A BEARDLESS SPORT 209 



me while I was at my dinner, and carelessly remarked, 

 " James has killed a young bull caribou." I went on 

 with my eating, paying little or no attention to what 

 he said, for the simple reason that I didn't believe it. 

 A few minutes afterwards the youth himself rushed in 

 with a flushed face and tongue almost paralyzed with 

 delight. 



When he did get it working, he said, " Father ! 

 Father ! Don't you want to go with me and see my 

 little bull ? " 



" Your little bull ? " I replied. " Bull what ? Why 

 don't you finish the word, my boy ? You mean your 

 little bull-frog?" 



He laughed at my doubting joke, and then led me 

 through the brush and around a windfall to a spot 

 that was hallowed ground to him now, for on it lay a 

 four-year-old spike-horn caribou, which he had downed 

 with one shot from his 40-44 rifle. 



The caribou, fat and glossy as a thoroughbred 

 young Jersey bull, lay on the soft mossy ground. On 

 one side stood the boy, with pride and joy and excite- 

 ment beaming in his face. On the other side was the 

 guide, amusing himself by poking fun at my incre- 

 dulity. I looked a moment at the picture — for it was 

 a picture, and one worthy the pencil of an artist — and 

 at that moment I wasn't sure whether my pride in 

 my boy was not as great as was the boy's in his cari- 

 bou. 



