CHAPTER X

"WE SEE MICHIKAMAU"

"It's no use, Pete. You may as well go back to your blankets."

It was the morning of the second day after reaching the lake which we
named Desolation. We had portaged through a valley and over a low
ridge to the shores of a pond, out of which a small stream ran to the
southeast. The country was devastated by fire and to the last degree
inhospitable. Not a green shrub over two feet in height was to be
seen, the trees were dead and blackened; not even the customary moss
covered the naked earth, and loose bowlders were scattered everywhere
about.

There was no fixed trail now to look for or to guide us, but by
keeping a general westerly course, we knew that we must, sooner or
later, reach Michikamau. Rough, irregular ridges blocked our path and
it was necessary to look ahead that we might not become tangled up
amongst them. One hill, higher than the others, a solitary bailiff
that guarded the wilderness beyond, was to have been climbed this
morning, but when Pete and I at daybreak came out of the tent we were
met by driving rain and dashes of sleet that cut our faces, and a mist
hung over the earth so thick we could not even see across the tiny
lake at our feet. I looked longingly into the storm and mist in the
direction in which I knew the big hill lay, and realized the
hopelessness and foolhardiness of attempting to reach it.

"It's no use, Pete," I continued, "to try to scout in this storm. You
could see nothing from the hill if you reached it, and the chances