mLPm — ON THE MAMMALIA OF NOTA SCOTIA. 113 



Indian standing motionless will imitate the cry of a female deer by 

 means of a birch bark trumpet. Presently a wandering bull 

 answers it ; faint and far away it floats upon the night wind ; but 

 each answer comes louder and louder. More plaintive and plead- 

 ing are the Indian's wild guttural sobs. Presently he sinks into the 

 ground, as crash after crash, and snort after snort, tells him of the 

 near approach of the deluded bull ; and a toss up of his hand gives 

 the sign for the party to fire. Simultaneously their double-barrelled 

 breach-loaders ring out, like platoon firing, as their eyes have 

 long been straining at and their rifles covering a dim shadow in 

 front. The huge shadow turns heavily and slowly fades into 

 darkness, with stumbling crash of branch and limb, and then all 

 know he is mortally hit, 



'* Find him to-morrow morning, this side little brook," says the 

 Indian. Had he disappeared noiselessly, there would be the chance 

 of his not being hit ; but there is no looking now, the moon has 

 gone down. Through the darkness and the night mist, they grope 

 their way to camp, knock the smouldering brands together, light 

 their pipes, and wrapt in their blankets soon defy the hoarfrost that 

 is painting their sleeping forms. No description can show the 

 fascination of this sport. But to play the play aright, wood craft, 

 fardour, self denial, endurance of cold and wet, and, above all, 

 prompt and thorough obedience to your Indian hunter, are all so 

 necessary, that there are but few players in this sylvan scene. 

 Above all, it is unsportsmanlike: it is breaking the first law in 

 every code for the preservation of game ; it is disturbing the game 

 in their breeding time. To have a close time for all birds, beasts 

 <and fishes, for re-production, is the first and fundamental law of all 

 game legislation. 



Yet we have time only to touch lightly here, and proceed to the 

 next way of hunting, which is called still-hunting or creeping 

 here in America, but stalking in England, and which calls forth in 

 the hunter the highest qualities of his art. A white man needs a 

 slight snow to track his quarry within shooting distance ; but it is 

 marvellous to see an Indian throw himself upon the ground, and 

 just where your heedless foot has passed, spread apart the dead 

 leaves, and show you the impression in the soft earth of a moose's 



