MY FRIGHTFUL FRIEND. 85 



French and Sioux Indian, for the earlier part of his life 

 had been spent in the far west beyond the Eed Eiver. 

 This very worthy man set all the ardour and romance of 

 my disposition boiling and bubbling by the stories he 

 narrated of all the salmon he had seen in the pool beneath 

 the Chute-en-haut. I expressed my desire to go there. 

 He shook his head, and said it was dangerous work, and 

 impossible to effect without a canoe. I insisted that I 

 would go, and that he should repair an old canoe he had, 

 and come with me. He declared his inability to do either, 

 but said that his son, one of a tribe of wandering Indians, 

 would be with him next day, and showing me a solitary 

 spot where I should meet him, promised that he should 

 bring his canoe and convey me safely to the much desired 

 waters. It was early morning in the month of July, the 

 rain drops were glittering on the countless leaves of the 

 trees, as the rising sun shed his glories upon them ; I was 

 silently forcing my way through the water-laden branches 

 which overhung the path to the rendezvous, where I ex- 

 pected to meet the old voyageur's son with his canoe, when 

 I was startled, nay almost horrified, by the sudden and 

 rapid approach of some gigantic and unknown animal, 

 rushing towards me through the trees with a frightful 

 noise. I stopped, I stood, my blood ran cold ; I tightly 

 grasped my gaff; I endeavoured by staring to ascertain 

 what brute it might be and how I could defend myself: as it 

 quickly approached me, I stepped back from the unbeaten 



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