unchristian to eat a bear. At first he positively
refused to accompany us any further, but on
McQuaigh expressing a friendly hope that
he would get safe out of the woods if he
attempted to return alone, he made up his
mind that the lesser of two evils was to stick
to the party. He made a solemn vow,
however, that should he ever live to see the
Zoological Gardens again, he would carefully
avoid even a glance at the bears.

After breakfast, we resumed our course,
keeping close to the track as on the
preceding day. We had not gone far when, on
descending a steep bank, we heard a rustling
sound proceed from a thicket on the margin
of a tolerably sized stream which lay across
our path.

"It's but the little one," said McQuaigh,
whose keen eye caught a momentary sight of
a deer, which was immediately lost again to
him in the thicket. " Make ready for action."

We were, of course, all excitement, and
Blungle obeyed the injunction by deliberately
levelling his rifle at Jean Baptiste, who was
a little in advance of us, with a view to driving
the deer from his hiding place. McQuaigh,
observing this movement, with a sudden wave
of his arm elevated the muzzle into the air,
just as Blungle drew the trigger, and the ball
went whistling through the trees, cutting off
several twigs in its course.

"To take a man when there's venison in
the way," said McQuaigh, who seemed to
impute Blungle's aim solely to a want of taste,
"who ever heard of such a thing? " Blungle
could not have been more frightened, had he
pointed his rifle against himself, and, for
some time afterwards, he apostrophised the
adverse character of his fate, in terms not the
most suited for delicate ears. The discharge
of the rifle startled the deer, which bounded
at once in full sight from the thicket. A ball
from Perroque wounded him in the flank,
McQuaigh's trigger was drawn in an instant,
but his piece missed fire, much to his annoyance,
and as he said himself, " for the first
time in its life." I fired too—but to this day
I have not the slightest idea what became of
the ball—the wounded animal plunged wildly
towards the stream, which he endeavoured to
cross. But it was rapid at that particular
point, and the ice which was but imperfectly
formed gave way with him. He struggled
hard to keep himself on the surface, until a
ball from McQuaigh's rifle took effect on his
head, and he was at once dragged under by
the impetuous current. A little further on,
the stream plunged down several rocky ledges
in foaming rapids, which bade defiance to the
frost. We gained this point just in time to
see the body of the deer emerge from beneath
the ice; it was immediately afterwards carried
over a cataract and precipitated amongst
masses of ice, which rose from the chasm like
a cluster of basaltic columns and inverted
stalactites.

As it would have taken too much time to
recover it, we left the mangled body of the
deer in the icy crevice into which it had fallen,
and ascending to a point above the rapids,
crossed the river, where the ice was strong.
We then recovered the track, which we
followed for the rest of the day, passing
several small settlements in the woods, all
of which had been carefully avoided by the
Moose. In the evening we bivouacked as
before, but this time in the neighbourhood
of a solid tree. Blungle struck it all round
with the axe to assure himself that it was
not hollow, and expressed his satisfaction
that it rung sound. Next morning we
plunged deeper and deeper into the forest
wilds. About mid-day, Blungle, whose
patience was well-nigh exhausted, began to
be seriously offended at the non-appearance
of our prey, and confidentially hinted to
Perroque and myself that wild goose rhymed
to wild Moose. But, at that moment, Baptiste
who was in advance, was observed to fling
his arms into the air, and then to direct our
attention to a point a little to the right of
us, where we caught the first sight of the object
of pursuit. The Moose was at some distance
from us, buried to the belly in snow, and
scraping the green bark from a young tree.
Being too far off to fire with effect, we glided
silently towards him over the snow, concealing
ourselves as much as possible by going from
tree to tree. He was a full-grown animal,
and, for some time, was not aware of our
approach; but, as we came within doubtful
shot of him, he looked anxiously around,
exhibiting symptoms of agitation and alarm.

"Bang at him," said McQuaigh, " or we
may lose our chance." He had scarcely
uttered the words, when our four rifles were
simultaneously discharged. The Moose gave
a tremendous bound and plunged through the
snow, endeavouring to escape us. We made
after him at once, reloading our rifles as we
proceeded. When we came up to the spot
occupied by him, it was evident that he had
been seriously wounded, from the extent to
which the snow was stained with blood.
We soon observed that his efforts to escape
became fainter and fainter, and, as he was
staggering and about to fall, a ball from
McQuaigh's rifle took effect in his heart,
and he sank in the snow.

The Moose deer's nose is considered a great
dainty by both civilised man and savage.
Blungle, although well provided in that facial
department himself, was almost petrified at
its size. " It looked," he said, " as if the animal
carried a small carpet-bag in front in which
to keep his provender." Having cut the nose
off, we confided it to the care of Jean Baptiste.

"Look out for blazes," said McQuaigh, as
we prepared to return.

"Why, what's the matter? " asked Blungle,
raising his rifle to his shoulder as if he
expected an attack from another bear. But
there was nothing the matter, " blazes " being
the term applied to the marks left by the