the afternoon of the 6th, when George, who was carrying
the canoe, became separated from Hubbard and me. The wind was blowing
hard, and he had difficulty in keeping the boat above his head.
Suddenly I heard a call, and, looking back, saw George running after
me, empty-handed. Hubbard did not hear the call, and went on. I
dropped my pack, and waited for George to come up.

"You fellus better wait for me," he panted. "I can't manage the canoe
alone in the wind, and if we get separated, I might strike the lake one
place and you somewhere else. And," added George, sententiously, "you
fellus have got the grub."

We shouted to Hubbard to wait, and when he answered, George and I
returned for the canoe. Hubbard, however, kept on, and George and I
carried the canoe ahead until we reached the thick woods into which he
had disappeared; then George went back for my pack. Presently we heard
Hubbard call from the depths of the woods, and a little later the sound
of an axe.

As we learned later, he had dropped his pack, and was blazing a trail
towards us in order that he might find it again. He was as nervous as
George had been over his narrow escape from being permanently separated
from the rest of the party, and at a time when such a happening would
have had serious consequences for us all. Under the best of
circumstances, the prospect of being left alone in the midst of that
inhospitable wilderness was enough to appal.

On the 7th we reached a creek, and launched the canoe. Hubbard went
ahead to fish below the rapids in the creek while George and I brought
down the canoe and outfit, making several short portages. That night we
camped two miles down the stream. Hubbard had caught, by hard work,
thirty small trout, half of which we ate for supper.

We were still ravenously hungry after we finished the trout, but the
bag contained only one more meal of venison and we did not dare draw on
it. This, together with the difficulty we were having in reaching the
"big water," set Hubbard to worrying again. He was especially anxious
about the sufficiency of the material he had gathered for a story,
fearing that if he failed to reach the caribou grounds there would not
be enough to satisfy his publishers. I told him I thought he already
had enough for a "bang-up" story.

"Anyway," I said, "we'll reach the caribou grounds, and see the Indians
yet. George and I will go with you to the last ditch; you can count on
us to the