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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