But if this 10th of July was a hard and harassing day, the 11th was still worse. In the first place, we were delayed a long time in starting, for Bucephalus was not to be found. He was, at length, discovered by The Assiniboine on the other side the Fraser, and the man was obliged to strip and swim the ice-cold river to fetch him back. Soon after we started, we came to Moose River, which was somewhat difficult to ford, for the water was high and rapid, pouring over the horses’ shoulders in the deepest part. Mr. O’B. lost nerve and steered badly, his horse lost its footing, and nearly took a voyage into the Fraser; the rider, however, gripped mane and saddle firmly, and both got ashore together, adding another “hair’s-breadth escape” to Mr. O’B.’s list. We reached Moose Lake before noon, and travelled along it until dark without finding any resting-place. The lake was high, and the sides of its basin mountains, up to the base of which the waters spread. It was again a day of marching through water, and the horses perversely wandered off into the deeps, and floated about, soaking flour and pemmican. Accumulations of driftwood barred the passage along the shore in many places, and we were compelled to scale the mountain-sides. Horse after horse rolled back in the attempt, and we had to cut off their packs in the water, and carry up the loads on our backs, to enable the animals to scramble up the steep ascent. We worked hard in the hope of reaching the end of the lake before dark, but the sun went down when we were still several miles distant, and we were compelled to spend the night in a bare sand-pit, where there was not a blade of grass for our hungry and tired animals, who ranged restlessly to and fro until the morning. Moose Lake is a fine sheet of water, about fifteen miles in length, and not more than three miles in breadth at the widest point. The scenery was very wild and grand, and forcibly reminded us of Wast Water. On the south side, the hills rose perpendicularly out of the water for perhaps 2,000 feet, beyond which was the usual background of rocky and hoary peaks. Over the edge of this mighty precipice a row of silver streams poured with unbroken fall, the smaller ones dissipated in mist and spray ere they reached the lake below. This beautiful series of cascades we named the Rockingham Falls.