On Sunday morning, August 20th, I awoke in a state of expectancy.
We had slept three times since leaving the Montagnais camp, and
unless the Barren Grounds People were not now in their accustomed
camping place, we ought to see them before night. Many thoughts
came of how greatly Mr. Hubbard had wished to see them, and what a
privilege he would have thought it to be able to visit them.
It seemed this morning as if something unusual must happen. It was
as if we were coming into a hidden country. From where the river
turned into the hills it flowed for more than a mile northward
through what was like a great magnificent corridor, leading to
something larger beyond.
When Joe and Gilbert, who were usually the first to get off,
slipped away down the river, I realized how swift flowing the water
must be. It looked still as glass and very dark, almost black.
The quiet surface was disturbed only by the jumping of the fish.
We saw the canoe push off and turned to put a few last touches to
the loading of our own. When we looked again they were already far
away. Soon, however, we had caught them up and together the two
canoes ran out into the widening of the river. Here it bent a
little to the northeast, but two miles farther on it again bore
away to the north. In the distance we could see the mountain tops
standing far apart and knew that there, between them, a lake must
lie.
