Just as we were loading up the canoes John pointed to the sky-line about half-a-mile away and quietly said, "That good stag, I think." Sure enough there was a heavy beast, the first big stag I had seen, quietly feeding along the crest of the ridge. The wind was right, so we decided to cross the pond, land, and have a closer look at him. His head looked massive, but I could not make out the points.
I certainly never had an easier stalk, as the ground was perfect for stalking, and this holds good all over the island. We walked quietly up in perfect shelter to within about 150 yards of where we had last seen the stag, and presently saw the tops of his horns sticking up from behind a low bush. Leaving Steve behind, I crawled up to within about seventy yards and got my telescope on to count the points. The horns were in velvet, but just stripping--and as the frontal tines were interlocked it was difficult to count the exact number. Beckoning Steve up we spent some time counting the points, for the poor beast was lying sound asleep with his head nodding. Steve could make out thirty points, but said we would get many better heads. We had almost determined to leave him, when I thought after all here was a certainty, so resting my rifle in the branch of a tree in front of me, I shot him through the neck. It was rather murder, for no skill either in the stalk or shot was necessary. However, he knew nothing, but rolled over stone dead. When we got up to him we could only make out twenty-nine points, but the head was quite a pretty one. The body was very big, but not in good condition.
Calling up the men, we soon had the head and meat down to the canoes and boiled the kettle before starting on. We now had enough meat for some days, though it is astonishing what a quantity of meat an Indian can get through; so we could afford to look for that extra good head--which as it happened we never came across.
We went on through some shallow and very rocky steadies, and after about a mile came to the last portage into Sandy Pond or Jubilee Lake. We had to carry the canoes over this and were soon crossing to the north shore of Sandy Pond, where we were to make our permanent camp. There was a fine following wind which helped us along, and by sunset we had covered the four miles of lake and arrived at one of Steve's trapping camps, which was to be our headquarters.