IN THE HEART OF THE MOOSE COUNTRY 183 



light, and the ever restless canoe as sufficient excuses. Still I 

 felt very depressed and annoyed, did not enjoy the journey home, 

 went straight to my blankets, and felt greatly irritated at the 

 long conversation which took place afterwards in the Indians' 

 tent, which I could not help thinking referred somewhat un- 

 favourably to my skill as a shooter. It was not a happy 

 evening. 



No luck whatever had we at night. We called on many 

 occasions in the moosiest and swampiest of beaver meadows, 

 remaining out till morning. Oh ! how cold it was in the early 

 dawn, when the white mist rose from the water, but no moose 

 did we ever see. These beaver meadows are very frequent, very 

 wet, and generally surround small lakes, where moose feed 

 during the summer, and by lying in the water escape their tiny 

 enemy the flies. Fresh spoor we found everywhere, but whether 

 the most wary animal, gifted with the most acute sense of smell 

 and hearing, scented our presence or not, our vigils remained 

 undisturbed. 



What, however, we failed to do at night we accomplished by 

 day in a much more sportsmanlike manner by tracking, and 

 when eventually we began our homeward journey, two large 

 moose-heads adorned the bows of the canoes. 



On a beautifully clear frosty morning after calling unsuccess- 

 fully near a beaver meadow some miles away from our camp, my 

 tracker and I started off to see what we could do by daylight. 

 The mist of the night before had frozen on the trees, shrubs, 

 and grasses, giving them a beautiful silvery appearance, and a 

 thin coating of ice covered the water in the swampy meadows as 

 we floundered through in search of fresh spoor. Moose tracks 

 there were many but none very fresh, and it was some time before 

 the Indian seemed satisfied as he pointed to a large spoor made 

 only that night. It led towards some high tree hills and we 

 followed it over these and many more, through alder swamps, 

 where the walking was simply terrible ; we climbed over and 

 under fallen trees innumerable, walked along many more a la 

 Blondin, had to make long detours to get the wind right, until I 

 almost began to think that a little rest might not be amiss. 

 The spoor, however, became fresh and fresher, another crossed it 

 and we were puzzled at first which to follow. This settled, the 

 Indian soon after began to sniff the air whispering " smell bull." 



