426 
stepped into view at the upper end of the 
lake. Faintly could we trace an antlered 
head silhouetted against the lemon yellow 
of the dying autumn day. ‘‘Onto the 
raft,’ whispered Jim, ‘‘and we’ll swing out 
of sight around the peninsula” (a point that 
juts out at the lake’s head) ‘‘and then 
cross over and fire at Mister Moose. He’ll 
never come down to us while those cows 
hang around so handy.” No sooner had 
we stepped on the raft than a spike- 
horn, that had kept faithfully answering 
the call for an hour, jumped into the water 
from sheer fright of the older and larger 
newcomer and swam in the direction of our 
island. He saw but did not smell and 
came nearer and nearer while we sat still 
and watched him. Finally, the swimming 
yearling scented man and made again for 
the mainland, sending forth unearthly 
screams as he plunged into the fastness of 
the woods. Jim swore! ‘Things did look 
blue for us as we Sat listening to the warning 
cries of this young bull sounding over the 
forest. However, we poled quietly and 
patiently alongside the peninsula, hoping 
against hope that we might still find our 
big bull standing on the: opposite shore. 
Then something happened—and_hap- 
pened so quickly that it seemed more dream- 
like than real. Having neared the head- 
waters and getting ready to land, our at- 
tention was suddenly arrested by the sound 
of another big bull crashing through the 
underbrush on the left, hardly two hundred 
yards away. He had evidently come to the 
call from up among the ridges in front, and 
as he stepped out on the bank and peered at 
us his antlers glistened yellow in the sunset. 
His brother on the opposite bank was for- 
gotten and a shot rang out through the 
stillness—and then another. A leap and 
plunge into the water, a short struggle and 
a bull moose lay dead, pierced through heart 
and shoulder. 
wood had fallen a hunter’s prey—the 
trophy for which I had traveled a thousand 
miles was won and my cup of happiness 
full to the brim. Fellow hunters who have 
killed moose may be able to describe their 
feelings when the hunt is over—it is beyond 
me. Quickly cutting out the steak, meas- 
uring the antler-spread and the record bell 
of the bull, we made for the trail that led 
The lordly monarch of the 
RECREATION 
to Hiram and home. Long after dark we 
reached the cabin, where Hiram was await- 
ing us with a good, square meal. 
Now have I told you my favorite hunting 
tale. We sat up till long past midnight 
telling the story for the first time to Hiram, 
who listened wide-eyed and open-mouthed. 
He had seldom seen a moose alive and 
doted like a child on the huntsman’s tale. 
A peculiar twinkle in his eye told me that 
he, too, had a story coming, and I did not 
read him wrong. With a profound nod of 
the head, which always preceded his 
utterances of moment, the jolly cook began: 
“Boys, I had a hunt meself this morning, 
and with no guide to help me I called a 
springtooth, so put that in your pipe and 
smoke it.’ Jim looked at me. I looked 
at Jim. Hiram’s misnomer for a spike- 
horn was almost too much, but we bit our 
lips and waited for him to proceed. ‘ You 
see, it was this way: I was fishin’, out 
there on the bank, when first thing I knows 
this springtooth comes into the water from 
the other side. In me excitement I drops 
me rod and line into the water and makes 
for the nearest birch tree. I makes meself 
a horn” (such a horn!) ‘‘and then back 
to the water’s edge where I gives the call. 
Now the funny thing is the springtooth 
looks up, sees me and takes to the tall 
timber as if the devil himself was after him. 
Ye needn’t laugh; I called him, but the foxy 
son-of-a-gun wouldn’t come to the call.” 
Jim roared. ‘‘Show us how you called 
him, Hiram.” But Hiram wouldn’t give 
“no lessons, ’’ he said, and with a dignified 
‘‘Good-night” went over to his couch of 
balsam and was soon in the Land of Nod. 
Some days later we again came into the 
settlement, and there met six fellow hunters 
from whom we had parted nearly a month 
before. Two of them had big moose and 
those whom Fate had not so rewarded had 
either a fine caribou or a buck deer to show 
and one had killed a good-sized black bear. 
Like ourselves, they had found partridges 
a-plenty and trout and salmon-fishing of a 
high order. 
Such are the incidents of a moose hunt 
in New Brunswick. Who will controvert 
the right of His Woodland Highness, the 
Moose, to lord it over all the creatures of 
the forest ? 
