I was thinking too how things happened, about being on the wrong river, and what made us believe we were on the right river, though at the same time thinking that it was too small to feed Grand Lake, but when it came out just at the head of the lake, as it shows in the map, made us think it was the Nascaupee.  And besides how we proved as we were going up, as the people had told us at Northwest River post, that after we got up the Nascaupee River, 18 miles up, we would come to the Red Wine River, branching off from the south side of the Nascaupee River, and also how that happened.  When we got up, about 18 miles up, a little river branching off from the south into this river we thought was the Nascaupee, and of course, we called this little river the Red Wine River.  And besides how we found the old portage trail, and also the steel trap, and how all these things kept on making us think for sure we were on the right route.  And besides none knew, or ever thought, there was any other river.  And I could not forget about it, and was so sorry about it.  Only one river.

Saturday evening, October 3lst.—­Donald Blake and Allan Goudy returned from their trip, and sorry to hear the death of Mr. Hubbard.  They suppose he died the first evening we left him, by telling of the signs, as he hasn’t been out of the tent after the first snow.  Three or four caribou has been coming right near the tent door, and going round the tent.

Donald and Allan tells of Mr. Hubbard and how they had found him wrapped up in his blanket, like as he had been falling asleep, and the tent door closed and all pinned up.  I could tell then pretty well how he has being, and that be has being doing as he said he would, and has fallen asleep and has never woke.  For I myself was nearly at my finish, and knew how I felt, and how weak and sleepy I used to feel, and often felt that I could just fall asleep and never wake up again.

Donald and Allan brought all that was at the tent, Mr. Hubbard’s camera and his rifle and his diary.  And I was so very much surprised to see what he has written, and found a letter he has been writing for me to Mr. S. A. King, in case I should fail, and telling him how I had tried so hard to help him.  I was so glad to see this letter, and remembered how he did speak of me this summer, and was so always pleased of my work.  And further, to see here what he has written about me, even to his very last.

Then I knew his letter would help if the people would not believe me in what I said.

They fixed Mr. Hubbard’s body the best way they could and returned to Mr. Wallace.  Going up they found Mr. Wallace 1 mile above from where we got the flour from, where Wallace and I parted.  They came on to his trail first.  Then they followed him up.  He has crossed the river on the ice to the south shore, just near where they came to him along the river, where some caribou had been going across.  He had a little fire, but was unable to make a start or to travel any more.  Allan Goudy says he right away gave Wallace some bread and butter, and after he ate that he did want some more:  “But we would not give him more.  We were afraid to give him too much, for fear he would eat too much.  He then got a hold of some raw salt pork and was going to eat it raw, that we had just to take it from him.”