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It was rumored in Portland, Oregon, that all the bear on the Olympic Peninsula were hibernating in hollow trees in a swamp at the forks of the Quinault River. Accordingly seven men with pack horses came to the Lake. They figured if they could catch the bear asleep they could chop into the hollow stumps and kill them for their hides.

They came to the hotel, but there were some fellows there making a survey of the Indian Reservation. They wanted supper at the hotel, but they couldn't accommodate them, so they loaded them all into two boats and brought them across to Higley's.

Our shanty was small, and we didn't have much to eat. Father was down river at the time after a load of supplies. They cut up a loaf of bread and ate that for their supper. I told them they'd have to sleep on the floor. They all went outside, but two fellows. They spread the blankets under the table, then opened the door and called them in one at a time. As a man crawled under the blankets, another came in and did the same. They stayed almost a week.

Mr. Taylor, the leader, got a canoe and brought food across. At the end of the week, Father came up from down river with the big canoe. This man, Taylor, was talking big about his canoe. Said he could take 500 pounds in it and go anywhere a canoe could go.

He loaded his canoe and I put about 800 pounds into our big one. He landed over on the bar at the river. There was a jam in the middle of the river, and when he started to go up stream against the current, and thrust his pole in at the riffle, he headed right back to the lake. The canoe would swing right around the pole every time.

He went over and looked at the jam to see if he could get up there. Some of the fellows were worried because he had all their supplies in the canoe and they were afraid he would capsize and lose them all. I called to them and told them he could go up to the head of the slough and get up river that way.