i8o The Wilderness Hunter 



we had stopped to hunt, and moreover we knew 

 nothing of the country, being probably the first 

 white men in it, while none of the Indians had ever 

 ventured a long distance from the lake. Returning 

 we knew how to take the shortest route, we were 

 going down hill, and we walked or trotted very fast ; 

 and so we made the whole distance in twelve hours' 

 travel. At sunset we came out on the last range of 

 steep foothills, overlooking the cove where we had 

 pitched our permanent camp; and from a bare cliff 

 shoulder we saw our boat on the beach, and our 

 white tent among the trees, just as we had left them, 

 while the glassy mirror of the lake reflected the out- 

 lines of the mountains opposite. 



Though this was the first caribou I had ever 

 killed, it was by no means the first I had ever hunted. 

 Among my earliest hunting experiences, when a 

 lad, were two fruitless and toilsome expeditions 

 after caribou in the Maine woods. One I made 

 in the fall, going to the head of the Munsungin 

 River in a pirogue, with one companion. The water 

 was low, and all the way up we had to drag the 

 pirogue, wet to our middles, our ankles sore from 

 slipping on the round stones under the rushing 

 water, and our muscles aching with fatigue. When 

 we reached the head-waters we found no caribou 

 sign, and came back without slaying anything larger 

 than an infrequent duck or grouse. 



The following February I made a trip on snow- 



