rly portion was dotted with low, mound-like islands of drift,
with two or three irregular, rocky islands, all completely wooded. It
was a beautiful sheet of water, and, like all the lakes in Labrador, as
clear as crystal and very cold. On the northerly side there were
narrow straits and inlets, doubtless connecting the lake with others to
the northwest that were hidden by the growth.

The outlet was at the southern end. It flowed through a pass in a low
ridge of hills that extended for a great distance east and west, and
emptied into a small lake, the waters of which were discharged through
a creek that flowed through a pass in another low ridge that ran
parallel with the first as far as we could see. Between the two ridges
was a marsh that extended westward for many miles. The ridges and the
hills surrounding the lakes were covered with spruce and balsam.
Nowhere along our route since we left Northwest River Post, however,
had we seen any timber of commercial value; the largest trees did not
exceed eight inches in diameter, the generality being much smaller.

We were somewhat disconcerted upon finding no further signs of Indians,
and feared we had lost the trail. Neither trapper's blaze nor
trapper's cutting was to be seen; for now we were beyond their zone and
in a country that apparently no white man and no breed had ever viewed.
We selected a site for our camp near the outlet at the southern end of
the lake. In the afternoon Hubbard and George went to some bluffs that
could be seen two or three miles to the southward, to scout for a route
to Michikamau and find the Indian trail if possible. I remained behind
to make camp.

The days were now shortening rapidly; it was dark before eight o'clock.
In the grey of the twilight George returned. When he hailed me, I was
fishing in the outlet just below the camp, standing on a rock in
midstream to which I had waded.

"Come 'long up to camp," he called. Once in the wilderness, we made no
distinctions as to master and servant; we were all companions together.
Hence George's familiar manner of address.

"When I land two more trout," I shouted back.

"You've got enough; come 'long now," he pleaded. There was that in his
tone that excited my curiosity; he seemed all of a sudden to have
acquired an unusual fondness for my society. "What's the matter,
George?" I asked.

"I've been about lost," he returned. "Come on and I'll tell you."

I was astonished. I had se