With Gun ^ Rod in Canada 



was going to be before night, I am inclined to think that 

 that big fat animal would have received a 30-40 bullet 

 in a very tender spot. Instead, we stood and watched 

 her till Pat clapped his hands. She whirled and 

 melted into the underbrush as quickly and quietly as a 

 ghost. 



Another hour and a half's tramping through the thick 

 " hard-axe " thoroughly wetted our nether limbs, while 

 the rain gradually soaked our clothing until it was so heavy 

 we could hardly stagger under the load. We came to a 

 narrow neck of land between two lakes, and here we 

 built a roaring fire in the lee of a rock, partly dried our- 

 selves, and ate our lunch. Ken and I watched the narrow 

 stretch of land, while Pat worked through the brush on 

 the lee side and then came down to windward, but no 

 moose showed up. Although the wind and rain were 

 increasing in force, we decided to swing around by the 

 head of the Fifth Lake and take in two more of Pat's 

 bear-traps. We were much interested in seeing the 

 carcass of a large black bear which Pat had caught and 

 skinned the week before. We also picked up the skull 

 and horns of a small bull which had evidently been 

 wounded and died last year. The bears had picked his 

 bones clean. 



It was three o'clock when we got back to the tree 

 where we had left the wild-cat, and half-past when we 

 reached the boat. By this time I was so wet, for the 

 water had run down inside my larrigans, and so tired that 

 I could hardly lift one water-logged foot after another. 

 Pat seemed to skip right along over the top of the wet 

 bog, while I was sinking up to the hock-joints at every 

 step. Ken, who is six feet tall and extra long-legged, 

 stepped through the wet swamps and over the rough 

 ground as nonchalantly as a blue heron. Great trees 

 had been uprooted by the wind, and had fallen across 



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