2 1 8 Caribou - Hunting. 



"No, he don't 'long here 't all, only summer time ; this time year 

 most always gone away warm country somewheres ; s'pose he don't 

 go pretty quick, sartin get froze." 



" S'pose all han's stop talkin', may be chance hear wa-be-pe 

 again," said Tomah. 



Taking up a position far enough away to get rid of the noise made 

 by the fire, I waited patiently for wa-be-pe. After listening intently 

 for a few moments, I heard four inexpressibly mournful, bell-like notes, 

 uttered with marked distinctness, and surprisingly like the first four 

 notes of "Auld Lang Syne." On reflection, I became impressed with the 

 idea that the notes of this bird were exactly like the first notes of the 

 song of the white-throated finch ; and after consultation with Sebatis, I 

 was convinced that I had placed the nocturnal songster correctly. At 

 the first dawn of day, after tightening our belts a hole or two, by way 

 of breakfast, as the Indians facetiously remarked, we started to pick 

 up the trail of the caribou. During the night, several inches of light 

 snow had fallen, and the storm still continued. 



" Which way, Sebatis ? " 



" Try back on big barren ; then, s'pose we don't find 'im fresh 

 track, go right camp 'fore snow gets too deep ; you see we don't 

 have no snow-shoes, make it pretty hard walkin' by-em-by." 



The storm was increasing every moment, and the light snow 

 drifting rapidly before the rising wind, as, tramping in Indian file, we 

 approached the confines of the big barren. The drift was so heavy 

 on the barren that it was hard work to make headway against it, 

 and I had just turned to regain my wind when I heard Tomah 

 ejaculate in Indian : 



" Megahlip ! Chin-e-ga-bo ! " (Caribou — be careful.) 



The words were hardly spoken, when down the wind came a 

 herd of caribou, trotting at a terrific pace, with head and scut up, 

 and sending the snow in clouds on every side. I tried to get a shot, 

 but was not quick enough. "Bang ! " to right of me — " Bang ! " to 

 left of me, from the smooth-bores of Sebatis and Tomah, and all is 

 smoke and drifting snow, out of which I get a glimpse of a head or 

 horns, then the full figure of a fast trotting caribou, and last a noble 

 buck wildly plunging in the flying poudre — a victim to the fire of 

 the Indians. 



" Come, Tomah, be quick ! help butcher caribou. No time lose 



