Pointing at the sand, he said, "You know him?"
"Wolves," I answered.
"Yes--first time I see 'em up here--they be follerin' the
deers--bad--bad. No can trap 'em--verrie smart."
A half-dozen wolves had chased a deer into the water; but wolves do not
take to the water, so they had stopped and drank, and then gone
rollicking-together up the beach. There were cubs, and one great track
as big as a mastiff might make.
"See that--moose track--he go by yesterday;" and Jimmie pointed to
enormous footprints in the muck of a marshy place. "Verrie big moose--we
make call at next camp--think it is early for call."
At the next camp Jimmie made the usual birch-bark moose-call, and at
evening blew it, as he also did on the following morning. This camp was
a divine spot on a rise back of a long sandy beach, and we concluded to
stop for a day. The Norseman and I each took a man in our canoes and
started out to explore. I wanted to observe some musk-rat hotels down in
a big marsh, and the Norseman was fishing. The attorney was content to
sit on a log by the shores of the lake, smoke lazily, and watch the sun
shimmer through the lifting fog. He saw a canoe approaching from across
the lake. He gazed vacantly at it, when it grew strange and more unlike
a canoe. The paddles did not move, but the phantom craft drew quickly
on.
"Say, Furguson--come here--look at that canoe."
The Scotchman came down, with a pail in one hand, and looked.
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