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The Long Labrador Trail by Dillon Wallace
page 104 of 266 (39%)
ridge. Now I was on its very shores--the shores of the lake that we
had so longed to reach. How well I remembered those weary wind-bound
days, and the awful weeks that followed. It was like the recollection
of a horrid dream--his dear, wan face, our kiss and embrace, my going
forth into the storm and the eternity of horrors that was crowded into
days. Pete, I think, understood, for he bad heard the story. He
stood for a moment in silence, then he fashioned his hat brim into a
cup, and dipping some water handed it to me. "You reach Michikamau at
last. Drink Michikamau water before others come." I drank reverently
from the hat. Then the others joined us and we all stood for a little
with bowed uncovered beads, on the shore.

Our camp was pitched on an elevated, rocky point a few hundred yards
farther up--the last camp that we were to have together, and the
forty-sixth since leaving Northwest River. We had made over half a
hundred portages, and traveled about three hundred and twenty-five
miles.

The afternoon was occupied in writing letters and telegrams to the
home folks, for Richards to take out with him; after which we divided
the food. Easton and I were to take with us seventy-eight pounds of
pemmican, twelve pounds of pea meal, seven pounds of pork, some beef
extract, eight pounds of flour, one cup of corn meal, a small quantity
of desiccated vegetables, one pound of coffee, two pounds of tea, some
salt and crystallose. Richards gave us nearly all of his tobacco, and
Pete kept but two plugs for himself.

Toward evening we gathered about our fire, and talked of our parting
and of the time when we should meet again. Every remaining moment we
had of each other's company was precious to us now.
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