a rough passage, so rough that the Doctor declared it was the last time he would ever be a passenger on her in such water, a not unwise resolution, for the steamer, top-heavy and drawing only about three feet of water, was not unlikely to roll over in rough weather.
With the return of the Doctor, Captain Mills and the Captain of the Grahame, we now formed a merry party, and spent a pleasant evening at the Doctor's house. Captain Mills and I talked over old-time adventures in Hudson Straits, and recalled many incidents from our mutual experiences in the north in bygone days. But as the Doctor had determined to leave again with the steamer on the following day for the Great Slave Lake river posts, there was no time to be lost in social pleasures. In compliance with my brother's request, sent by letter some months previously, Dr. McKay had engaged the best available Indian guide to accompany us from this place through Lake Athabasca and as far beyond as he knew the country. With the success of this arrangement we were greatly pleased, as it was desirable that as little time as possible should be lost in seeking trails and river routes. The guide's name was Moberly—a Christian name, though borne by a full-blooded Chippewyan Indian, who, before we were through with him, proved himself to be anything but a Christian. He was acquainted with our route for about one hundred miles to the northward from Black Lake, and even in this distance his services, we thought, would likely save us several days.
The next morning the Fort was a scene of hurry and bustle. Goods were landed from the steamer, cordwood taken on board, and much other business attended to.
