328 TEE TBAPPEE. 



imitating the cry of the female might at first glance seem 

 a treacherous practice, unworthy of the name of sport. 

 But on the contrary I know of no sport more fascinating. 

 The stillness of the autumnal evening, broken only by the 

 occasional " call " of the hunter and the footsteps of the 

 approaching animal, the cloudless sky, the painting of the 

 forest, and the reflections on the water, lend their charms. 

 Then the amount of skill required is very great. A first- 

 class "caller" is as rare as a first-rate tenor. Nature 

 has not been bountiful to me in the way of voice, but 

 a few eager moose trusted themselves within range of my 

 rifle, and one evening I towed into camp a magnificent 

 bull, with antlers measuring nearly 5 feet from tip to tip. 

 Trapping, shooting, exploring, and so on, the time 

 rapidly slipped away. On the 20th of November, when 

 by good luck we had just got our last load from the bear- 

 house, winter, which had already threatened, set in for 

 good, and froze us up in our winter home. Now we turned 

 our attention from water fur to the sable. We made a 

 " sable line " of about 30 miles in length straight through 

 the woods. In this we had 300 or 400 traps, each con- 

 structed on a tree stump some 4 feet from the ground, so 

 as not to be buried in the snow. We had a wigwam at 

 the extreme end of our sable line and another in the 

 centre, half-way from our main camp. All winter long 

 we were kept busy attending this line and procuring bait 

 for the traps. Besides, we got an occasional otter and 

 beaver in steel traps set under the ice. As winter ad- 

 vanced the snow got deeper and deeper and the cold more 

 intense, but our camp was warm and sheltered, and firing 

 abundant. No coal bills troubled us. Every now and 



