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Updated: May 16, 2025
The North was up and about her daily business. Sam Bolton and Dick finally got under way. After an hour they arrived opposite the mouth of a tributary stream. This Sam announced as the Mattawishguia. Immediately they turned to it. The Mattawishguia would be variously described; in California as a river, in New England as a brook, in Superior country as a trout stream.
They had come to the head waters of the Mattawishguia. In the lake stood two moose, old and young. Dick succeeded in killing the yearling, though it took two shots from his Winchester. It was decided to camp here over one day in order that the meat might be saved. A circle of hills surrounded the little body of water.
I'm mighty relieved to get shut of them. The best way over into the Kabinakágam is by way of a little creek the Injuns call the Mattawishguia, and that ought to be a few hours ahead of us now."
Galen Albret had fallen into a profound silence, which no one ventured to break. Dick and Sam, uncertain as to whether or not they, too, were dismissed, shifted uneasily. "How did you find him?" demanded the Factor, abruptly. "We went with old Haukemah's band down as far as the Mattawishguia. There we left them and went up stream and over the divide.
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