reflecting their nude forms in the silvery
water, and the dark green forest of fir trees on the shores moved
Hubbard to exclamations of delight.

"Oh, if it could be painted just as it appears now!" he said. "Why,
Wallace, this one scene is worth all the groaning we've done to get
here. It's grand! grand!"

At dark George returned to camp with the report that from his peak he
could see only higher mountains looming up to the westward. In the
shadow of the grey rocks of the grim old mountains that so stubbornly
held their secret of what lay beyond, we had a good supper of trout and
were happy, though through the gulch the creek roared defiance at us,
and off in the night somewhere a loon would break out at intervals in
derisive laughter. At the base of the mountains the narrow lake
reflected a million stars, and in their kindly light the snow and ice
patches on the slopes above us gleamed white and brilliant.

With our day's work the listlessness from which we had recently
suffered had entirely disappeared, and we felt ready to undertake any
task, the more difficult the better. Hubbard suggested giving up route
hunting if our river ended where we then were, and striking right
across the mountains with our outfit on our backs, and we received the
suggestion with enthusiasm. He talked, too, a great deal about
snowshoeing in winter to St. Augustine on the St. Lawrence, cutting
across country from the Kenemish River, which flows into Groswater Bay
opposite Northwest River Post. This trip, which he held out as a
possibility in the event of our missing the last steamer out from
Rigolet, seemed to appeal to him immensely.

"I don't care if we are too late for the steamer," he said; "that
snowshoeing trip would be a great stunt."

We found a great many wigwam poles near and in the pass hard by our
camp, while by the creek we came across the remains of both summer and
winter camps, probably those of hunters. "One of the beggars was
high-toned," said George; "he had a stove." This was evidenced by the
arrangement of stones within the circle of wigwam poles, and a few
pieces of wood cut stove-size.

On Tuesday morning (August 18) we turned back and into the long, narrow
lake expansions to the eastward, and soon satisfied ourselves that this
was the right course. Our thermometer registered 28 degrees that
morning. The day dawned clear and perfect; it was a morning when one
draws in long breaths, and one's nerves ti