After a successful raid those long runs for home were great tests of horse-flesh and human endurance. With scalded legs, blistered feet and weary limbs, and with eyes heavy for want of sleep, these men, now exultant with victory, would vie with each other in the race for camp. A lazy man assuredly had no place in such trials of endurance and of hardship. Furthermore, upon the men and boys of the camp devolved the care of the horses. The herding and guarding of these gave many a weary tramp or ride, and many a night in cold and storm, without sleep or rest. And finally, the constant need of protecting their camps from the wily enemy was a source of permanent worry, and always rested as a heavy responsibility upon these men. CHAPTER II. Camping in the snow--Our costume--Brilliant sunrise effects--Maple and her pups found at last--Striking example of "dog sense"--The Fort Garry packet. Just now we are surrounded by both wood and plain hunters. Maskepetoon in my time always had a following of both parties. The gambling and conjuring drums are beating in several lodges. In others, as in ours, the evening hymn is being sung and prayer offered, and presently we roll in our blankets and robes, and sleep, though it takes me some time to forget my lost train of Maple and her pups. By 2 a.m. we are up boiling our kettle and snatching a bite of breakfast. Then by the clear moonlight we begin the loading of our sleds. This is tedious work, and had it not been for the innumerable host of dogs, our own to boot, we would have had this over and all ready last evening. Now in the keen cold of early morn even old Joseph has to move quickly to keep from freezing. To put from five to six hundred pounds of frozen meat on a narrow dog-sled, and as nearly as possible to maintain the equilibrium is no light task. But by four o'clock sleds are loaded and dogs harnessed, we bid Mr. and Mrs. Muddy Bull a hasty good-bye, and are off to make the sixty-mile drive home in the day if we can. And who doubts our doing it? Not ourselves, at any rate, for the road is fair, our dogs fresh and strong, and we, costumed as we are, must move or freeze. Perhaps I am the best clad in the party, and my clothes altogether will not weigh much. A flannel shirt, moleskin pants, full length leggings with garters below the knees, duffil socks and neat moccasins, a Hudson's Bay capote, unlined and unpadded in any part, a light cap, and mittens which are most of the time tied on the load, while I wear a pair of thin unlined buckskin gloves. This is in a sense almost "laying aside every weight," but the race which was set before the ordinary dog-driver in the days I am writing of was generally sufficient to keep him warm.