Lost on the Prairie. 



blowing from the northwest cold and damp ; but I did not mind 

 it. I was used to these tramps and consoled myself with the 

 thought that I would soon be at camp to surprise the boys with 

 my big bag of birds and sit down to a nice, warm supper. Thus 

 my thoughts ran, as I trudged wearily along through the wet 

 grass towards home. 



How different the world looks to one under the varying 

 conditions we meet along life's journey ! A short hour earlier 

 I had but three chickens in my coat pockets, and was tired, dis- 

 satisfied, and discouraged. Now, everything was changed, and 

 I climbed the steep hill towards camp, whistling as happy as a 

 lark. But I was destined to see yet another turn of fortune's 

 wheel before reaching my goal. After walking long enough, as 

 I thought, to reach the timber, I sat down on a boulder to rest, 

 and have a smoke. It was very cold, and, when I came to make 

 a move, I found I was so tired and stiff that I could hardly get 

 on my feet. I left part of my chickens there and made another 

 start, but had walked but a few steps before I found myself 

 wading through grass nearly to my shoulders, and the footing 

 very much as though I was walking on a straw stack. I knew 

 too well what it meant I was back in the old peat bed where I 

 had shot my chickens. In a word, I was lost on the prairie. I 

 knelt down, scratched a match and looked at my watch. It 

 was nearly 10 o'clock, and here I was, just as far from camp as 

 when I started and so tired I could hardly stand. 



It seemed impossible to go any farther, and equally impos- 

 sible to stay where I was. I must keep moving, or I would 

 soon be unable to move; so, taking my bearings from the wind, 

 I made a new start. I trudged wearily along, my gun and 

 chickens growing heavier all the time, until, completely fagged 

 out, I was obliged to sit down again to rest. After a short 

 breathing spell I pulled myself together for another attempt, 

 thinking I would surely make the timber without having to 

 stop again, but had not gone ten rods before I found myself 

 once more wading into the tall grass of a peat bed. I sat down 

 and pondered over the situation. 



[110] 



