With Gun ftp Rod in Canada 



never fired a gun nor slept in a tent, nor indeed had he 

 ever been in the woods before. Old Joe earnestly advised 

 me to send him home. This was impossible to do, as 

 we had only a few days to spend in the woods, and the 

 team that had brought us out had returned to town, a 

 distance of twelve miles. It was a case of take Tug 

 or give up the moose-hunt. 



The next morning we started off with the new boat, 

 two canoes in tow, two tents, etc.; Emery, Tug, Joe, 

 and I in the motor-boat and Jim sitting in the stern of 

 the second canoe. We had grub for a week. As the 

 moose-calling season was about over and the wind was 

 favourable, we decided to " drive " a piece of country 

 known as Yeaton Lake Bog. Our camp site was to be 

 on the neck of land between Yeaton Lake and Lake 

 Rossignol, a distance of nine miles from the home camp. 

 We made directly for this point, and ran into a heavy 

 easterly wind and sea in the lower reaches of the lake. 

 The engine stalled, and we shipped a little water. Tug, 

 who was acting as engineer, went straight " up in the 

 air." After considerable difficulty, Emery and I got the 

 motor working again. (The trouble had been a short 

 circuit due to the fact that Tug had left the wires sagging 

 in the bilge-water.) With the exception of this one 

 interruption, the engine pushed us along satisfactorily 

 to our destination. While we were unloading and pitch- 

 ing the tents. Tug asked a lot of questions. The newness 

 of the situation, however, did not seem to hurt his 

 appetite, either for the solid or liquid nourishment 

 with which our commissary was supplied. After lunch 

 we set out to " drive " Yeaton Lake Bog. 



The modus operandi was for a guide to go to windward 

 along the shore of the lake, and then weave back and 

 forth through the thicket, shouting, and occasionally 

 discharging his six-shooter. If there were any moose 



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