"Canoe--hell--it's a moose--and there ain't a pocket-pistol in this
camp," and he fairly jumped up and down.
"You don't say--you really don't say!" gasped the lawyer, who now began
to exhibit signs of insanity.
"Yes--he's going to be d----d sociable with us--he's coming right bang
into this camp."
The Indian too came down, but he was long past talking English, and the
gutturals came up in lumps, as though he was trying to keep them down.
The moose finally struck a long point of sand and rushes about two
hundred yards away, and drew majestically out of the water, his hide
dripping, and the sun glistening on his antlers and back.
The three men gazed in spellbound admiration at the picture until the
moose was gone. When they had recovered their senses they slowly went up
to the camp on the ridge--disgusted and dum-founded.
"I could almost put a cartridge in that old gun-case and kill him,"
sighed the backwoodsman.
"I have never hunted in my life," mused the attorney, "but few men have
seen such a sight," and he filled his pipe.
"Hark--listen!" said the Indian. There was a faint cracking, which
presently became louder. "He's coming into camp;" and the Indian nearly
died from excitement as he grabbed a hatchet. The three unfortunate men
stepped to the back of the tents, and as big a bull moose as walks the
lonely woods came up to within one hundred and fifty feet of the camp,
and stopped, returning their gaze.
Pages:
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129