174 THE MOOSE 



Moosewa always won. How could such a mam- 

 moth be beaten ? 



A hint of the superlative quality of his horns 

 percolated far down the coast. Trappers who had 

 seen his huge form flash across the snow or lumber 

 between the dark boles of the trees compared his 

 antlers with those of other acceptedly fine speci- 

 mens, and conjectured what they must span. One 

 chagrined hunter, who had got in a long-distance 

 shot at the big bull during the previous autumn, 

 declared that he had undoubtedly missed a moose 

 whose horns exceeded eighty inches spread. Nobody 

 believed him, and nobody thought him a liar either, 

 for just as dirt is nectar in the process of evolving, 

 so a trapper is often an observer born out of his 

 time. 



In winter now our hero was the boss bull of his 

 own yards, which he planned out on devious and 

 thoroughly negotiable lines of his own. This season 

 he had his last year's cow with him, and a feeble 

 calf, who showed no signs of ever being a repetition 

 of his father. 



The yards, in excellent travelling condition — for 

 the moose company was a large one— ran perilously 

 near to a lengthy trap-line ; but the wandering 



