Newfoundland 



covered him with the sights, or thought I was 

 doing so, as I pulled the trigger on the beast that 

 was standing broadside on with his head turned 

 from me. 



I was using a '500 Winchester Express, and 

 it was the work of an instant to pump another 

 cartridge into the chamber and fire again. Still 

 no move on the part of my target. He faced the 

 other way nonchalantly, listening with interest 

 to the echo of the rifle in the distant canyons. 



I was getting desperate now, and could hear 

 the Micmac muttering all sorts of imprecations 

 behind my back, which only made things worse. 

 I fired five more shots at that caribou as he stood 

 as though carved in wood, persevering until he 

 turned off calmly into a belt of timber. 



This story is an absolute fact ! I would not 

 have credited it had I not been the one to make 

 such a fool of myself. My feelings can be more 

 readily imagined than described I could have 

 cried with vexation and shame. Johnny took 

 the rifle, looked it over, patted it as though he 

 would demand of it whether the fault lay with 

 it or the user, and I tried to make excuses to 

 myself for myself. 



Then Johnny desired to know if I had any 

 more cartridges, an unintentional bit of sarcasm, 

 perhaps, on his part. I had seven left, and the 

 Indian put one in the chamber as we walked 

 along. 



c 17 



