The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 



rather more to the left, making, as it were, a big 

 circling movement back to camp, which, at this 

 point, must have been eight or nine miles off. 

 Johnny was still leading when suddenly he 

 dropped like a stone into the wet moss. " Stag ! " 

 he muttered. I fairly shook with excitement, 

 for I had not been smart enough to see the beast 

 as yet. Johnny now ran about one hundred yards 

 sharp to his left, where a long mound ran along- 

 side a small dip in the ground. Here, too, was a 

 gigantic rock, behind which we dropped out of 

 sight, whilst the Indian peered round one corner 

 of it. Then he touched the rifle, and told me by 

 signs to look. 



There, surely enough, strolling along across 

 our front, was a caribou stag. 



I sat down, resting my elbow on my knee, 

 waiting until he should put in an appearance my 

 side of the rock. I had the rifle to my shoulder, 

 and at last the grand beast walked into view, not 

 more than one hundred yards away. He stopped, 

 looking about him, and I drew a bead on his 

 shoulder. Useless ! The rifle wobbled all over 

 the place, and for the life of me I could not keep 

 it still, nor hold my breath. My heart was in 

 my mouth, and all the time the rifle trembled 

 and shook. 



The caribou moved on a few paces, and I 

 determined that if I meant to shoot at all I must 

 obtain better control of my nerves. I still 



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