194 THE MOOSE 



guest. Never before had he seen such horns, which, 

 as his knowledge told him, had just about reached 

 their maximum development. With skilled, ap- 

 praising eye, he measured them roughly, counting 

 the points one by one. There were twenty-eight — 

 fifteen on one side, thirteen on the other. 



There was a spread across the palms, which were 

 very white in colour, of certainly seventy-six 

 inches. The points, too, were peculiarly finely 

 formed, and instead of being the stubby affairs one 

 often sees on moose antlers, were quite sharp and 

 tapering. 



Could he but get this weighty trophy to the 

 nearest trading-post, he knew that any dealer, with 

 an eye to a profitable scheme of wall decoration for 

 some New York club, or the furtherance of the 

 ambition of a would-be sportsman, would bid a 

 hundred dollars or more. 



As he looked down at the wonderful drooping 

 head, he felt a twinge of tenderness. He did not 

 know it for tenderness, because tenderness and 

 trappers have not, in the fitness of things, a 

 bowing acquaintance. He had accounted for 

 hundreds of animals — he lived by death — and yet 

 the sight of this deer which had so trusted him, 



