cent brown spread by the pencil of a master.

As we were paddling along, the willows on shore suddenly parted,
and an Indian runner appeared on the bank, who hailed us and,
handing over a sack of mail with letters and papers for us all,
sped off as suddenly as he came.

It was now the last day of August, raw and drizzly, and having
paddled about ten miles through a like country, we came in sight
of the Pelican Mountains to the west, and, later on, to a fork
of the river called Muskeg Creek, above which our stream narrowed
to about eighteen feet, but still deep and fringed with the same
extensive hay meadows, and covered here and there with pond
lilies, a few yellow ones still in bloom. By and by we reached
Muskeg Portage, nearly a mile in length. The path lay at first
through dry muskegs covered with blueberries, Labrador tea, and
a dwarfed growth of birch, spruce, tamarac, and jackpine, but
presently entered and ended in a fine upland wood, full of
pea-vines, vetches and wild rose. This is characteristic of
the country, muskegs and areas of rich soil alternating in all
directions. The portage completed, we took to our canoes again,
the stream of the same width, but very crooked, and still bordered
by extensive and exceedingly rich hay meadows, which we were
satisfied would yield four or five tons to the acre. Small
haystacks were scattered along the route, being put up for ponies
which haul supplies in winter from Pelican Landing to Wahpooskow.

The country passed through showed good soil wherever we penetrated
the hay margin, with, of course, here and there the customary
muskegs. The stream now narrowed into a passage deep but barely
wide enough for our canoes, our course lying always through tall
and luxuriant hay. At last we reached Pelican Lake, a pretty large
sheet of water, about three miles across, the body of the lake
extending to the south-west and north-east. We crossed it under
sail and, landing at the "three mile portage," found a half-breed
there with a cart and ponies, which took our outfit over in a
couple of trips to Sandy Lake. A very strong headwind blowing,
we camped there for the night.

This lake is the height of land, its waters discharging by the
Wahpooskow River, whose northern part, miscalled the Loon, falls
into the Peace River below Fort Vermilion. The lake is an almost
perfect circle, ten or twelve miles in diameter, the water full
of fibrous growths, with patches of green scum afloat