250 The Wilderness Hunter 



I strode out on the bank at the lower end of a 

 long, narrow pool of water, dark and half frozen. 

 In this pool, half way down and facing me, but 

 a score of yards off, stood the mighty marsh beast, 

 strange and uncouth in look as some monster sur- 

 viving over from the Pliocene. His vast bulk 

 loomed black and vague in the dim gray dawn; 

 his huge antlers stood out sharply ; columns of steam 

 rose from his nostrils. For several seconds he 

 fronted me motionless ; then he began to turn, slow- 

 ly, and as if he had a stiff neck. When quarter 

 way round I fired into his shoulder; whereat he 

 reared and bounded on the bank with a great leap, 

 vanishing in the willows. Through these I heard 

 him crash like a whirlwind for a dozen rods; then 

 down he fell, and when I reached the spot he had 

 ceased to struggle. The ball had gone through 

 his heart. 



When a moose is thus surprised at close quarters, 

 it will often stand at gaze for a moment or two, 

 and then turn stiffly around until headed in the right 

 direction ; once thus headed aright it starts off with 

 extraordinary speed. 



The flesh of the moose is very good ; though some 

 deem it coarse. Old hunters, who always like rich, 

 greasy food, rank the moose's nose with a beaver's 

 tail, as the chief of backwood delicacies; personally 

 I never liked either. The hide of the moose, like 

 the hide of the elk, is of very poor quality, much 



