hide. I understand this 
coming year they have 
reduced this to $20, 
which is a pity, for one 
of these blood-thirsty 
villains will help kill 
more game in one win- 
ter than the average 
sportsman will kill in 
a lifetime. 
OE said it was very 
unusual to find 
wolves running moose 
or caribou in the day- 
time at this season of 
the year, and more un- 
usual to come upon a 
whole pack of them as 
we did. It was the 
first time he had ever 
run across a pack of 
wolves except in the 
winter months, when 
hunger drives them to put caution 
aside. I prize my wolf hide and scalp 
more than any of my other trophies. 
After skinning the wolf we put the 
hide and skull into my ruck-sack, and 
while Joe was looking around to see if 
I had wounded any of the wolves, I 
experimented with my gun and found 
it would function perfectly with only 
three shells in the magazine. The 
wolves had run off in a southerly direc- 
tion—the only way we could hunt owing 
to the wind—and when we started on 
again it was with the knowledge that 
we would not be likely to see any game 
while they were ahead of us. 
E struck some splendid country to 
still-hunt through and for about 
two hours we made good progress. 
Later we came to a windfall which was 
almost half a mile wide and seemed to 
run from one side of the island to 
the other. Joe was a marvel, going 
through these dry tops without ever 
making a sound. Sometimes we would 
walk for over a hundred yards on the 
fallen tree trunks without putting a 
foot to the ground. In the middle of 
this windfall we came across a fine set 
of shed moose antlers. I judged they 
would spread a good fifty-five inches. 
They were in first-rate condition, and 
I was sorry I could not take them back 
to camp as it is quite rare to find a 
pair together. 
HE day had turned off very warm 
and in the open places the sun 
beat down as hot as in midsummer. 
We were going down a side hill and 
ahead we could see a valley in which 
Joe thought there must be a pond. “If 
pond is there I show you moose,” he 
said. So as we worked our way down 
the hill we went more slowly and as 
516 

Tenting in the Nipigon country. 
quietly as we could. Presently through 
the trees we could see an opening, and 
as we got down a little closer I caught 
the sparkle of sunlight on water. The 
side hill ended abruptly in a_ thick 
spruce swamp, and if it had not been 
for the well-worn moose trail we were 
traveling, it would have been hard to 
make any headway through it. 
N every hand were fresh moose 
signs and I expected any minute 
to see on. We crept along like two 
shadows, not making a sound. This 
is real sport, to still-hunt in a good 
game section, working slowly along, 
keeping a sharp look-out, ever ready 
for a quick shot. After I have hunted 
a while in this way without making a 
sound, when the bluejays and red 
squirrels have ceased scolding at my 
intrusion, I feel somehow as though I 
have been accepted into the brother- 
hood of wilderness folks—and am one 
of them. Sometimes I find myself 
thinking that in the near future I will 
still-hunt—without a gun, a friendly 
visitor to the big woods with no intent 
of betraying their trust. 
HE spruce swamp ended on the 
edge of a grassy bog which ran 
out two hundred feet to the water’s 
edge. Just as Joe was bending down to 
part the branches that fringed the bog, 
I saw my moose. Slightly back and a 
little to the left- of Joe, I had a clear 
view between two trees of the little 
pond. In the water, right on the edge 
of the tall grass, I saw a big pair of 
moose antlers moving up and down and 
turning as the bull leisurely swam 
along feeding on lily pads. I could not 
see any part of his body, only his big 
antlers, and it was hard to believe that 
there was an animal as large as a 
”~ moose behind the 
short swamp grass. 
WHISTLED to Joe, 
and he came back to 
where I was. We held — 
a short consultation, 
and as the wind was in 
our favor we sneaked 
out on the bog. The 
moose, all unsuspect- 
ing, was wallowing in 
the mud and water, 
and we were able to 
get quite close to him. 
In fact, it was neces- 
sary to get close in 
order to see him. At 
the end of the bog the 
mud and water was 
over twenty feet deep, 
as we found out later, 
and in this the bull 
was swimming with 
only his head and a portion of his neck 
showing. I waited till he came near 
the bank before I shot, as I hoped to 
drop him where he was so we could 
get him up on the bog easily after- 
wards. 
HE first shot went through the 
upper part of his neck, inflicting 
only a flesh wound. With a mighty 
bound he was in deeper water, swim- 
ming for the opposite shore. I fired © 
again, this time the bullet cutting 
through the hump on the top of his 
shoulders, but too high to break his 
back. The bull stopped in shallow 
water and turned his fine head to look 
back at us. His nostrils were distend- 
ed, and I could see the whites of his 
eyes as he looked at us, afraid, yet with 
a certain belligerence. Never will I 
forget the picture he made standing in 
the middle of that little pond, the 
water up to his flanks, the hair erect 
on his neck, his heavy antlers shining 
in the sunlight. Beyond him was the 
green grass of the bog, back of that 
the black swamp with its spire-like 
tops. and still beyond this the side-hill 
with its multi-colored hardwoods, tinted 
by an early frost. The water reflected 
the color of a clear blue sky, with a 
few puffy white clouds mirrored in its 
shore- protected stillness. My third 
shot broke the bull’s neck and he fell 
as though he had been “pole-axed.” 
When I put my gun down and looked 
again all I could see was a portion of 
one antler protruding above the sur- 
face of the water. 
LOOKED at Joe and his face was a 
study. ‘Maybe so, perhaps—not, we 
don’t get him out of that mud. Why 
don’t you wait and keel him when he 
climb out on other shore?” he said. | 
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