arms over the sides of the canoe
and trailing them through the water. I had a racking headache, and, to
add to my misery, as the sun sank the mosquitoes rose and bit
ferociously. The Indians, however, did not appear to suffer much, being
accustomed, no doubt, to these little annoyances, much in the same way
as eels are to being skinned.

In the afternoon we arrived at the forks of Hayes and Steel Rivers, and
ascended the latter, till the increasing darkness and our quickening
appetites reminded us that it was time to put ashore. We made a hearty
supper, having eaten nothing since breakfast; dinner, while travelling
in a light canoe, being considered quite superfluous.

Our persevering foes, the mosquitoes, now thought it high time to make
their supper also, and attacked us in myriads whenever we dared to
venture near the woods; so we were fain to sleep as best we could on the
open beach, without any fire--being much too warm for that. But even
there they found us out, and most effectually prevented us from
sleeping.

On the morning of the 25th, we arose very little refreshed by our short
nap, and continued our journey. The weather was still warm, but a
little more bearable, owing to a light, grateful breeze that came down
the river. After breakfast--which we took at the usual hour, and in the
usual way--while proceeding slowly up the current, we descried, on
rounding a point, a brigade of boats close to the bank, on the opposite
side of the river; so we embarked our man, who was tracking us up with a
line (the current being too rapid for the continued use of the paddle),
and crossed over to see who they were. On landing, we found it was the
Norway House brigade, in charge of George Kippling, a Red River settler.
He shook hands with us, and then commenced an animated discourse with
my two men in the Indian language, which being perfectly unintelligible
to me, I amused myself by watching the operations of the men, who were
in the act of cooking breakfast.

Nothing can be more picturesque than a band of _voyageurs_ breakfasting
on the banks of a pretty river. The spot they had chosen was a little
above the Burntwood Creek, on a projecting grassy point, pretty clear of
underwood. Each boat's crew--of which there were three--had a fire to
itself, and over these fires were placed gipsy-like tripods, from which
huge tin kettles depended; and above them hovered three volunteer cooks,
who were employed stirring the