190 HUNTING CAMPS. 



calling-place, we saw no warrantable moose. More 

 than once the tracks told their own tale ; one evening a 

 cow called, her weird love-song echoing through the 

 woods, and once a small bull substituted himself for his 

 betters. 



Continued ill-fortune at length drove us to change 

 our hunting-ground, and we travelled north until we 

 reached a small lake shaped like an hour-glass. Here a 

 little tumble-down hut, so diminutive that the shortest 

 of men could not have slept in it without discomfort, 

 offered us shelter. We dared light no fire, for, in the 

 first place, we were within an amphitheatre of hills 

 where axe-strokes re-echoed, and, in the second, the 

 veering winds would have carried the smoke along the 

 ridges. Consequently, as the frost was by this time 

 hard, we endured some cold. 



A windy evening for the lake lay high spoilt our 

 chances ; the next fell quiet and calm. Just before 

 sunset Ed and I paddled across and called, not 

 expecting an answer so early, but quite hopeful of 

 getting one later. The canoe, in the prow of which I 

 was sitting, was thrust in between two rocks, so that 

 I might watch the south shore while Ed watched the 

 north. The dusk was already turning to darkness, and 

 not a sound had I heard, when Ed whispered, " A 

 big bull has come in. If you can turn round, he's 

 your moose." 



I turned with infinite caution, and following the line 

 of his extended arm saw in the black shadow a whitish 

 blur the horns of the bull. He was about one hundred 

 and fifty yards distant, and standing so still that I 

 fancied he had heard us. I did not dare to risk a 

 whisper, but, making out as I thought the huge bulk of 



