EXPEDITION UP THE GANDER RIVER 101 



stags that were imprinted wherever there was sand betwixt 

 the stones. About 4 p.m. I came to a broad sweep of the 

 river, where a fine view expanded itself. Opposite to me 

 was a large wooded island — " Twillik " Island the Indians 

 call it — with shallows at its bend, and just a likely-looking 

 crossing-place for stags. So I sat down and slapped con- 

 tinuously at the black flies and mosquitoes, which were very 

 troublesome. Opposite was a backwater beyond the island. 

 There was much grass, bog bean, and alder there, and a 

 good place for a stag to " shove out," so I had more than 

 one chance to see game. Half-an-hour went by, and the 

 canoes had just reached me as I stood up to resume the 

 journey, when, looking across the backwater, I saw a grand 

 stag emerge from the woods and begin to feed without 

 concern. I immediately sat down and got ready to fire. 

 The distance seemed about 250 yards, for the beast looked 

 large, and I felt I could hit him. First shot, a miss. The 

 stag raised his head and looked about. I could not see 

 where the bullet struck ; took again a full sight, and fired. 

 The stag stepped forward evidently untouched. I fired again 

 — same result. 



" What distance are you shootin' at? " said Bob hurriedly. 



"Two hundred and fifty yards," I replied laconically. 



" He's four hundred if he's a yard," replied Saunders. 



•' He's not," I said obstinately, and fired again without 

 result. The stag now ran along the marsh looking for his 

 "lead" in the forest. Presently he found it, and I let go 

 the last cartridge in the magazine as he disappeared from 

 view. 



I stood up, feeling annoyed, as I was quite steady when 

 making the shots. Immediately I came to my feet I saw 

 that Bob was right, and that I had far under-estimated the 



