redeeming touch of color and beauty about the moccasins which
cover their truly shapely feet. Sousi's rifle, a Winchester, also
was clad in a native mode. An embroidered cover of moose leather
protected it night and day, except when actually in use; of
his weapons he took most scrupulous care. Unlike the founder of
the family, Sousi has no children of his own. But he has reared a
dozen waifs under prompting of his own kind heart. He is quite a
character--does not drink or smoke, and I never heard him swear.
This is not because he does not know how, for he is conversant with
the vigor of all the five languages of the country, and the garment
of his thought is like Joseph's coat--Ethnologically speaking, its
breadth and substance are French, but it bears patches of English,
with flowers and frills, strophes, and classical allusions of Cree
and Chipewyan--the last being the language of his present "home
circle."

There was one more peculiarity of our guide that struck me forcibly.
He was forever considering his horse. Whenever the trail was very
bad, and half of it was, Sousi dismounted and walked--the horse
usually following freely, for the pair were close friends.

This, then, was the dark villain against whom we had been warned.
How he lived up to his reputation will be seen later.

After four hours' march through a level, swampy country, forested
with black and white spruce, black and white poplar, birch, willow,
and tamarack, we came to Salt River, a clear, beautiful stream,
but of weak, salty brine.

Not far away in the woods was a sweet spring, and here we camped