HUNTING ON THE UPPER GANDER 123 



The sight of this little episode was one of intense excite- 

 ment to Sandy, who had watched the whole scene from the 

 appearance of the stag opposite the camp. He had gazed 

 upon it at about 60 yards distance, was prepared to swear 

 to me on my return that he had seen the greatest stag that 

 ever breathed, and was just becoming heart-broken as it 

 walked away, when he saw me come round the bend of the 

 river, "put three guns at 'um, and take 'um down." 



On the death of the stag the excitable Sandy was to be 

 seen rushing wildly out of the woods into the river, waving 

 in one hand his somewhat dilapidated hat and brandishing 

 in the other a huge knife, which followed every occupation, 

 from cutting trees to opening tin cans. Sandy took the 

 river with sportsmanlike enthusiasm, and was speedily at 

 work taking off the stag's head, haunches, and rump fat. 



This stag carried the first exceptional head which I had 

 killed in Newfoundland. It was 42 inches long, and had 

 very heavy "tops," with long points. The brows were each 

 fully developed and of large size, and the whole head bore 

 forty-four clearly defined points — a very unusual number. 

 The only weak part was his bays or middle palms. 



It was pitch dark when Sandy had finished his cold 

 task, and we sat long admiring the beautiful horns, com- 

 paring it with others, and waiting for Little Bob. That 

 individual turned up by-and-by, and, after a hearty supper 

 and the head was skinned, we turned in just as the rain 

 came down in torrents. During the night my faith in the 

 excellence of the Newfoundland lean-to received a rude 

 shock. The method of shelter with front open to the 

 blazing logs is certainly brighter, warmer, and more cheerful 

 than any tent, provided there is no heavy rain, and that the 

 wind does not shift. If such unfortunate things occur there 



