lay before us.

A fringe of ice had formed during the night along the shore. We broke
it and bathed our hands and faces in the cool water, then sat down in
a circle near our camp fire to renew our attack upon the porcupine,
which had been sending out a most delicious odor from the kettle where
Pete had it cooking. But alas for our expectations! Our teeth would
make no impression upon it, and Easton remarked that "the rubber trust
ought to hunt porcupines, for they are a lot tougher than rubber and
just as pliable."

"I don't know why," said Pete sadly. "I boil him long time."

That day we continued our course along the northern shore of the lake
until we reached the deep bay which Hubbard and I had failed to enter
and explore on the other trip, and which failure had resulted so
tragically. This bay is some five miles from the westerly end of
Grand Lake, and is really the mouth of the Nascaupee and Crooked
Rivers which flow into the upper end of it. There was little or no
wind and we had to go slowly to permit Duncan, in his rowboat, to keep
pace with us. Darkness was not far off when we reached Duncan's tilt
(a small log hut), three miles up the Nascaupee River, where we
stopped for the night.

This is the tilt in which Allen Goudy and Duncan lived at the time
they came to my rescue in 1903, and where I spent three days getting
strength for my trip down Grand Lake to the Post. It is Duncan's sup-
ply base in the winter months when he hunts along the Nascaupee River,
one hundred and twenty miles inland to Seal Lake. On this hunting
"path" Duncan has two hundred and fifty marten and forty fox traps,