forward on Sunday. After a late breakfast the task of loading the
outfit into the canoes was not yet complete when Gilbert was heard
to exclaim: "What's that? A duck? No, it's a deer."

Immediately all was excitement. Up in the, little lake above our
camp a caribou was swimming across to the north shore. The
movement in camp suddenly became electrical. The last of the load
was thrown into the canoe. I stepped in as George cut the rope,
which tied it to the willows, and we were off.

I was much excited at first, especially as the caribou was a long
distance away, and I was sure he would reach land before we could
come near enough to shoot him. He was almost ashore, and in my
thought I saw him bounding up over the hills away out of our reach,
and was glad. When George took the rifle to shoot I was not in the
least afraid for the caribou, because I knew he would not be hit
and he was not. But, Alas! I soon learned that it was not meant he
should be. The bullet dropped, as it was intended to, in front of
him, frightened him, and turned him back into the lake. My heart
sickened as I realised what it meant. He was so near to safety.
If he had only gone on. If he had only known.

The men were now almost lifting the canoe with every stroke of the
paddles, and she threw the water from her bows like a little
steamer. We were soon up with the caribou, and I pulled my hat
down over my eyes while the deed was done. We were so close that
George thought he would try to kill him with his pistol. When I
looked up, after the first shot, the caribou was ploughing through
the water just as before. After the second I could see him
trembling and blood on the water--but he was still going on. Then