START FOR CARIBOU GROUND 141 



he was silent, almost, as the snow. Half a dozen 

 words with Philip in the morning would decide a 

 day's plans, and half a dozen sentences over the 

 camp-fire at night record all the day had accom- 

 plished. But he was a splendid hunter and 

 traveller, and a hard worker if there was work 

 to do. 



Neither of those Indians had ever seen a 

 camera before they saw this one of mine, and to 

 allow them to look through the view-finder or 

 focusing screen afforded them great astonishment 

 and delight, when they beheld the miniature 

 pictures in the glass. It seemed to them witch- 

 craft. They expressed the same excited astonish- 

 ment in looking through field-glasses. 



With those two Indians, and food, sleeping 

 bags, and two dog-trains, we one day set out 

 from my cabin to travel and camp on Caribou 

 ground. And the days that followed I here 

 record from the simple pages of my diary — written 

 at the glowing log-fire o' nights, where comfort 

 was before one, and cruel, hungry cold a yard 

 beyond the camp circle. . . . 



Philip and Eaglefoot outside my cabin at 

 daylight (8 o'clock). I joined them in a moment, 

 and we sped merrily away in a northerly direction 

 over well-packed lake surface : the dogs fresh, 

 and the sled-bells tinkling cheerfully. 



Soon after starting Philip looked gravely into 

 the even-toned, grey sky and prophesied that 

 wind would rise, while to me the sky in that phase 

 was unreadable. In a few hours wind did rise — 

 keen north wind. 



On the trail outward Philip looked at his trap- 

 11 



