One thing alone encouraged them:  as they rose higher up the mountain side, they saw that the green edges of the glaciers and the eternal snows projected over the precipices.  They were nearing the summit—­they must surely soon cross the Divide.  The air grew colder.  For three days the choppers worked in their blanket coats.  When they finally got the canoe down to the river-bed, it was to see another range of impassable mountains barring the way westward.  All that kept Mackenzie’s men from turning back was that awful portage of nine miles.  Nothing ahead could be worse than what lay behind; so they embarked, following the south branch where the river forked.  The stream was swift as a cascade.  Half the crew walked to lighten the canoe and prevent grazing on the rocky bottoms.

Once, at dusk, when walkers and paddlers happened to have camped on opposite shores, the marchers came dashing across stream, wading neck-high, with news that they had heard the firearms of Indian raiders.  Fires were put out, muskets loaded, and each man took his station at the foot of a tree, where all passed a sleepless night.  No hostiles appeared.  The noise was probably falling avalanches.  And once when Mackenzie and Mackay had gone ahead with the Indian interpreters, they came back to find that the canoe had disappeared.  In vain they kindled fires, fired guns, set branches adrift on the swift current as a signal—­no response came from the voyageurs.  The boatmen evidently did not wish to be found.  What Mackenzie’s suspicions were one may guess.  It would be easier for the crew to float back down Peace River than pull against this terrific current with more portages over mountains.  The Indians became so alarmed that they wanted to build a raft forthwith and float back to Chipewyan.  The abandoned party had not tasted a bite of food for twenty-four hours.  They had not even seen a grouse, and in their powder horns were only a few rounds of ammunition.  Separating, Mackenzie and his Indian went up-stream, Mackay and his went down-stream, each agreeing to signal the other by gunshots if either found the canoe.  Barefooted and drenched in a terrific thunderstorm, Mackenzie wandered on till darkness shrouded the forest.  He had just lain down on a soaking couch of spruce boughs when the ricochetting echo of a gun set the boulders crashing down the precipices.  Hurrying down-stream, he found Mackay at the canoe.  The crew pretended that a leakage about the keel had caused delay; but the canoe did not substantiate the excuse.  Mackenzie said nothing; but he never again allowed the crew out of his sight on the east side of the mountains.