CHAPTER III 



A HUNTING TRIP AFTER CARIBOU 



I N the closing days of August the call of 

 the wild always comes to affect the even 

 tenor of my ways by an increasing happiness 

 in anticipation of the annual hunt and a 

 diminishing usefulness until the call is an- 

 swered. It begins with the short walk into 

 the country, where the chipmunk can be seen 

 scurrying along the old stake-and-rider fence, 

 occasionally stopping in the corner for con- 

 cealment while on its way to cover. When 

 finally it reaches its last stopping place it al- 

 ways takes a good look around, then darts 

 down into a burrow under some stone or old 

 decayed tree. 



The little fellow typifies to the hunter his 

 first visitor in camp, prying into the affairs of 

 others, rustling over and under the tent seeking 

 to rob and destroy. 



The whirr of the old cock-pheasant startles 

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