IN THE ALASKA-YUKON GAMELANDS 



weather was actually balmy and sun shining 

 brightly. 



I had gone but a short distance from my horse 

 when I became disgusted at the rasping sound 

 made by walking on the dry moss, so removing 

 my boots and laying them on a stump, I con- 

 tinued in my stocking feet. When damp this 

 moss is an advantage in stalking game, but 

 when dry it gives forth a crunching sound like 

 that of walking on frozen snow. 



I thought, owing to the landmark taken on 

 his position from the other side, that I would be 

 able to pretty accurately judge the location of 

 his bed. I had by this time come to the rim of 

 the hill leading down to the lake, a distance of 

 two hundred or three hundred yards away. I 

 crept and walked down thru the timber, keeping 

 behind the greatest patches of trees and in the 

 swales, stopping every few feet to look more 

 carefully than I could do while moving. I was 

 so quiet in my advance that the creaking of the 

 leather strap on my camera carrying case 

 sounded to me like the hiss of a German bomb. 

 When I had approached to within about one 

 hundred twenty-five yards of the lake, and just 

 at about the time that I expected something 

 very sensational to happen, a squirrel saw me and 

 began a terrific tirade of abuse. I once had a 

 squirrel open up on me in exactly the same man- 

 ner while stalking a grizzly in Wyoming, and 

 while that very act, I believe, in that instance 



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