Mooes 
moose. It was into this inviting camp that we stumbled long 
after dark, scaring a little moose out of the very door-yard, not 
two hundred feet from the cabin door. The frost came down 
and cracked the trees that night till they popped with the cold 
and the sound was like a skirmish of rifles. The next morning 
when we awoke there was a thin glaze on the snow, and when 
we walked abroad it was like treading on innumerable panes of 
crackling window-glass. We heard three different moose get up 
and run when we were a quarter of a mile off. . . . We 
climbed the mountain for an hour. Then we came to the tracks 
of two moose, fresh that very morning. The footprints were not 
extra large, but the broken twigs on two trees showed where a 
pair of antlers had scraped on either side and | could scarcely 
touch the two trees at one time with my _ outstretched hands. 
Moose with big horns do not always have large hoofs. 
‘**They lie down about this time in the morning’ said my 
guide, . . . and after awhile, over the top of a fallen tree- 
trunk | saw the mane of a great, black animal. The old fellow 
has not seen us yet. He swings his great horns just a little. 
The steam rises from his broad nostrils. Lazily he winks his 
eye. I can see every hair on his. back. Carefully I push the 
camera above the prostrate tree-trunk first brushing the snow 
away with my hand. Tick, goes the shutter and the great beast 
is getting up. The antlers swing, he rises, two feet at a time, 
like an ox, hesitates an instant, as a moose always does, shows 
the little symptoms of fright so familiar to those who know the 
habits of the moose, and then goes down the mountains like a 
runaway locomotive. ’ 
In the far Northwest moose were even more abundant, though 
it is difficult to say how long they will withstand the sudden 
flood of immigration which the gold fever has recently produced 
in that direction. ‘‘The broad valley and mountain banks of the 
Klondike” writes Tappan Adney, ‘‘are an admirable feeding ground 
for the moose. The temperature in winter is exceedingly cold 
and crisp, but the snowfall is light, and by reason of the intense 
cold the snow does not settle or pack. There is so little wind, 
especially through the early part of the winter, that the snow 
accumulates on the trees in strange and often fantastic masses, 
giving the landscape, especially on the mountain tops, the appear- 
ance of having been chiselled out of pure white marble. On 
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