132 A MOOSE HUNT ON SNOW-SHOES 



watching with his wonderful faculties of scent and hearing at the 

 highest tension. The faintest taint of the air, the least snapping 

 of a dry twig, or creaking of the snow beneath the moccasined foot 

 of the hunter, is sufficient to send him travelling in hot haste for 

 a long distance. 



Nothing can exceed the zest of a tramp on snow-shoes on one 

 of those superb sunny days in early March which offer such a sharp 

 and pleasing contrast to the sombre skies which often prevail during 

 the two preceding months of winter. The forest in its white gar- 

 ments, with all the hardwood trees silent and leafless standing 

 waist-deep in the snows, becomes beautiful and impressive. The 

 air is still keen enough to be intensely bracing. A long tramp, 

 which at other times might seem severe, is now a luxury. One 

 fairly flies over the crust of snow and delights in the clear open 

 vistas among the trees denuded of their foliage. 



The little band of hunters keep moving rapidly over the smooth 

 pavement prepared for them across the swamps where in the summer 

 the traveller would sink knee-deep in the sponge-like sphagnum. 

 Lakes, where thousands of perfumed water-lilies reposed on the 

 trembling surface last July, can now bear a team of horses on the 

 thick flooring of ice which confines within it the stems and pads 

 of the queenly flowers. Certainly the Canadian climate affords 

 interesting contrasts. 



After an hour or two of brisk tramping, dogs and men reach a 

 moose ' yard ', which is found to be deserted. A number of well- 

 worn paths cross each other among a low forest of young birches 

 and maples, in places soiled with the spoor, showing that the yard 

 has only been recently evacuated. Passing onwards and skirting 

 a stunted growth of evergreens which fringe a ' barren ' , where huge 

 boulders strewn in the wildest confusion and tangled windfalls 

 make the going somewhat difficult, the dogs pause at a single track 

 where perhaps an hour ago a moose bull has passed, leaving deep 

 holes where he has thrust his long canon bones into the snow. 

 The scent freshens as the trail is followed, until the dogs become 

 almost frenzied. A veteran of the hunt, old Bang, with mutilated 

 ears and grizzled muzzle well scored with ancient scars of battles, 

 stands completely upright on his hind legs and sniffs the suspected 

 breeze. A cross between Newfoundland and bull-mastiff, he unites 

 the broad soft foot of the former with the strength and courage 

 of the latter. He is a powerful brute, who will dare swift blows from 

 the forefeet of the moose, and rush in to seize the largest bull by 

 the muzzle or by the long ears while others are taking him in the 

 rear. 



The whole pack in concert with noses high in air suddenly 



