130 ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS 



tain information on the question. Twice on my trip, 

 when there were auroral displays, I heard noises some- 

 what like the rustling or crackling of a silken banner 

 standing out in the wind, but whether it was made by 

 settling or cracking snow and ice or by the aurora I can- 

 not affirm. There is little opportunity to test the matter 

 in winter, for, what with storms and winds, an absolutely 

 still night is as rare as a day in June. 



The next, our ninth out from the Landing, was the 

 memorable day of the hunt. It opened in hope for we 

 were in the heart of the bison country and closed in 

 despair, because in one short hour we had seen and chased 

 and lost our game. 



We broke camp at daylight, to reach on this day the 

 lake near which we expected to find bison, and the country 

 we penetrated had not before been hunted by the Ind- 

 ians. It was broken into numberless little gullies and 

 ridges, none of which Jeremi missed in his wandering, and 

 the snow was so deep, and dead timber and thickly grown 

 small fir so formidable, we made haste very slowly. What 

 with clearing a way for the sledge, disentangling the dogs, 

 and keeping on our feet, we advanced but twelve miles 

 all day. We were in an unexplored country, and the 

 Ancient Warrior was lost ; he invariably carried us to 

 the top of the highest ridge that lay anywhere within 

 striking distance of our course, and, once there, sent 

 Joseph up a tree for a view of some familiar landmark, 

 while he sank on his knees in what had the appearance of 

 a supplication for light on the darkness of our way, but 

 was in reality his habitual attitude when filling his pipe. 

 From one of these ridges we saw Caribou Mountain near 

 by, really not more pretentious than a foot-hill, but which 

 in this flat country bears the distinction of notable altitude. 



So we travelled on, wearied by the very hard walking, 



