230 MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 



could not have gone a rod further. It seemed hours 

 before I heard Antoine's inquiring yell, and then he 

 found me. 



"So you gone snow blin', hey? Why, you don' take 

 some sof inside bark, an' make some spectacle an' make 

 leetly hole in him w'en de ole sun come on a snow, hey?" 



"Oh, Antoine, get me into camp! My eyes are 

 ruined, and I'll never see again ! I felt 'em getting weak 

 and sore, but never thought I'd get stone blind; but 

 maybe if I get a chance to rest I'll come out all right." 



"Yes, you com-a all right. I t'ink you was got ketch 

 in dead-fall, or got into some hole an' break you laig 

 w'en I hear you shoot nine or 'leven tarn. Gimme you' 

 pack an' you' gun, an' keep hoi' dis string an' come 'long 

 o' me. Dat snow blin' make no dif w'en you keep in 

 camp ten day. Come 'long." 



And so he towed me into camp by a string, stopping 

 and helping me over a fallen tree or other bad place, for 

 he had bandaged my eyes and all was dark. When we 

 reached the cabin he sat one of the wooden troughs, 

 which his handy axe had made, by me and told me to 

 bathe my eyes with the cool and soft snow water it con- 

 tained, and not to look at the fire or anything else. A 

 fever came on, and for the first time in my life I knew 

 what it was to be perfectly helpless in a wilderness. 

 Coming into it in the full strength of youth and health, 

 no idea of anything that could disable me ever came to 

 mind. Here I was, laid up and despondent. There was 

 no belief that youth and an iron constitution were suf- 

 ficient to cure my ills ; all I knew was that I was a wreck 

 and a hindrance to my partner. 



"I'll tole you dat make no dif," said Antoine; "you 

 doan min' a-me; keep-a still. I'll get some bark an' stop 

 dat feve', an' you come 'long all rite. I'll tole you, you 



