flung out carelessly. "Shure! one 



more or t'ree or five;" and 



went his way whistling a chanson 

 " A la tres bonne, a la ires belle" which 

 stopped as soon as he was out of 

 sight. 



At one o'clock we and our chattels 

 were occupying plenty of space at 

 the head of a small stream that led 

 into Big Dam Lake. The men had 

 run that portage five times each; 

 twelve miles already, half of it 

 heavily laden. Breakfast, eight 

 hours ago, long since had been for- 

 gotten. They must have food at 

 least. We were less than half way 

 and the "long portage" yet to come. 

 The muscles and veins on the men's 

 necks stood out like whipcords and 

 their hands trembled from strain 

 and fatigue. But they denied being 

 tired, only "hot and hungry." 



I have frequently observed that 

 the voyageur is ashamed to be tired, 

 but proud of being hungry. It was 

 four miles on Big Dam Lake. 



"The canoeing would be a rest," 

 quoth Bobbie. 



It was not a pleasant four miles. 

 Our canoe was undeniably top-heavy. 



