in hand. In the meantime the wolves kept
trotting closer—too close for my liking.
Then I heard the boss mutter “To hell
with this!” and in a flash replaced camera
with his .30 U.S. rifle.

A sharp crack broke the monotony of
the low crunch of toboggan on snow.
The leader of the wolf pack went down
in a whirl of blood and flying snow while
the remaining six fanned out, stupidly
looking round in a confused manner, con-
trary to the habit of wolves. Excitement
reached its peak as three more wolves
lay stretched on the snow in almost as
many seconds. By this time the remaining
marauders headed for the nearest clump
of trees.

Now we happened to be near a small
island and a huge grey wolf headed for
it as fast as he could go. The four of us
dogs, ignoring the constable’s shouts tore
after our hated enemy. He beat us to the
bush by a few feet; unfortunately the to-
boggan got entangled by fallen timber
though we struggled fiercely and set up a
terrific howl.

Wo.tr Pack ROUTED

We saw the boss snowshoe to the slight
rise in the centre of the island and crouch
there expectantly with rifle in readiness.
There was nothing we could do but watch
and wait. Presently a vicious snout poked
out of a clump of trees and after a slight
hesitation Mr. Wolf set off rather timidly
to cross the ice to the mainland. About
100 feet out on the lake a spit of flame
and a sharp report conducted another
wolf to his ancestors. Five wolves in less
than half an hour is good work for four
dogs and one man.

That following summer we enjoyed a
good long rest, though I must say I pre-
ferred packing through the hills and
mountains. Camping in a clump of jack-
pines or beside a dashing icy stream with
the smell of pine smoke and man food,
it’s got something about it which gets in
your blood.

November, 1942, started with a cold
spell, the river froze and it looked like
good travelling so in the second week of
that month we set out for Dease Lake.
The constable had his wife with him, and
a capable dog-musher she was, too. She
had a team of new dogs for herself and
carried the dog feed on a slightly smaller
toboggan than ours.

No sooner had we set out with high
hopes of a good trip when the weather
turned soft and warm. First it started to
rain making the toboggan pretty sticky
pulling. Gradually the rain turned to sleet

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Maillardville, B.C.

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SEVENTEENTH EDITION

and we splashed and strained and slipped
until almost everyone was played out—I
know I was pulling the whole load at
times and no one can keep that up for
long. We were forced to camp two miles
short of Eagle River though we struggled
till well after dusk to reach the cozy shel-
ter of Billy Noel's trapping cabin.

Next day we were terribly sore and
stiff though our paws were in good shape
which, after all, is the prime considera-
tion. A wet camp is always miserable and
I was glad to get away. The weather was
still disgustingly wet, and when we had
covered the remaining couple of miles to
silly’s camp, we crept into some dry ken-
nels and rested for two whole days while
the boss and his wife dried out their
clothes and sleeping bags.

Harp GoINnG

By this time the weather had turned
really cold with flurries of snow. On the
50-mile stage to Porter's Landing we ran
into every type of poor condition. The
constable broke trail every step of the
way, we struggled against high drifting
piles of it, loose bottomless trails, over-
flow and cruel freezing winds that made
you inhale quick shallow breaths. Well,
sir, it took us a week to mush that 50

Patrol of 1941-42, McDames Creek to
Dease Lake.

miles and everybody knows what sort of
travelling that is, seven miles a day!
Shocking !!

At the Landing we met Const. Todd of
Telegraph Creek who drove up with old
friends of ours—four McKenzie River
huskies, all brothers. There was Nigger
and Mickey, Tag and Kim, all excellent
fellows and we had many yarns to swap
while the policemen dried out and rested
in the log cabin.

Three days later, feeling quite refreshed
and determined to be home for Christmas,
we pulled out of Porter’s Landing and
headed down the Dease. The cold weather
and drifting snow made the whole valley
an undulating sheet of unbroken white-
ness. So began the heart-breaking task of
tramping out a trail again. Slow going

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