Jacking and Moose-calling 141 



even stiller for the night voices that had 

 spoken. 



For half an hour, we drifted silently down- 

 stream seeing and hearing small creatures that 

 were attracted by our jack. Presently there 

 was a slight sound in the underbrush, which 

 seemed to keep just so far from the stream, 

 and to be following parallel with our course. 

 Once, when a dry twig snapped with a sharp 

 report, the guide whispered, " deer." A twig 

 never crunches under the sharp, cutting hoof 

 of a deer, but always pops. After the sounds 

 in the bushes had followed parallel to the 

 stream for a few rods, they became plainer, as 

 though the forest stranger was overcoming his 

 timidity, or getting more curious about us. 

 Just ahead was a sharp turn in the stream, 

 and a point that ran out into the water. Here 

 the guide worked the boat carefully in to- 

 wards the shore, where he held it stationary, 

 by thrusting a paddle into the sand. There 

 we waited and listened, my nerves tingling 

 with excitement. Then presently the sounds 

 of breaking twigs, and the swish of parting 



