Now it was down stream and we glided swiftly along, arriving at the
confluence of the Crane and Caribou just before twilight and found
smiling faces and a good supper awaiting our return. How human some
Indians are, much more so than many a cold-blooded white.

Next day we wanted to make the Height-of-land portage for our camp. As
it meant a long, stiff paddle against a strong current for most of the
distance, we were up early, if not bright, and on our way before
sunrise. This time, however, no rapids impeded us and we reached the
portage on the farther shore of Height-of-land Lake, tired and hungry,
but happy over a day's work well done. It was a pretty little lake
about two miles long, surrounded by low-lying land in the midst of a
range of great rock-bound hills, and its waters had a whimsical fashion
of running either east or west according to which way the wind struck
it. Thus its waters became divided and, flowing either way, travel
afar to their final destinations in oceans thousands of miles apart.
But the western outlet, Moose Creek, being too shallow for canoes, a
portage of a couple of miles was made the following day, to the fork of
an incoming stream that doubles its waters and makes the creek
navigable. When we camped that night the hour was late. Then a
two-days' run--the second of which we travelled due north--took us into
Moose Lake; but not without shooting three rapids, each of which the
Indians examined carefully before we undertook the sport that all
enjoyed so much. An eastern storm, however, caught us on Moose Lake
and not only sent us ashore on an island, but windbound us there for
two days while cold showers pelted us. Another day and a half up Bear
River, with a portage round Crane Falls, landed us on the western shore
of Bear Lake at the mouth of Muskrat Creek--and there we were to spend
the winter.

There, too, I remembered Thoreau when he said: "As I ran down the hill
toward the reddening west, with the rainbow over my shoulder, and some
faint tinkling sounds borne to my ear through the cleansed air, from I
know not what quarter, my Good Genius seemed to say,--'Go fish and hunt
far and wide day by day,--farther and wider,--and rest thee by many
brooks and hearth-sides without misgiving. Remember thy Creator in the
days of thy youth. Rise free from care before the dawn, and seek
adventures. Let the noon find thee by other lakes, and the night
overtake thee everywhere at home'