Moose Calling 91 



two people in cold blood, and wore strings on his 

 pantaloons where the buttons should have been) 

 discoursed the sweetest music that ever was heard 

 in moosedom. He climbed up a little tree, and 

 sat there " wouking " " as gently as any sucking 

 dove " ; he climbed down his little tree and shoved 

 his nose into the bushes close to the ground 

 and " wouked " " an 't were any nightingale " ; he 

 " roused the night out with a catch," and the 

 night revenged himself by uttering a demoniacal 

 yell that nearly sent the heart of me through the 

 soles of my moccasins ; he was yearning, he was 

 reproachful, he was coaxing, he languished in 

 despair, but that wily young moose bull would 

 not face the open. We could hear him, away 

 there in dark forest, dashing his horns against 

 the branches, swaggering around, rampaging, and 

 " raising h — 11 generally," as they say " out West," 

 but he would not take the open ; and at last we 

 got bored of uttering our blandishments, and in 

 the earliest morning — how cold it was sitting there 

 like a hot-house flower in a florist's window ! the 

 night is coldest, not darkest, before the dawn — we 

 determined to challenge him to mortal combat. 

 Choking with rage, we uttered the most defiant 

 snorts, drew our fragile birch-bark trumpet across 

 the stem of a dead pine to simulate the sharpenings 

 of mighty antlers, and smashed twigs to impress 

 him with an adequate idea of our matchless force 

 and prowess, to show him that we were a rival 



