reluctant to do this, however, and made all sorts of excuses for not complying with our wishes. He pleaded with much force that the others would never forgive him if he left us alone. The actual reason for the cook's hesitancy we did not learn until next day, when in talking the matter over it came out that the previous night was All Saints' Day, and our "chef" entertained the belief that the spirits would be about, the wet, miserable weather being regarded by the faithful as most suitable for their appearance. We concluded that the spirits must have execrable taste, and that if ever our time came to roam the Quebec wilds we should select a more pleasant and agreeable night.

There was nothing for us to do but to make the best of our position. The experience was one that neither of us will forget. During the whole of that long, lonely, miserable night we sat or lolled about the fire, endeavoring to alleviate our plight by drying or attempting to dry our clothes. That night we were able to properly appreciate the meaning of an "empty larder," for we were absolutely without food or drink. As we crouched by the fire, and talked of home and the loved ones there, pictures of brightness and comfort arose before us which seemed to intensify the loneliness and discomfort of our position. Inside the hut, the flickering fire cut strange shadows, and brought into strong relief our rude surroundings. Outside, the darkness was intense. The rain fell steadily, and the sough of the wind through the branches of the trees made a strange moaning sound. A more complete picture of loneliness and desolation could not be found anywhere. It was the time and the place for telling weird stories that would set the blood curdling. But we were more prosaic, and talked of our hunting trip, and the adventures we expected would fall to our lot.

It is not a pleasant thing to be supperless. A gnawing feeling in the re

gion of the stomach, that would not be still, caused us to wish that we had even a loaf of bread at hand for the purpose of satisfying our appetite. About midnight, the discovery of some green tea, in a tin pail which our cook had brought with him, aroused pleasurable anticipations, and for the space of half an hour we felt somewhat more reconciled to our lot. This was while water was being fetched from the river, some distance away. The tea was scarcely up to our expectations: it was pretty strong. Still it served to break the monotony. It offered something to think about, and something to do. Could our friends at home have seen us, they would have deemned our pose more picturesque than comfortable. The doctor had been stretched upon a rudely constructed seat, which had evidently served to accommodate the lumbermen at meal time. It was a log twenty feet long, and about nine inches through. On one side it was cut away, making it about seven inches in width. Legs were thrust underneath it to form supports. Here the doctor had reclined until the tea was served. The expression is perhaps unfortunate, for there was certainly nothing about the "tea service" to recall the afternoon function the ladies so delight in, when the fragrant pekoe is handed around in cups of dainty china. The difficulty was to find a dry spot upon which to dispose one's self. I was fortunate enough to secure a board about four and a half feet long, and about ten inches in width. This, placed upon the shanty floor, made it more comfortable..

The very first approach of day found us again on the road. Half an hour sufficed to bring us to the point where the other members of our party had passed the night previous, and an hour later we arrived at the spot where a number of our men, with the team, had camped in the woods and spent the night. They had fared as badly as ourselves, with the excep

tion that they had had supper and breakfast. It was with a feeling of great relief that about nine o'clock we at last reached the camp. When we came to exchange adventures, it was a matter of doubt who had had the worst lot. The father of our party, Mr. Klock, it appeared, had started for camp shortly after we left, accompanied by one guide, leaving behind the team and men. Unfortunately the two missed their way. When near their goal, they had taken the wrong road, along which they travelled for a couple of miles, until they reached a small stream; then they discovered their mistake, but decided to follow the stream. The rain made them pretty wet, but their situation was rendered still more uncomfortable by the fact of their slipping into the stream whilst tramping along the bank. They were fortunate in reaching the camp at eleven o'clock, but in an almost exhausted condition. A good supper, and a bask by the fire, considerably restored them, and when we reached camp, tired and hungry, they were just getting astir.

The time occupied by the cook in preparing breakfast for the doctor and myself, seemed interminable. But at last we were able to satisfy our appetites, and then we were disposed to take a brighter view of things. Most people would probably endorse the sentiment of a friend, who, after hearing the recital of the night's experience in the lonely Quebec woods, said to me in a pitying sort of fashion, “And you call that fun?" Well, I do not pronounce it fun, but it was an experience to prepare us for what was to follow. The fun came later on, although it may have been of a kind that would scarcely have been relished by my friend. All that day was spent in making arrangements for our sojourn. Beds were got ready, stoves placed in position, a stock of supply wood cut, and the hundred and one details that are necessary to camp life performed. Some of the provisions brought for

our use had suffered from the day and night's heavy rain, and the supplies had intermixed in a manner that was scarcely to our liking. Coal oil does not improve the taste of bread, or in fact any kind of food. The doctor devoted himself to the task of ascertaining whether the flavor was American or Canadian refined.

Eventually, everything was in readiness for our moose hunt. Some of the members of the party had gone to considerable trouble in selecting suitable hunting suits. I was given to understand by those who were hunting moose for the first time, that it was necessary to wear clothes which as nearly as possible resembled in hue the color of the trees, as the moose could see-I forget exactly what distance-and could smell a man at a distance of 500 yards. I was also informed that before lying down to rest, the animal makes a circle of the neighborhood, or almost a circle, afterwards lying down, where it could both smell and watch the point from which it was commenced. Many such stories were told me, and possibly they may all be perfectly correct. At the same time, I found that the animal did not always follow the course report ascribed to it. That may have been due to the fact that the moose I encountered had not received a proper education. Imagine my surprise, when our guides-old, reliable men, the greater part of whose lives had been spent in hunting game in one form or another, and who had hunted moose for many years-appeared in quite a different kind of dress. They did not consider the color of the dress of great importance, but they were all careful to insist upon quietness in our progress through the woods.

Breakfast was speedily over, and we were ready for our tramp by daybreak. We had discussed our plan of operations the previous night, and had decided on our different routes. At last the hunt begins. Our course takes us up hill and down dale, and through

places very difficult to traverse. Carefully we pick our steps, making as little noise as possible. We keep a continual look-out for tracks. We discover many old tracks, and are enabled to trace where the moose have been feeding. In this manner we scour the country, in search of fresh tracks, for four days, but without success, when on the evening of the fourth day, my guide Jacko points to a track. (It evokes the exclamation: "My, that is a big bull!"). But the guide, on examining the brush where the animal had been browsing, pronounces the track a day old. Our daily tramps had not been light in character. They occupied at least ten hours each day, and the distance covered in that time would average 20 miles. With each fruitless trip the rocks, which abound in that country, seemed to grow more rough and harder to scale, whilst the hills and mountains seemed more difficult to climb. And as we returned to camp wet, tired, and hungry, the intervening distance seemed to have visibly lengthened. Eight o'clock was the hour at which we retired each night, to be up before daylight the following morning.

It was 7 a.m. on the morning of November 6th, when Jacko discovered tracks which are apparently those of a big old bull. The marks of his browsing are still fresh; I can see that easily enough now. But further proof is afforded when I snap off a branch at the spot where it has been broken off by the moose, and compare the broken parts. Yes, there is no doubt the tracks are fresh. I notice that Jacko has begun to walk very cautiously, and without loss of time I imitate him He picks his way with extreme nicety, whilst, on the other hand, my tread falls every now and then on a twig which breaks and startles even myself. In spite of the exercise of every care, the branches of withered hemlock will persist in catching in my hat, and forcing it down over my eyes, then my foot catches in an obstruction and

causes me to blunder head foremost through a brush heap. It is very trying to the temper, and I felt like giving vent to expressions removed somewhat from prayers, but dare not for fear of alarming the moose. I can see Jacko smile in a suggestive sort of way at each exhibition of unskilfulness. We quit the hard brushwood now, and skirt the bottom of a hardwood hill. The wind is blowing from the hill towards the swamp. There is more moss and damp ground here, and the walking is better, so that our progress is less noisy. We leave the low land behind us and ascend the hill. The wind now is right in our teeth. Another examination of the track satisfies us that it is going in the same direction. Once more we pursue our way. This time it is downward, and on reaching the foot of the hill, we trudge across the low land for some 20 minutes. Then we ascend again. Just as we reach the summit, Jacko halts and looks around. I am some ten yards behind, but involuntarily I stop too, and follow his example.

Moose," laconically exclaims Jacko in that subdued tone of voice peculiar to the Indian.

I move to where the guide stands, and look in the direction indicated by his pointed finger. An object is there, true enough, but it resembles more than anything else the shadow of a passing cloud moving at a slow rate.

Is that a moose?" comes in a whisper from me.

"Yes," is the almost inaudible reply, coupled with the admonition "shoot." "Are you sure?" I ask doubtfully, but just then the shadow moves, and up goes my express rifle.

"Wait," warningly advises the guide, and then after a pause, " Now shoot."

The huge outlines of the animal are visible through the trees, and hastily estimating the distance at one hundred yards, I sighted for the heart of the beast. The 110 grains of powder made reply to my inquiry of the trigger. Stepping aside, out of the radius of