A TREACHEROUS COWARD 215 



the north, and, like the rest of animated nature, join 

 in a procession for more congenial quarters. 



Our procession, however, did not get far before it 

 was forced to come to a halt. The trouble was a 

 portage about an eighth of a mile long and so covered 

 with numerous windfalls as to be almost impassable ; 

 and trees were piled one upon another, the pile reach- 

 ing five or six feet above the ground. 



We found it was necessary to cut an avenue through 

 the bristling branches, and this the Indians did. Then 

 we hauled our canoes through, lugging our provisions 

 and other stuff upon our backs. Perhaps I did more 

 than my share of this work, for at the end of it I 

 found myself overheated ; and to this I attribute all 

 the trouble that was soon to follow. 



The storm abated during the day, the wind coming 

 only in squalls with occasional dashes of rain, hail and 

 snow. That night we pitched our tents on the north- 

 em bank of Lake St. John, and had our supper, the 

 storm breaking loose again before we had finished. 

 After supper I began to prepare for my bed of boughs. 

 My preparations, however, did not get far before they 

 were interrupted and in a manner novel to me then, 

 although the novelty is worn a little threadbare now. 

 I was in the act of stooping over to unlace my boots 

 when a sharp pain in my back suggested that some 

 enemy was behind me and armed with a pitchfork. I 

 felt the jab of its prongs probing my backbone, and if 



