68 ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS 



more puzzling situation to unravel in determining where 

 we were. 



I felt sure I had not lost the trail, but corroboration was 

 out of the question, because the road made by our dogs 

 and sledge rendered feeling the underlying old one that 

 had guided me impossible. Going ahead a little distance, 

 I found we were on a lake, but could discover no trail, 

 and the storm made travelling by landmarks impossible 

 even had I known any, which, of course, I did not. John's 

 search for a trail proved no happier than mine, and then 

 he wanted to camp ; but I exhausted upon him two-thirds 

 of my Cree vocabulary in " namoivyah " (no) and " kccpcc " 

 (hurry), and we made a wider circuit with no better suc- 

 cess. This time he was determined to camp ; and the 

 sleet was cutting our faces, and the dogs were howling, 

 and it was miserable. But we didn't camp. Again I 

 made a cast, and this time for a find. I was sure of a 

 piece of trail, but whence it came and whither it went I 

 could not determine. The snow was either blown away 

 or packed so hard it was simply impossible to follow a 

 trail for any distance. We travelled a little way only to 

 lose it and begin our searching anew; another find, fol- 

 lowed closely by a check and yet another heart-breaking 

 cast. And thus, how many miles I know not, we worked 

 our way across that Jack Fish Lake in the teeth of a storm 

 that whirled around us unceasingly, and it was one o'clock 

 when we crawled up the bank and discovered a cabin 

 which I knew must be the one where " Shot " had said I 

 could get fish. 



We got our dogs on the leeward side, and then stag- 

 gered into the cabin, covered from head to foot by ice 

 and numb with cold. The house was full of Indians, but 

 there was no exclamation of surprise upon our appear- 

 ance. Half-frozen men are of too common occurrence in 



