A Canadian Moose Hunt 



^ake a long story short, we followed that trail 

 three weary hours of running and creeping 

 through frightful swamps and thickets, hearing 

 every few minutes the sound just ahead of us, 

 but with never a sight of the game. His 

 huge tracks, which we crossed now and again, 

 showed he was not even trotting. Nearly 

 exhausted, we kept following the sound di- 

 rectly, and so cutting across and gaining on 

 him. Once he seemed just ahead, and we 

 expected to see him each second ; but we had 

 to pay for the luxury of that fire, as for other 

 good things in life, so we never saw a hair of 

 him. When, at last, completely used up, we 

 burst out on a lake and saw the muddy tracks 

 and the water still " riled up " where he had 

 crossed. Jocko swore he heard him crash up 

 the opposite bank; but we were at the end 

 of our strength and could go no further. A 

 man must eat sometimes, even on a moose 

 hunt. 



Now comes the really tragical part of this 

 episode ; our canoe was not twenty feet from 

 where this perverse animal had entered the 

 water, and we were on the little pond where 

 our permanent camp stood. Still we felt en- 

 couraged, for, as Chabot said that night, 



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