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 



