THE WANDERER 107 



In ordinary seasons the early days of September 

 heralds the strenuous weeks of warfare and love 

 making, but in bad weather the bulls sometimes 

 postpone their inaugurating challenges until late in 

 the month. 



Every Jack was seeking a Jill, rushing through 

 the forest to find her, roaring out his love troubles, 

 calling defiance to rivals, thrashing the trees with 

 vigorous antlers. All the world was a-hum with 

 the sound of moving moose, who cared not these 

 days how noisily they travelled. 



The old bull, his slow blood stirred like the rest, 

 left the swamp lands for the higher country, followed 

 by the young one. 



The forest seemed possessed. Thrash ! Thrash ! 

 A moose, with sharp rattling noise, polishing his 

 antlers. He gave a coughing, panting roar, and 

 it sang through the woods. From somewhere 

 across the river his answer came, and with a 

 crash of the undergrowth and a rush of galloping 

 hoofs striking the dry ground, the challenger 

 went off. 



A cow moose crossed ahead, with a calf dead- 

 beat, and after them raced a love-lorn two-year-old, 

 with indifferent head and stubby antlers of small 



