XVII 



PUT NOT YOUE TRUST IN OWLS 

 1893 



"TF dat owl hoot eight times, we get big moose, dat sartin," 

 _L said my faithful Indian guide and hunter as we sat one 

 evening at the camp-fire somewhere in British North America. 

 It was a superb night, magnificent alike in scenery and colour- 

 ing, in its beauty as impossible to describe as in its gorgeous 

 tints to reproduce by brush. 



Our huge camp-fire was burning brightly on an eminence over- 

 looking a forest-girt lake, and lighted up the spruces and pines 

 and cedars which crowded around, gilding the nearest stems and 

 branches and bringing them out in sharp relief from those in the 

 darker recesses of the forest. Below us, due west, lay the beauti- 

 ful lake, not a ripple disturbing its mirror-like surface, which 

 reflected vividly and faithfully the hills beyond and the inde- 

 scribably gorgeous colouring of a Canadian sunset in the "fall." 

 Black in deepest shadow lay the hills, and sharply drawn stood 

 the pine-trees on their crest against the rich red of the sky, the 

 deepest colour gradually shading off into orange and yellow 

 towards the clear blue above; a silvery crescent moon, only 

 a few days old, and innumerable stars, doubly large and brilliant 

 in so pure an atmosphere, completed a picture half reality, half 

 watery image, which rarely could be equalled. 



The owl, hidden in its dark retreat among the spruces, and 

 evidently pleased with our appearance as we three sat in the 

 bright firelight, hooted, not eight times only, but ten ! The big 

 moose seemed as good as bagged; but what did the bird of omen 

 mean by the two extra hoots ? Did it promise us an extra- 

 ordinary big head, or did it refer to the quarter of a certain cow 



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