Saturday morning, August fifth, broke with a radiance and a glory
seldom equaled even in that land of glorious sunrises and sunsets. A
flame of red and orange in the east ushered in the rising sun, not a
cloud marred the azure of the heavens, the moss was white with frost,
and the crisp, clear atmosphere sweet with the scent of the new day.
Labrador was in her most amiable mood, displaying to the best
advantage her peculiar charms and beauties.

While we ate a hurried breakfast of corn-meal mush, boiled fat pork
and tea, and broke camp, Michikamau was the subject of our
conversation, for now it was ho for the big lake! A rapid advance was
expected upon the river, and the trail above, where it left the
Nascaupee to avoid the rapids which the Indians had told us about,
would probably be found without trouble. So this new stage of our
journey was begun with something of the enthusiasm that we had felt
the day we left Tom Blake's cabin and started up Grand Lake.

We had gone but a mile when Pete drew his paddle from the water and
pointed with it at a narrow, sandy beach ahead, above which rose a
steep bank. Almost at the same instant I saw the object of his
interests--a buck caribou asleep on the sand. The wind was blowing
toward the river, and maintaining absolute silence, we landed below a
bend that hid us from the caribou. Fresh meat was in sight and we
must have it, for we were hungry now for venison. To cover the
retreat of the animal should it take alarm, Pete was to go on the top
of the bank above it, Easton to take a stand opposite it and I a
little below it. We crawled to our positions with the greatest care;
but the caribou was alert. The shore breeze carried to it the scent
of danger, and almost before we knew, that we were discovered it was
on its feet and away. For a fraction of a second I had one glimpse of