BAD BLOOD. — OUTWARD. — OUT. 155 



night with the mosquitoes, and his niornino- with the black 

 flies. The Manager's blood was evidently bad— for most of 

 the flies were dead and gone ! 



While dinner was preparing, I clani1)ered out upt)n the 

 rocks in the rapids— hungry to the last for a little more fly- 

 casting— and took several gamy little fellows in the eddies 

 and pools behind the rocks. Then I unjointed my rod for 

 good and all. 



On the way down the crooked river again we enc(nmtered 

 another terrific thunderstorm. It may have been the same 

 one that attacked us so fiercely in Albany Lake, and which, 

 in descending the river, got all tangled up, lost the points of 

 compass and unwittingly took the back-track. It Inul, 

 however, lost much of it vigor, although where it got all 

 the water that poured down is still a marvel. We endured 

 it— man and guide— as long as we could, bailing the boat 

 occasionally, until it seemed good to us to "let it rain" 

 while we went ashore for shelter. An Adirondack boatman 

 always carries his shelter with him— his boat. We drew 

 ours ashore, turned it over, crept under, and were safe from 

 the pelting of the storm. 



At five P. M. we were at Wardweil's again. We had had 

 enough work for one day, and remained here over night. 

 The next morning we walked the eleven miles to Fen- 

 ton's, in four hours ; breathed, repacked, dined and 

 dressed for civilization; walked five miles further, out of 

 the woods, and then took seats in the wagon conveying our 

 luo-o-a,o-e; bent our heads to the third thunder-shower of the 



