s never quite realised I'm a grown man. As old as he is, I
believe he could have stood this trip as well as I have. He was a
forty-niner in California, you know, and has spent a lot of his life in
the bush."

When George returned--empty-handed, alas!--we had our dinner. The menu
was not very extensive--it began with stewed cranberries and ended
there. The acid from the unsweetened berries made our mouths sore,
but, as George remarked, "it was a heap better than not eatin' at all."

Perhaps I should say here that these were the hungriest days of our
journey. What we suffered later on, the good Lord only knows; but we
never felt the food-craving, the hunger-pangs as now. In our enforced
idleness it was impossible for us to prevent our thoughts from dwelling
on things to eat, and this naturally accentuated our craving. Then,
again, as everyone that has had such an experience knows, the pangs of
hunger are mitigated after a certain period has been passed.

In the afternoon George and I took the pistols and ascended a low ridge
in the rear of the camp to look for ptarmigans. Soon George exclaimed
under his breath:

"There's two! Get down low and don't let 'em see you; the wind blows
so they'll be mighty wild. I'll belly round to that bush over there
and take a shot."

He crawled or wriggled along to the bush, which was the nearest cover
and about forty yards from the birds. With a dinner in prospect, I
watched him with keen anxiety. I could see him lying low and carefully
aiming his pistol. Suddenly, bang!--and one of the birds fluttered
straight up high in the air, trying desperately to sustain itself; then
fell into the brush on the hillside below. At that George raised his
head and gave a peculiar laugh--a laugh of wild exultation--an Indian
laugh. He was the Indian hunter then. I never heard him laugh so
again, nor saw him look quite as he did at that moment. As the other
bird flew away, he rose to his feet and shouted:

"I hit 'im!--did you see how he went? Now we'll find 'im."

But we didn't. We beat the bushes high and low for an hour, and
finally in disappointment and disgust gave up the search. The bird lay
there dead somewhere, but we never found it, and we returned to camp
empty-handed and perhaps, through anticipation, hungrier than ever.

On Tuesday (September 15th) the high west wind had not abated, and the
occasional sleet-squalls continued. We were dreary and disconsolate
when we