A Newfoundland Caribou Hunt 



We intended to head off my father's bull 

 should he come that way, which was highly 

 probable. But we saw nothing more of either 

 the hunters or the bull till four o'clock in the 

 afternoon, when the former returned and re- 

 ported a kill after an extremely hard stalk of 

 five miles, an exciting miss, and a splendid 

 snap shot through the trees, when he had 

 given up all hope of ever seeing that particu- 

 lar bull again. 



From our new position we could see far to 

 the west and north, and everywhere our 

 glasses disclosed bands of feeding caribou. 

 The plain was literally honeycombed with 

 countless game trails that resembled wagon 

 roads more than paths. And everywhere the 

 level reach was dotted with silver ponds and 

 lakes. It was a wonderful sight, the most 

 marvelous I have ever seen, and we spent an 

 hour viewing it. 



Then we returned to the slain bulls, and, 

 after literally driving the cows away, for one 

 of them lay quite still until we were within 

 thirty yards of her, we began skinning out. 



We arrived in camp late that night, tired 

 with the exhausting tramp down hill in the 

 dark through the thickest of woods, but 



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