came out of the tent and huddled close to the fire. For the
first time Hubbard heard George tell his stories of Indians that
starved. And there we were still windbound and helpless, with stomachs
crying continually for food. And the caribou migration was soon to
begin, if it had not already begun, and there seemed no prospect of the
weather clearing.

We made an inventory of the food we were hoarding for an emergency, and
found that in addition to about two pounds of flour, we had eighteen
pounds of pea meal, a little less than a pint of rice, and a half a
pound of bacon. George then told another story of Indians that
starved. At length he stopped talking, and we sat silent for a long
while, staring blankly at the blazing logs.

Slowly the minutes crawled. In great gusts the wind swept down,
howling dismally among the trees and driving the sleet into our faces.
Still we sat cowering in silence when Hubbard arose, pushed the loose
ends of the partially burned sticks into the fire and stood with his
back to the blaze, apparently deep in thought. Presently, turning
slowly towards the lake, he walked down through the intervening brush
and stood alone on the sandy shore contemplating the scene before
him--the dull, lowering skies, the ridges in the distance, the lake in
its angry mood protesting against his further advance, the low, wooded
land that hid the gate to Michikamau.

Weather-beaten, haggard, gaunt and ragged, he stood there watching;
then seemed to be lost completely in thought, forgetful of the wind and
weather and dashing spray. Finally he turned about briskly, and, with
quick, nervous steps, pushed through the brush to the fire, where
George and I were still sitting in silence. Suddenly, and without a
word of introduction, he said:

"Boys, what do you say to turning back?"

XI. WE GIVE IT UP

For a moment I was dazed at the thought--the thought of turning back
without ever seeing the Indians or caribou hunt, and I could not speak.
George, however, soon found his tongue. He was still willing to go on,
if need be, and risk his life with us.

"I came to go with you fellus," he said, "and I want to do what you
fellus do."

"But," I said to Hubbard, "don't you think it will be easier to reach
the Indians on the George, or even the George River Post, than
Northwest River Post? We must surely be near the Indians; we shall
probably see the smoke of their wigwams when we reach Michikamau. It