patches of snow of the previous winter.

We paddled eastward along the northern shore of the lake. Once we saw
a caribou swimming far ahead of us, but he discovered our approach and
took to the timber before we were within shooting distance of him. A
flock of sawbill ducks avoided us. No sign of Indians was seen, and
four miles up the lake we stopped upon a narrow, sandy point that
jutted out into the water for a distance of a quarter mile, to pitch
camp and scout for the trail. All along the point and leading back
into the bush, were fresh caribou tracks, where the animals came out
to get the benefit of the lake breezes and avoid the flies, which
torment them terribly. Natives in the North have told me of caribou
having been worried to death by the insects, and it is not improbable.
The "bulldogs" or "stouts," as they are sometimes called, which are as
big as bumblebees, are very vicious, and follow the poor caribou in
swarms. The next morning a caribou wandered down to within a hundred
and fifty yards of camp, and Pete and Stanton both fired at it, but
missed, and it got away unscathed.

After breakfast, with Pete and Easton, I climbed one of the higher
hills for a view of the surrounding country. Near the foot of the
hill, and in the depth of the spruce woods, we passed a lone Indian
grave, which we judged from its size to be that of a child. It was
inclosed by a rough fence, which had withstood the pressure of the
heavy snows of many winters and a broken cross lay on it. From the
summit of the hill we could see a string of lakes extending in a
general northwesterly direction until they were lost in other hills
above, and also numerous lakes to the south, southwest, east and
northeast. We could count from one point nearly fifty of these lakes,
large and small. To the north and northwest the country was rougher