The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
large tract of country; not very efficiently, as 
was proved a few minutes later, for a huge bull 
moose walked into the open through the black 
alder scrub to the left and below us. He was 
too far off to shoot at, being at least four hundred 
yards away. I watched him for some minutes 
through my glasses, the sun shining on those 
lovely horns of his, from which I could see por- 
tions of the velvet hanging in streamers. The 
horns were whitish in places, which proved that 
he had been amusing himself rubbing the velvet 
off against the bushes. Hunter and I waited 
for some time, hoping that this grand beast 
would move into a better position ; he was quite 
impossible where he was, for there was no sort of 
cover on either side of us, and I was loth to run 
the risk of wounding him by firing a long fluky 
shot. He turned to enter the alder. Now was 
our chance, and we hurried towards where he 
had disappeared, for his movements were so 
slow and deliberate that it was certain he had not 
seen us, and the wind was blowing in our faces. 
Arrived at the alder, we listened to hear him 
force his way through that tangle of brush, but 
there was not a sound—the earth might have 
opened and swallowed him up. How any beast 
of this enormous size, and with such a spread of 
horns, could force a way through this jungle 
fairly beat us, for it was with the greatest diffi- 
culty that I wormed my way through—the 
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