We had been sitting by the fire only a little while when Job, who, after his usual manner had disappeared, called to us in a low, eager voice from one hundred feet away.  He said only one word—­ “Joe”—­but we all knew what it meant and there was a rush in the direction in which he had again disappeared.  A herd of fifteen caribou were swimming across from the opposite shore straight to the little bay above our landing.  Under cover of the woods and willows we stole down quite close to the water and waited until they came almost to shore.  Then springing from our hiding places we shouted at them.  The beautiful, frightened creatures turned and went bounding back through the shallow water, splashing it into clouds of spray, till they sank into the deeper tide and only heads and stubs of tails could be seen as they swam back to the other shore.  They were nearly all young ones, some of them little fawns.

All day long, at short intervals, companies of them were seen crossing, some one way, some another.  Towards evening two herds passed the camp at the same time, one to the east of us but a short distance away, and the other along the foot of the ridge on the west, not fifty feet from our camp.

On Wednesday, against the strong northwest wind, we succeeded in making six and a half miles, passing the mouth of the southwest branch of the Upper George River; and when at 3 P.M. we reached the head of Long Lake it was too rough to venture on, and we had to go into camp.

I felt rather desperate that night, and sick with disappointment.  One week of precious time was gone, it was the 16th of the month, and we were only thirty miles, perhaps a little more, from the Height of Land.  How was it possible to reach the post in time for the ship now?

“We will get you there about two days before the ship arrives,” George insisted.

“When we get down below the lakes we can make forty miles a day if the weather is good,” said Joe.

But I was not reassured.  When we should get down below the lakes we could travel fast perhaps; but the last one, Indian House Lake, where the old Hudson’s Bay Company post had been, was still far, far north of us, and no one knew what lay between.  Perhaps there was a bare possibility that we might make the journey in ten days; but I knew I could not count on it.  Had I a right to undertake the return journey with its perils?  I was not sure.

My tent was sweet that night with the fragrance of its carpet of balsam boughs, and a big bunch of twin flowers, which grew in profusion there; but it was late before I slept.  Perhaps two hours after I awoke to find a big moon peering into my face through the open front of my tent.

I was startled at first, and instinctively reached for my revolver, not knowing what it was; but when full consciousness had returned, whether it was the effect of the moon or not, the question had somehow been settled.  I knew I should go on to Ungava whatever the consequences might be.