FOREST AND STREAM 
67 
river bank, near to where we had camped. 
T HEN, with the twelve dogs harnessed 
to the remaining load, we turned our 
backs on the storm and took the back 
trail up the river. Our own well-beaten 
track of the day before was discernible 
only in wind-swept places. At the portage 
we had to unload and let the dogs haul 
the empty sled up into the woods; then 
pack the cargo on our backs and carry it 
up the bank. The load once lashed up we 
attempted to proceed. But the hard harness 
bit into the raw and bleeding shoulders 
of the dogs, and every snag in the crooked 
portage trail brought the stiff toboggan 
to a halt. “Half the load at a time now, 
boys,” I said. “Those dogs can’t pull 
twenty pounds apiece in that condition. 
Haul the heaviest part first trip, and while 
you go back for the rest the Captain and 
I will pack the first lot up the hill. We 
ought to make that first shack early this 
evening.” 
T HE old man and I—he was fifty-two 
years of age—went on and broke a 
new trail for the dogs, and in less 
than an hour we had come to the foot of 
the steep bank down which we had first 
trailed onto the river. Up this, now, on 
the end of a stout line—a length of the 
skippers favorite “cod-jiggin’ ” line which 
he had brought along—we hauled the bags 
one at a time and we had our task finished 
long before the others came along with the 
second load. They reported that on their 
return trip the trail, which less than an 
hour before we had broken for them, was 
in places completely filled in and not trace¬ 
able. Such is the fury of a Northern On¬ 
tario storm. At half past four we made 
the shack on the range line where we 
had slept two nights before. Our sleeping 
bags were so wet and frozen that lying in 
them was out of the question, and we sat 
about the fire and smoked our pipes, till 
daylight once more set us on the move. 
That afternoon, the storm having abated 
during the night, we arrived back in Coch¬ 
rane, our starting-point. “Hello!” said 
Scott, as I walked into Revillon’s. “What 
brought you back? Somebody hurt?” “Oh, 
no,” I answered, “we just came back to 
let ,you collect that ten-to-one bet. We 
can t get. through with our present rig- 
out, but if you care to double that bet on 
the next race I’ll take you. We’re going 
to fit out afresh, and after we rest up a 
few days and doctor the dogs we’ll make 
another try.” After a good night’s rest 
preparations were begun for the second 
attempt to reach Moose. The dogs were 
sent out to a farm with all the fresh 
meat they could eat, and heal¬ 
ing embrocations for their 
wounded shoulders. The heavy 
leather harness was discarded 
and with sail cloth and cod 
line soon were fashioned fif¬ 
teen sets of Indian harness. 
These fit snugly on 
the dogs’ bodies 
and cannot chafe. 
Each is attached to 
the toboggan by a 
single trace and al¬ 
lows the dog more 
freedom. The 
driver can also see 
-c 
what dogs are pulling and what are not, 
and thus knows in which quarter to ply the 
whip. With the animals hitched tandem 
fashion, as on our first setting-out, it is 
almost impossible to tell which are lagging 
and the brunt of the work usually falls on 
those nearest to the sled. Altogether this 
altered rig added fifty per cent to the 
teams’ efficiency. In place of the two 
heavy toboggans I chose three light ones, 
prospectors’ type, eight feet in length and 
only ten inches wide. Then I reduced the 
weight by nearly one-third, taking only 
eight days’ dog-food—which included what 
had been cached by the river— and adding 
nothing to our stock, which was already 
reduced by nearly five days’ rations. I 
figured that we still had sufficient to carry 
us through. A small silk tent, nine feet 
by seven and a half, and a knock-down 
stove were added to the load, the two 
together weighing less than thirty pounds. 
That one wet night out on the Frederick- 
house had taught me that the season for 
open camps was past. The 
season for such a shelter is 
in the very cold midwinter 
weather. Thus re-equipped, 
on the morning of the 
twenty-ninth, after a three days’ rest, 
which had worked wonders for both 
men and beasts, we set forth to try 
our luck again. Instead of the twelve 
dogs with which we had first started we 
now had fifteen, five to each team. iTearly 
all had their bushy tails curled up over 
their backs, a sure sign that the huskies 
were fit and in love with their work. Af¬ 
ter they had been whipped into obedience 
to the new order of things, they taxed the 
efforts of Jimmie, who had been appointed 
forerunner, to keep ahead of them. Well 
fed, rested, the raw spots healing over, they 
did not seem the same animals we had 
driven forth with, nine days before. Three 
days ahead of us the Indians, who 
composed the H. B. C. mail packet 
for Moose Factory and the James’ 
Bay posts, were somewhere on the 
route, the last winter mail for the 
North. Following the unwritten law 
of courtesy of the Out-of-the-Way 
Places we carried the few remaining 
letters that would bring a 
rare hour of gladness to the 
lonesome hearts of the ex¬ 
iles in that snow-enshroud¬ 
ed land. Although it had 
snowed the day the 
packet left town 
we yet counted on 
finding some indi¬ 
cation of their 
trail. We even 
hoped to pull down 
their three d a y s’ 
lead and overtake 
them before reach¬ 
ing Moose. Our 
new rate of prog¬ 
ress bred an over- 
confidence in our 
powers and Provi¬ 
dence administered 
an early reproof, 
in the form of 
more snow and 
rain. 
(To be continued in March.) 
