ge, particularly, was opposed to
leaving behind us any provisions, it was decided to eat of them
lavishly and pay no attention to the hunt for the present.

All night it continued to rain, and we broke camp and started forward
on Friday morning, July 17, in a drenching downpour. George thought
this was rather hard. While Hubbard was out of hearing, he told me
that the Indians never travelled in the rain, and that he had never
been expected to do so before. The fact was that George had never
before been on an expedition where there was so much necessity for
haste.

We found the river on the second day to be even worse than our worst
fears had pictured it, and it kept growing worse as we ascended. The
water was so swift and shoal that we could take only a part of the
outfit in the canoe, which meant that we had to return at intervals for
the rest and track all the way, Hubbard pulling on the line while
George and I waded and pushed. Sometimes we were scarcely knee deep in
the water, and at other times we would sink up to our armpits.
Frequently we were swept off our feet. Once or twice we forced the
canoe and outfit through the thick willows and alders that lined the
river, and dragged them up the steep bank and attempted to portage; but
the country here had been burned and fallen trees were piled high in
every direction, so that we were compelled to return to the river and
resume our efforts in the raging torrent.

The work was awful, it was heartrending; and though we exerted
ourselves to the utmost from six o'clock in the morning until eight at
night, we advanced our camp only two miles that day. And when we
gathered around the fire at night, how we did "cuss" that river! None
of us, however, was discouraged, nor flinched at the prospect. Our
oil-tanned, cowhide moccasins and woollen trousers were beginning to
show the result of the attacks of bush, rock, and water, but our blue
flannel shirts and soft felt hats were still quite respectable. Our
coats we had left behind us as an unnecessary encumbrance.

While George was cooking breakfast on Saturday morning (July 18), a red
squirrel barked at us from a near-by tree. Drawing his pistol from its
holster, Hubbard said:

"Wallace, let's see who shall have the honour of bringing to George the
first game of the trip."

I acquiesced, and walking around the tree, caught the first glimpse of
the squirrel. At it I carefully aimed my pistol, and down it came. It