218 HUNTING CAMPS. 



After this Jack and I went on our way, and finally 

 set up our camp about half a mile above Little Gull 

 River. We chose a spot peculiarly suited for September 

 hunting, putting up our lean-to in a little thicket on a 

 promontory, from which we had a view of the river-bed 

 both east and west. On the further bank a continuous 

 wood of spruce and birch extended for miles, while 

 behind us lay great expanses of young timber inter- 

 spersed with marshes and barrens. Out of the birch-wood 

 opposite several deer-roads descended to the water's 

 edge, among them some veritable highways, but, as 

 there was no sign of migration, only the few stags that 

 had summered in the vicinity were travelling them. 



The same night, as we were lighting our fire, a young 

 stag of about twenty points walked quietly out of the 

 birches and began to cross the river, but in mid-stream 

 caught the wind of our fire and at once turned and 

 rushed back into the woods. On the following morning 

 we were up at dawn and hunted all day in the direction 

 of Red Indian Lake, but our eyes were gladdened by 

 nothing more exciting than the sight of a couple of does. 

 About four o'clock in the afternoon we climbed up a 

 high hummocky barren, surrounded by thick woods, and 

 sat in the warm sunshine smoking our pipes in, it must 

 be owned, a very depressed state of mind. Our eyes 

 ached with staring through the glasses at every patch of 

 grey or white among the green, yellow, and crimson 

 network made by the woods and mosses. 



As evening began to fall I came to the conclusion 

 that the river by our camp would give us a better 

 chance, so we set out on our return, and, contrary to our 

 custom, conversed as we walked. Jack was in the lowest 

 of low spirits, and suggested gloomily that the stags had 



