The early, foggy morning revealed the freshet.

The river, which had risen during the night, and had forced the trackers from their beds to higher ground, was littered from bank to bank with floating trees, logs and stumps, lifted from many a drift up stream, and borne down by the furious current.

At one of the short breathing spells the water rose two inches in twenty minutes, and the tracking became exceedingly bad, the men floundering to their waists in water, or footing it insecurely on steep and slippery ledges along the water's marge.
About mid-day the anticipated change took place in the weather.
Thick clouds closed in with a driving rain and a high raw wind, presaging the end of summer.
It was now, of course, very bad going, and camp was made, in the heavy rain, on a high flat about two miles below the Burnt Rapid.
Though a tough spot to get up to, the flat proved to be a prime place for our camp, with plenty of dead fallen and standing timber, and soon four or five "long fires" were blazing, a substantial supper discussed, and comfort succeeded misery.

The next day (Sunday) was much enjoyed as a day of rest, the half-breeds at their beloved games, the officials writing letters.

The weather was variable; the clouds broke and gathered by turns, with slight rain towards evening, and then it cleared.