The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
I found a rock in the ground which answered my 
purpose. This was all done in great hurry and 
excitement, for the other bull was still pounding 
the bushes like a fury, eighty yards away. It was 
the work of an instant to put another soft-nosed 
cartridge into the rifle and be ready again. I 
left Hunter to go on skinning out the head 
whilst I hurried back the way I had come. 
Half-way up the hill I stopped to listen. I was 
behind a tree, when suddenly a big bull moose 
put his head over a fallen log fifty yards away, 
and uphill of me. I could only see the front of 
his head as he faced me directly. Aiming at the 
centre of his forehead, I fired, and, as he turned, 
I hit him again in the neck. I was somewhat 
blown by my scramble, but felt that the beast 
was mine surely enough. I now scrambled up 
to where I had last seen him, and in the distance 
saw him struggling along, very sick. I hurried 
after him, and had perhaps gone two hundred 
yards when a rifle shot rang out. It seems that 
my two Indians, Elia and Shanghai, had been 
after moose meat to the sheep camp, and on 
returning met my wounded bull and finished 
him off. This was quite a good head, not 
so massive as the first I shot, nor so broad in 
the beam, but satisfactory to me. The first 
bullet had hit him on the right side of his big 
nose, about six inches above the nostril. He had 
evidently thrown up his head at the flash, and 
270 
