ON THE GANDER RIVER. 215 



the abstract, yet the keener he is and the greater his 

 experience the more strongly he realises that no game 

 is worth playing into which a man's whole heart does 

 not enter. 



Hardy on that day saw seven deer, but nothing 

 worth shooting. During the next fourteen days we 

 both learnt a very fair amount about September hunt- 

 ing, but neither of us fired at a stag. The few we 

 gained sight of were young animals, and not such as we 

 wanted. During this time we went up-river and 

 visited our rivals, who had secured four stags, none of 

 them very remarkable. 



Just before arriving at Burnt Hill, near the "beel 

 of the Gander," in Bob's phrase, we began to pass 

 through forests that had been destroyed by fire, and in 

 which the Indians find black bear. To go further was 

 useless, so we determined to hunt in the beautiful 

 country that we had seen between Little Gull River 

 and Migwell's Brook. To this we accordingly returned. 



One evening at this time, as we sat by our fire, which 

 we had made on the bank of the river near Serpentine 

 Hill, we detected an odour which was certainly more 

 curious than pleasant, and which we at first attributed 

 to our sealskin boots that had not been adequately cured. 

 But after the offending boots had been removed beyond 

 the sphere of our senses the smell remained in its 

 original force and seemed to come from the back of the 

 camp. A short exploration in that quarter showed us 

 good reason for it. An Indian had camped there some 

 time in the previous winter. We found his blanket, 

 rotted with wet, his cup and his knife, and the bones of 

 a deer. Of the Indian himself no sign remained. He 

 may have deserted his camp all standing, though such 



