bone. Fortunately, however, upon examination, it proved to be only a
flesh wound and not sufficiently severe to interfere with his
traveling. Stanton dressed the cut. Our adhesive plaster we found
had become useless by exposure and electrician's tape was substituted
for it to draw the flesh together.

On the evening of the second day after leaving the Nascaupee, our tent
was pitched upon the site of an extensive but ancient Indian camp
beside a mile-long lake, four hundred and fifty feet above the river.
Five ponds had been passed _en route_, but all of them so small it was
scarcely worth while floating the canoe in any of them.

In these two days we had covered but eleven miles, but during the
whole time the wind had driven the rain in sweeping gusts into our
faces and made it impossible for a man, single-handed, to portage a
canoe. Thus, with two men to carry each canoe we had been compelled
to make three loads of our outfit, and this meant fifty-five miles
actual walking, and thirty-three miles of this distance with packs on
our backs. The weather conditions had made the work more than hard--
it was heartrending--as we toiled over naked hills, across marshes and
moraines, or through dripping brush and timber land.

A beautiful afternoon, two days later, found us paddling down the
first lake worthy of mention since leaving the Nascaupee River. The
azure sky overhead shaded to a pearly blue at the horizon, with a
fleecy cloud or two floating lazily across its face. The atmosphere
was perfect in its purity, and only the sound of screeching gulls and
the dip of our paddles disturbed the quiet of the wilderness. Lake
Bibiquasin, as we shall call it, was five miles in length and nestled
between ridges of low, moss-covered hills. It lay in a southeasterly