304 NEAVFOUNDLAND 



have been most welcome, but as we had no such luxury we 

 had to make the best of a bad job, and built enormous fires, 

 which were often moved to suit the wind. The camp, too, 

 was a miserable one, much exposed, with the whole ground 

 covered with rocks, so that I was at last forced to strike camp 

 in a perfect deluge and make for Kesoquit. Indians, as I have 

 said before, simply loathe travelling in such weather, but in 

 this case they were quite cheerful, for a walk to Kesoquit 

 meant warmth, shelter, and the various good things which had 

 been "cached" there in the tilt. 



As we marched through the rain and the mist on 4th 

 November, I saw a single doe passing below us up the main 

 valley. Her ghost-like form was soon followed by another 

 and yet another, so we halted for a moment to see if anything 

 better was to follow. Yes, here he comes, a noble fellow with 

 long antlers. We watched him as he threaded his way through 

 a small marsh about 200 yards to our left. We were about to 

 rise and resume our journey when Steve sprang to his feet 

 with the usual exclamation, " Haskajit " (a very big one), and 

 peering through the mist I saw such a vision of horns as I 

 knew could only belong to one of these mighty ones of the 

 earth. It took us not a moment to run down the hill and 

 strike in on a line where the two stags were passing, but — as 

 bad luck would have it — the long-horned fellow came directly 

 towards us and forced an immediate subsidence to the ground 

 on our part. Here we lay as he walked by with mincing 

 steps, whilst the big one whose horns looked enormous in the 

 haze, walked quickly across the marsh at about 150 yards. 

 There was no chance but to take the shot offered, so I 

 aligned the sights as carefully as possible and fired. The 

 bullet went over his back, and he at once dashed off at full 

 speed. There was now only a faint blur to aim at, but by 



