260 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 



an open marsh without any cover but three 

 great boulders about 800 yards from where 

 they were. The biggest stag had a very pretty 

 head, but careful examination with the glass 

 decided me to let him go. Steve said, " Pity 

 that not forty- pointer." The position looked 

 so impossible that I told Steve we never could 

 have got a stalk or a shot. " I drive him," 

 said Steve. Wishing to see how he would 

 manage it I told him to go ahead, while I lay 

 behind the big boulder; meanwhile the stags 

 lay down. He took a tremendous round and 

 presently I saw him about a mile on the other 

 side of the stags, who at the moment got his 

 wind, rose and began to trot away, but not 

 towards me. Suddenly I saw Steve trotting 

 along to turn them, which he did most success- 

 fully, for the three stags came along at a swing- 

 ing trot, the big one behind, and passed in the 

 open about 150 yards from me. The shot 

 was such a sporting one I could not resist it, 

 and as the thud of the bullet came back to me 

 the stag dashed forward at a gallop and rolled 

 over stone dead, shot through the heart. My 

 last stalk and shot of the trip. I cannot 

 pretend that stalking caribou is a high form 

 of sport. If the wind is right and there are 

 not too many hinds about one can take any 

 liberties. Of all the animals I have shot the 



