ON THE GANDER RIVER. 213 



under the cliff, and leaving Ned Sweetapple to prepare 

 a meal the rest of us climbed the peak to have a look 

 round. 



The prospect was most satisfactory. We were at 

 last clearly in good deer country. We could see for 

 four or five miles, and the low woods were broken by 

 outcrops of hard mossy barrens, such as the caribou love 

 to haunt. That was on the north of the Gander. On 

 the south the country was still more open, stretching 

 away for thirty miles to the rocky wall of Middle Ridge. 



In the afternoon Hardy and Bob Saunders took the 

 south bank, while I, with Jack Wells, hunted the 

 line of ridges to the north. We saw seventeen deer, 

 but not one warrantable stag until we were back in 

 camp. It was growing dark when, about six hundred 

 yards up-stream, a beautiful stag appeared, and accom- 

 panied by two does began to cross the river. I seized 

 my rifle, and getting under cover of a line of rocks com- 

 menced running towards the stag, but before I had got 

 far I slipped among the wet stones and came heavily 

 down upon my knee-cap. When I was able to hobble 

 along again, the stag had vanished. The light and 

 distance made it hard to judge of this stag at all 

 accurately, but I managed to get one good look with 

 the telescope, and I was certain that he had an excellent 

 and rather curiously-shaped pair of bays. 



It is this fact of the sudden appearance of a stag 

 which makes September hunting rather more difficult, 

 and certainly more interesting. As the animals emerge 

 from the thickets, or as one catches sight of them 

 through the trees, it needs instant decision as to 

 whether the head is what you want to shoot, and, after 

 that, quick shooting. Caribou antlers are not easily 



