IN THE ALASKA- YUKON GAMELANDS 



in a restful position, I allowed everything to 

 soak in that would. 



It was good to have the fresh Alaska air filter 

 through the thinning locks that bedecked the 

 upper appendage; and it didn't seem bad, either, 

 to feel the morning glints from Old Sol smacking 

 the ivory-colored arid spots on the editorial 

 dome. It was a time for rumination and rhap- 

 sodizing — every condition conducing to a peace- 

 ful lethargy never found along the business trail. 

 And besides, it was Sunday. 



The following day, Harry, Brownie, Cap and I 

 went up the trail three miles west of camp on 

 foot, moose hungry and determined. Later we 

 separated into pairs and hunted a fairly large 

 area, but drew only a blank. Harry and Cap 

 saw a moose, but he was able to leave with a 

 whole hide, no one even getting a shot at him 

 (or her) — we couldn't see the animal clear enough 

 to determine the sex. I learned while hunting 

 big game, as has many another sportsman, that 

 if you can't see the horns on a bull at a distance 

 of three hundred or four hundred yards, she has 

 none. Note. — My diary of this day reads: 

 Sept. 2, 1918, sun arose at 6:15 — daylight, 4:15. 

 Sundown at 7:30 — this of course by the day- 

 light-saving time. 



Cap and I took our horses next morning and 

 started over the same train traveled the day be- 

 fore, only we went much farther, clear up above 

 timberline on the caribou barrens — where we 



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