236 HUNTING CAMPS. 



long and fruitless journeys through the snow that covered 

 the treacherous windfalls. 



So day after day passed, until there remained but one 

 before that on which I had arranged with Mousqueton 

 in default of a better man to come out with his waggon 

 and another horse, that he described as " good and con- 

 fiding/' to convoy us back to civilisation. We determined 

 to make one final effort, although it seemed that the caribou 

 had migrated some days earlier towards their winter quarters. 



In the morning, however, Ed woke strong in the belief 

 that the gods would send us adventures, because he had 

 dreamed a lucky dream. I myself was not without hope, 

 for the last day has proved time after time lucky for my 

 companions and occasionally for myself. Sure enough, 

 about eleven o'clock, as we were walking through a grove 

 of young birch which grew upon a steep hillside, we cut 

 a broad trail, evidently made by a band of some twenty 

 caribou. It was clear from the tracks that they were 

 feeding, and consequently our hopes became very bright. 

 Amongst a medley of small slots ran a series of large ones 

 that could only have been made by a big stag. 



After some twenty minutes' tracking, during which 

 the herd most considerately travelled in a straight line 

 up-wind, a dozen grey shapes sprang out of the bushes 

 above us, immediately followed by three more from some 

 spruces and alders some hundred yards in front. One of 

 these three was the stag. I do not think I should have shot 

 at him, for as he made off his horns looked slight and thin. 

 As it turned out I should have been quite wrong in letting 

 him go. However, Ed, who had a clearer view, saluted 

 him three times without hesitation. It was not an easy 

 chance, but following his trail we found blood, and behind 

 the next clump of bush we came again in sight of the 

 wounded animal, when another shot rolled him down the 

 hillside. 



