R CAMP--THE BITTER COLD--ENDURING HARDNESS--DEATH
SHAKING HANDS WITH US--MANY DAYS ON THE TRAIL.

In January, 1869, I started on my first winter trip to Nelson River, to
visit a band of Indians there, who had never yet seen a missionary or
heard the glad tidings of salvation. Their principal gatherings were at
the little trading post on the Burntwood River. Their hunting grounds
extended so very far north that they bordered on those of the Esquimaux,
with whom, however, the Indians have no dealings. Between these two
races, the Indian and the Esquimaux, there is no affinity whatever.
They differ very materially in appearance, language, customs, and
beliefs. Though they will seldom engage in open hostilities, yet they
are very rarely at peace with each other, and generally strive to keep
as far apart as possible.

The weather was bitterly cold, as the temperature ranged from thirty-
five to fifty-five below zero. Our course was due north all the way.
The road we made, for there was none ahead of the snow-shoe tracks of
our guide, was a rugged, unbroken forest path. As the country through
which we passed is rich in fur-bearing animals, we saw many evidences of
their presence, and occasionally crossed a hunter's trail. We passed
over twenty little lakes, averaging from one to thirty miles in
diameter. Over these our dogs drew us very fast, and we could indulge
in the luxury of a ride; but in the portages and wood-roads our progress
was very slow, and generally all of us, with our snow-shoes on, and at
times with axes in hand, had to tramp on ahead and pack the deep snow
down, and occasionally cut out an obstructing log, that our dogs might
be able to drag our heavily laden sleds along. Sometimes the trees were
so thickly clustered together that it was almost impossible to get our
sleds through them. At times we were testing our agility by climbing
over fallen trees, and then on our hands and knees had to crawl under
reclining ones. Our faces were often bleeding, and our feet bruised.
There were times when the strap of my snowshoes so frayed and lacerated
my feet that the blood soaked through the moccasins and webbing of the
snowshoes, and occasionally the trail was marked with blood. We always
travelled in Indian file. At the head ran or walked the guide, as the
roads would permit. On these trips, when I got to understand dog-
driving, I generally followed next; and behind me were three other dog-
trains, ea