290 TWO DIANAS IN ALASKA 



mens of the deer tribe. They say the all-knowing 

 mysterious " they " that Outram never killed any 

 but dangerous game. A fine hand to play, if the 

 cards were always obtainable. 



My thoughts went wandering back across the 

 many lands where formerly I roamed rifle in hand. 

 I trod upon the burning sands of Africa, climbed 

 again in fur-clad garb the vast snowy steeps of North- 

 east Siberia, sought the keen-eyed sheep in his moun- 

 tain fastness, or once more matched my wits against 

 those lurking denizens of dense jungles. I saw a 

 gallant salmon leap as he strove hard for dear life, 

 and I went stumbling on with straining rod, over 

 the rock-strewn banks of some fair river on Norway's 

 wooded coast or Iceland's barren shores. 



The sound of voices. Two natives upon the scene. 

 Fortunately they brought my camera, which enabled 

 me to procure a picture of the moose as he lay. The 

 removal of the scalp and head was not a lengthy 

 matter when all three of us set to work upon the 

 task, and soon we set off homewards, the two natives 

 taking turns at carrying the head and horns, whilst I 

 packed home the scalp. Dragging a huge pair of 

 moose horns through the dense underwood is by no 

 means an easy task, and it has always been a mystery 

 to me why these denizens of the thick Alaskan forests 

 should have developed such immense antlers, re- 

 sembling those of prehistoric beasts, which must be 

 more of an impediment than assistance to them in 

 their daily life. 



On return to camp I found Cecily and Ralph there, 



