The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 

 nothing happened. Again the whistle, after a 

 second's interval, which aroused him this time, 

 and within forty yards of us a grand bull slowly 

 arose, stretching himself, standing broadside on 

 to me. Now was my opportunity ! Covering 

 the centre of his shoulder-blade with the sights, 

 I pressed the trigger, and the soft-nosed bullet 

 hit him exactly where I had intended. He 

 crumpled up as though he had been shot through 

 the brain. 



This was much better. We found him stone 

 dead a nice symmetrical pair of horns, but 

 small. 



"You'll get better than this," said Pat 

 prophetically, his words, as the words of all 

 prophets should, luckily coming true. 



We cut off the head, leaving plenty of skin on 

 the neck, gralloching the beast, and taking the 

 kidneys with us. We stuck a piece of paper in a 

 cleft stick, to enable us to describe the spot to 

 our Indian, whom I meant to send out here to 

 bring the meat into camp. 



It was now twelve o'clock, and the fresh air 

 and an early breakfast had made us ravenous. 

 We had lunch, therefore cold caribou meat and 

 bread washed down with a drink of water from 

 the gulch below us. 



After smoking the pipe of peace we started off 

 on our way back to camp, Pat carrying the head 

 of my beast on his back, the horns resting one 



24 



