Everything ready, and having burdened himself with a much heavier load arranged in like manner, we started off up the side of the mountain in search of Echo Lake.
THE PACK HORSE LEAGUE.
It was hard work. Soon I was boiling with perspiration, and the Indian puffing like a grampus. It seemed like a veritable “first of May” in the wilderness.
AT NIGHT BY THE CAMP-FIRE.
Occasionally as a fallen log crossed our path we could relieve our aching shoulders by resting the load thereon, but never for a moment did we change its position.
Then on we would tramp, over rocks and through the mire, the stillness of the woods unbroken save by the crackle of twigs beneath our footsteps, or the occasional grunt of the Indian guide.
From early dawn until late at night, dividing our party at times into sections, we labored with our baggage, transporting it but half the distance, from whence it was forwarded by a second relay of guides the remainder of the way, and landed in safety at our camp on Echo Lake.
In this vicinity we discovered in the crotch of an aged tree an old folding canvas canoe. This the Colonel, with a burst of delight, recognized as one deserted by the “Pioneers of the Aroostook” in their excursion of the previous year. Running short of provisions they had been forced to abandon it, and make for the settlements as quickly as possible in their other two.