the windward side sought the smoother water within the reeds, and drove
along rapidly under bare poles, out of sight of the Hattie, separated
at nightfall by miles of raging sea. We rode before the wind to the
foot of the lake, where we were confronted by the alternative of a
toilsome and unsafe paddle around the coast against the storm's full
force, or camping in mutual anxiety as to the fate of the unseen
party--a by no means pleasant sedative for a night's rest upon wild and
uninhabited shores. We decided upon the pull, and labored on, now upon
the easy swells within the reeds, and then tossing upon the crests in
open places, until at last a whirling column of smoke a mile ahead gave
us assurance of the Hattie's safety. The reunited fleet paddled down
into the Mississippi, enlivening the darkness until we could find
camping-ground beyond the marshes by a comparison of storm-experiences
and congratulations that we had escaped the bottom of the lake.

[Illustration: CHURCH AMONG THE PINES (BRAINERD).]

Late in the afternoon of the next day, after a monotonous pull through
the interminable windings of Eagle Nest Savanna, we swept around a
curve of high tillable land upon the uppermost farm cultivated by
whites, eighteen miles above Pekagema Falls, and one hundred and
seventy miles by river beyond the Northern Pacific Railroad. Thomas
Smith and his partner, farming, herding and lumbering at the mouth of
Vermilion River, were the first white men we had seen since July 6,
seventeen days, and with them we enjoyed a chat in straight English.
Nine miles below we camped at River Camp, the second farm downward,
where we were kindly supplied with vegetables and with fresh milk,
which seemed to us then like the nectar of the gods. Thursday, 24th, we
reached Pekagema Falls, a wild pitch of some twenty feet, with rapids
above and below, down which the strong volume of the river plunges with