Stopping for our mid-day meal, we jerk our dogs out of their collars to give them a chance to lick snow and gambol around and freshen themselves generally, while we hurriedly boil our kettle and get out our supply of dried meat. While doing this we also give our dogs about two ounces each of the dried meat, just to liven them up and give them an agreeable anticipation of their supper--the one square meal in twenty-four hours they will have at the end of the day's journey. As we gnaw at our dried meat, thankful that what teeth we have left are sound, we drink hot tea and discuss dogs, Indians, white men, and the broad questions of civilization and Christianity. Susa is thoroughly optimistic and joyously sanguine. Joseph is also as to Christianity, but civilization and men and dogs, "well, he kinder doubts"--at any rate he will wait and see. But we cannot wait long now, so we tie on our kettle and cups, catch our dogs, and start away, leaving our camp-fire to burn itself out. As the shades of night are commencing to fall we turn our loads on their sides, and thus run them down the steep long banks of the Saskatchewan, then righting them at its foot, dash across the big river, and with dogs pulling for all they are worth, and we pushing behind, we climb the other more moderate bank, and are at home once more. There is general lamentation over the loss of Maple and her pups. The girls shed tears. Little George cannot understand how big brother John could lose a whole train of dogs and sled. Father had taken a great fancy to those pups ever since the Blackfoot trip, and he is sorry because of their loss. Never mind, we are at home, and we unharness and unload, pile away our meat and feed our dogs, visit with our friends, and long before daylight next morning are on the out-bound journey for more meat. Reaching the Indian camp that evening, I was disappointed at there being no tidings of my lost train. But again we loaded, and started home in the night, and before daylight we came to the camp of a solitary hunter, John Whitford by name, where to my great delight we found the missing team. They had come to John's camp a few hours before us. John said that he heard a jingle of bells, and expected some travellers were either coming to or passing his camp. Then, hearing no further sounds, he went out to see what it was, when he found Maple alone in harness, but dragging the other four sets of harness behind her. Evidently the sled had caught in some bush and the young dogs had become impatient, and one by one wriggled out of their bonds. Then the wise old mother dog had gone back to the sled and bitten off the traces close up to it, thus freeing herself from the sleigh and saving the harness. She then started for home, and concluding to rest by the way at John's camp, we found her there with her pups.