July io, 1909 ] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
90 
practice I had carried the little rifle with me, 
since it occupied so little space. 
My host was the owner of quite a large flock 
of fine sheep, of which he was justly proud. The 
season s lambs were coming on nicely while I 
was there and were all doing well. Spring came 
in early and the snow was largely gone, so that 
they were always carefully housed at night. But 
even with this precaution now and then one 
would be lost, from exposure or accident. ' For 
two days in succession, while I was there, a 
lamb was missing, and the finest and strongest 
of the flock at that, and their owner at once 
declared that there was something suspicious 
about their loss, especially as their bodies cpuld 
not be found. “It may be that they strayed away 
and perished,” he would often repeat, “but I 
doubt it. Somebody knows more about this busi¬ 
ness than they’re lettin’ on; or it may be that 
dogs from a neighboring farm are the culprits. 
And now that I think of it, seems to me I did 
wild beast, and it was easy to infer that here the 
tussle would take place, when it did occur. Thus 
my first day’s search enabled me to locate the 
probable camp of the enemy, but that was all. 
Day after day I continued the hunt, slipping 
away unobserved, usually in the morning and 
evening. Now and then I thought I detected 
traces of the presence of the cat, but aside from 
these slight encouragements no luck fell to my 
lot. It began to look as though I might be 
baffled, after all, and more than once as I 
trudged homeward empty-handed through the 
woods I congratulated myself on my forethought 
in keeping my purpose to myself and so escaping 
the good-natured jeers which I would otherwise 
have been compelled to endure. 
But success is usually the result of untiring 
patience, in the woods as well as anywhere else, 
and at length, one evening just at dusk, as I 
was making my way home, quite unexpectedly 
the cat leaped lightly out of a clump of bushes 
Life and Sport in Labrador. 
Most salmon anglers on rivers running into 
the St. Lawrence and a great multitude of the 
older generation of Forest and Stream readers 
know, or know of, Napoleon A. Comeau. Mr. 
Comeau has spent almost his whole life on the 
Labrador coast, where in a multitude of' ways 
he has been of service to his fellow men. He 
is the principal man of his own settlement and 
others near it, holds half a dozen Govern¬ 
ment positions, is in fact, if not by title, phy¬ 
sician for much of his coast, is an accomplished 
naturalist and a keen sportsman. 
Mr. Comeau has just written a book entitled 
“Life and Sport on the North Shore of the 
Lower St. Lawrence and Gulf,” which is, fn 
fact, the story of his adult life, a graphic yet 
modest recital of fifty years’ work for humanity 
and science in one of the least known but most 
interesting sections of Northern Canada. The 
see some of their tracks in the woods back of 
the pasture where the snow still hangs on. I 
don’t like to think ill wrongfully of my neigh¬ 
bors or their dogs, but it looks bad, I say. I’d 
give a ten dollar note to have the thing cleaned 
up, though, quick!” 
| Any suggestion of tracks to the dyed-in-the 
wool hunter is like disclosing a promising clue 
0 the trained detective, and I forthwith resolved 
o slip away without revealing my purpose and 
securing my little rifle and concealing it about 
ny clothing, make all possible haste to the pas¬ 
ture woods, to have a look about for myself. 
There were the tracks, sure enough, but not 
log tracks. That I could tell at a glance; and 
urthermore, what I saw set my hunting blood 
i-boiling, for if they did not indicate the pres- 
■nce of a bobcat, and a good sized one at that, 
hen I was willing to admit myself mistaken. All 
hought of business flew from my mind. Here 
vas a challenge to my woodcraft which I could 
iot well refuse. 
And now for the business of the hunt! The 
irst thing to do was to get the general lay of 
he land. The trail led into the depths of a 
wamp some three miles away, so dense in 
laces that I could scarcely force my way 
trough it; a most excellent hiding place for any 
WOMEN ON THE TRAIL. 
directly in my path, and turned and faced me. 
Now that my quarry was in sight I must con¬ 
fess to being not a little nonplused. I can 
remember to this day reflecting that I ought to 
have brought my heavier rifle with me, as I 
looked along the tiny barrel of the piece in my 
hand and recalled what a savage slashing and 
clawing the ugly beast before me would cer¬ 
tainly administer to my legs, in case I only 
wounded him, or failed to ward him off in some 
other way. But the little bullet sped true, and 
I was soon on my way again, dragging the cov¬ 
eted sheep thief after me. And how my host 
exclaimed when he laid eyes upon the creature! 
“Well, by gum! Who’d a-thought it! That’s 
what’s been killing my lambs, eh! I’d a-never 
believed it, though!” And then as his eyes rested 
on the little gun that I held in my hand, he 
added : “And you brought him down with that, 
too! If that ain’t the greatest yet!” 
The Major. 
RHYMES OF THE STREAM AND FOREST. P,y 
Frank Merton Buckland. 
This little book of verses breathes a love of the wild 
inspired by pleasant sojourn by its rippling rills and 
columned temples. The author is an ardent disciple of 
old Izaak Walton; the head and tail-pieces which decorate 
each double page are symbolic of his rhymes The 
verses commend themselves to brethren of the crafl. - 
Detroit Free Press. 
volume, of nearly 450 pages, is most interest¬ 
ing from every point of view. It is the record 
of a long and active life out-of-doors, the life 
of a man trained from childhood to observe and 
reason, who sets down with the simplicity and 
directness of the outdoor man of the best type 
the things that have come to him. 
A few brief paragraphs here to be quoted 
will give some idea of the charm of the book. 
If these appeal only to certain classes of read¬ 
ers, there are paragraphs and chapters for men 
and women of all tastes. In a chapter dealing 
with odd shots, which he calls “Unaccount- 
ables,” are given many examples of the queer 
things that bullets will do. One day the author 
was out seal shooting, carrying a Kentucky bal- 
lard rifle of .46 bore. The cartridge was short, 
with rather a heavy bullet, accurate at short 
range, but with a very big trajectory at long 
ones. Mr. Comeau says: “We had just de¬ 
cided to return ashore when F. Poulin, who was 
out shooting also, came alongside of us to in¬ 
quire about our luck. While chatting together 
a seal bobbed up at about 600 yards. ‘Look at 
that beggar, said Poulin; ‘give him a shot to 
make him show his flippers.’ I told him the 
distance was too great to come anywhere near 
close to him, but that he would hear the bullet 
