A Canadian Moose Hunt 



about a half mile across, surrounded by low 

 hardwood hills, and so shallow that a moose, I 

 think, could have waded across the deepest 

 part. The shores were marked up with some 

 very large tracks, but fresh signs had long 

 since ceased to excite in me anything more 

 than a passing interest. We made the tour of 

 the lake slowly and quietly. Nothing was in 

 sight except four wood ducks. This was 

 "last chance" pond, and if I got no moose 

 here, we must return to Mattawa for another 

 outfit, which I had about made up my mind to 

 do. The night settled still and cold — oh, so 

 cold ! — and the stars came out with wonderful 

 distinctness. 



What was that ? 



Chabot had started up, listened, and a sec- 

 ond later was driving the birch across the lake 

 noiselessly. As we neared the shore, it was 

 inky black — a mammoth would not have been 

 visible ten yards away. Twigs breaking at 

 long intervals told that something was on 

 shore just in cover of the bushes. We waited 

 some time and at last I whispered to Chabot, 

 "Muckwa?" (bear). 



" Not muckwa — cow," answered the guide. 



As he spoke, the short call of a bull floated 

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