AN OLD-TIME CARIBOU HUNT 157 



same thing will happen if they get scent of our 

 camp fires, and the least creak of a shoe or broken 

 twig will startle them. 



A little hunt I had one year near Quebec will 

 serve to illustrate the difference in habits I have 

 described. One morning, about the middle of 

 September, I was going along St. Peter street, 

 Quebec, when I chanced to meet Mr. E. W. 

 Methot, an old sporting acquaintance. After the 

 usual greetings, he told me he was getting ready 

 to go out on a caribou hunt with his friend, Mr. 

 E. N. Chinic, now of the Chinic Hardware Co., 

 and invited me to join them. He said that the 

 prospects were good, as lots of caribou tracks had 

 been reported by his lumber men. Not being 

 very busy just at that time I promised to go, and 

 getting my snowshoes, rifle and hunting bag 

 ready, we started out next day for Methot's 

 mills, the residence of our host. He owned tim- 

 ber limits on the head waters of the Beaurivage 

 and Du Chene rivers, and had some lumber camps 

 there, and one of these was to be our headquar- 

 ters. We slept at Methot's mills, and early next 

 morning we were en route in a berlot, a sort of 

 sleigh with low runners and boxed up like a 

 cariole, with low seats, a very comfortable and 

 handy vehicle in bad roads. We reached the 

 camp about three p.m., and were joined there 

 by Mr. Hamel, the head foreman. He was 

 thoroughly acquainted with the country in the 



