ter to stick to the
canoe on the "big river" (the Beaver) and follow it down to its mouth,
wherever that might be, or abandon the canoe at the place where we had
portaged into the river from Lake Elson, and make a dash overland with
light packs to the Susan Valley and down that valley to the hunters'
cabins we had seen at the head of Grand Lake, where we hoped we might
find a cache of provisions. Hubbard was strongly in favour of the
latter plan, while George and I favoured the former. As the reader
knows, I had a great dread of the Susan Valley, and expressed my
feelings freely. But we all had the idea that the "big river" emptied
into Goose Bay (the extreme western end of Hamilton Inlet), and Hubbard
reasoned that we might reach the broad waters of the bay far from a
house, be windbound indefinitely and die of starvation on the shore.
On the other hand, we were sure of the route through the Susan Valley,
and, in his opinion, it would be better to bear the ills we had borne
before than fly to others we know not of. I cannot deny that his
argument had weight, but we decided that for the present we should hold
the matter in abeyance. One thing we felt reasonably sure of, and that
was we should get fish in the big river, and we eagerly counted the
days it would take us to reach it.

Bright and cold and crisp was Saturday morning (October 3d), with black
wind-driven clouds and occasional snow squalls later in the day. About
noon, when Hubbard had gone ahead with a pack, George and I sighted two
small black ducks while we were canoeing across a pond. They were
quietly swimming about fifty yards in front of us. I passed my rifle
ahead to George. He carefully knelt in the canoe, and took a
deliberate aim while I held my breath. Then, Crack! went the rifle,
and but one duck rose on the wing. Quick as a flash, without removing
the rifle from his shoulder, George threw the lever forward and back.
Instantly the rifle again spoke, and the bird in the air tumbled over
and over into the water. The first duck had been decapitated; the
other received a bullet through its body.

The moment was intense; for we had only a little fish for breakfast,
and the outlook for other meals had seemed dismal indeed; but George
was stoicism itself; not a word did he utter, nor did a feature of his
face change. When, after picking up the ducks, we touched the shore, I
jumped out, took his hand and said "George, you're a wonder." But he