FOREST AND STREAM 
113 
(The first chapter of this fascinating story was published tn Forest and Stream of January. It describes a trip with dogs and 
sledges from the end of the railway to Hudson Bay. In the first chapter the author told of the unsuccessful start and the return. 
This month he completes the story and lands the reader triumphantly at Rupert House on the Bay.) 
Part II. 
T HE weather was 
very mild when we 
got away at seven 
the next morning. 
At nine we reached our 
cache. More self-con¬ 
gratulatory remarks, for 
this distance 
had cost us 
three days 
of torturing 
trail break¬ 
ing in our 
first attempt. 
We took on 
our full load 
and contin¬ 
ued down the Frederickhouse. By midday, 
under the warm sun, the snow grew soft 
and sticky, and occasionally we encoun¬ 
tered patches of water on the ice. Our 
progress, though slower, was still satisfac¬ 
tory, and at three in the afternoon we 
emerged onto the broader Abittibi. An¬ 
other milestone on the route! Another 
boost to .the spirits of the party! At six 
o’clock rain began to fall and we climbed 
the east bank and pitched our tent in the 
shelter of the woods. Eight miles down the 
Abittibi and the day’s log tallied twenty-five ! 
All night it poured and the wind swung 
to the north’ard. Harder and harder it 
blew, the rain turned to snow, and soon a 
full storm—a Number Ten gale—was tear¬ 
ing its way upstream—just such a one as 
had so discouraged us a week ago and 
forced us to turn back. 
m 
“I thought it time we had a spell o’ real 
dirty weather,” said the skipper. “We were 
lucky to log that many miles to-day.” 
This time, though, we had the shelter of 
the tent, and all night and throughout the 
following day we kept up a roaring fire in 
the little box stove. Once, through care¬ 
lessness, the thin silk covering caught fire 
from the over-heated pipe, and we nearly 
lost our tent. It was a lesson to us and there¬ 
after we were more careful with our fire. 
The second morning the wind still blew 
hard from the nor’west, but the snowfall 
having ceased, we broke camp and got 
under way again. Five hours later we 
made the entrance to the “Island” or “Eight 
Mile Portage,” which takes one around the 
treacherous Island Portage Rapids. 
The river bank is very steep here and 
we were half an hour by the watch in get¬ 
ting the three loads up into the woods. 
When about two miles across we came to a 
burnt over area and promptly lost the trail. 
Fully three hours were spent circling about 
the country, following false leads, before 
we caught sight of the blazes again. Then, 
to further delay us and add to our troubles, 
Kennedy’s team raced down a steep bank 
and the loaded toboggan following, plunged 
bow on through the snow crust into the 
waters of a creek. We were obliged to 
crawl down over fallen trees and run the 
risk of a cold dip in order to rescue the 
contents. Lashings had to be cut and each 
dripping bag hauled up before we could 
raise the wreck. Fortunately, this sled car¬ 
ried few of our provisions, though a bag 
of biscuit on board was thoroughly soaked 
and rendered fit only for the dogs. 
Darkness was setting over us when we 
entered the green woods and camped on 
the boughs used by the Indians ahead of 
us. As the weather had at last turned fair 
we did not bother with pitching the tent, 
but slept out under the stars. 
B Y eight o’clock the next morning we 
had crossed the portage and come out 
again onto the smooth surface of the 
Abittibi. The day was clear and bright 
and the dazzling whiteness of the snow 
proved hard on the travelers’ eyes. All of 
us had a touch of snow blindness, although 
we had been careful to wear snow glasses 
except when in the woods. In the after¬ 
noon we met an Indian family traveling 
south and were so fortunate as to get about 
ten pounds of moose meat from them. So 
far the only signs of game we had seen 
were a few tracks, quite fresh but not 
tempting enough to take us out of our way. 
After covering an eighteen mile stretch 
of the river we arrived at the head of the 
“Fifteen Mile” portage, the longest on the 
river. “Fifteen” miles it is called, but 
each one of us was ready and able to swear 
that the distance was twenty, for we were 
from three o’clock that afternoon till six, 
and from daylight till noon of the follow¬ 
ing day crossing the length of it. It over¬ 
comes a succession of rapids, and the trail 
breaks out onto the river again at New 
Post, a trading station of the H. B. C.— 
the halfway point to Moose. Midway 
across the portage we camped at dark, with, 
thirty miles covered since morning. 
“I think we’ve struck our gait now,” I 
remarked, turning the bacon in the pan. 
We were always eating bacon, it seems. 
We had toted one hundred pounds from 
Cochrane. 
“Afi, yes, sir,” replied Kennedy. “It’s the 
Injun harness that does it. Had I that 
horse harness on my dogs they would never 
have been strong enough to pull me into 
that creek yesterday. We’d be in Moose 
now had we started out with this outfit 
the first time.” 
“Yes,—at least pretty close to it,” we 
agreed. 
At noon the next day, the 3rd of April, 
we coasted down a steep hill, thickly wood¬ 
ed with spruce and bushy jackpine, and 
halted the dogs among the buildings of 
New Post. The house allotted to travelers 
was opened to us and we proceeded to 
make ourselves at home. 
But our surroundings were dry and per¬ 
mitted the overhauling of our dunnage and 
the thorough drying out of Kennedy’s load 
and of our own duffle, socks and moccasins. 
Kennedy and I were almost unable to see 
for snow blindness. Captain Tom pre¬ 
scribed a poultice of wet tea leaves and I 
slept all night with my eyes thus bandaged. 
In the morning they were much relieved 
and the inflammation much reduced. 
T HE weather was fair that morning 
when we left New Post but shortly 
after we got under way a snow storm 
came on and continued long after we had 
camped. In spite of the weather we logged 
thirty miles. 
In the last portage, while guiding my to¬ 
boggan down the side of a precipitous gul- 
ley, I strained my back, and the over¬ 
worked tendons now began to trouble me. 
The snow! All night the wind blew hard 
from the same old quarter, nor’nor’west, 
accompanied by a steady shower of blind¬ 
ing snow. After a few hours the packet 
trail which we had been following was com¬ 
pletely obliterated. Nor did the weather 
slacken at daylight, but stormed as heavily 
as ever. 
Never did we see such a season, or coun¬ 
try, for snow. It fell this day as though 
it had not snowed all winter. Not knowing 
where to cross and re-cross the river to 
avoid the weak, undermined ice, we could 
only wait for the French packet to over- 
