up the fight for the day,
to make our Sunday camp and try to get fish. We were ravenously
hungry, and ate even the heads of the dried trout we had for luncheon,
these being the last of those we caught and smoked on Lake Elson.
During the afternoon we put out for the first time the old gill net
Mackenzie had given us, and by hard work with the rod caught a few more
trout for supper.

It still poured on Sunday morning. Hubbard fished all day, and I the
greater part of the forenoon. The net product of our labor was
forty-five trout, most of them little fellows. The gill net yielded us
nothing. In the afternoon George and I took the rifles and started out
in different directions to look for caribou. Neither of us found any
fresh tracks. I returned at dusk, to find George already in camp and
our supper of boiled fish ready to be eaten. Our sugar was all gone by
this time, and our supply of salt was so low that we were using hardly
any. In spite of us the salt had been wet in the drenching rains we
had encountered all up the Susan Valley, and a large part of it had
dissolved.

While we all craved sugar and other sweets, I believe Hubbard suffered
the most from their absence. Perhaps the fact that George and I used
tobacco and he did not, was the explanation. He was continually
discussing the merits of various kinds of cake, candies, and sweet
things generally. Our conversation too often turned to New York
restaurants, and how he would visit various ones of them for particular
dishes. Bread undoubtedly was what we craved the most. "I believe
I'll never refuse bread again," Hubbard would say, "so long as there's
a bit on the table."

Monday (August 10) brought with it no abatement of the driving rain and
cold east wind. Working industriously for half an hour before
breakfast, Hubbard succeeded in landing a single small trout, which
fell to me, while he and George ate thick pea meal porridge, of which
they were very fond. We made several short portages during the
morning, and, despite the dismal weather, our spirits brightened; for
we came upon old wigwam poles and axe cuttings, which we accepted as
proof that we were now surely on the Indian trail to Michikamau.
Towards noon Hubbard said:

"Well, boys, we're on the right road, we've covered three miles this
morning, and this rain is killing, so we'll pitch camp now, and wait
for the weather to clear and try to get some fish ahead. There are fish
here, I kno