Suffering and Starvation and Death were hidden and waiting for us.
How little we expected to meet these grim strangers then. That
July day came back to me as if it had been but the day before. I
believe I never missed Hubbard so much as at that moment. I never
felt his loss so keenly as then. An almost irresistible impulse
seized me to go on into our old trail and hurry to the camp where
we had left him that stormy October day and find if he were not
after all still there and waiting for me to come back to him.

Reluctantly I thrust the impulse aside. Armed with the experience
gained upon the former expedition, and information gleaned from the
Indians, I turned into the northern trail, through the valley of
the Nascaupee, and began a journey that carried me eight hundred
miles to the storm-swept shores of Ungava Bay, and two thousand
miles with dog sledge over endless reaches of ice and snow.

While I struggled northward with new companions, Hubbard was
always with me to inspire and urge me on. Often and often at night
as I sat, disheartened and alone, by the camp-fire while the rain
beat down and the wind soughed drearily through the firtops, he
would come and sit by me as of old, and as of old I would hear his
gentle voice and his words of encouragement. Then I would go to my
blankets with new courage, resolved to fight the battle to the end.

One day our camp was pitched upon the shores of Lake Michikamau,
and as I looked for the first time upon the waters of the lake
which Hubbard had so longed to reach, I lived over again that day
when he returned from his climb to the summit of the great grey
mountain which now bears his name, with the joyful news that there
just behind the ridge lay Michikamau; then the weary wind-bound