More of the Moose 



The Paragon of Animals. 



—Hamlet. 



On the morning of the caribou hunt, we left the old 

 bull lying in the road, and about eleven o'clock 

 tramped back upon our tracks to prosecute our search 

 for the dam which we had originally started out to 

 find. Upon reaching the brook we followed it up- 

 wards some distance, until the guide, who was quite 

 " done up," said he would make a fire and boil some hot 

 water in a tin dipper for my dinner. I decided, how- 

 ever, to push on until I found that dam, telling him to 

 stay where he was until my return. 



The stream here was choked up with cut logs, which 

 made it nice and easy walking, or easy jumping, from 

 one to another. Twenty minutes of this sort of travel 

 and I reached the long-looked-for dam. Climbing on 

 top of it my eye caught the view of as lovely a spot 

 for big game to feed in as could well be imagined. 

 The water had been drawn off during the late spring, 

 and a luxurious growth of swale grass, cranberry 

 bushes, and young alder shoots, had sprung up in wild 

 and wanton profusion. 



I sat down on the dam and let my senses wallow 



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