with the last loads at Goose Camp, and
his pistol was in his bag. Needless to say, we were bitterly
disappointed at losing the first deer we had seen, and it taught us the
lesson always to take one rifle forward with the first load on a
portage.

We spent the afternoon scouting in different directions, and discovered
that the only inlet to Mountaineer Lake ended in a bog a mile or so up.
A mile or more to the westward, however, George discovered another and
much larger lake, which in honour of him we shall call Lake Elson. An
old trail led from Mountaineer Lake to Lake Elson, which George
pronounced to be a caribou trail, but which Hubbard believed to be an
old portage, because it led from lake to lake by the most direct
course. There were no axe cuttings, however, to indicate that the
Indians had followed it.

We tried the troll in Mountaineer Lake, but caught nothing. Apparently
there was nothing there but trout, of which fish I caught eight at the
inlet. I shot with my pistol a muskrat that was swimming in the lake,
but George did not cook it, as he said the flesh would be too strong at
that season. It was raining again and the mosquitoes were out in
millions, but with three geese still on hand and a good lake ahead we
were indifferent to such troubles as that, although our clothing was
not now in a condition successfully to withstand much bad weather.

Rags, in fact, were beginning to appear upon us all. One of Hubbard's
trousers legs was ripped clear down the front, and it was continually
streaming behind in the wind and getting caught in the bushes, despite
his efforts to keep it in place with pieces of twine. At length he
patched it with a piece of white duffel, and exhibited his tailoring
feat to us with much pride.

About noon on August 5, after a two-mile portage, we reached Lake
Elson. On the way Hubbard sighted two caribou. He dropped his pack
and grabbed his rifle. They were 250 yards away and partially hidden
by the timber, and as they were approaching him, he waited, believing
he would get a better shot. But, while he was waiting, what he called
a "cussed little long-legged bird" scared them off, by giving a sharp,
shrill cry of alarm, which the deer evidently were clever enough to
construe as meaning that something out of the ordinary was happening.

Lake Elson proved to be about three and a half miles long and a half
mile wide. It lay in a basin surrounded by wooded hills. The
northe