hermit, whose nearest neighbors are thirty miles away. His dog welcomed
us with all the passion of canine hunger and days of isolation, but the
master was gone to Leech Lake, as we afterward found from his Cass Lake
neighbors. The wind favored a sail across the lake--a welcome variation
from our hitherto entirely muscular propulsion--so we rigged our spars
and canvas, drifted smoothly out into the trough of the lively but not
angry waves, and swept swiftly across the clear, bright little sea. The
white caps dashed over our decks and a few sharp puffs half careened
our little ships, but the crossing was safely and quickly made. It was
yet only mid-afternoon, but we had paddled steadily and made good
progress nearly four days; so we went into early camp on a bluff
overlooking the entire lake, did our first washing of travel-stained
garments, brought up epistolary arrearages, caught two fine lake-trout
for our next breakfast and went to sound sleep in the
nine-and-a-half-o'clock twilight.

We had been advised that we should need guides in finding our exits
from the lakes, which were obscured by reeds and wild rice. But no
guide was to be had, and we easily found our own way. The river at the
outlet of Bemidji Lake is about one hundred and fifty feet wide, very
shallow, and runs swiftly over a bed of large gravel and boulders
thickly grown with aquatic grass and weeds. We had gone but a little
way when a rattling ahead told of near proximity to swift and rough
water, down which we danced at a speed perilous to the boats, but not
to our personal safety. The river was unusually low, so that the many
bouldery rapids which otherwise would have been welcome were now only
the vexatious hints of what might have been. The shallow foam dashed
down each rocky ledge without channel or choice, and whichever way we
went we soon wished we had gone another. The rocks were too many for
evasion, and the swift current caught our keels upon their half-sunken