The Uninvited Guest 



in the woods at the head of the bog, this would start 

 them out. There were three paths that they would 

 follow: one trail led along the eastern edge of the bog; 

 the second, the western edge; the third crossed the 

 brook at the outlet of Yeaton Lake, and then along the 

 narrow neck of land upon which we had pitched our 

 tents. Jim was to do the driving, and he placed Emery 

 on a low ridge on the western side, and me on the eastern 

 side on a similar ridge. Joe took charge of Tug and 

 stationed him, armed with a double-barrelled shotgun 

 loaded with ball, on the trail below our tents. The 

 bog was about five hundred yards wide. From where 

 I crouched among the bushes on my ridge, I could see 

 Emery quite plainly upon his. 



Jim had been gone perhaps an hour and a half, when 

 I heard his first shout, " Get out o' there !" This was 

 followed by a couple of revolver shots. In a few minutes 

 a two-year-old bull trotted out on the bog and stood 

 within twenty-five yards of Emery. As this moose was 

 little more than a spike-horn, Emery would not shoot 

 at him, although I expected to hear his 405 Winchester 

 bark at any second. When you consider that Emery 

 had never killed a moose in his life, he showed real sport- 

 ing blood in withholding his fire. Even a two-year-old 

 bull moose, broadside on at twenty-five yards, is a very 

 tempting target, and few hunters would have passed 

 it up. 



After studying the animal, Emery simply waved his 

 hand and scared it across to my side of the bog. I 

 looked it over carefully and also waved it good-bye. The 

 next instant a little calf ran out near Emery; this was 

 followed by a fat, lumbering cow. As this was real 

 beef, Emery's 405 did the trick nicely in two shots. 

 The cow went down for the final count within one 

 hundred yards of the edge of the lake. 



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