LAKE MAELPEG AND MOUNT SYLVESTER 299 



I was curious, as no Indians were about in our country, and 

 white men never come in so far, especially in the winter. 

 We crossed the brook, and I see at once that the track 

 was a white man's, as he wore boots, that he was running, 

 and that he warn't carrying no load, cos his footin' was 

 light on the snow. ' That feller's lost sure,' says I to 

 Micky, ' and we must find him before night or he'll be 

 dead.' 



" I takes my tomahawk and some rum and meat and 

 we flies along the track, for the man was scared and going 

 fast. The footing goes in big circles, and now and again 

 we see where the feller had fell down and bite at the snow, 

 so he was about done and going mad. 



"'Hurry up, Micky,' said I, 'or we'll be too late.' It 

 was cold enough for frost-bite even with two pairs of mits, 

 and when night came on, if a man fall and couldn't get up, 

 he'd very soon die. But Micky was kind o' scared and 

 say to me, ' What if he jump on us and try to kill us ; when 

 a man's mad with fear he do most anything.' But I show 

 him the handle of my tomahawk, and meant to stun the 

 feller if he try any tricks. 



" The strength of that white man was considerable, for 

 Micky and I had to run like deer on our rackets to gain 

 ground, but by-and-by we see he was slowin' and fallin' oftener. 

 Presently I sees his head poking out from behind a bush, 

 so I shouts to him, and he rushes up to me and grabs me 

 round the legs. Micky wanted me to hit him, but I knew 

 he was only mad with joy. His name was Michael Fannell, 

 and he said he thought he was going home. So he was — 

 nearly. 



" He was so done, with his boots and clothing all tore to 

 pieces, that Mick and I had to carry him on our backs five 



