And now, oh, wonder! that Lynx no longer seemed annoyed; he had
ceased growling and simply looked bored.
Seeing it was over, Preble says, "Now where does he go? To the
Museum?"
"No, indeed!" was the reply. "He surely has earned his keep; turn
him loose. It's back to the woods for him." We stood aside; he saw
his chance and dashed for the tall timber. As he went I fired the
last film, getting No. 6; and so far as I know that Lynx is alive
and well and going yet.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE LAST OF THAT INDIAN CREW
Carved on the lobstick of the Landing were many names famous in
the annals of this region, Pike, Maltern, McKinley, Munn, Tyrrel
among them. All about were evidences of an ancient and modern
camp - lodge poles ready for the covers, relics and wrecks of all
sorts, fragments of canoes and sleds, and the inevitable stray
Indian dog.
First we made a meal, of course; then I explained to the crew that
I wanted all the stuff carried over the portage, 31 miles, to the
first lake. At once there was a row; I was used to that. There had
been a row every morning over getting up, and one or two each day
about other details. Now the evil face of Beaulieu showed that his
tongue was at work again. But I knew my lesson.
