As noon approached, Little Black Cloud’s father directed the canoe in to the shore and beached it in a small cove. Father and son stepped ashore and pulled the canoe up after them. Near by there were some fine berry bushes and, walking inland a short way, they came upon a clear swift flowing stream. They picked some berries and, seating themselves near the stream, they made a meal of some fried venison they had brought with them, berries, and water. After eating they relaxed for a few moments and then the two walked back to the lake edge and climbing aboard their canoe once again were soon continuing their journey up the lake shore. It was near dark when they reached the top of the lake. Little Black Cloud’s father guided the canoe into a small stream leading from the lake and, calling to his son to stop paddling, he guided the canoe softly against the shore of the stream. The two Indians stepped from their canoe and then, lifting the canoe from the water, set it upon the shore. “We shall make camp here for the night, my son. You will gather some wood and I will see if I can catch us some fish for our supper. I shall not be gone long and there will still be plenty of daylight.” Saying this, Little Black Cloud’s father took up his fishing line and bone hook and a bright spinner and started back through the woods for the lake shore. Little Black Cloud meanwhile started busily preparing camp and gathering wood for a fire. In an hour his father was back carrying a fine fish and soon they were having fresh fish steaks broiled on green sticks. These they flavored with some sugar, which they always carried, and washed it down with fresh water. “And now, my son, we must sleep, for in the morning we have a long walk ahead to reach the Bear Lake.” Father and son rolled into their blankets and the night noises around them provided a lullaby. When dawn broke, Little Black Cloud found that his father had been up for some time and that breakfast was ready and waiting. Following a hearty breakfast, Little Black Cloud picked up his pack. His father strapped his own pack upon his back and, balancing the light birch bark canoe upon his head, led the way through the forest toward the lake. The woodland Indians often had to make portages like this in order to reach their final destination. After traveling for some time in this manner, Little Black Cloud noticed a clear space among the trees ahead. His father seemed to sense what he was thinking, for he called to his son, “That is Bear Lake just ahead. It was given that name many moons ago by our people, for it used to be the home of many bears who lived and thrived here, but when our people discovered that many fine fish lived in these waters they had to drive the bears off in order to make the fishing grounds safe for our people.