180 HUNTING CAMPS. 



Soon after dark we reached the hut on Depot Lake, a 

 spot which has since been made the headquarters of a 

 shooting and fishing club. The hut proved most 

 comfortable, being fitted with rough bedsteads, good 

 stoves, and a small library of books, altogether a far 

 more luxurious hunting camp than any to which I was 

 accustomed. 



Edward Atkins had been for eight years a Maine 

 guide at the camps of his uncle, the well-known Will 

 Atkins, who is said to give his clients more sport and 

 to manage his camps more adequately than any other 

 man in the same line of business. Ed proved to be one 

 of the keenest hunters, and is certainly a good moose 

 caller, and I liked him from the first, a liking which 

 has been increased by the five other trips we have since 

 then made together in Canada. 



We had dinner, and were before long in bed, and, 

 though we heard it rain in the night, we woke to find 

 the morning splendidly fine. As compared with the 

 woods among which I had just spent some weeks in 

 Newfoundland, I was much struck by the height and 

 growth of the Canadian trees, and especially of the 

 grand hardwood ridges. The lake, which lay in front of 

 the hut, was crowded to its very verge by the forests, 

 and open spaces were few and far between. The 

 country looked in all respects an excellent one for 

 moose, and I was not a little glad to find myself well 

 launched on a trip that had been dwelling on my mind 

 with a good deal of persistency for more than two 

 years. 



We spent a lazy day, as Ed thought it wiser not 

 to disturb the ground for calling, though at the same 

 time he doubted whether the bulls would still answer at 



