Memories of Moose-Shooting 



until we came to the upper meadow, or bog, which is 

 about half a mile long, a quarter of a mile wide, and right 

 in the heart of a fine moose country. 



Chapter ii. — Digression. 



Just here we met a porcupine and succeeded in taking 

 a photograph of her, much against her own inclinations. 



Chapter 12. — Sirenation. 



It was about 3 p.m. when we started to call from a 

 blind in a bunch of bushes running out into the meadow. 

 There was no wind. I believe Ike called only once, when 

 a big cow ambled out on the bog, dead to westward of us, 

 and apparently unconcerned over our imitative efforts. 

 I stood up and snapped the camera at her twice. I had 

 to shoot directly into the sun. While I was getting 

 ready for the third shot, Ike whispered to me to " Get 

 down !" As I clicked the Kodak I glanced toward the 

 cow, and saw the sun glint on the horns of a big bull 

 just as he turned in the edge of the woods and went 

 behind some trees. Undoubtedly he saw me. I did not 

 have time to pick up my rifle before he was gone. Ike 

 picked up the call and " spoke bull." The bull roared 

 his defiance, but would not come out on the bog. The 

 cow kept up a continual whining, and trotted back and 

 forth near the edge of the woods where the bull was 

 hidden, keeping between us and him. 



Chapter 13. — Trepidation. 



Ike and I are both licensed guides and old moose- 

 hunters, but we were shaking with excitement. The bull 

 kept speaking (almost a continual roaring), and we could 



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