Winnipeg river. They had begun, to despair of ever falling in with it, and great was the excitement at the sudden meeting; the flint-gun was at once discharged into the air, and the shrill shouts began to echo through the islands. But the excitement on the side of the Expedition was quite as keen. The sudden shots and the wild shouts made the men in the boats in rear imagine that the fun was really about to begin, and that a skirmish through the wooded isles would be the evening's work. The mistake was quickly discovered. They were glad of course to meet their Red River friends; but somehow, I fancy, the feeling, of joy would certainly not have been lessened had the boats held the dusky adherents of the Provisional Government. On the following morning the seventeen boats commenced the descent of the Winnipeg river, while I remained at the Portage-du-Rat to await the arrival of the chief of the Expedition from Fort Francis. Each succeeding day brought a fresh brigade of boats under the guidance of one of my late canoe-men; and finally Thomas Hope came along,-seemingly enjoying life to the utmost--pork was plentiful, and as for the French there was no need to dream of them, and he could sleep in peace in the midst of fifty white soldiers. During six days I remained at the little Hudson Bay Company's post at the Rat Portage, making short excursions into the surrounding lakes and rivers, fishing below the rapids of the Great Chute; and in the evenings listening to the Indian stories of the lake as told by my worthy host, Mr. Macpherson, a great portion of whose life had been spent in the vicinity. One day I went some distance away from the fort to fish at the foot of one of the great rapids formed by the Winnipeg River as it runs from the Lake of the Woods. We carried our canoe over two or three portages, and at length reached the chosen spot. In the centre of the river an Indian was floating quietly in his canoe, casting every now and then a large hook baited with a bit of fish into the water. My bait consisted of a bright spinning piece of metal, which I had got in one of the American cities on my way through Minnesota. Its effect upon the fish of this lonely region was marvellous; they had never before been exposed to such a fascinating affair, and they rushed at it with avidity. Civilization on the rocks had certainly a better time of it, as far as catching fish went, than barbarism in the canoe. With the shining thing we killed three for the Indian's one. My companion, who was working the spinning bait while I sat on the rock, casually observed, pointing to the Indian, "He's a Windigo." "A what?" I asked. "A Windigo." "What is that?" "A man that has eaten other men." "Has this man eaten other men?"