The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1896-07-30
A Canadian Caribou Hunt.

As we reached the open and turned
northward along the western shore, Pierre
Joseph and |. who were some what ahead
of the others. saw what brought us to a
halt,-fresh tracks, They led across our
path straight for the nearest island. The
caribou were not long gone, and we in
stinctively lowered our voices to whisper
as we discussed the probability Of their
being behind the island. But no; as
looked ahead again | saw another line
across the snow. We advanced these
tracks led back from the island to the
shore, and were so fresh that at the bot
tom of each deep hoof- print the water
which overlap the ice under the heavy
snow was not yet frozen, "a significant fact
with the temperature still we'll below the
zero point. There was no whispering
now; we raised our eyes to the shore,
which was in the shade and fringed with a
dense growth of cedars. Too bad-they
had gone up into the woods; it was past
midday and too late to follow them far; if
we had only got here little sooner! But
hold on. What's that? In the gloom of
the dark cedars | saw a dim gray shape,
motionless; then another. And now |
one that some years of experience should
have taught me to avoid; had left the
cover on my rifle. Slowly and cautiously
| drew it off, not daring to make sudden
movement, but breathless with the fear
that the game might start, for one jump
into the bush and the only chance was
gone. My heart was beating so that
wondered if the caribou would not hear
it, when just as | got the rifle free they
started, not two Of them, but three, and
not into the woods, but straight across us
out over the lake, about hundred yards
away. They were running, and with a
swiftness that demanded quick shooting,
and that was surprising in snow which,
though less deep here than in the timber,
still was such that man would be prac-
tically helpless in it without snow-shoes.
They sank SO deep that as they ploughed
| ahead the movement of their legs could
hardly be seen, but was more than sug-
gested by the flying Jumps and clouds of
snow that rose about them. Their thick
set bodies doomed large and dark against
the dazzling surface beyond them, and
contrasted sharply with their long hoary
names. | sighted on the leader and fired
and as | saw him stagger perceptibly
heard another shot George had come up
and was beside me, opening fire on the
second. kept on at the first one, shoot
ing as long as he moved, until at the third
shot he pitched forward and lay in the
snow. Then as [ turned my head l saw
Georges beast sinking, and we both fred
almost together at the third, now a good
long shot, but after another volley down
he went, too Luck, pure and simple,
after all; but then we had expended con
siderable skill during the past week with
little to show for it, and this we consider
ed our fairly earned reward. Then we
made the tour of our quarry,-tilree
bulls. No coupe de grace was needed ;
they We're stone dead. They lay upon
their sides, with heads outstretched, and
the tumbled snow covering up their heavy,
powerful legs and big round black hoofs
which carry them abroad when all other
deer are fast bound by impossible bar
riers of snow. Their sleek sides glstened
in the sunshine and we saw the color of
their bodies; a hue the exactest balance
between brown and gray; an absolute
neutral, which, with their white heads
and long haired gray threats, makes them
seem of the very essence of the northern
forest and the winter time. C. Grant La
Fargo in the August Atlantic.