American Big Game in its Haunts 



continued to graze in an unapproachable spot. 

 We had almost given up hope of getting a shot, 

 when he turned and fed slowly some fifty yards in 

 a new direction, which was up-wind. This was 

 our chance. Quickly regaining the baidarka, we 

 paddled as noiselessly and rapidly as possible up 

 the main stream of the marsh to a small lagoon, 

 which now at high tide had sufficient water to float 

 us. 



There was great charm in stalking game in this 

 manner, although I was, in a sense, but a passen- 

 ger in my natives' hands. But it was fascinating 

 to watch their keenness and skill as they guided 

 the frail craft round the sharp turns, the noiseless 

 use of the paddles, the light in their eye as they 

 constantly stood up in the canoe to keep a hidden 

 gaze upon the game ahead, watching its every 

 movement as well as the local eddies and currents 

 in the light evening breeze. All was so in keep- 

 ing with the sombre leaden clouds overhead, and 

 the grizzled sides of the ungainly brute, blending 

 in with the background of weather-beaten tree 

 trunks and the dull gray rocks. And so, silently 

 and swiftly, stopping many times when the bear's 

 head was up, we approached nearer and nearer, 

 until my head man whispered, B audit (enough), 

 and I knew that I was to have a fair shot. Stealths 



140 



