UNDER WAY FOR McMURRAV 47 



and all his fish stolen, so that he could not say wheth- 

 er or no he really had any ; and, at all events, he could 

 not make the journey in one day, and would not start the 

 next (Sunday), because it was the occasion of the priest's 

 yearly visit to this district. I was sorry to jeopard his 

 soul by depriving it of the annual shriving, but I believed 

 my dogs in more urgent need of fish than he of salvation, 

 and I was sure three days' delay at Hart Lake, would 

 blight definitely whatever hopes of a future reward I 

 might previously have enjoyed. Therefore I set about to 

 wreck that Indian's peace of mind. Four skins i.e., two 

 dollars quieted spiritual alarms, a silk handkerchief to the 

 wife secured a promise to make the trip to the cache and 

 back in one day, and the coup d'etat was executed by 

 enlisting " Shot's" sympathies through my assuring him 

 that, fish or no fish, I should start Monday morning, and, 

 if necessary, feed our bacon to the dogs, and complete the 

 journey on tea and potatoes, of which latter we had a few 

 meals left. Thus it was that I got the Indian started off 

 early Sunday morning for his cache, and saved two souls 

 and eight dogs. 



The beneficence of the La Biche priest extended further 

 that Sunday than he knew. Heming and I blessed his 

 coming without stint, for it emptied of its usual occupants 

 the filthy cabin in which we were obliged to spend the day 

 and another night, and gave us an opportunity to sweep 

 the floor and renew intimate relations with water. 



When we took up our journey again Monday morning, 

 with the insufficient supply of fish got from the Indian's 

 despoiled cache, the mercury had dropped to 54 below 

 zero, and there was no longer a broken trail. Our first 

 ten miles lay across a lake, and both Heming and I, who 

 were breaking road, and sinking up to our knees in the 

 snow, were frequently startled by a rumbling as of distant 



