192 THE MOOSE 



O-o-o-o-h-h-h ! O-o-o-o-h-h-h ! W-a-a-a-h-h-h ! 

 W-a-a-a-h-k-h I 



The trapper stood rigid in the doorway, fingering 

 his rifle, which stood ready to his hand. He had 

 never heard the grim call of wolves in pack. It 

 gripped his heartstrings strangely, and turned his 

 blood to ice. He thought himself a rock, im- 

 movable, and lo I the grisly sound on the night wind 

 unnerved him. The fire was high, luckily. He 

 would close the door. 



From the depths of the dimly outlined forest a 

 derelict bulk emerged, rolling helplessly from side 

 to side, spent, and panting in deep breaths that cut 

 the silence like a cry. Sometimes the shadowy 

 form lurched and almost fell, then rallied and 

 struggled on again. And it was always to the 

 light it came. Fascinated, through the half- open 

 door, the trapper watched. 



Right up to the shack the stricken beast made 

 its way, seeking from man the mercy the creatures 

 of the wilderness denied. The small, pitiful, sunken 

 eyes of the big deer looked into the steely grey 

 ones fixed in astonished amaze, asking, begging, 

 beseeching, praying. 



A sufficiency of moose meat for weeks lay ready 



