CHAPTER VIII 



HOMEWARD BOUND 



Just as we had packed up a fearful thunder- 

 storm came on which lasted over an hour, and 

 we did not get away till 11.45, arriving at 

 Sandy Pond at 3 o'clock, wet through. The 

 water was pouring down the hill sides, every 

 deep deer track was a torrent, and it was heavy 

 going through the marshes. We had a meal 

 and a change of clothes, and, packing the 

 canoes, reached the portage into Sandy Pond 

 at dusk. The evening was fine; we pitched 

 camp in a nice droke and over a good hot supper 

 at 9 o'clock the discomforts of the day were 

 soon forgotten. By the aneroid the Shoe Hill 

 Droke was 370 feet above the level of Sandy 

 Grove Pond. There was just a last chance of 

 a stag, as Steve said there was some good 

 ground in the direction of where I had shot the 

 first stag. I sent him out at daybreak on the 

 22nd, and he came back reporting three stags 

 about half-a-mile away, one of which he 

 thought was a good one. 



We started away and found them feeding in 



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