It was five o'clock in the evening when we reached camp, tired out
and as hungry as two wolves, and we astonished Hubbard with the
amount of venison we put out of sight. While George was
temporarily out of hearing, Hubbard said:

"It's bully good to see you back again, Wallace. I was
disappointed when you didn't come back last night, and I've been
dead lonesome. I got thinking of my wife and home, and the good
things to eat there, and was on the verge of homesickness."

"We were mightily disappointed, too, at not getting back," said I
between mouthfuls. "Up there on the lakes we put in the toughest
night yet, and we were thinking of the venison and warm blankets
down here at camp."

Hubbard was much discouraged and depressed at our report of the
uncertain course of the river, although he was careful to conceal
his feelings from George.

The next day (Sunday, August 16) we cut up our canvas guncases and
used some of the material to re-bottom our moccasins. What was
left over we put away carefully for future use. George cracked the
caribou bones and boiled out the marrow grease. He stripped the
fat from the entrails and tried out the tallow, preserving even the
cracklings or scraps. "We'll be glad to eat 'em yet," said he.
One of the hoofs he dressed and put with our store of meat. We
preserved everything but the head, the entrails and three of the
hoofs. The tallow we found an excellent substitute for lard.

In the afternoon Hubbard and I caught thirty trout in an hour at