A Newfoundland Caribou Hunt 



fifteen minutes we lay still and watched them 

 trample the ground as they struggled this way 

 and that for the mastery. The clashing of 

 their horns was like the ringing of sabres, and 

 I cannot understand why they did not break 

 them to atoms. 



If it had not been for the cows standing in- 

 terestedly about, we could no doubt have run 

 directly up to the fighting bulls unperceived. 

 At last the interloper was whipped off, and, 

 walking a little to one side, he lay down and 

 was lost to sight. But we had seen enough of 

 him to determine that he was the one we 

 wanted, and again we began our crawl. My 

 hajids were numb and swollen with the cold 

 and the rough usage I had given them, but I 

 passed my rifle forward to Tom to lug, and 

 kept on. 



Soon we were within range, but it was im- 

 possible, because of the fog, to say whether 

 the distance was two or four hundred yards. 

 The herd had fed into a clump of low bushes 

 that promised us some sort of cover, and now 

 we advanced more rapidly. We crawled 

 through their very center, once dropping flat 

 in four inches of water, while an old cow 

 walked leisurely about us not twenty feet 



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