My First BulUMoose 



But if thou needs will hunt, be ruled by me. 



—Venus and Adonis. 



I HAVE been asked to narrate the killing of my 

 first bull-moose. I will try to do so, yet it is no easy 

 task. Others with a like experience in moose killing, 

 I think, will agree with me when I say that the anx- 

 iety, the exposure, the suspense, a hunter must un- 

 dergo, and the cunning skill and perseverance he must 

 use in luring the suspicious creature to the water and 

 then killing him are hardly within the power of an 

 ordinary pen to describe. I have known a hunter, 

 who was said to be an expert, to spend nine nights 

 and as many mornings before he could coax his bull 

 to come from shelter ; and when he did show himself, 

 a rifle shot rang out on the air, of course, but with 

 what result ? A dead moose lay there — not a " giant 

 of the Maine woods" as the hunter had so fondly 

 hoped — but only a four-year-old " spike horn." 



The difficulties surrounding my first bull -moose ad- 

 venture, while not so great as those which this partic- 

 ular hunter had encountered, were quite great enough 

 to satisfy my appetite for difficulties. 



And now for a bit of my own experience. 



On a calm, frosty night while the October moon 



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