^06 THE MOOSE 



His friend of a few nights agone, perhaps ; and 

 thinking so, he did not take the chance of a long 

 shot, but watched the big bull dash away in the 

 thickly-growing trees, tossing up the dry snow as 

 he fled. 



It seemed to Moosewa that he was " marked 

 down." Could he never clear the trails of man ? 

 First the trapper, then the wolves ; the trapper 

 again, and yet again. He did not recollect enough 

 of the night of sanctuary to remember aught more 

 than that he had looked a human in the face. 

 He had not forgotten the alertness of those grey 

 eyes, eyes something like Lucivee's, just as keen 

 and cold and steely. They had softened for the 

 deer curiously, but — he did not want to look in 

 them again. All his desire now was to gather 

 together the remnants of his scattered forces, and 

 get through the remainder of the winter in com- 

 pany. He was big enough and strong enough to 

 fight his way through alone, but the chill, fierce 

 solitudes were very dreary ; the loneliness caught 

 him out. 



He had to face it, though, and bear it, too, for, 

 travel as he would, trail-break as he might, he 

 could not find a wandering moose band without 



