The advance guard of the Edmonton relief expedition arrived at Mackenzie River two days late. Included among its personnel were Dick Kent, Sandy and Toma and two medical men, Drs. Brady and Mattinson. Joy over the safe arrival of the party was shadowed by the news of the destruction of one of the planes and the death of Stewart, the aviator.

Inspector Cameron began at once to plan two separate itineraries into the stricken areas. One of the physicians, it was decided, would be sent immediately to the country north of the Mackenzie, from whence Davis had brought first word of the epidemic. Another party was instructed to proceed north and east toward the barren lands, over the selfsame route Corporal Rand had but recently taken.
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It was while these preparations were being carried out that the three boys, Dick, Sandy and Toma, were called into the presence of the mounted police official. Caps in hand, feeling awkward and ill at ease, they listened to the grave and somewhat impatient voice of the inspector.

“Can’t tell you how pleased I am. Splendid! You’ve done well. Want to thank each one of you. Suppose you think you’re going home now.”

The assertion seemed to require an answer. Sandy twisted his cap into a knot, smiled, cleared his throat and assumed the part of spokesman.

“Yes, sir. We are under that impression.”

Cameron scowled, running his fingers through his rumpled hair.

“Not a bit of it! You’re not! Might as well disillusion you right now. You’re to undertake another errand, equally as important and dangerous.”

“What is it?” asked Dick.

“You’re to lead the way to the barren lands. Escort to Doctor Brady.”

The boys exchanged furtive glances. Cameron continued:

“Dick, I’m placing you in charge. You’re the oldest. Sandy and Toma will be your lieutenants. This expedition must not fail. Nothing must happen to it. I’ll hold you all responsible.”

“Yes, sir,” trembled Dick. “But how do we get there?”
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“There’s no trail. I’ll try and find a guide for you. You proceed northeast, cross the Wapiti, the Little Moose, pass over a height of land known as ‘The Divide,’ enter the barren lands and thus eventually come to the Keechewan Mission, an important Catholic missionary center. It’s a hard trip and you’ll never forget it.”

“Are there many people at this mission?” inquired Sandy.

“Yes, there’s a sort of village there—a mission-village: flour mill, schools, hospital and the like. There are always several large Indian encampments close by. The plague has found its way there. Scores have died. As far as I know, no other section of the country is in such dire straits.”

The inspector paused, scowling again and for a moment seemed to have forgotten that he was not alone.

“The epidemic is bad enough,” he resumed, “but to add to the horror of the situation, a revolt has taken place among the Indians. I’ve been compelled to send Corporal Rand up there. You will follow but I doubt if you will overtake him. He’s travelling light, while you will have medicine, supplies, mail——”

“Mail!” interrupted Dick in surprise.
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“Yes, mail. All of the mail for the Keechewan Mission comes here and is forwarded, usually through the efforts of the R. N. W. M. P. There will be three large sacks, including one packet of registered letters. Are you willing to undertake this responsibility?”

The boys were a little confused and shy. For a time no one spoke.

“I asked you a question,” persisted the inspector. “Do you or do you not want to take the mail?”

“Yes, sir,” said Dick hurriedly, “we’ll be glad to.”

“All right. Then that’s settled. I’ve given you an idea of the route. Anything you wish to know?”

“It will be necessary to supply us with some sort of transport,” Dick reminded him. “Would you suggest ponies?”

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