A kind of road (“kind of” is the only way to enfress [express] it) ran from our place to another & newer Hudson's Bay Post at the mouth of the Little Red River – (Moqua sepi as the Indians called it), five miles from us.
Heavy snow had made traveling bad, but we had to go & although it was slow going we got there eventually and were welcomed by Billy Grey – the Factor. Our arrival on the other side of the “Portage” had been broadcast by “moccasin telegraph” – that unknown & strange manner in which all real natives communicate at distances.
Billy treated us Royally & eventually persuaded us to move across & stay temporarily in his Indian house as all his hunters had left for their trap lines. This suited
