puffed
complacently on our pipes, Hubbard, who never smoked, entertained us
with more of Kipling. "The Feet of the Young Men" was one of his
favourites, and that night he put more than his usual feeling into the
words:

"Now the Four-way Lodge is opened, now the Hunting Winds are loose--
Now the Smokes of Spring go up to clear the brain;
Now the Young Men's hearts are troubled for the whisper of the Trues,
Now the Red Gods make their medicine again!
Who hath seen the beaver busied?
Who hath watched the black-tail mating?
Who hath lain alone to hear the wild-goose cry?
Who hath worked the chosen water where the ouananiche is waiting,
Or the sea-trout's jumping--crazy for the fly?

He must go--go--go away from here!
On the other side the world he's overdue.
'Send your road is clear before you when the old
Spring-fret comes o'er you
And the Red Gods call for you!"

Again the silence. The northern lights flashed and swept in fantastic
shapes across the sky, illuminating the fir tops in the valley and
making the white lichens gleam on the barren hill above us. We thought
of the lake ahead with its old wigwams, and the promise it held out of
an easy trail to Michikamau made us feel sure that the worst part of
our journey was ended. Thus we sat supremely happy and content until
long past midnight, when we went to our tent and our bed of fragrant
spruce boughs, to be lulled asleep by the murmuring waters of the creek
below.

The brooks into which Goose Creek divided near our camp of course would
not permit of canoeing, and the morning after our feast (August 4) we
portaged through a swamp into the lake that fed the southerly one. We
called this small body of water Mountaineer Lake, because the
Mountaineer Indians had been there. Besides numerous cuttings and the
remains of wigwams, we found the ruins of a drying stage where they had
cured meat or fish. From Goose Camp to the lake shore George carried
the canoe, and Hubbard and I each a pack. Then while George and I
returned for the remaining packs, Hubbard waited by the lake. As he
sat there alone, a caribou waded into the water less than a hundred
feet away, stopped and looked fearlessly at him for a few moments, and
then walked leisurely off into the woods.

"It seemed as if he wanted to shake hands with me," Hubbard said when
he told us of the incident. He had to let the deer depart in peace,
because both rifles were back