152 SPORT INDEED 



water that night, with the hope of getting a shot at 

 one of his tribe. We returned to camp, packed up 

 our bedding, took a few biscuits and a small pail of 

 water to comfort us during the night, and again 

 reached the lower end of the dead-water at five 

 o'clock. We cut an avenue into the alders, cleared 

 off a bit of ground, laid our blankets down, and tried 

 to find out if there wasn't another stretch of dead- 

 water further down. At the very extreme point of 

 an open space was a bottomless mud-hole and diago- 

 nally across it an old cedar tree had fallen. It was 

 necessary to cross over this tree to work our way 

 down the stream. The guide got on the small end of 

 it and, with a pole, worked his way safely over ; then 

 it was my turn and I was equally successful, until the 

 butt-end of the tree was reached. Then the old cedar 

 crushed with my weight, my left foot came in contact 

 with one of its broken slivers, and in a jiffy I was off 

 the log and into the mud-hole. It was lucky for me 

 — however unlucky it may be for my readers — that an 

 alder branch on the bank hung within my reach. No 

 drowning man ever snatched at his proverbial straw 

 with keener haste than did I at that alder branch. 

 With its aid I began to pull myself out of my predica- 

 ment ; it was slow work, for the mud seemed deter- 

 mined not to let me slip from its slimy clutches. 

 However, I did get out of them, and when I stood on 

 the bank I looked about me for my rifle. Like a 



