40 



NOTES OF THE HUNT. 



f 



Willie went to Poverty Lake, saw some water, trees, 

 sky and things, but found the day monotonous, with no 

 sound of dogs or shots. He lingered for the regulation 

 length of time, however, and came home at three. Tom 

 Salmon lost his dogs, which had not returned to camp 

 at 10.30 p.m. At Devil's Angle, little was heard of 

 either dogs or guns, but there was beauty everywhere. 

 In the sinuosities of this curious lake nestled the 

 shell duck, while overhead flew, now and then, flocks of 

 black ducks near enough for a good eye and a shot gun. 

 Loons swam and dived within cautious distance, and 

 the mink quitted his hole to make darts along the dead 

 brush- wood close in shore, like a pretty water- squirrel, 

 examining the canoe whilst its occupants sat motionless, 

 as if wondering what sort of a dweUing-place for a 

 mink it would make.- The shrill pipe of the wood-cock, 

 the call of the snipe, the inviting note of the chick-a-dee 

 and the discordant " avaunt" of the raven. All these 

 we heard, and more. , . • 



It was matter of astonishment to learn that the deep 

 " boom " heard at intervals in the perfect stillness was 

 caused by the fall of a pine three miles away, the victim 

 of a lumberman's axe, and that the tinkle of r cow-bell 

 or the farm-yard sounds and human voices, apparently 

 within the distance of what towns-folk would term a 

 block, were distant more than half a mile. 



As the afternoon faded away, the guides amused 

 themselves shooting at corked bottles flung into the 

 lake in front of Camp, until the fusillade became gen- 

 eral, half the Club joining in. Tinker's Colt's pistol 

 cartridges were nearly all used, but nobody seemed able 

 to hit anything with that loud barker that * kicked so 

 like a young steer." May be, having been on a window- 



