The country of Dog Lake, Wabatongushi, and Oba Lake is still nearly as wild as in the days of our story. A few Indians, [[158]]trappers, miners, lumbermen, and railroad men now live in the country, but it is still a great playground of lakes and forests, although fire has ruined much of the fine green timber. All three of the lakes may be reached by rail, and any one who wishes to do so may follow the trail of Ganawa and his white sons. [[159]]
CHAPTER XX
FARTHEST NORTH
Ganawa quickly built a brush lean-to in a place where the campers had a fine view of the lake. There were no mosquitoes and black flies at this camp, and after a good meal of smoked moose meat and sweet tea, Ray rolled up in his blanket and slept all afternoon with Tawny curled up at his feet.
The tea and sugar had been a treat; for the supply of both was so limited that they could use these luxuries only on special occasions when they felt that they had deserved some kind of a feast. Any one who has helped to carry a canoe three miles across “the bush,” as present-day woodsmen call this kind of country, will admit that he has earned a treat of some sort.
Bruce and Ganawa felt no more inclined to further exertion than Ray, so they sat [[160]]in the shade, enjoying the gentle westerly breeze and the beautiful panorama of blue water and dark green forest spread out before them.
There was very little talk, for each was busy with his own thoughts. Bruce shared to some extent the fatigue and discouragement of Ray. He also had a feeling that they had, so to speak, come to the ends of the earth without finding as much as a real clue to the whereabouts of Jack Dutton. “I reckon I shall never see my old friend again,” he thought. “I have a feeling that he is dead. Death and danger lurk everywhere. One may drown in a storm or in some wild rapids or waterfall almost any day, he may freeze to death, and unless he is a good hunter and fisherman, he might in winter even starve to death; and in summer the terrible pests of mosquitoes and black flies might almost kill a man or drive him crazy. Thank God, there are none of the pests at this camp!” And then Bruce spread his blanket on a bed of lichens and [[161]]moss that covered the rock, and very soon he was as sound asleep as Ray.
The next thing he knew Ganawa was gently shaking him and saying: “Wake up, my son. I have caught a mess of trout in a small stream and it is time that you build a fire and broil them for our evening meal, for the sun will soon sink behind the forest.”
The white lads ate their trout with a little salt, but Ganawa ate them just as they came off the green willow sticks without salt. “The Indians cannot get salt in this country,” he said, “unless they buy it of the traders, so we often eat our meat and fish without salt as our fathers did, before the white traders came to our country.”