Talk of home. George not thinking now of eating of
recent years, but just the things his mother used to make for him
as a child. Same way with Wallace and me, save that I think of
what M. and I have eaten that she made.
Sunday, October 18th.--Alone in camp--junction of Nascaupee and
some other stream--estimated (overestimated I hope) distance above
head of Grand Lake, 33 miles. For two days past we have travelled
down our old trail with light packs. We left a lot of flour wet--
about 11 miles below here, 12 miles (approximately) below that
about a pound of milk powder, 4 miles below that about 4 pounds of
lard. We counted on all these to help us out in our effort to
reach the head of Grand Lake where we hoped to find Skipper Tom
Blake's trapping camp and cache. On Thursday as stated, I busted.
Friday and Saturday it was the same. I saw it was probably useless
for me to try to go farther with the boys, so we counselled last
night, and decided they should take merely half a blanket each,
socks, etc., some tea, tea pail, cups, and the pistols, and go on.
They will try to reach the flour to-morrow. Then Wallace will
bring a little and come back to me.
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