ith pins on th' inside, an' hadn't been opened since th' snow began.
Says I to Allen, sir, 'Th' poor man's dead, 'tis sure he's dead.' An'
Allen he opened th' tent; for I had no heart to do it, sir, and there
th' poor man was, wrapped all up in th' blankets as if sleepin', sir.
But he were dead, sir, dead; and he were dead for a long time. So
there was nothin' to do but to wrap th' poor man safe in th' things
that were there, an' bring back th' papers an' other things, sir."

We kept silent, we five men, until Donald added:

"We saw a place when right handy to th' tent where you'd had a fire by
a brook, sir."

"Yes," I said; "I built that fire--so that really was the brook near
our tent!"

"'Twere th' mercy of God, sir," said Allen, "that you didn't know th'
poor man were there dead; you would ha' given up yourself, sir."

Having a superstitious horror of the dead, Donald would not touch the
body, and without assistance Allen had been unable to place it on a
stage as I wished. However, he arranged it carefully on the ground,
where, he assured me, it would be perfectly safe. He suggested that I
permit them to bury the body where it was, as it would be quite
impossible to transport it over the rough country for weeks to come, or
until Grand Lake had frozen solid and the ice on the Susan River rapids
become hard enough to bear the weight of men with a sled. Both Donald
and Allen were willing to go back to the log-house on Grand Lake, and
get the tools necessary for digging the grave.

But it would be bad enough for me to return home without Hubbard alive,
and I felt that I simply must get the body out and take it with me.
And, although the trappers could not understand my reasons, I refused
to consent to its burial in the wilderness. In spite of their superior
knowledge of the country and the weather conditions, I felt that the
body could be taken down to the post later, but recognised the
impracticability, if not impossibility, of undertaking the task
immediately.

When Donald and Allen turned over to me the papers they had found in
the tent, I took up Hubbard's diary wondering if he had left a last
message. In the back part of the book was a letter to his mother, a
note to his wife, the evident attempt again to write to his wife, and
the letter to the agent at Missanabie written on George's behalf. From
these I turned hastily to the diary proper. Yes, there was an entry
written on the day George and I had