142 IN THE LAND OF THE GREAT SPIRIT 



poplar, and then dropped down to a land of black 

 ^ w spruce and scrub and " muskegs " or bogs. 



Kakikapo cut a comical figure. An old grey shirt, 

 a pair of trousers made in the Hudson Bay Co.'s 

 best manner, moccasins, round his waist a red and blue 

 "ascension" scarf into which his fire-bag was tucked, at 

 his back an old meat-tin for boiling tea in, and a 

 single-barrelled gun — these were his leading features. 

 To-day it seemed we really were in luck. For less 

 than thirty yards along the muskeg's edge we came 

 r^ie/ , upon a slot — an immense slot, and apparently no other 

 near it. For me this was enough. It was a perfectly 

 fresh track, the merest tyro could have told that ; 

 it was the track of a big bull, and it pointed right into 

 the wind. What more could we possibly want ? I 

 re-tied my moccasins with great care, I slipped in the 

 cartridges, I was ready to move on. But Kakikapo 

 was not ready yet. Along the side of the muskeg he 

 walked some fifty yards or so and back on either 

 hand. And then he came back, looking puzzled, 

 and stopped to think. This was perhaps how his 

 reasoning went. " This is the foot of a big bull. But 

 he is alone. Where is his cow? He should be 

 paired by now. Is he an old supplanted bull ? If so, 

 we lose time by following him. He will have no 



