The Fun of Hunting 



I love the sport well. 



— ^Two Gentlemen of Veeona. 



Yes, I love the sport of hunting and love it well, 

 especially if a bull-moose or a caribou be the object of 

 it. To be sure it entails several things which the city- 

 bred tenderfoot might call discomforts, such as wad- 

 ing through watery bogs, tumbling into mudholes, 

 sleeping in wet forests, and, should his lumber muscles 

 have the temper of mine, a struggle or two with lum- 

 bago. My own comfort and the sport itself have 

 often been at loggerheads and had many a spat ; yet I 

 always sided with the sport — " Not that I loved Caesar 

 less, but that I loved Eome more." 



One of my trips found me at the Nictau Lakes, but 

 the continuous high winds in that region interfering 

 with the hunting, our party turned their faces home- 

 ward. We spent part of a day in shoving down the 

 Tobique River to Red Brook, a distance of twelve 

 miles. Here we hid the bulk of our supplies in the 

 mouth of an old lumber road, and taking as much of 

 the stuff as four of us could handle, carried it over 

 two ridges to a " dead-water " on a small brook seven 



149 



