212 HUNTING CAMPS. 



something stirring in the woods, and a moment or two 

 later a stag appeared, feeding slowly along at the foot of a 

 hummock nearly a mile away. He was gone out of sight 

 before we could focus him with the telescope, but his large 

 size and branching antlers led me to believe that he was 

 the very animal I had set my heart on finding. 



When I stalked him fortune stood my friend, for we 

 came upon his tracks before we again saw him, and, follow- 

 ing them very cautiously for eighty or a hundred yards, 

 presently got a view of the stag, his head hidden behind a 

 bush. When he raised his antlers above the thicket I 

 rejoiced, for he was the same stag, and no other. It was 

 impossible to mistake the enormous solid brow, but I now 

 perceived that the second brow was represented by a little 

 single spike. Still, the horns were so wide and set at such 

 a fine angle that I felt no hesitation about killing him. I 

 shot him through the heart, at about eighty yards, and he 

 sprang forward down the hill and fell dead at the bottom 

 of it. 



We were very pleased that our long waiting had issued 

 in success, for to hunt a stag is always more sport than to 

 hunt stags, since to locate and track a particular animal 

 affords greater scope for plan and stratagem. 



The season was by this time drawing to a close. Hardy 

 had shot two stags and I three, but as the Newfoundland 

 Government had kindly given me permission to shoot extra 

 specimens for natural history purposes, I intended to exer- 

 cise my right if by luck I saw a very good stag, but not 

 otherwise. Towards the end Hardy and I hunted together, 

 and some very memorable, though unsuccessful, days we 

 spent up and down the whole range of the Gander country, 

 from the Burnt Woods to Migwell's Brook and Rolling 

 Falls. 



We were returning to camp one day, having spent a 

 part of the afternoon within a few yards of a young stag 



