22 o A SPORTSMAN'S EDEN. 



end of a tall sapling, still bleeding from the teeth 

 of the bull. Turning to me, he speaks (to my 

 horror) above his breath : ' He has been here 

 about two hours ago, and he's travelling to find 

 the rest ; if we find him, we shall find them all.' 

 So then, Jocko is expecting to come across a 

 gang of moose ; I only hope he may be right, 

 though one, if he is big enough, would do for me. 

 At any rate, from the tone in which my careful 

 Jocko speaks, it is evident that he does not 

 think our senses need be kept on the strain any 

 longer just at present, so, though we keep going, 

 we ease down a little and look about us. In 

 front of us is a tree whose scratched bark and 

 broken twigs show (Jocko says) where our beast 

 has rubbed his horns. Further on the deep 

 furrow-like track of an otter going down to the 

 marsh catches the old trapper's eye, and I see him 

 making careful mental notes of the very numerous 

 signs of marten on the outskirts of the balsam 

 patches. At one moment we pass through a 

 long thin wood of birches, whose every tip bears 

 marks, old or fresh, of the teeth of the moose ; 

 at another we pause to look at a hole in the 

 ground where the white-tail has been pawing up 

 a bulb. Our quarry is taking us now in a line 

 parallel to the main line of marshes round which 

 the hard-wood hills gather, and which may be a 



