XVI 

 THE BEGUILING OF THE MOOSE BULL 



NO sound breaks the deep stillness of the autumn night save 

 the occasional plaintive moose-call sent faintly vibrating 

 over the mist-streaked cedar swamp by the Indian hunter from his 

 place of ambush, amid fern bracken and alder thicket, close to the 

 edge of the dark evergreen forest. The sound, a low guttural bellow, 

 now faint, now rising wild and sonorous, comes mellowed through 

 a funnel-shaped cone of yellow birch-bark, which the man slowly 

 moves in an undulating fashion through the air. He is taking 

 infinite pains to feign accurately a love call of the female at the 

 mating season, whereby she appeals to the wandering lord of the 

 Canadian forest. 



Some three hours have passed since the sun dropped behind 

 the purple hills, and now the October full moon lifts her copper- 

 coloured disc over the black spear-like tops of the shaggy conifers, 

 hastening on her serene path towards the blazing constellations 

 studding the high heavens. 



At length her light clears to silver, shooting great level bars 

 athwart the open glade, throwing into bold relief the grassy tussocks 

 sprinkled like little islets over what resembles the surface of a dark 

 lake, reflecting glittering patches from little pools in the hollows, 

 and sharply outlining irregular patches of blackness in the shadows 

 cast from the fir trees clasping the little savannah in their rugged 

 embrace. There is the sense of a certain awesome solemnity hanging 

 over the scene, and a tense silence provoking the ears of the listeners 

 with intensity of desire to hear some response to the cajoling and 

 coaxing tones of the challenge of the moose horn, a silence that 

 would tempt some men to shout aloud by way of relief. 



Close to the grizzled redskin, a weather-bronzed Saxon face 

 is thrust forward into the circle of light, wearing an expression of 

 eager expectancy, yet closely watching every motion made by 

 the Indian. 



Suddenly the calm of the forest is rent by a low hoarse croak, 

 faint and far away, borne feebly on the thin autumn air over the 

 undulating sea of verdure. 



The plaintive notes are rendered with inimitable skill, notwith- 



