Coming to a steep hill everyone helped the dogs in their climb. When
at last the brigade, puffing and panting, reached the summit, pipes
were at once in evidence and then another rest followed. When the
descent began, the drivers--most of them having removed their snowshoes
that their feet might sink deeper into the snow--seized their
trail-lines, and, acting as anchors behind the sleds, allowed
themselves to be hauled stiff-legged through the deep snow in their
effort to keep the sleds from over-running the dogs. It was exciting
work. The men throwing their utmost weight upon the lines sought every
obstruction, swerving against trees, bracing against roots, grasping at
branches, and floundering through bushes. Often they fell, and
occasionally, when they failed to regain their footing, were
mercilessly dragged downhill; the heavy sleds, gathering momentum,
overtook the fleeing dogs, and their unfortunate masters were ploughed
head-first through the snow. At the foot of the steepest incline a
tumult arose as men and dogs struggled together in an effort to free
themselves from overturned sleds. Above the cursing in French and
English--but not in Indian--rose the howling of the dogs as lead-loaded
lashes whistled through the frosty air. One wondered how such a tangle
could ever be unravelled, but soon all was set straight again.

About eight o'clock we had our second breakfast and by twelve we
stopped again for the noon-day meal, both of which consisted of
bannock, pork, and tea. While we ate, the dogs, still harnessed, lay
curled up in the snow.

Again the guide shouted "_Ma-r-r-che_!" and again the brigade moved
forward. Some of the trains were handsomely harnessed, especially the
Factor's. The loin-cloths of the dogs, called _tapis_, were richly