It was on this day that we reached a point where our branch creek
itself separated into two branches. Upon scouting them, we
discovered that each of these branches had for its origin a lake,
the two bodies of water from which they flowed being close together
some three miles to the westward. Apparently they were small
lakes, but we hoped to find that they belonged to a chain that
would carry us into the country, and their discovery encouraged us
to push on.

This hope was strengthened by Indian wigwam poles that we found in
the vicinity. The poles, it is true, were old, indicating that the
Indians had not been there for several years; but as it had been a
long time since they had ceased to visit regularly Northwest River
Post, we thought we had reason to believe that the poles marked
what had been a permanent trail rather than the course of a hunting
expedition. Hubbard was particularly observant of these old Indian
signs. He was anxious to find them, and delighted when he did find
them. "Here are the signs," he would say, "we are on the right
trail." But we were not on the right trail. The right trail--the
Nascaupee route--was miles to the northward. We eventually did
stumble upon a trail to Michikamau, but it was another one--a very
old one--and we found it only to lose it again.

While we were following up Goose Creek the condition of our
commissariat troubled us not a little. The scarcity of game had
forced us to draw heavily upon our stores. Only a little of our
lard and a small part of our twenty-five pounds of bacon remained.
"We must hustle for grub, boys," Hubbard frequently remarked. Our
diet, excepting on particular occasions, was bread and tea, fish