Trail and Camp-Fire 



hanging on for dear life to that beast's antlers, 

 while its sharp hoofs played a tattoo alter- 

 nately upon his ribs and funny bone. 



All the while I was standing in the bow of 

 the other dory, taking pictures with reckless 

 disregard of the swaying of the boat and the 

 raindrops that sat stolidly upon my camera's 

 one eye. In a moment of calm I obtained one 

 fairly good photograph, but all those which 

 should have shown the wonderful gymnastics 

 that Fred and his captive indulged in came 

 home from the Eastman Company blighted 

 by that dismal word "failure." 



After I had finished, Fred released the stag, 

 and the way that poor brute legged it back 

 across the lake was pitiful. We watched him 

 till he took bottom and bounded out, and then 

 we rowed onward. 



The experience illustrated to us how easily 

 the Newfoundlanders are enabled to catch the 

 caribou as they swim across the waterways 

 and cut their throats, as is their common 

 custom. 



A little later in the day, while searching for 

 a passable channel up the shallow stream that 

 connects the Middle and Upper Birchie Ponds, 

 we were highly amused by the interest an old 



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