bitterly disappointed at losing the first deer we had seen, and it
taught us the lesson always to take one rifle forward with the
first load on a portage.

We spent the afternoon scouting in different directions, and
discovered that the only inlet to Mountaineer Lake ended in a bog a
mile or so up. A mile or more to the westward, however, George
discovered another and much larger lake, which in honour of him we
shall call Lake Elson. An old trail led from Mountaineer Lake to
Lake Elson, which George pronounced to be a caribou trail, but
which Hubbard believed to be an old portage, because it led from
lake to lake by the most direct course. There were no axe
cuttings, however, to indicate that the Indians had followed it.

We tried the troll in Mountaineer Lake, but caught nothing.
Apparently there was nothing there but trout, of which fish I
caught eight at the inlet. I shot with my pistol a muskrat that
was swimming in the lake, but George did not cook it, as he said
the flesh would be too strong at that season. It was raining again
and the mosquitoes were out in millions, but with three geese still
on hand and a good lake ahead we were indifferent to such troubles
as that, although our clothing was not now in a condition
successfully to withstand much bad weather.

Rags, in fact, were beginning to appear upon us all. One of
Hubbard's trousers legs was ripped clear down the front, and it was
continually streaming behind in the wind and getting caught in the
bushes, despite his efforts to keep it in place with pieces of
twine. At length he patched it with a piece of white duffel, and
exhibited his tailoring feat to us with much pride.