e--the left shore of Rainy River is
American territory--but the chance of a bad Indian was better than the
certainty of a bad canoe, and we stopped at the camp. A lot of half-naked
redskins came out of the trees, and the pow-wow commenced. I gave them
all tobacco, and then asked if they would give me a good canoe in
exchange for my bad one, telling them that I would give them a present
next day at the fort if one or two amongst them would come up there.
After a short parley they assented, and a beautiful canoe was brought out
and placed on the water. They also gave us a supply of dried sturgeon,
and, again shaking hands all round, we departed on our way.

This time there was no mistake, the canoe proved as dry as a bottle, and
we paddled bravely on through the mists of night. About midnight we
halted for supper, making a fire amidst the long wet grass, over which we
fried the sturgeon and boiled our kettle; then we went on again through
the small hours of the morning. At times I could see on the right the
mouths of large rivers which flowed from the west: it is down these
rivers that the American Indians come to fish for sturgeon in the Rainy
River. For nearly 200 miles the country is still theirs, and the
Pillager and Red Lake branches of the Ojibbeway nation yet hold their
hunting-grounds in the vast swamps of North Minnesota.

These Indians have a bad reputation, as the name of Pillager implies, and
my Red River men were anxious to avoid falling in with them. Once during
the night, opposite the mouth of one of the rivers opening to the west,
we saw the lodges of a large party on our left; with paddles that were
never lifted out of the water, we glided noiselessly by, as silently as a
wild duck would cleave the current. Once again during the long night a
large sturgeon, struck suddenly by a paddle, alarmed us by bounding out
of the water and landing full upon the gunwale of the Canoe, splashing
back again into the water and wetting us all by his curious manoeuvre. At
length in the darkness we heard the hollow roar of the great Falls of the
Chaudiere sounding loud through the stillness. It grew louder and louder
as with now tiring strokes my worn-out men worked mechanically at their
paddles. The day was beginning to break. We were close beneath the
Chaudiere and alongside of Fort Francis. The scene was wondrously
beautiful. In the indistinct light of the early dawn the cataract seemed
twice its natural height, the tops