CHAPTER XI 



WHERE THE WAYS DIVIDE 



" Let me not live 

 After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff 

 Of younger spirits." 



AlVs Well that EmTs Well. 



The moose was now eleven years old, two years on 

 the wrong side of perfection, but his noble antlers 

 showed no signs of dwindling. Indeed, if it were 

 possible, they were finer, more perfectly spread, 

 symmetrical, and massive than those he carried at 

 nine years of age. 



The natives have it — and there is much fact 

 muddled up with native fancies — that the larger 

 the moose the longer it takes to get his horns clean. 

 Though fairly late in the season. Moose wa's antlers 

 had not long been out of velvet, and still needed 

 a lot of thrashing against bushes to rid them of 

 adhering scraps. 



His once long-haired hanging bell was nothing 



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