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to be the best place. The night was 

 dark and served our purpose well. 

 My carbine lay in the bottom of 

 the canoe. We did not intend to 

 use it, but I had long ago learned 

 not to go far in the woods without 

 a gun, if only to summon aid in case 

 of accident. 



Bert held the canoe stationary by 

 thrusting a paddle into the sand of a 

 little beach that ran under a steep 

 bank. By the aid of the jack through 

 the clear water we could see many 

 fresh moose tracks of all sizes on the 

 sandy bottom. Undoubtedly it was 

 the end of a game trail. 



It seemed a good place to try our 

 luck. Nimrod covered the jack and 

 got out his elaborately painted horn 

 of birch-bark and let off a long call. 

 Bert nodded approval. It had the 

 right sound. We were not surprised 

 nor disappointed that it brought no 

 response. These things take time. 

 Nearly an hour passed. It seemed a 

 whole night, every moment crowded 

 with nervous listening. The unimag- 

 inative persons we are told, miss 

 much of the joys of anticipation; 

 they also miss many wild visions of 



