I went fast too, for I
meant to go just as far as I could before I was rounded up and
brought into camp. Between the two ridges was a bog, and I tried
to cross it to save time; but it threatened to let me in too deep,
and I had to give it up and go round. I was only a little way up
on the other hill when there came the sound of two rifle shots from
the lower end of the lake. Evidently the discovery of my,
whereabouts had aroused very spirited movement. On I went, faster
than ever. The flies were desperately thick, and I kept a piece of
spruce bough going constantly over my face and neck to keep them
from devouring me bodily. I could feel my ears and neck wet and
sticky with blood, for some of the bites bleed a good deal. Still
what did flies matter when you were _free_. That afternoon I
should go just as far as I thought I could, and get back to camp by
dark.
To my disappointment, when I reached the top of the ridge I still
could not see the river, for it disappeared between high, rocky
banks, and could only be seen by walking close to the edge. I
decided to go along the ridge as far as I could, and then, slipping
down to the river, to return to camp that way.
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