412 RECREATION 
the bushes, following the course of the 
wide runway. I ran to the spot at once, 
hoping to get a parting shot at her, when 
a fine buck coming full speed on the same 
trail almost stumbled into me. He stopped 
a second in confusion, offering a good 
shoulder shot, and then went on along the 

moose-hunter and trapper in the Mirimichi 
country, was helping me pack in the 
scalp and antlers of a bull killed that 
morning. We had seen a number of moose 
that week and a few deer. When about 
two miles from camp, a good-sized buck 
jumped suddenly from his bed and scurried 

By Irvin Rhodes 
THE REWARD OF SKILFUL STILL-HUNTING—IT SEEMS A PITY WHEN AT LAST THE 
BRAVE FELLOW Is DOWN 
runway for a few hundred feet. I found 
him quite dead, and, placing my rifle against 
a tree, ‘commenced 10° >  paunch hina 
In about ten minutes a deer) blew? a 
short distance up the trail; so I followed 
it backward in time to see another smaller 
buck standing directly in the pathway. 
He had already winded me and bounded 
off at my approach. Both of these bucks 
had been following the same doe. 
One afternoon Bill Carson, a lifelong 
off into the alders before I had time to get 
my rifle in action. We ruefully watched 
his white tail zigzagging in and out among 
the trees as he bounded up the slope. I 
suggested to Bill that during the remainder 
of the trip we hunt deer. The old man 
flared up at once, remarking, with a look 
in which scorn and pity were equally 
mixed, “Shoot deer! They’re not fit 
game for a decent man to hunt when there’s 
moose an’ caribou about. Why, I never 
