THE Broap BarrReEN. 65 

perhaps at this moment, lies, out of the wind at mid-day 
the wary caribou, wide awake even if half asleep, while chew- 
ing over again his morning browsings). While the sun shines 
above over all, brightening the wavy tops of the trees, and 
tempering down the keen edge of the northwest winds that are 
sure to find us out if we come down when they are having a 
little fun, racing wild and free over their broad, white park. 
Circling away from the vicinity of (at this time) the best 
feeding ground for the caribou, we followed the stream down 
to the young birch forest, crossed over to the lower end and 
commenced our quiet still hunting up the barren with the 
wind blowing strong toward us. Travelling a little way 
apart, keeping just in sight of each other, we moved from one 
clump of trees to another, with an easy going lounging gait, 
stopping at times behind some friendly evergreen to look well 
over every small opening. It was a most perfect day for hunt- 
ing on the barrens, and we were in great hopes of interviewing 
Mr. Caribou strolling down the wind, and in this were not to 
be disappointed, for we had gone but a little way before we 
sighted a moving caribou, that at the first was feeding and 
slowly moving about. As he wandered out in full sight 
in a clear space, knowing their imperfect vision at a distance 
and being dressed in caribou plumage, a suit of gray much 
like the trunks of the trees and similar to their own color, we 
instead of walking toward him, played caribou, thinking we 
might induce him ‘to.come to see us. Noting his drowsy, 
dreamy movements while feeding about as if grieved or 
sleepy, we concluded we could imitate him quite easily, 
for having been disappointed in love many times in youth, we 
could easily adapt this style rather suggestive of misery. So 
stepping out in plain sight, we lounged about with head down, 
