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The next morning opened dry and pleasant, but with a milky and foreboding sky. Again the boats were in motion, passing the Pusquatenáo, or Naked Hill, beyond which is the Echo Lake Katoó Sakaígon where a good many Indians lived, having a pack-trail thereto from the river. The afternoon proved to be hot, the clouds cumulose against a clear, blue sky, with occasional sun-showers.
When, on October 21, I returned to France, the war had made a very big stride towards its end. Cambrai had been regained, and Le Cateau "Lee Katoo," the men insisted on calling it taken. Ostend was ours, Lille was ours; over Palestine we had cast our mantle. Our own Division, still hard at it, had gone forward twenty-four miles during my fortnight's leave in England.
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