74 ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS 



way, and when we investigated we found he had really 

 the only trail of the three. The snow was deeper on this 

 part of our route, which made the walking yet harder ; 

 but by one way or another we finally crossed the six 

 lakes shown on the Indian's map, and came to White 

 Fish Lake. Here we managed to get just a meal of fish 

 for the dogs, but none for ourselves, to which, however, 

 we had become accustomed. We rested two hours, while 

 I bathed my feet, much to the wonderment of the natives, 

 to whom it seemed an unaccountable waste of energy, 

 and rubbed my ankle with some of the mustang liniment 

 I had fetched along from La Biche. There were but 

 fourteen miles between us and John MacDonald's cabin, 

 on Big Jack Fish Lake, when we set out again at two 

 o'clock; and the prospect of talking again, and having a 

 roof over my head, nerved me to faster pace. I was des- 

 tined to see neither MacDonald nor his house that night. 



o 



Some Indians had recently travelled between the two 

 lakes, so there was a faint trail, which we followed at so 

 good a gait it was not dark when we came to where the 

 road led out on to Big Jack Fish Lake. But by this time 

 a fierce storm had set in, with snow which completely 

 shut off our view twenty feet distant, and wind that swept 

 away the last semblance of a trail. I tried to feel out the 

 road, then John tried, and then we gave the foregoer his 

 head ; and, sure enough, he went off at a rate which con- 

 vinced us he must have found something. And so he 

 had ; but we were not seeking the road he found. We 

 travelled about ten miles to get that knowledge. 



There is a point which makes out from the north shore 

 of the lake and divides it into two large bays. MacDon- 

 ald's cabin is on the western bay. I supposed John knew 

 it was. We had held an animated though not entirely 

 successful conversation at White Fish, which I intended 



