White Moose 



Mossy fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a greasy- 

 looking fold of dirty brown paper, which he carefully 

 opened and silently handed to me. Inside was a little 

 tuft of long, stiff, white hairs attached to a particle of 

 dry skin. They were undoubtedly moose hairs. I 

 handed them back with a questioning " Well ?" 



" The moose ran as I fired, but he disappeared so 

 quickly that I couldn't get in a second shot. Figuring 

 I had hit it, I went over to the spot where it had been 

 standing. A few drops of blood and that tuft of hair 

 were all I found. His huge tracks were about fifteen 

 feet apart. For a big moose he certainly was mighty 

 catty. I hunted him till my grub gave out and then 

 took back for home." 



" When did you see him last, Mossy ?" I asked. 



" Remember that day last fall when you called 

 that bull right up to your cabin at Lowe's Landing 

 and shot him while in the water in front of the boat- 

 house ?" 



" Yes, what of it ?" I returned. 



" Well, me and Jim had called up the big ghost that 

 very morning, right out to the edge of a little bog just 

 above Kempton's Falls, on the Shelburne River. I must 

 have called an hour before it spoke. Then it showed 

 itself on the edge of the forest for about one second, 

 when it went behind another clump of trees. A cart- 

 ridge jammed in my rifle, and I couldn't get it either in 

 nor out, and so missed my chance. Jim said he was so 

 surprised at seeing a snow-white bull that he forgot all 

 about aiming his gun or pulling the trigger. So it got 

 away again." 



I glanced at Ma-tee-o to see what effect Mossy's story 

 might have upon him. 



" What do you think of it, Ma-tee-o ?" I asked. 



" No bullet ketch 'im," he asserted, laconically. 



179 



