92 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
Snyder bethought him of Tim Coakley, star first 
baseman of the only professional team in the 
county, who was just then loafing. Tim was six 
foot one, tough as hickory, and reputed to be 
afraid neither of man nor devil. 
“ Sure,” said Tim, “ O7’ll come. The guy that 
mistakes me for a deer’ll go to his own funeral.” 
So, on the day before the season opened, Sny- 
der led Tim up the mountain, and then took him 
out into the deep cover to show him the likely 
places to watch. But Snyder had a sneaking 
idea that Old Bill and some of the other moose 
might be around, so he left Tim in a little clear- 
ing, and went on, alone, into the densest part of 
the swamp to see if he could get a peep at them, 
his pets and pride. He hadn’t gone very far 
before he heard the voice of Tim calling frantic- 
ally. Snyder turned and hurried back. As he 
drew nearer, he heard not only his own name, but 
various and sundry adjectives attached thereto 
which are not proper for publication. The voice 
seemed to be coming, also, from a greater height 
above the ground than even the normal position 
of Tim’s mouth. 
