The road was fairly good, though pretty wild, and the fellow handled his team superbly, keeping them at a gallop pretty nearly all the time, and nonchalantly rolling and smoking cigarettes the while. At one-thirty we pulled into the "grove" at the head of the lake, and loaded our canoe, being watched with much interest by an old Indian guide, whom we learned later to be no one less than Mitchell Sabbattis, far-famed as one of the oldest of the guides. I wonder whether or not he thought we were greenhorns, with our indian packs,- which, by the way, carry easier every time we shoulder,- or rather, "head" them.