280 mVERBY 



figured out the hunter there on that log very quickly. 

 This manly exploit of the Western hunter reminds 

 me of an exploit of a Brooklyn man, who last win- 

 ter killed a bull moose in Maine. It was a more 

 sportsmanlike proceeding, but my sympathies were 

 entirely with the moose. The hero tells his story 

 in a New York paper. With his guides, all armed 

 with Winchester rifles, he penetrated far into the 

 wilderness till he found a moose yard. It was near 

 the top of a mountain. They started one of the 

 animals and then took up its trail. As soon as 

 the moose found it was being followed, it led right 

 off in hopes of outwalking its enemies. But they 

 had snow-shoes and he did not; they had food end 

 he did not. On they went, pursued and pursuers, 

 through the snow-clogged wilderness, day after day. 

 The moose led them the most difficult route he could 

 find. 



At night the men would make camp, build a fire, 

 eat and smoke, and roll themselves in their blankets 

 and sleep. In the morning they would soon come 

 up to the camping-place of the poor moose, where 

 the imprint of his great body showed in the snow, 

 and where he had passed a cold, supperless night. 



On the fifth day the moose began to show signs of 

 fatigue; he rested often, he also tried to get around 

 and behind his pursuers and let them pass on. 

 Think how inadequate his wit was to cope with the 

 problem — he thought they would pass by him if he 

 went to one side. 



On the morning of the sixth day he had made up 



