There were as well two holes cut at
the back of the ears for ventilation-these also being covered with
the veiling. Pulling it over my head I tied it tight round my
neck. It was most fearful and hideous to look upon, but it kept
out the flies. The men insisted that I should have to take it off
when we came to the Nascaupees else they would certainly shoot me.
The flies were in clouds that day, and even their tapping on the
outside of my mask made me shudder. I ached as I watched the men
carrying their heavy loads, for it was very, very hot, and they
wore no protection whatever. How they endured so uncomplainingly I
could not understand, and they rarely wore their veils. It was an
unspeakable relief when the clear, cool night closed in, and for a
time put an end to the torture.
CHAPTER VIII
SCARING THE GUIDES
I awoke on Friday at 2.30 A.M. The morning was clear as diamonds,
and from the open front of my tent I could see the eastern sky. It
glowed a deep red gold, and I lay watching it. An hour later the
sun appeared over the hills touching the peak of my tent with its
light, and I got up to look out. The mists had gathered on our
little lake, and away in the distance hung white over the river.
Gilbert was busy getting wood and preparing the breakfast. Soon I
heard him at the door of the men's tent saying, "All aboard."
"Any mosquitoes this morning, Gilbert?"
"Not a one. Too cold. By Garge, but it's cold this morning! I
went down to the lake and tried to wash, but I had to l'ave off.
It was too cold."
Shortly I heard them at the fire. The click of the cups told me
that they were taking a little tea and bannock before starting to
carry. Then all was quiet, and one load had gone forward to the
next lake, nearly a half mile ahead. When all but the camp stuff
had been taken forward, we had breakfast, and by 7 A.M. we were in
the canoes.
Our course led us south through two little lakes, with a portage
between, for something more than two miles. Here the second lake
bent away to the southeast, and we landed on our right at the foot
of a low moss-covered ridge. Beyond this we hoped to see the
river. As we climbed, new heights appeared before us, and it
proved to be about three-quarters of a mile to the top, from which
the ridge dropped abruptly on the west, and at its foot was a long,
narrow lake. At first I thought it was the river, but, when it
became clear that it was not, my heart sank a little. Had we been
wrong after all? Had the river bent away to the north instead of
the south as we supposed?
Job and Gilbert outstripped us in the climb, and now we saw them
disappearing across a valley on our left in the direction of a high
hill farther south, and we followed them. As before, new heights
kept appearing as we went up, and when the real summit came in view
we could see Job and Gilbert sitting on its smooth and rounded top
looking away westward. How I wondered what they had found. When
we came up with them there, to the west, around the south end of
the opposite ridge, we could see the river flowing dark and deep as
before. Above, to the southwest, were two heavy falls, and at the
head of the upper and larger one the river widened. There were
several islands, and it looked as if we might be coming to the
expansions near the upper part of the river. One lake beside that
at the foot of the mountain would make the portage route an easy
and good one.
The view from the mountain top was magnificent in all directions.
To the north the hills lay east and west in low, regular ridges,
well covered with green woods; and thirty miles away, on a few of
the highest of them, were great patches of snow lying. East and
west and south were the more irregular hills, and everywhere among
them were the lakes. It was very fine; but to my great regret I
had left my kodaks in the canoe.
The green woods interested Gilbert, who was looking for new
trapping grounds for himself and Donald Blake. We had come more
than fifty miles from Seal Lake, the limit of his present trapping
grounds, and he quite seriously considered the question of
extending his path up to those hills the following winter.
Turning to George, I said: "Why shouldn't I come up here after
dinner with my kodaks, and take some pictures while you men are
making the portage? The walking is not rough, and I couldn't
possibly lose my way if I tried."
He looked quite serious about it for a moment, and then said:
"Well, I guess you might."
Slipping down the south end of the hill a little way to see that
there were no rough places where I should be in danger of falling
going down, he returned, and with the manner of one who is making a
great concession said again: "I guess you can come up here this
afternoon. You could go down this way and meet us at this end of
the lake. You will be able to see when we come along in the
canoes."
I was delighted, and after a half hour on the hill-top we started
back directly towards the canoes.
