The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
limbs of apple trees in England. We were 
walking fast too, and although Johnny was a 
very small, slight man, it was amazing how 
quickly he covered the ground; so much so, 
that I had to put my best leg forward to enable 
me to keep up with him at all. 
Suddenly we came to a deep gulch or ravine, 
heavily timbered with spruce and birch trees. 
There was plenty of fresh spoor, the tracks cross- 
ing each other frequently. We followed a game 
track down one side of the gulch, crossing a small 
stream at the bottom, then scrambled up the 
far side at our best pace. It was my best pace, 
at any rate, for my heart was going like a sledge- 
hammer, and it was a case of ‘“ bellows to 
mend ”’ before I got to the top. Here we entered. 
upon another barren, but before leaving the 
shelter afforded by the timber, hastily glanced 
around lest there should be game afoot. The 
wind was right, blowing directly into our faces, 
so we made a bee-line for a hill we had seen when 
spying from the knoll. 
Now our pace slackened, the ground being 
considerably more broken and irregular. We 
came at last to a rise, dropping on to our hands 
and knees, and crawling very carefully so as to 
look over the top. Johnny, who was in front 
of me, suddenly bobbed out of sight; then 
together we peered on all sides carefully, heads 
level with the ground. In front of us the ground 
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