often thrusting forward his black muzzle to be caressed. This fondness usually procured me the close society of a whole posse of them during the night, which, when not extremely cold, was anything but agreeable.[1] By marks on the snow it appeared that the owls (strix cinerea) were making sad havoc among the hares. In the evening a lynx sprang up the bank, at the very spot we were making for, and, on looking out, we saw our old friends, the wolves, following us at a respectful distance. They regularly established their night's quarters on the opposite side of the river.
Next morning a strong cold north wind blew, driving in our faces a storm of snow which almost blinded us. We marched against it for several hours, when, at an island, we fell in with a Chipewyan hunter, visiting his traps, and invited him to share our breakfast. After messing with the people, I gave him a cup of tea and a handful of biscuit, when I was no less surprised than pleased to see the poor fellow reserve the latter, to carry to his children at the lodge. At noon we spoke another hunter belonging to the same camp; he had just
- ↑ In consequence of the good treatment they received, half the number that left Red River with me reached Athabasca—the longest continuous journey ever performed by the same dogs. The others I exchanged on the route.
