re the grub has to be rationed out,
fruit of any kind is at a premium. It was almost dark when they got
through their supper and were ready for the night. It was quite a cool
night in spite of the hot day they had had. The guides piled on the wood
and it was very comfortable after their hard day's paddling and
portaging, to sit around the fire and talk over the events of the day or
whatever happened to come up. Bob soon sneaked away from the fire and
went over to the smaller fire which the guides had made close to the
little wood hut they had hastily thrown up. It did not take Joe long to
plunge into his story, and for quite a while Bob stayed with the guides
listening to Joe. When Bob returned to the main party he found them
getting ready to seek their blankets. His return was greeted gladly by
Bill and Pud, who remembered the story that Bob had promised to get from
Joe and then relate to them.

"Well, how did you make out?" asked Bill.

"Did Joe tell you the story?" exclaimed Pud eagerly.

"Yes, he told me the story in his matter-of-fact way. To him his
experience was only an ordinary occurrence that may almost be expected
by any hunter in a hard winter. I think that I had better keep the story
until to-morrow night, as it is getting late," said Bob, looking
questioningly at Mr. Waterman.

"Go ahead, Bob," said Mr. Waterman. "We are going to stay here and fish
to-morrow, so it won't make much difference if we stay up a little later
than usual. I don't think that Joe has ever told us of this experience,
has he?" added Mr. Waterman, turning to Mr. Anderson.

"No. Joe has told us a lot of very interesting experiences that he has
had, but he never told us of the time he got so hungry that he tried to
eat his moccasins," said Mr. Anderson.

"Well," said Bob, "though Joe told me the story in his own very laconic
fashion, I am sure that it was much more interesting than I can make it.
I'll do the best I can, however."

"All right, then," said Bill, "go ahead."

"When Joe was a young man he once came hunting far north of this country
in the company of an old Montagnais chief named Howling Wolf. They
started out late in November, expecting to get back about Christmas
time. They went up the Portneuf River, which was frozen over then, and
made good progress. They had very good success from the start. Contrary
to what they had generally experienced, the further north they went the
better was the hunting. They were led on