esh water of the lake was a refreshing bath, and
soon they were ready for their morning meal. Indians, if they have the
chance, are not bad cooks, especially when working for those whom they
respect; and so here, under the eye of Mr Ross, whom they so loved,
they did their best. With some of the supplies from home, added to the
fish, duck, bear steaks, and spareribs, they had a breakfast of which
any hunters might be proud. The delicious bracing air, the wild
romantic surroundings, the congenial friendship, the picturesque,
attentive red men, gave to this meal on the rocks under the blue sky
such an exhilaration of spirits to the boys that they were fairly wild
with delight.

Even Sam had forgotten in some degree his exciting race and fright in
the rare enjoyment of the hour. Soon after, preparations were begun for
continuing the journey. The question was, what was to be done with all
the bear's meat, as there was too much to carry in their canoes, with
the other supplies considered more necessary. So the Indian plan of
preserving meat fresh and sweet was adopted. A hole was dug in the
fresh earth to a depth of three or four feet, and here the meat, well
wrapped up in the bear's skin, was deposited. Meat will keep fresh and
good in this way for many days. The hole was then carefully covered up
and packed down by the Indians. Then on the top a large fire was
kindled, and then allowed to burn itself out. This was done to destroy
the scent and thus save the "cache" from being discovered by prowling
wolves and wolverines that would in all probability visit the camp not
long after the hunters had left.

Nothing of much importance occurred during the trip to the Old Fort.
Their favourite camping ground was reached in due time, and the boys had
a couple of hours' duck and partridge shooting ere they sat down on the
rocks to dinner. Each had something to say, but Frank most amused the
party by a description of an old partridge that kept tumbling down ahead
of him and acting in the queerest manner possible. In fact, so amused
was he in the queer antics of the bird that he could not find it in his
heart to shoot her. When Mr Ross heard Frank's story he said he was
delighted to hear that he had not tried to shoot that partridge, as it
was undoubtedly a mother bird with a brood of little ones not far off.
Then he went on to tell not only of the cleverness he had often
witnessed in the old mother birds themselves, but