THE SHEEP OF MOUNT SHELDON 275 



crimson among the dry, gray tufts of the burnt spruce 

 timber glowed in the sun, while the network of leafless 

 branches assumed an exquisite blue. 



Smoothly and rapidly we glided down the river among 

 the gay colors under sunny skies. An occasional mink 

 slipped along the bank and once I saw a black bear, but 

 it went in the woods before I could stop the canoe. 

 Another time, as we were silently gliding by a dead log, 

 not ten feet away, my eye caught a female lynx stretched 

 at length on it, trusting to her color blending with the log 

 to hide her. But as we floated by, I saw her in time and 

 killed her. From the outlet of Lewis Lake we had paddled 

 twenty hours and twenty-five minutes to reach the Pelly. 

 We accepted the chances and ran through both Prevost 

 Canon and the heavy rapids below, and continued pad- 

 dling until September 9, when we reached Nahanni House 

 and found that all the Indians had departed and were 

 scattered to hunt moose, Lewis having arrived with am- 

 munition a few days before. 



Old Danger, still lame, was peacefully feeding on the 

 other side of the river. But later in the fall he was killed 

 for dog food. 



On reaching Nahanni House we craved, first sugar, 

 and then bread and tea. After our meat diet, these pro- 

 vided a feast more delicate to the palate than the choicest 

 viands served to the gourmandizing man of the city. We 

 rested for a day and then started down the Pelly River. 



