I30 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 



And now we are entering the forest lands. For 

 mile upon mile we trudge on through the region of the 

 balsam poplar, that in spring scents all the air, and 

 at time of seeding floats far and wide a white and 

 downy pappus like soft-falling snow. And now we 

 have left the alluvial flats and are travelling over 

 higher, sandier ground, where the shiver of the aspen 

 sounds even in the stillest hour like a ceaseless, steady 

 rustling breeze, or voices of a million cascades play- 

 ing somewhere in the hollows out of sight. There is no 

 track here, and so closely grow the aspens that more 

 than once the black pony's packs are swept ofl" his 

 sides as he passes between the trunks. For the black 

 pony is a bit pigheaded, and takes instant advantage 

 of any inattention by running off by himself at a 

 tangent, so that the old half-breed curses him in French 

 and Indian, muttering dire invectives against *' Le 

 coureur." Poor Le coureur, we lost him altogether in 

 a bog at last. 



For three days we travel so, sleeping by the fire at 

 night and moving off at earliest dawn. But now the 

 evidences of moose begin to grow more frequent. 

 More often do we come upon the great fresh slot in 

 the soft places, more often upon the freshly eaten 

 branches, more often upon the lairs in the grass. So 



