78 ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS 



tramp which my pedometer registered as forty -four 

 miles. Our dogs ate the last of their fish, John and I 

 were on half-allowance of the poor rations we had, we 

 were lost, and it did not seem as if my ankle would per- 

 mit me to walk another step. The world was not very 

 bright when we camped. 



As we sat silently drinking our tea we heard something 

 approaching, and instantly alert, with that protective and 

 hunter's instinct which comes to the traveller of the wilds, 

 listened intently, until we discovered the swishing, grating 

 of a snow-shoe heel. It was Kipling, a famous Soto Ind- 

 ian runner, who had come to invite me to MacDonald's 

 cabin, where, but a mile beyond, they had seen our camp- 

 fire. James Spencer, the Hudson's Bay Company officer 

 in charge of McMurray, had brought thus far on its jour- 

 ney the one winter packet that reaches the railroad from 

 this isolated wilderness, and was returning the next morn- 

 ing early. Here was good news indeed, and good luck 

 the first of my trip. But John had stuck by me, and I 

 would not leave him on the conclusion of so hard a day; 

 therefore I sent my grateful thanks to Spencer, saying I 

 should be on hand the following morning. And so the 

 clouds rolled away, and the worry within and the storm 

 without ceased as I lay down to sleep that night. 



It was a very lively scene at MacDonald's next morning, 

 and a most interesting one to me ; for the packet was 

 starting on its last stage, and as to carry it is one of the 

 few honors in the country, the dogs were handsomer and 

 more gayly harnessed than any I had seen. 



It was only seventy miles to McMurray, but the two 

 days we consumed in getting there were most trying, 

 and I shall never forget the ten-mile crossing of Swan 

 Lake the first morning. We camped for dinner midway, 

 on an island, but it seemed as though I should never 



