238 HUNTING IN THE ARCTIC 



were at the best place. On hands and knees we mounted 

 the little hill, Ufted twigs out of the path before putting 

 hand or knee upon them, because the wind was light 

 and baffling. At last we gained a good viewpoint. Sev- 

 eral small evergreen trees and a few bare hmbs were in 

 the way, but it was possible to shoot between them and 

 hit the animal without having the bullet turn aside 

 before it struck its mark. 



We were hardly more than one hundred yards away 

 from the moose, and looked at him carefully with our 

 glasses. He was lying with his back to us and it was not 

 possible to see the brow points on both sides, but the 

 blades of the horns looked large and they seemed to have 

 a wide spread. The rifle was trained upon his shoulder, 

 when suddenly the moose stood up. Bill said, ''That is 

 not the same one," but it was too late. We had made 

 the stalk with the purpose of killing this animal, because 

 we had felt sure it was the one we had marked down, and 

 firing the fatal bullet was the only logical conclusion to 

 our long and stealthy approach. The shot rang out and 

 the moose stood still. "He's dead," cried Bill as the 

 beast did not move. But to make sure of him I put 

 another bullet at the same place and the great animal 

 went down to his knees and then fell over. 



With what emotion the hunter runs to his slain vic- 

 tim to examine the prize; with what exultation and 

 regret that the chase is ended; with what hope that the 

 trophy may surpass his expectations and fear lest it 

 prove to have been deceptive! With all of these feelings 

 I ran down the slope, jumping the fallen trees, to the side 

 of the huge beast. 



But alas for Nimrod's dream! This was by no means 

 the moose we had followed with our glasses for three 



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