THE CHASE. 857 
the latter being much larger and more pointed. Presently we 
came to an opening in the forest, where the brook discharged 
itself into a large circular swamp, densely grown up with alder 
bushes and swamp maple, with a thick undergrowth of gigantic 
ferns. Joe whispered, as we stood on the brow of the hill oyer- 
looking it, * May be they are in there lying down; if not they 
are started ;’ and putting to his lips the conical bark trumpet 
which he carried, he gave a short, plaintive call — an imitation 
of a young bull approaching and wishing to join the others. No 
answer or sound of movement came from the swamp. ‘Ah, I 
afraid so,’ said Joe, as we passed around and examined the 
ground on the other side. ‘I most all the time fear they started ; 
they smell our fire this morning, while Jem was making the 
breakfast.’ Long striding tracks, deeply plowing up the moss, 
showed they had gone off in alarm, and at a swinging trot, their 
course being for the barrens above. It was useless to follow 
them, so we went off to another part of the barren in search of 
other tracks. The walking in the open barren was very fatiguing 
after the luxury of the mossy carpeting of the forest, slipping con- 
stantly on the wet, smooth rocks, or slimy surfaces of decayed 
trees ; forever climbing over masses of prostrate trunks, and for- 
cing our way through tangled brakes, and plunging into the ooz- 
ing moss on newly-inundated swamps, we spent a long morning 
without seeing Moose, though our spirits were prevented from 
flagging by constantly following fresh tracks. The Moose were 
exceedingly ‘ yary,’ as Joe termed it, and we started two or 
three pairs without either hearing or seeing them, until some ex- 
clamation of disappointment from the Indian proclaimed the un- 
welcome fact. At length we reached the most elevated part of the 
barren. We could see the wooded hills of the opposite shore of 
the lake looming darkly through the mist, and here and there a 
portion of its dark waters. The country was very open; nothing 
but moss and stunted huckleberry bushes, about a foot and a half 
in height, covered it, save here and there a clump of dwarf maples, 
with a few scarlet leaves still clinging to them. The forms of 
prostrate trunks, blackened by fire, lying across the bleached 
rocks often gave me a start, as, seen at a distance, through the 
dark, misty air, they resembled the forms of our long-sought 
game— particularly so, when surmounted by twisted roots up- 
heaved in their fall, which appeared to crown them with antlers. 
“Stop, Capten! not a move;’ suddenly whispered old Joe, 
who was crossing the barren a few yards to my left; ‘don’t 
