Newfoundland 
way, by a trail known to the Micmac, who used 
it in his autumn hunts, was all against collar, 
through woods and rock-strewn canyons, the 
hardest of going. We stuck to it steadily for 
two hours, when I called a halt, suggesting lunch. 
I was not so ravenously hungry as all that, but 
I needed a rest badly, being frightfully out of 
condition, and so inexperienced in packing 
that though my load was of the slightest 
description, consisting merely of my rifle and 
bedding, it seemed to weigh a ton. 
Then we started afresh to make the camping- 
place. I was wearing a pair of shooting-boots, 
with nails in the soles—they were heavy, besides 
being wet through in two minutes. Pat had on 
sealskin mocassins reaching to his knees, which 
Ienvied. He had an extra pair that I purchased 
from him and used throughout the trip, much to 
my satisfaction and comfort. 
A steep dip, and we found ourselves on the 
banks of a small river with a clearing of some 
twenty square yards. Packs were thrown off 
tired backs, axes taken up, and in ten minutes 
Johnny had cut down as many spruce poles, 
lopped off the branches, and brought armfuls 
of the latter to where I was standing. I looked 
on, for the simple reason that, in those days, I 
did not know how to help, and should only have 
been, like the clown in the circus, ‘‘ in the way.” 
Pat was busy with the fire. He cut two short 
4 
