Out of both horns
led unknown rivers. Which way should Mackenzie go? Low-lying
marshlands--beaver meadows where the wattled houses of the beaver had
stopped up the current of streams till moss overgrew the swamps and the
land became quaking muskeg--lay along the shores of the lake. There
were islands in deep water, where caribou had taken refuge, travelling
over ice in winter for the calves to be safe in summer from wolf pack
and bear. Mackenzie hired a guide from the Slave Indians to pilot the
canoes over the lake; but the man proved useless. Days were wasted
poking through mist and rushes trying to find an outlet to the Grand
River of the North. Finally, English Chief lost his temper and
threatened to kill the Slave Indian unless he succeeded in taking the
canoes out of the lake. The waters presently narrowed to half a mile;
the current began to race with a hiss; sails were hoisted on
fishing-poles; and Mackenzie found himself out of the rushes on the
Grand River to the west of Slave Lake.
[Illustration: Fort William, Headquarters Northwest Company, Lake
Superior.]
Here pause was made at a camp of Dog Ribs, who took the bottom from the
courage of Mackenzie's comrades by gruesome predictions that old age
would come upon the _voyageurs_ before they reached salt water. There
were impassable falls ahead. The river flowed through a land of famine
peopled by a monstrous race of hostiles who massacred all Indians from
the South.
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