234 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



edge of the forest, evidently on the point of entering 

 its dense cover. He was gazing suspiciously in our 

 direction had probably seen some movement, but 

 not enough to be certain what the danger was. These 

 are the thrilling moments of a stalk. A hasty move- 

 ment or a turn of ill-luck might lose the chance. 



Two red men, with thoughts intent on fat venison 

 steaks, watched my every movement as I quietly 

 insinuated the barrel of the rifle over the friendly 

 tree-trunk and drew a bead on the sleek gray side of 

 the deer. As I pulled he seemed to vanish. 



We made our way up the bank of the watercourse 

 on foot, and followed on the track. Here the red 

 men's craft came in. Once in the forest I could see 

 no sign, but Dick and his companion were thoroughly 

 at home. They followed for some 50 yards a trail 

 absolutely invisible to me ; presently, with some slight 

 show of excitement, pointed to a drop of blood on a 

 leaf ; followed on another few hundred yards, and 

 there, stone-dead, lay a fine black-tail buck, shot 

 through the body a trifle too far back. 



It is not necessary to dwell on the remaining 

 incidents of this three days' hunt. We lunched 

 gorgeously on fat ribs of venison roasted. We took 

 two fat haunches back to the canoe. We caught 

 more trout higher up the river. Late that afternoon 

 we jumped a small black bear near the head of the 

 valley, and I killed him with a lucky downhill shot. 

 We returned downstream after dark in a most cheer- 

 ful frame of mind, to find the engineer with six 

 couple of duck anxiously awaiting our arrival at the 

 tent. Next day we returned to the skipper and the 

 steam -tug, killing another buck this time a small 

 one on the way home ; and the following day found 

 us back in Victoria. 



