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turn back to the canoes when there was the sound like a 

 stick cracking, and the next moment the top of a caribou 

 stag's horn appeared above the bush about 130 yards away. 

 The next moment it disappeared, though I could now see 

 the line of the animal's back. Another moment and the 

 stag would be gone for ever, so I rested the Mannlicher 

 on the top of Little Bob's head, and let go. The stag instantly 

 plunged forward into view, showing at once that it was hard 

 hit ; I could now see the head and shoulders, so I fired 

 again, and the beast, with a bullet in the neck, immediately 

 fell dead. 



Saunders soon brought the canoes round, and, crossing 

 over the island, we examined our first prize, which proved 

 to be a fair beast of about five years old. Sandy now joined 

 us, and we lost no time in taking the best of the haunch 

 meat, fat, and tongue, and in half-an-hour had continued 

 our journey, feeling very happy, as every hunter does when 

 his camp is well supplied with the food on which men alone 

 can hunt. 



Shortly after passing the park-like scenery on the banks 

 of the Great Gull River, the river narrowed again, and fresh 

 sign of deer — the tracks of big stags only — became more 

 frequent. It was just getting dusk, and I was thinking of 

 stopping to make camp for the night, when I heard the 

 subdued roar of the waterfall about a mile ahead, so we 

 resolved to press on in the dark, reaching a clump of timber 

 close behind the fall itself, and at a spot where portaging 

 would be easy on the following day. 



Taken all round, this was about the most successful trip 

 I ever made, but, just as there are always days in every 

 hunter's life in which everything seems to go wrong and 

 nothing is right, I instance the following as an example of 



