Trail and Camp-Fire 



back, that I felt a momentary pity well up in 

 my breast. 



The bull swam strongly on, unconscious of 

 danger; yet, more swiftly than he swam, his 

 doom flew down the shore. I could see my 

 father and Tom Beaton swaying rhythmically 

 to their work, putting their hearts into each 

 and every stroke. The canoe seemed alive. 

 Soon they had come within range, still unper- 

 ceived. The caribou was making for a strip 

 of sand beach a few yards the other side of a 

 point that stretched far out in the lake. 



The canoe rounded this point before the 

 deer saw it, and then, to our great surprise, 

 instead of landing there, where they would 

 have been offered a splendid shot as the bull 

 came ashore, they kept on, and, running be- 

 tween the deer and the bank, turned him 

 back. 



Then began a race across the lake that was 

 as exciting as anything of the kind I have ever 

 seen. The caribou had a fifty-yard lead and 

 swam hard. At any part of the race, had my 

 father wished, he could have shot him easily, 

 but, of course, he did not. We upon the shore 

 guessed what he was doing. He was count- 

 ing the points on the antlers, and deciding 



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