Newfoundland 



tyro could tell by the fresh traces what game the 

 country held. I started out again, not because 

 I required any more heads, for I had a good one 

 and a medium one. I just wanted to see what I 

 should see. 



I am, and always have been, averse to shooting 

 beasts for the mere sake of killing, and having 

 slain I might say scores of animals, I would, if I 

 could, give them back their lives. Shooting with 

 a camera was not thought of in those far-off days 

 of which I write, but I can understand how 

 fascinating a pursuit it must be. You get all the 

 exercise, sport, and excitement derived from a 

 difficult stalk without the inevitable regret one 

 must always experience as one sees the quarry 

 lying dead. 



On this, the last day, I went to the barrens. 

 We saw a few hinds, and plenty of fresh spoor on 

 the snow, but no stag. 



I had decided to get back now as soon as 

 possible to the coast, as the fortnightly steamer 

 would be due in a day or two, and I wanted 

 to dry out the skins and scalps of the two beasts 

 I had kept, which was not easy in a wet camp. 



Accordingly, we struck camp, and returned 

 to La Poile, where I had to remain a day or so, 

 and once again I accepted the hospitality of the 

 manager of the lobster cannery, who gave me, 

 at supper, an introduction to spruce beer. I 

 did not like it at first, but after a fair trial I took 



29 



