172 THE MOOSE 



into the open, turning his head furtively from side to 

 side. He was old and half- blind, or perhaps would not 

 have made the mistake he did, for he sought safety 

 at a point where it was least to be found. Instinct 

 bade him make for water, and instinct, for once, was 

 wrong. It was by the river the fire raged hottest. 

 Without the precaution of the right and left glance 

 of his tribe, the usually wary wolf flung himself 

 forward, thinking himself cut off and surrounded. 



The moose stood still irresolute, fascinated by 

 the glare. He, the careless taker of chances, the 

 reckless stampeder, felt in his very bones that the 

 way of escape lay not through the barring flames, 

 but down the smoke-laden aisles behind. 



The smell of singeing fur blew ahead of the flames, 

 and a cry that took Moosewa back to the winter 

 plains, the snow, and the stillness, vibrated on the air. 



He saw the fire creeping in golden whips up the 

 mosses clinging to the bark of old trees, and the 

 sight stung him to action. Setting his small horns 

 back, he made off pell-mell through the density of 

 the underbrush and the stifling smoke fumes to the 

 safety of the far beyond. 



It was nothing of a conflagration really, yet it 

 seemed to the deer a holocaust ; and since the region 



