MUSK-OX, BISON, SHEEP, AND 

 GOAT 



THE MUSK-OX 



I 



MY FIRST KILL 



WE had passed through the " Land of Little 

 Sticks," as the Indians so appropriately call that 

 desolate waste which connects the edge of tim- 

 ber land with the Barren Grounds, and had been 

 for several days making our way north on the 

 lookout for any living thing that would provide 

 us with a mouthful of food. 



We had got into one of those pieces of this 

 great barren area, which, broken by rocky ridges, 

 of no great height but of frequent occurrence, 

 are unspeakably harassing to the travelling snow- 

 shoer. It was the third twelve hours of our fast, 

 save for tea and the pipe, and all day we had 

 been dragging ourselves wearily up one ridge 

 and down another in the ever recurring and 



17 



