The crippled
deer makes for some island sanctuary, where he rests in peace till
his leg is healed, or it may be, in some cases, till the freezing of
the lake brings him again into the power of his floe.
These six, then, were the cripples in hospital, and I hope our
respectful behaviour did not inspire them with a dangerously false
notion of humanity.
On the island that I have called Owl-and-Hare, we saw the first
White Owl and the first Arctic Hare.
In this country when you see a tree, you know perfectly well it is
not a tree; it's the horns of a Caribou. An unusually large affair
of branches appeared on an island in the channel to Aylmer. I landed,
camera in hand; the Caribou was lying down in the open, but there
was a tuft of herbage 30 yards from him, another at 20 yards.
I crawled to the first and made a snapshot, then, flat as a rug,
sneaked my way to the one estimated at 20 yards. The click of the
camera, alarmed the buck; he rose, tried the wind, then lay down
again, giving me another chance. Having used all the films, I now
stood up. The Caribou dashed away and by a slight limp showed that
he was in sanctuary.
