858 THE DEER OF AMERICA. 
move one bit!’ he half hissed and half said through his teeth. 
‘Down! sink, down — slow, like me!’ and we all gradually 
subsided in the wet bushes. 
“T had not seen him; I knew it was a Moose, though I dared 
not ask Joe; but quietly awaited further directions. Presently, 
on Joe’s invitation, I slowly dragged my body through the 
bushes to him. ‘Now you see him, Capten; there — there! 
My sakes, what a bull! What a pity we not a little nearer — 
such open country !’ 
“ There he stood —a gigantic fellow — black as night, moving 
his head which was surmounted by massive white-looking horns, 
slowly from side to side, as he scanned the country around. He 
evidently had not seen us, and was not alarmed, so we all 
breathed freely. This success on our part was partly attributa- 
ble to the suddenness and caution with which we stopped and 
dropped, when the quick eye of the Indian detected him, and 
partly to the haziness of the atmosphere. His distance was 
about five hundred yards, and he was standing directly facing us, 
the wind blowing from him to us. After a little deliberation, 
Joe applied the call to his lips and gave out a most masterly imi- 
tation of the lowing of the cow-moose to allure him towards us. 
He heard it and moved his head rapidly as he scanned the hori- 
zon for a glimpse of the stranger. He did not answer, however ; 
and Joe said, as afterwards proved correct, that he must have a 
cow with him, somewhere close at hand. Presently, to our great 
satisfaction, he quietly Jay down in the bushes. ‘Now we have 
him,’ thought I; ‘but how to approach him?’ The Moose lay 
facing us, but partly concealed in bushes, and a long swampy 
gully, filled up with alders, crossed the country obliquely between 
us and the game. We have lots of time, for the Moose generally 
rests for a couple of hours at a time. Slowly we worm along 
towards the edge of the alder swamp; the bushes are provok- 
ingly short, but the mist, and the dull gray of our homespun 
dresses favor us. Gently lowering ourselves down into the 
swamp, we creep noiselessly through the dense bushes, their thick 
foliage closing over our heads. Now is an anxious moment — the 
slightest snap of a bough, the knocking of a gun-barrel against a 
stem, and the game is off. 
“«« Must go back,’ whispered Joe close in my ear, ‘ can’t get 
near enough this side — too open,’ and the difficult task is again 
undertaken and performed without disturbing the Moose. What 
a relief on regaining our old ground, to see his great ears flap- 
