Killing the Caribou 



Here's sport indeed ! 



CYMBELINE. 



had been semi-prisoners for about three weeks, 

 and wearied with rains and high winds which effec- 

 tually prevented the successful bunting of big game in 

 the location of our camp. 



Early one morning in October my guide said to me 

 " Suppose we go and try to find that dam." We had 

 heard a great many stories about a dam at the head 

 of the stream which forms the inlet to our little lake, 

 but were inclined to think some of these stories Mun- 

 chausenish. None of our guides had ever seen the 

 dam and had only hearsay for its location and dis- 

 tance. One maintained it was but five miles away ; 

 another six, and the third vowed it was a good eight 

 miles off; besides, there are two branches to the 

 stream, and no one knew on which of them the dam 

 was placed. So the guide and I started in light hunt- 

 ing order, with a few bouillon capsules which were to 

 serve us for dinner and supper, and possibly breakfast, 

 if we shouldn't get back that night. We found a 

 spotted path through the woods that led to an old 

 tote-road up which we went splashing through the 



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