SHEEP, MOOSE AND CARIBOU 



ahead in the hope of being caught up with, 

 Wooden rode into camp. 



I awoke in the night with a start after having 

 heard the challenge of a bull moose. After 

 awaking I still continued to hear the same 

 "Waug-g-h," and was about to jump up and 

 get my gun when the author of the noise must 

 have turned over on his side — for it was Harry 

 snoring. Next the mournful cry of Shorty's dog, 

 Jimmie, broke the stillness. Who would have 

 thought that this hardened malamute, who 

 braved the rush of the stream and the rigors of 

 the winter cold without a murmur, would feel 

 the heart-pangs of loneliness at the loss of his 

 master for one night? But that old wolf-dog 

 sobbed out his soul-grief in the most piercing, 

 mournful doles, telling plainer than human 

 words of his sorrowful affliction. I arose and 

 partly dressed, thinking that I might comfort 

 him and at the same time stop the noise that 

 sooner or later would awaken everyone in camp. 

 He was sitting on his haunches under a tree by 

 the saddle-stack as I emerged from my tent, but 

 when he saw me he came swiftly to my side, 

 tail a-wagging. Never had I seen him so affec- 

 tionate. When I rubbed his coarse-furred head 

 and offered sympathy, he cried again and poured 

 out his grief in those same piteous tones I had 

 heard before, as if his heart would break. 



While stooping over him I thought I caught a 



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