Mark would tell of the mountains, and grizzlies and panthers and avalanches, and encounters with the enemy, till Jimmie's eyes would bulge with excitement. I would look on and listen and rest. Then before retiring Mark would lead in prayer in his mother-tongue, which neither Jimmie nor myself could understand, though we always said "Amen." During short intervals at the Mission Mark made several hunting excursions, and killed some moose and deer. One night he came home and reported one moose killed and another wounded. Early next morning we went out and killed the wounded moose and brought the meat of both home. Another time he killed two deer, and brought back word that the forest was so dense the meat would have to be packed to the river some miles above. Accordingly he and I took our dogs and drove up the river opposite to where the deer lay. Fastening the dogs, we struck into the forest, and coming across fresh tracks of more deer, we went after these and killed two more. It was midnight before we had packed the meat of the four deer to the place where our dogs and sleds were. Hard work it was, but the venison was good, and our larder was handsomely replenished. All that winter the wood Cree camps were from one hundred to one hundred and fifty miles distant from the Mission. The buffalo kept out south of these camps, and sometimes were a long distance from them. But now that there was a regularly established post beside the Mission, trading parties and settlers and Indians kept passing to and fro, giving us comparatively good roads, and thus enabling us to travel quickly. Once well loaded with either dried provisions or fresh meat, we lost no time on the road.