Trail and Camp-Fire 



from there through our glasses, and passed 

 judgment upon them. If we decided they 

 were desirable, the one whose turn it was 

 seated himself in the canoe, his hunter took 

 the paddle, and a spirited race began to see 

 whether the bull or the boat would reach the 

 prospective landing place first. Often it was 

 the caribou, and when that proved the case 

 the only recourse for the hunter was to hur- 

 riedly scramble ashore and take the chances 

 of a long running shot. 



It was the exception when caribou, once 

 started across the lake, turned back again. 

 Even if a human being was in view on the 

 shore they were making for they would not 

 return on their course, but would turn up or 

 down the shore, and seek a second landing. 

 If frustrated a second time, then they might 

 swim back again, but seldom, indeed, did one 

 turn at the first sign of danger. 



It would be no difficult task to fill a book 

 with our trip amidst the lakes and woodlands 

 of Newfoundland. Indeed, I find the hardest 

 thing to do is to condense my narrative into 

 the small number of pages I am allowed. But, 

 of course, I must not neglect the telling of my 

 father's first kill. Like mine, it was witnessed 



894 



