The next day he sent me his wife to ask a little grease to make a sacrifice. (Burnt offering. *God forgive me the comparison, which by the bye, is not meant to ridicule, but is really the case.) I gave her a little, and the husband came the same evening to sleep with us. Upon enquiry, he told me thus: It was a _Skeleton_. He _was_ displeased with me because I did not make him my usual offering. And yet he knows that I am _pitiful_, that I cannot move to hunt myself, but am beholding to others for every mouthful I and my family eat. But they are wicked when they think themselves {19} neglected or abandoned, and think nothing of carrying off an Indian and throwing him in some distant place, dangerous precipice, or other place where he must perish if not succored by some other more kind one. "Some years back," continued he, I went out one night in the fall to hunt moose. I had tied my canoe very securely in the rushes and there was waiting alone to hear the moose either come to the lake, or cry after the dam, for it was in the rutting season. (And the Indians commonly go out in this manner at that season, for the buck has a certain cry which he makes at that time, either to call the female, or as with the domestic cattle, to exult, as one might think, from their capers.) I all at once heard far ahead of me cries of "Heh! Heh! Heh!" (or "Hayh!", or "Haih!") sudden, quick, coming in the air, and directly towards me. "Oh! Now," said I, "I am gone!" Indeed he came. I _cringed_ and laid myself as low in my canoe as possible. But he came straight to me, took me up and threw me in the water, all the time crying, "He! He!" I then endeavoured to take out my _fire-bag_; but this he would not let me do. Having then no alternative, I was obliged to make for the shore as well as I could, he all the time crying in the same manner just above my head, as if he intended absolutely my death. However, I reached the shore, though with the greatest difficulty. Then I took some dry grass which I rubbed and bruised 'till it became soft and put it under my arm pits and crumpled myself into a small heap and remained 'till the sun began to warm when I swam back to my canoe. He kept hovering over me all night and until the Sun was pretty high, always making the same cry. Though when he found me so benumbed with cold on my debarkation, he laughed, "Ha! Ha! Ha!" Today (Apr. 4th) he asked me for a needle and thread to sew the sleeve of his capot which this _ghost_! had torn in his endeavours to carry him off the other night. Whilst he was sewing, "How he has vexed me," said he, "by tearing my old coat. But I am afraid of him." [Making Offerings at a Hunting Camp] He related me another story of _them_ as follows.