58 A TASTE OF MAINE BIRCH. 
stopped a few yards short, and fell dead with a bullet. 
hole through his heart. 
When the moose yard in the winter, that is, restrict 
their wanderings to a well-defined section of the forest 
or mountain, trampling down the snow and beating 
paths in all directions, they browse off only the most 
dainty morsels first; when they go over the ground a 
second time they crop a little cleaner; the third time 
they sort still closer, till by and by nothing is left. 
Spruce, hemlock, poplar, the barks of various trees, 
everything within reach, is cropped close. When the 
hunter comes upon one of these yards the problem for 
him to settle is, Where are the moose? for it is abso- 
Jutely necessary that he keep on the lee side of them. 
So he considers the lay of the land, the direction of 
the wind, the time of day, the depth of the snow, ex- 
amines the spoor, the cropped twigs, and studies every 
hint and clew like a detective. Uncle Nathan said he 
could not explain to another how he did it, but he 
could usually tell in a few minutes in what direction 
to look for the game. His experience had ripened 
into a kind of intuition or winged reasoning that was 
above rules. 
He said that most large game, deer, caribou, moose, 
bear, when started by the hunter and not much 
seared, were sure to stop and look back before disap- 
pearing from sight: he usually waited for this last 
and best chance to fire. He told us of a huge bear 
he had seen one morning while still-hunting foxes in 
the fields; the bear saw him, and got into the woods 
before he could get a good shot. In her course some 
distance up the mountain was a bald, open spot, and 
he felt sure when she crossed this spot she would 
pause and look behind her; and sure enough, like 
