finish."

"All right," said Hubbard, evidently relieved. "If you boys aren't
sick of it, it's on to the caribou grounds, late or no late. But I
feel I've got you fellows in a tight place."

"We came with our eyes open," I replied, "and it's not your fault."

On the morning of September 8th, following our stream out to a shoal,
rocky bay, we reached the "big water" at last. It was the great body
of water that I have mapped out as Windbound Lake. Forty miles we had
portaged from Lake Disappointment. We were practically out of food of
any kind. Looking over the great expanse of water stretching miles
away to the westward, we wondered what our new lake had in store for us
of hope and success, of failure and, despair. Would it lead us to
Michikamau? If not, what were we to do?

On its farther shore, about twenty miles to the northwest, rose in
solemn majesty a great, grey mountain, holding its head high above all
the surrounding world. It shall be known as Mount Hubbard. To this
mountain we decided to paddle and view the country. Instinctively we
felt that Michikamau lay on the other side. We launched our canoe
after a light luncheon of trout and a small ptarmigan George had shot.
Once in the course of the afternoon we stopped paddling to climb a low
ridge near the shore and eat cranberries, which we found in abundance
on its barren top. From the ridge we could see water among the hills
in every direction. In the large lake at our feet were numerous wooded
islands.

We camped at dusk on one of these islands, and on Wednesday, September
9th, launched our canoe at daybreak, to resume our journey to Mount
Hubbard. We reached its base before ten o'clock. Blueberries grew in
abundance on the side of the mountain, which, together with the country
near it, had been burned. One of us, it was decided, should remain
behind to pick berries, while the others climbed to the summit. I
volunteered for the berrypicking, but I shall always regret it was not
possible for me to go along.

Before Hubbard and George returned, I had our mixing basin filled with
berries, and the kettle half full. The day was clear, crisp and
delightful--one of those perfect days when the atmosphere is so pure
and transparent that minute objects can be distinguished for miles. On
the earth and on the water, not a thing of life was to be seen. The
lake, relieved here and there with green island-spots; the cold rocks
of distant mountains to t