berries we had seen. This is a salmon-colored berry resembling in
size and shape the raspberry, and grows on a low plant like the
strawberry.

On Saturday morning, August nineteenth, the temperature was four
degrees below the freezing point, and the ground was stiff with frost.
In a further search on the north side of the lake opposite our camp we
found an old blaze and a trail leading from it along a ridge and
through marshes to a small lake. This was the only trail that we
could find anywhere, so we decided to follow it, though it did not
bear all the earmarks of the portage trail we had been tracing--it was
decidedly more ancient. We started our work with a will. It was a
hard portage and we sometimes sank knee deep into the marsh and got
mired frequently, but finally reached the lake.

Indian signs now completely disappeared. Down the lake, where a creek
flowed out, was a bare hill, and Pete and I climbed it. From its
summit we could easily locate the creek taking a turn to the north and
then to the northeast and, finally, flowing into one of a series of
lakes extending in an easterly and westerly direction. The land was
comparatively flat to the eastward and the lakes no doubt fed a river
flowing out of that end, probably one of those that we had noted as
joining the Nascaupee on its north side. To the north of these lakes
were high, rugged ridges. It was possible there was an opening in the
hills to the westward, where they seemed lower; we could not tell from
where we were, but we determined to portage along the creek into the
lakes with that hope.

Again the smoke of a forest fire hung in the valleys and over the
hills, and the air was heavy with the smell of it, which revived the