all night, and morning opened with a strong head wind and every
symptom of bad weather. A survey party from the Rocky Mountains,
in a York boat, tarried at our camp, bringing word that the
ice-jam was clear in Lesser Slave Lake, which was cheering, but
that we need scarcely look for the expected assistance. They
also gave a vague account of the murder of a squaw by her
husband for cannibalism, which afterwards proved to be groundless,
and, with this comforting information, sped on.

It is ridiculously easy to go down the Athabasca compared with
ascending it. The previous evening a Baptiste Lake hunter, bound
for the Landing, set on from our camp at a great rate astride
of a couple of logs, which he held together with his legs, and
disappeared round the bend below in a twinkling. A priest, too,
with a companion, arrived about dusk in a canoe, and set off
again, intending to beach at the Landing before dark.

Of course, several surmises were current regarding the non-arrival
of our trackers, the most likely being Bishop Grouard's, that,
as the R. C. Mission boats and men had not come down either,
the Indians and half-breeds were too intent upon discussing
the forthcoming treaty to stir.

So far it had been the rain and consequent bad tracking which
had delayed us; but still we were too weak-handed to make headway
without help, and it was at this juncture that the Police
contingent stepped manfully into the breach, and volunteered
to track one of the boats to the lake. This was no light matter
for men unaccustomed to such beastly toil and in such abominable
weather; but, having once put their hands to the rope, they