Jack had many times followed in the wake of the Thirteen Eagles fire company, one of the bright jewels with a green setting, of the old volunteer service.
The foreman, fitting the rest of the company, was Irish too, and his stentorian shout through the trumpet "Tirtaan Aigles, dis wai!" never failed to rise above the din, and when the joyful cry smote the ears of the gallant "Tirtaan," the rocks nor the ruts nor the crowds nor anything could stop them; through thick and through thin they went to the front, for there was rivalry in those days and when the Aigles time after time got first water on, they won triumphs which we of this mercenary epoch cannot understand.

The Aigles were in for glory, nothing else.

So when we heard the roar of a rapid and sniffed the mist in the air, "Tirtaan Aigles dis wai," was our slogan.
Where the river now ran smoothly, as it did for a considerable distance below the Robideau crossing we could drift with the slow current and enjoy the study of the surroundings, the boats requiring no attention.
Passing the mouths of the Uinta and the White, both rivers entering very quietly through a level valley, we pulled gently along watching the banks for something new.

When we had thus gone a couple of miles we discovered our first acquaintance of this valley, Douglas Boy, encamped on the right with his runaway bride.

They had a snug and secluded hiding-place protected by the river and some low cliffs.