144 A BRUSH WITH A CARIBOU 



Great was our relief when we emerged into what by comparison 

 seemed a park-like country with pleasant valleys and glades diver- 

 sified by clusters of evergreen trees, printing their ragged spear-like 

 tops against the blue sky. An experienced eye could tell at a glance 

 that this must be a favourite haunt of caribou at this season of the 

 year. If any confirmation were needed one only had to look around 

 and see almost every young sapling tree partially denuded of its bark, 

 where these deer had rubbed and polished their horns when coming 

 out of the velvet. 



The succeeding three days were crowded with unmitigated enjoy- 

 ment. Not a cloud dimmed the splendour of the sky. The air 

 was crisp and invigorating. The northern woods are strangely 

 beautiful in autumn as indeed they are at all other times. Still, 

 hunting on the mountains of Eastern Canada is one of the most 

 fascinating of hardy outdoor sports, not only from the attractive 

 nature of the quarry, but because of the glorious wild scenery, and 

 the exciting nature of the chase itself. The climbing is just difficult 

 enough to ensure sufficient fatigue without taxing the powers to the 

 uttermost like the inexorable Rockies. 



After some careful spying we came upon a herd led by a fairly 

 well-antlered stag, and were fortunate enough to witness his com- 

 bat with a solitary wanderer that had evidently been driven out of 

 another herd by the leader. Nothing can be finer than a caribou's 

 attitude when, challenged by a foe, he prepares for battle. It is a 

 splendid sight to witness. He then looks every inch the embodi- 

 ment of stateliness and strength, whereas at ordinary times he slinks 

 along with his neck level with his body, his head stretched out 

 nearly straight, and his antlers almost resting on his shoulders 

 by no means a graceful object. 



A battle between a well-matched pair of caribou stags is, however, 

 nothing to be compared to a combat such as I have witnessed be- 

 tween two well-grown bull moose. It is true that they charge furi- 

 ously with lowered horns and bristle at the neck. Sometimes the 

 shock throws one of the animals back on his haunches. Yet after 

 pushing and struggling for upwards of an hour they are rarely severely 

 hurt, seldom even receiving a bloody wound through their thick 

 hide. The branching of the antlers seems to make an effective guard. 

 Of course a flank attack is naturally dreaded, and the great concern 

 of the duellist whose powers are failing is to get away by spinning 

 rapidly round so as not to be caught while turning. He bolts for a 

 couple of hundred yards, but is never vigorously pursued the victor 

 relying evidently on the moral effect of his defeat. 



Having failed in securing a first-class trophy, I determined to 

 journey on to Little Bald Mountain. Here, after preparing a 



