Newfoundland 
back for a year or so, the tips being rounded and 
pointless. 
On opening the prize we found that his heart 
had been cut right open by the heavy °500 bullet. 
He was full of blood inside, and it was a marvel 
that he had not dropped at once to my first 
shot, instead of going, as he did, four hundred 
yards before he succumbed. 
I was so delighted with my success that I felt 
I could walk another twenty miles if necessary, 
now that I had bagged two heads in one 
day. 
After cutting off his head, we had to hurry on, 
the light was failing. Pat took the big trophy, I 
the smaller, with my rifle. 
The old saying, ‘‘ It never rains but it pours,” 
proved the rule on this eventful day. For we 
had not gone two miles before we saw another stag, 
a small one, some four hundred yards away on 
our right. We did not need meat, so I had no 
designs on his life—to destroy him would have 
been wanton cruelty. Pat, however, could not 
resist the temptation of waving the horns of the 
stag he was carrying above the bush where we 
were hidden, and this device proved so alluring 
that the live animal walked to within fifteen 
yards of our place of concealment. He took a 
hurried departure when we both jumped up and 
shouted at him. 
Caribou get over the ground marvellously 
27 
