The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 



quickly when frightened. They do not seem to 

 gallop, but trot with a long swinging gait. 



I remained in camp all next day, helping 

 to skin out the two heads I had killed, and to 

 smoke a certain portion of the flesh and tongues, 

 which latter are most excellent eating. I 

 brought them back to England, where they were 

 much appreciated. 



My luck now seemed to have deserted me, and 

 for days we did not come across a hoof of any 

 description. I killed several more willow grouse 

 for the pot, and Johnny made repeated journeys 

 to the dead caribou in order to bring in the meat. 



The weather, which up to then had been 

 delightful, broke, and it rained incessantly. The 

 wind blew a hurricane, and I was glad of my 

 ground - sheets otherwise my blankets and 

 clothes would have been soaked. The lean-to 

 was admirable in fine or frosty weather, but the 

 rain trickled through it on to my bed in little 

 rivulets. 



There was no fun going out shooting under 

 these conditions, and we whiled away the time 

 in yarning, smoking, and eating. Johnny had 

 brought in the greater part of the meat, and the 

 trees in the vicinity of camp looked like a 

 butcher's shop. 



Next we had sharp frosts at night, diversified 

 by heavy falls of snow. It was better than rain, 

 and spooring was greatly simplified. The veriest 



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