A CHROMATIC BEAR HUNT 



through a swirling ten-mile tide and burst into 

 clouds of shrieking birds at our approach. 



We anchored abreast of two tumble-down 

 shacks, and, as the afternoon was young, pre- 

 pared for exploration. Ahead of us, rolling 

 hills rose to a bolder range which formed the 

 backbone of the island. The timbered slopes 

 were broken by meadows of brilliant green, 

 floored, not with grass, but with oozy moss. 



"We've got three guns in the party," said 

 Joe, noting the preparations of Little, the 

 owner of the launch, "so I'll take the camera 

 instead of my rifle. If we see a bear, them 

 dogs can't trip up more than two of us, which 

 will leave one man to shoot and one man to use 

 the machine." 



For hours we tramped the likeliest-looking 

 country we had seen, but the wet moss showed 

 no scars, the soft snow gave no evidence of 

 having been trod, so I suggested that we di- 

 vide, in order to cover more territory. Fred 

 and Little, escorted by Jack and Jill, headed 

 towards the flats, while Joe and I turned up- 

 ward towards the heights. 



Far above timber line we found our first 

 sign, and farther on more tracks, all leading 

 down the southern slope and not in the direc- 



