About the middle of March father made another pastoral visit to Edmonton, and as we remained over for Monday, I went out to St. Albert, the Roman Catholic Mission north of Edmonton, to find, if I could, some domestic chickens, as mother had often expressed a strong desire for some. It took me all day to drive about twenty-five miles and find the chickens and buy them, the latter two enterprises being the most difficult of the three. At last I purchased three birds, two hens and a cock, paying for them eight shillings each--six dollars to start a poultry farm in our part of the country! Wild-duck eggs were very good in their place, but unfortunately for cooking purposes these were generally some way on in the process of incubation before we obtained them, and mother with her eastern ideas did long for a few fresh eggs occasionally. I was quite proud of my purchase, but was rather taken aback when at the supper table that evening the august Chief Factor inquired of me what I had paid for those chickens, and when I told him eight shillings each, he pooh-poohed the whole thing; and while I was not prepared for such criticism, I could but answer that this was largely a matter of sentiment, that I had often been where if I had it I would have given all that to hear a cock crow. The old gentleman gave me up as incorrigible. However, to the credit of humanity it must be said that we are not all Peters. The crow of a cock or the tinkling of a cow-bell often have been as sweetest music in the ear of a poor lost traveller. CHAPTER XV. David and I visit Lac la Biche--High-priced seed wheat--Our party sets out for Pigeon Lake--Old Joseph--Paul Chian--Samson--Our larder depleted--We organize a hunt--Precarious living--Old Paul proves himself a skilful guide--Samson tells of a tragic murder by Blackfeet--We move cautiously--Broiled owlets as a delicacy--I shoot an elk--Little Paul's flint-lock hangs fire--Samson's brilliant hunting feats--Feasting on antlers. Just before the winter was breaking up, my brother David and myself made a trip to Lac la Biche to try if we could procure some seed wheat. The Roman Catholic priest was the only person who had any to dispose of, and we traded a few bushels from him, giving him pemmican pound for pound. Very dear wheat that, costing us, independent of freight, at least ten cents per pound, besides a two hundred mile tramp to get it. But we needed it, and it was good grain. The reader will notice that here was wheat grown eight hundred miles west of the Red River, and one hundred miles north of the North Saskatchewan!