76 ON THE GREAT CHURCHILL RIVER 



gloom of lonely days now that we anticipated 

 meeting kinsfolk. Without fault, as luck would 

 have it, we steered a true course down the lake, 

 which appeared less irregular and confusing than 

 many of the others, and late in the evening, after 

 hours of unceasing paddling, we came upon 

 narrowing shores which promised the foot of the 

 lake and the location of Stanley Mission. The 

 light in the western sky lay low on the horizon ; 

 the shores to the right and left darkened to solid 

 blackness ; the air and the water were alike 

 becalmed. In through the last long stretch of 

 lake glided the solitary canoe, our two figures, 

 dark in the dusk, rocking slightly as we flicked 

 the paddles methodically in and out of the 

 water with easy, almost careless strokes — action 

 that was habit after months on the water. At 

 last two light- coloured dwellings gleamed dimly 

 on an inland bay to the south, promise at last of 

 the settlement we sougrft. Into the bay we 

 glided ; noiselessly we stole inshore with the 

 stealth peculiar to canoeing. Eagerly we listened, 

 but no human voice was there to give us welcome 

 — we had not been observed, and apparently the 

 inhabitants had gone indoors to sleep. . . . 

 A disconsolate sled-dog, on a distant shore, gave 

 forth a long, coyote-like howl . . . then, again, 

 deadly silence. We stopped paddling before an 

 Indian teepee that was just discernible on the 

 dark shore and called out. No answer came. . . . 

 Again I spoke ; footsteps shuffled, and there 

 was a murmur of gruff voices within the teepee ; 

 then an Indian hailed us, but in response to my 

 question, asking direction to the white trader's 



