CHAPTER XVI. A DEER HUNT IN NEWFOUNDLAND.

How grandly beautiful the scene
Where ocean wrestles with its prey;—
The rugged rocks all fringed with green—
The iceberg glittering and serene—
And ocean, wearing both, away.

Away up on the northern coast of Newfoundland, in the month of September, a group of pleasure seeking tourists were idly lounging about a roaring fire, smoking and telling pleasing stories, while the aroma of good coffee, and an occasional whiff of savory venison steak wetted their appetites, and made them well pleased with themselves, the world in general and Newfoundland in particular. Only a short distance across the water they could see the smoke from the mining village of Pilley's Island, and hear the shrill whistle that called the swarthy miners to and from their labors in the cavernous drifts of an enormous mine of iron ore.

Sharks swam recklessly near their anchored craft, and seals protruded their shiny heads within easy vision.

Three pairs of enormous antlers spoke of their two days' sport, thus far, and enthusiasm was at its wildest among the merry hunters.

Only one man of the six who composed the party, seemed indifferent to the wild, untrammeled country; the possibilities of boundless wealth in the forbidden rocks, and the abundance of trout, seals, otter and deer that was to be had with little labor.

This man was Maurice Sinclair.

He had left London to save his liberty;—he had fled from New York on this pretext of pleasure for the same purpose, and now, while the others planned with great volubility the modus operandi of the day's sport, he was moodily thinking of the possibilities of life for him in the wilds of this half explored country.

Mining villages he dreaded, inasmuch as there  was always danger of encountering some delegate from civilization—as the mining fraternity are of a nomadic tendency—and there was also the fear of the periodical steamer that conveyed the products of their labor to the States or Canadian markets. True, his sin had been that of abduction only, so far as the world knew, but "a guilty conscience needs no accusing," and Maurice Sinclair, although cleverly disguised, lived in daily fear of another and a worse crime being laid at his sinful door.

Under such mental strain it was not unnatural that the wondrous handiwork of nature, and the limitless possibilities for human advancement in this grandly beautiful region failed to excite his admiration or interest. The beauty of landscape; the sublimity of sky and ocean, inspired no sentiments of awe or appreciation in his debased and guilty soul.

At last all was in readiness for the anticipated sail up the picturesque bays, and Tommy Tully, a native hunter, whose services they had secured as guide and general entertainer, tapped him lightly on the arm while he stared with undisguised astonishment at so unenthusiastic a sportsman.
 
"It be your turn to-day, Sir," Tommy was saying, and taking the extended rifle, Maurice sprang lightly into the boat and with a smile accepted his position of honor in the prow.

According to Newfoundland game laws each stranger was allowed to shoot eight deer for the trifling sum of two hundred dollars, and as this amount, per capita, had been conscientiously paid down at the Crown Office in St. Johns, each sportsman took his turn at whatever game presented itself.

Tommy Tully was in himself a character typical of Newfoundland's choicest hunters. Tommy's experience dated back to the days when coraling deer was no unusual circumstance, and Tommy, in his own peculiar dialect, told them of once meeting an unusually large Buck, face to face, in a woodland path, unarmed and unexpectedly.

"He were too skeert to run an' so were I," said Tommy in conclusion. Knowing the Newfoundlander's adherence to superstitious faiths, the young men asked him with all gravity to relate some of the time honored traditions and prevailing beliefs regarding the uncanny "Fetch" and his nocturnal antics, and Tommy, nothing loth, regaled them with blood curdling recitals of white robed figures, half fish, half human, that skimmed the surface of the bay at midnight, searching with spirit lanterns for belated victims, and dropping his voice to a husky whisper, he continued, "jest over dis very spot, Sir, one night last summer, I stopped rowin' fer a bit to light my pipe and somet'in' riz my feet right up an' turned me clare roun' in de punt, jest hind side afore, Sir, never knowed what did it."

Just at that instant Tommy's eyes, which had, all through his narrative, been carefully scanning the opposite bank, glowed with excitement: His nostrils quivered and expanded like those of a keen scented animal, while with hardly a perceptible movement of the body he slackened the speed of the dainty craft, and then in a short, sharp, but carefully modulated voice, exclaimed "See him? Straight ahead,—Now! Fire!" But no report followed the order.

The huge antlers of the deer that had been plainly seen protruding from the dense thicket on the neighboring bank, trembled for a second as if their owner was undecided what course to pursue, then suddenly disappeared, and only the sound of crackling underbrush told of his enormous bounds through the apparently impenetrable forest.

The young men looked savagely at Maurice, as by an effort he threw off the spell that so completely enthralled him, and laughing pleasantly he passed the rifle to the next in turn, saying brightly, "Don't scold, Boys. The truth is, that fellow rattled me. I've lost my turn."

"And we've lost our supper, perhaps," they growled, rather savagely. But another look at Tommy's face silenced them.

Every muscle was alert with expectancy.

With skilful hand he guided the boat along, through narrow passes and wider openings, scanning the overgrown bank, and soon again his low toned order sent the excited blood tingling through their veins. "Now! Fire!"

This time a shot rang out sharp and clear upon the frosty air. A crash was heard in the thicket and rapidly bringing the boat as near an open space in the bank as possible, Tommy sprang ashore and dragged to the water's edge the most magnificent specimen of Caribeau they had thus far encountered.

"I knowed he'd hanker fer anudder look at us," muttered Tommy, gleefully. "Dere's a lot of springs in dem bushes and dose boys always knows where dere's good water."

Having acquired much expertness in their previous experiences, the post mortem operations were rapidly performed, and stowing away the desirable portions of the carcass in the "cuddy" the young men, now in thoroughly jovial mood, proceeded on their delightful excursion.

The obliging manner in which that particular deer had walked into rifle range was being joyfully discussed when an exclamation of delight broke from the lips of one of their number.

They were just crossing "Long Tickle," a narrow passage between two enormous hills of stone, and gazing outward the blue waters of the mighty ocean caught the eye, while far away on the very horizon there arose, seemingly to the azure heavens, a gigantic pyramid of ice, dazzling in its whiteness and reflecting with a thousand rays the glory of the morning sun.
 
The young men shivered involuntarily and drew their hunting jackets closer about them. They understood now the source of frosty breezes in the midst of genial sunlight and verdant foliage.

At "Hall's Bay Head" a wider glimpse of ocean was obtained, and Tommy noted with careful eye the "set" of the restless currents, while he told them of many instances where miners, rowing to their homes from the distant mining villages, had been caught in the treacherous tides at this place and carried far out to certain death upon the ocean, while the lights from their cottage homes were plainly visible on the rocky shore.