wagon and then drove them across the clearing to the track, where he stopped in front of Agatha’s baggage.  She noted that his skin was very brown and he had coarse black hair.  The overalls he wore were very ragged.

“Mees Strange?” he said.  “Dat your truck?”

Agatha said it was, and jumping down he threw her bag and some rough wooden boxes into the wagon.  Then he climbed back up the wheel and held out his hand.

“Montez.  Allons, en route!”

Agatha got up with some trouble and when she sat down on a board that crossed the vehicle he cracked his whip and the wagon, rocking wildly, rolled away among the stumps and plunged into a narrow trail chopped out of the bush.

“Eet is long way; we mak’ breakfast by and by,” he said.  “Thirlwell wait at portage.  We arrive to-night, si tout va bien.”

Agatha said nothing, but felt somewhat comforted as they jolted along the uneven trail.

CHAPTER XXI

THE WILDERNESS