A POOR FORM OF SPORT. 71 



I had seen shot in the morning. That evening 

 I again slept at Howley station. 



On the following morning, leaving my cook 

 and the guide's son to take my baggage on a 

 trolley about a mile along the line and there 

 pitch camp, I again went out with the father of 

 the latter to look for a good caribou stag. 

 I may here mention that within a hundred 

 yards of where my camp was pitched the cook 

 found the fresh-killed carcase of a fawn which 

 had probably been shot by someone the 

 previous evening. The meat was perfectly 

 good, and whilst it lasted I was saved from 

 the necessity of killing a doe or young stag for 

 the larder. 



As my experiences of the previous day had 

 thoroughly disgusted me, I told my guide that 

 he must take me for a day's walk through the 

 country, as I would not again sit on a " lead " 

 and wait for caribou to come to me. He 

 acknowledged that it was a poor form of sport, 

 but said that at this time of year it paid better 

 than walking and looking for caribou, as the 

 animals were all travelling, and so seldom gave 



