Spring came, and word reached Fort Hearne that the factor was to meet a fleet of scows at Fort Batise. That was a post he had never visited, so he summoned Pierre to make ready for the trip as his guide. They laid in an ample stock of provisions, for it was a long journey and there might be a protracted wait for the boats at their destination: Hudson’s Bay Company transports do not run on schedule time. One fine morning the two men set out in a canoe, struggling up-stream against the powerful current. Now and then they landed to shoot some partridges, and one day MacDonald killed a moose. Otherwise there was little to relieve the monotony of the journey. From morning till night, not a soul crossed their path. With MacDonald lapsing into his wonted silence, hours would pass without a sound but the splashing of the paddles and the quaint, plaintive notes of Pierre’s Red River melodies. Once in a while an abandoned site, with tent poles standing, suggested former human occupation. Every night the two men camped near the water edge, played a game or two of cribbage, and then stretched out to rest till four or five o’clock the next morning. And in the night Pierre would hear strange sounds, and as they grew nearer they turned into words: “In the spring! In the spring!”