WE-NEN-GWAY. 297 



I pungled off, and ate my little cold luncheon beside 

 a spring on the lake side. There were no napkins nor 

 finger bowls there, but there was that satisfying knowl- 

 edge that the hands which handled the food had been 

 bathed since they skinned the last muskrat. On relating 

 this to Henry Neaville he remarked: 



"I don't care what any of these writers on health say 

 about too frequent bathing being injurious; I believe that 

 a man ought to wash his hands once a month, whether 

 they need it or not." 



Our surveys were nearly finished, and nothing was 

 left to be done but to meander the river and figure the 

 fractional sections which it cut, and to do a little work 

 around Crow Wing. Henry Neaville and I were to 

 pack up, and get back to the trading post and meet the 

 party there. An Indian, a stranger, came to camp and 

 begged for whiskey. I told him we had none, but he saw 

 the molasses keg, and kept on begging until Henry said : 

 "Give him some pepper sauce." I had put the liquor 

 from several of the bottles into one and had thrown away 

 the peppers, and taking up the bottle, Henry and I pre- 

 tended to drink, and then he was wild for some. I 

 showed him with my thumb on the bottle how much or 

 how little he must drink, and he grunted assent, seized 

 the bottle with both hands, and such swallows as he took 

 before it burned him I never saw. If one swallow 

 doesn't make a summer, those he took made it hot 

 enough for him. He drew a long breath and snorted 

 "woof," like a bear, and started for the river. Three 

 times he stopped and snorted, and then ran out of sight. 

 Henry roared, rolled over and roared. When he got his 

 speech he said, between spasms: "Golly, but that Injun 

 thinks there was more fire than water in that 'scutah- 

 wawba; oh, dear! he's gone for a doctor; he thinks you've 



