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.  It was very hot among the lower and more sheltered sand-hills, and for a long time there was no running water to be found; but when we did come upon a tiny stream crossing the way, hats were quickly turned into drinking-cups for one long, satisfying drink.  The miles back to camp had always a way of drawing themselves out to twice the usual length.  George insisted that it was but two miles to the canoes, but to me it seemed quite four.

Lunch over, we rested a little, and then armed with two kodaks, note-books, revolver and cartridges, bowie knife, barometer and compass, I was ready for my climb.  Before starting George said:  “I think you had better take your rubber shirt.  It is going to rain this afternoon.”

I looked at the sky.  It was beautiful, with numbers of silvery clouds floating lazily over the hills.  It didn’t look like rain to me, and I had something of a load as it was, I said:  “No, I don’t think I shall.  I should rather not have any more to carry.  It is not going to rain.”

George said no more, and we started.  At the little bay reaching in at the foot of the mountain we parted, and I went on up the hill.  It seemed beautiful to be going off without a guard, and to think of spending an hour or two up on the hill top, quite alone, with a glorious sky above, and the beautiful hills and lakes and streams in all directions.  I should be able to get some characteristic photographs and it was a perfect day for taking them.  No time was wasted on the way, and the two hours proved all I had hoped.

The canoes did not come, however, and knowing that the men must have had ample time to make the portage, I decided to go down to the lake.  Certainly by the time I reached it they too would be there, for a thunder-shower was coming.

When only a little way from the summit, I looked down into the valley and there, quite near where I was to meet the men, I saw something, which looked like a huge, brown bear, lying down.  I stopped and watched it for a while, hardly knowing what to do.  I had been deceived often, but this was not a mere black spot.  It had definite shape and colour.  Though I knew but little about the habits of bears, it did not seem the thing one would expect of a bear, to be lying there on the moss and rocks at that time of day.  Still I did not know.