156 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



genial and loquacious red-men ! They are children, 

 full of mirth, fond of companionship, kindly in 

 disposition, honest and faithful. We pass the neat 

 log cabins of our guides, catch glimpses of a few 

 wigwams on the western shore, and by five o'clock 

 in the afternoon land at Camp Alexander, some 

 twelve miles from Nepigon station. This camp 

 is on a large pool at the foot of a rapid. The 

 water comes foaming down through the narrow 

 pass between the rocks, and then swirls and eddies 

 and boils and bubbles before beginning its quiet 

 journey toward the lake. It is just the place for 

 trout. Rods are quickly assembled, flies carefully 

 selected, and, trembling with eagerness, the fisher- 

 men make their way to the stream. And now 

 comes a humiliating confession. The Preacher is 

 the first to reach the river, and in a moment more 

 his flies are dancing in the eddy. To his surprise 

 nothing disturbs them. He casts again and yet 

 again, but all in vain. So far as any signs of trout 

 are concerned he might as well cast upon the pel- 

 lucid waters of the Chicago River. Then comes a 

 terrible temptation. A wily fiend whispers in his 

 ear, " Try a worm." Now the large-hearted Hud- 

 son Bay agent had presented the Preacher with a 

 box of choice angle worms, and said box is at that 

 moment in the ministerial pocket. Another in- 

 effectual cast of the flies, and then " What a fall 

 was there, my countrymen ! " Off come the flies 

 and on goes a fat worm. Gently the wriggling 



