We start out to hunt for buffalo--Fish and frozen turnips--A depleted larder--David's bag of barley meal--At the point of starvation--We strike Maskepetoon's camp--An Indian burial--Old Joseph dying--We leave the camp--Generous hospitality--A fortunate meeting--Frostbites--A bitterly cold night--Unexpected visitors--Striking instance of devotion--I suffer from snowshoe cramp--Arrival at Victoria--Old Joseph's burial--Back to Pigeon Lake. We started on our plain trip with commissariat promising nothing more delicate or appetizing than fish and frozen turnips! Our party consisted of my brother David, Francis, Job and myself. We took our course south-east, by Sickness Hill and Birch Lake, and failing to find any fresh tracks of Indians in that direction, we then made more easterly. While going down the north bank of the Battle River our fish ran out. This was serious, but we had the turnips left. Soon, however, we roasted the last of these, and pushed on our course amid deep snow and cold and stormy weather. An old bull was shot, but we could eat nothing of him except the heart and tripe and the tongue. Even our dogs declined the meat. Things were commencing to look blue. That night David produced a small bag of barley meal which my sister had ground in the coffee mill. Our camp was jubilant over this, and we heartily enjoyed the small tin of porridge provided for supper that night. Next day we travelled as rapidly as we could, but were not in condition for quick time. The barley was going fast, and we began anxiously to watch the doling out of the slender supply. In the stress of hunger we were becoming meaner and smaller. I caught myself looking to see that my brother did the square thing in serving out the little pot of meal gruel, for it was becoming thinner every time. I bit my lips and felt mortified at myself for being so contemptible. I began to realize what I had read of men's doings when in sore straits such as seemed to be coming on us. But we kept on, and the day after the meal was gone we struck the trail of a large camp, evidently some days ahead of us. The sight of the trail put new life into our whole party. We covered several of their day's journeys before we camped that night, and though hungry and weak were out early the next day. About ten o'clock we saw a column of smoke rising in the air, and as we drew nearer saw horses and people moving. Camp was being struck, and nearly all had gone from the spot as we came up. A little to one side, at the edge of a bluff of timber, a small group of men were engaged in burying one of their number. We were just in time to help in the last rites. Old Maskepetoon was there. "You come like a ray of sunshine to comfort us, John," whispered the old Chief, as he warmly gripped my hand. The work of interment went on in silence. I knew the deceased--son-in-law to old "Great One," one of my particular friends--a great strong man cut off suddenly in his prime.