and killed another, and when that was gone, he shot a
third. He also succeeded in shooting several grouse. If it had not
been for this game, he would not have lived to do the hard work that
was before him.

The pieces of blanket in which his feet were wrapped were continually
coming off, and frequent halts were necessary to readjust them. He
must not let his feet freeze; for then he would not be able to walk,
and not only would he perish himself, but "there'd be no hope for them
fellus up there." One day he came upon a man's track. He was
exultant. That it was a trapper's trail he had no doubt. Staggering
along it with all the speed he could command, he shouted wildly at
every step. Presently he discovered that he was following his own
trail; he had been travelling in a circle. The discovery made him
almost frantic. He stopped to reason with and calm himself. Said he,
so that all the listening wilderness might hear:

"Them fellus up there in the snow have got to be saved. I said to
Hubbard, 'With God's help I'll save you,' and I'm a-goin' to if my legs
hold out and there's anybody at Grand Lake." And then he went on.

His progress down the valley that day was only a mile and a half. It
was most discouraging. He must do better. The powdered milk we had
abandoned he did not find, but on October 26th he recovered our old
lard pail. Some of the lard he ate, some he used in cooking a grouse,
and the rest he took along with him.

Below the place where he bivouacked that night the snow was not so
deep, and early the next morning George once more beheld the broad
waters of Grand Lake. The journey he had expected to make in three
days had actually taken him seven. He arrived at Grand Lake three days
after I, wandering in the valley above, lost all track of time.

A few miles above its mouth the Susan River bends to the southward, and
from that direction reaches the little lake that lies just north of the
extreme western end of Grand Lake, so that George, proceeding down the
river on the south bank, eventually came to the little lake's western
shore. Along this shore he made his way until he reached the point of
land formed by the little lake and the branch of the Beaver River that
flows a little south of east to merge its waters in the little lake
with those of the Susan. The water here had not been frozen, and
George found his further progress arrested. He was in a quandary. The
trapper's tilt for whi