CHAPTER IX 

 MISSING A BIG MOOSE AT THIRTY YARDS 



' ' But look, the morn, in russet mantle clad, 

 Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill." 



HAMLET. 



AT first break of day we were up and doing at the 

 Gober Lake Camp. A discussion was in progress be- 

 tween Uncle Henry and the cook when I joined them 

 as to how far it was to Crichton Lake. This is a body 

 of water which nestles in the very crest of a high moun- 

 tain, the base of which rubbed close up to our lodging. 

 Both agreed as to the distance, if the mountain were to 

 be attacked from the front, but Henry wanted to take 

 it in the rear. As near as I could make it out from their 

 talk, the journey there and back would be twelve miles, 

 but it might be stretched out to sixteen miles by some 

 contemplated diversions from the roundabout way in 

 order to visit one or more dead-waters. 



We got away bright and early. The route lay along 

 a spotted trail for three miles or so until an old logging 

 road was reached. This road hadn't been used for ever 

 so many years, and, of course, it was grown up with 

 many obstructions deadfalls, alders, cedars and young 

 firs. The road was cautiously followed. We made the 

 least possible noise, stopping frequently to listen and 

 then putting our feet down lightly, being careful not to 



