102 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
tAuG. II, i90d> 
An Accommodating Moose. 
Being the Conclusion of "In a Nova Scotia Camp," in the 
Issue of Last Veek.j 
We were awakened very early by the old Indian, 
who, rapping on the tent post, announced that it was 
"time to git up— kittle b'ilin." Consulting my watch as 
I left the tent and ckew close to the fire— for the morn- 
ing was intensely cold, a heavy frost covering everything 
with a glistening mantle — I found that it was nearly 2 
o'clock. John proceeded to make a pot of coflfee, and 
of this, together with some bread and a slice of bacon, 
we made an early breakfast. 
"A drink of good hot coffee'll keep out the cold," said 
the guide, and, barring a few biscuit that we'd better put 
in our pockets, we'll not git anything to eat till we git 
back to camp." 
The moon was shining brightly far above the western 
horizon as we stepped into our canoes and began silently 
to paddle up the river. The air was absolutely still, and 
the surface of the water, which was covered with a light 
haze, had almost the appearance of a field of snow as we 
glided over its bosom. 
The Doctor and John were in the large canoe, while 
the Indian and I occupied the other. Slowely we moved 
along in the shadow of the trees which lined the shore. 
Our paddles, wielded as they w^ere by men who had be- 
come accustomed to their use, made no noise; our prog- 
ress was as silent as would be that of ghostly hunters. 
At length we drew together, and conversing in low 
tones arranged our plans for the hunt. The Doctor and 
his guide were to land on the southern shore at a favor- 
able point known to them, while the Indian and I were 
to proceed further up the stream, and landing on the 
other side move over to a strentch of barrens, which was 
well studded with patches of forest a mile or more from 
the river. 
Proceeding thiis, we would not interfere with each 
other in any way, for as we would be at least two or three 
miles apart there would not be much likelihood of the 
"calling" from either of the guides attracting the game 
from the other. Leaving the Doctor and John where 
they w'ere making a landing, we slowly paddled up the 
stream for a half mile or so and then the canoe was 
steered to the shore, where we landed, the spot chosen 
by the Indian being the terminus of an old logging road, 
which ran into the barrens in the direction we wished io 
follow. , 
"Not much stick in this old road," said the Indian, in 
a whisper. "We not make noise. Go easv. Barmby will 
call." 
The old guide, with his heavy gun m one hand and his 
birch bark cone in the other, led the way slowly and 
cautiously, I following in his footsteps as carefully as I 
could. The moon was now almost down to the horizon, 
and the air was so cold that, notwith sanding I was 
warmly clad, my teeth fairly chattered. The exercise 
of walking, however, soon made me more comfortable, 
and I kept close to the heels of the old man in order that 
he might hasten his steps. 
"No hurry," he at length said, as I pressed him too 
closely. "Go easy. Look out not break sticks.''' 
His caution was not needed, for I well knew that the 
moose could detect the breaking of a twig if done by 
man above all the other sounds of the forest. 
For what seemed an hour, but which was probably 
not half that period of time, we followed the path. At 
length we came to a small grove of hackmatacks and 
dwarf firs, around which there was a wide stretch of 
open barrens, which was covered with bushes, stunted 
trees and scattered groups of various evergreens. 
When a satisfactory position was obtained, the Indian 
put his bark horn to his lips and began to call. 
It was an ideal hunting morning, the air being clear 
and cold, and not a breath of wind was stirring. As 
we all know, an absolutely still air is a sine qua non. 
An old bull moose is one of the craftiest, most sus- 
picious and in the mating season one of the most un- 
approachable of wild animals; he is ever on his guard, 
and expert indeed is the caller who can imitate the 
siren tones of the female so naturally that he can charm 
the huge animal on to his destruction. A young bull 
of two or three years of age is not so cautious, and he 
usually comes to his doom apparently without a sus- 
picion of danger. 
The note of the bull moose is a short, explosive one. 
something like "boh" Or "woh." T he calling of my old 
guide was repeated several times at intervals of a few 
minutes, but no response was heard. 
A few faint streaks in the east were now visible, which 
indicated that daylight was rapidly approaching. Again 
the harsh, discordant call was given, and yet again and 
again the gray of the eastern sky began to show a 
lighter tinge. The call was repeated once more, when a 
distant response came back to us. 
The Indian now displayed a degree of excitement quite 
beyond that which I expected he would show. 
"Moose come soon, .sure," he said, in a low tone. "He 
answer two times, quick." 
Again was the melancholy sound poured out, and 
again came the answer, "boh!" as the moose drew 
nearer. The guide again gave the call, but pointed the 
horn toward the ground and not in the direction of the 
approaching anima' -med as I had been to the 
stolidity of thr - '"as surprised to see 
showed in every movement of every limb and mu-scle 
the engrossing destructive spirit of the hunt. 
As a matter of fact, I w^as more interested in watchmg 
the old fellow and in studying the phases of his hunter 
character than I was in the approaching game. 
The moose now began to circle around us in the 
endeavor to catch our scent. Keeping at a safe distance 
and availing himself of the cover afforded by the scat- 
tered group of evergreens, he moved around,_ impatient 
to approach his inamorata, yet evidently suspicious that 
everything was not as it should be. 
The air continued absolutely motionless, not even 
the faintest vestige of a breeze being felt, and the moose 
was therefore given no opportunity of learning the true 
character of the caller, and nothing was left him but to 
approach and investigate. Again he circled, but as he 
did so he drew nearer the thicket in which we were con- 
cealed. 
Faintly and more faintly now the call was uttered, and 
the Indian snapped a few Sticks as if the cow were in 
motion. , , , j 
"Woh! Woh!" uttered the bull, as he advanced toward 
us and finally showed his whole form in the bushes not 
200 yards away. Like a statue he stood for a moment 
and then he turned, and before I could get my rifle to 
my shoulder he disappeared from our sight. "Hear 
dam cow calling," ejaculated the Indian, as he dashed 
his birch cone to the ground and almost danced with 
rage. "Too bad! Too bad! Cuss the old cow!" 
I listened for a few minutes, and away off in the bar- 
rens I heard the wailing bellow of the female moose 
that had robbed us of our quarry even at the moment we 
were- about to secure it. 
Our bdll was lost to us, beguiled from us in the most 
exasperating way. and as the sun was now considerably 
above the horizon, and further calling was of course 
futile, we lighted our pipes, and with feelings of disap- 
pointment and chagrin retraced our steps over the old 
logging trail back to our canoe. 
The incident was not an uncommon one, for many a 
moose hunter has had an experience similar to that 
through which we had passed. 
The call of the cow has a peculiar to«ie, w^hich the best 
hunters cannot compete with, and if it is heard by the 
bull he immedialfcly turns and follows it. as ours had 
' done, leaving the imitator to bear as philosophically as 
possible the loss he has sustained. 
The old Micmac was as ghnn as a Hindoo idol, as we 
embarked in the canoe and began to paddle down the 
stream, but ever and anon 1 heard him muttering to 
himself in a savage way, and occasionally caught the 
words, "Dam cow moose," "Cussed luck," "John laff 
heap if he get one." 
It was a severe blow to the old iWan, foir he had counted 
the big bull as good as potted. In a short time we ar- 
rived at the landing place, where the ofclier canoe Wc\s 
hauled up, and stepping ashore we built a small fire and 
awaited the coming of the Doctor and his guide. 
A half hour was thus passed, during wliich the Indian 
maintained a moody silence, and then the cracking of 
small sticks in the thicket was heard, and in a few^ mo- 
ments we were ioined by the others. 
"What luck. Doctor?" I asked, as he stood beside us. 
"None at all," he replied. "We did hot see nor hear 
a moose, though we were in what John calls the best bit 
of country in these parts. .And you?" ^ 
"We were just at the point of getting a nice one when 
he was hypnotized away from us." And then the story 
was told. 
"That must have been perfectly maddening," said the 
Doctor. "I can hardly conceive of a greater disap- 
pointment than that." 
"Yes, it was an infernal streak of bad luck," added 
John, "but some pork b'iles so. I vote we git back to 
camp and fill up with a good breakfast, but we'll have 
nary moose meat in it. However, it all goes inter tlie 
wash," with which bit of philosophy he held his canoe 
for the Doctor to embark, and then shoving off he took 
his seat in the stern, and wielding the paddles they began 
to move down the stream. 
Extinguishing our fire, for an experienced woodsnian 
never leaves burning brands in the woods, the Indian 
and I re-entered our canoe and followed the others 
toward our camp. 
Fully half the distance had been traversed before we 
overtook the other canoe, when one of those events oc- 
curred — John called it a "happenstance" — stich as is rarely 
duplicated in the experiences of even the mo.st persistent 
hunter. As we drew close to the other craft we saw the 
Doctor lay aside his paddle and take his rifle, when, 
cocking it, he scrutinized the thick growth which covered 
the shore along which we had been paddling. At the 
same time his guide Hfted his hand, and by his actions 
cautioned us to maintain silence, pointing at the same 
time into the thicket and whispering, "Sticks are break- 
ing. Look our for a moose!" 
We listened, and presently we heard the snapping of 
twigs, which indicated that a large aniitial was moving 
about in the copse. The sound continued, and seizing 
my rifle I waited for the advent of the moose, which I 
had no doubt would quickly show* itself. 
Soon the crackling increased, and the animal seemed 
to be moving more rapidly through the woods. 
"He's off," whispered my guide. 
"No," replied John; "he's traveling down towards the 
lake." 
Our canoes were now silently put in motion, being 
kept as near the shore as possible, and w-itli rifles readj^ 
for instant service the Doctor and I waited developments. 
Before us w'as a point which, jutting far out into the 
stream, necessitated our making a long detour before we 
could again get abreast of the mo^'ing animal. This we 
skirted successfully, and following along its lower shore, 
close against the forest growth which covered it, we 
vr-'- J^^^^jrd the sounds which marked the progress of the 
^J-Jie thick- growth. 
^"^re not mwre than thirty rods from 
-- that the climax would soon be 
^nts the sounds increased and 
inct, and we knew that the 
qnd was approschirig the 
'••^ft, our every 
huge beast, with clouds of steam issuing from his nostrils, 
emerged from the covert and stood on the river bank 
not ten rods from the Doctor's canoe. In an instant 
the sharp report of his rifle rang out, and the fatal b.uUet 
sped on its way. For an instant it stood as if paralyzed, 
and then, as if summoning up all its strength, it turned 
and shambled down the river bank. The rifle again 
sent its leaden messenger, when, staggering onward for a 
rod or two, the moose quietly dropped on the shore not 
five rods from our tent. 
"By Jove, Doctor," I exclaimed, "that was the greatest 
piece of pure luck I ever saw!" 
"Not all luck," said the old Indian. "Pretty good 
shootin', too." 
Our canoes were now run ashore, and landing w e m- 
spected our huge quarry. ,„ ^ , . vr 
"That's as handsome a head as you 11 find m a life- 
time. Doctor," I exclaimed. "I congratulate you heart- 
ily. While I should have liked to have been the lucky 
man, I'm glad indeed that the good fortune fell to you." 
"Thanks," replied my friend. "I know you mean, 
every word you say." . , , , , x 
"Yes." added John; "it's one of the best heads I eyer 
saw, and the Doctor may well be proud of gittin' it. 
'Twas a mighty 'commodatin' critter, too, to bring his 
carkiss right to camp; he saved us a heap of luggin' 
and trouble, and we'll have some moose meat for dinner 
after all.'' Edward A. Samuels. 
The History of a Cow Horn. 
I AM only a cow horn, yet of ancient and respectable 
lineage, and with pleasant thoughts of my past. 
I did not come over on the Mayflower, as so many did ; 
in fact, more "three brothers" came over on that cele- 
brated ship than couid be accommodated on one of the 
largest liners of the present day, it is said. How 1 
reached Plymouth Colony I do not just remember, but I 
do recollect that I adorned the head of an old brindle 
cow, and we settled at Brimfield, Mass., where she lived 
for many years, until at last old age caused her to cease 
her supply of milk and she was converted into tender- 
loins. , r -1 
I was saved by one Benjamin Mun, in whose family 
I have been ever since. Benjamin took a great fancy 
and liking to my figure, which was slight, graceful and 
feir to look upon, for he poHshed me up in great shape, 
till I was as attractive as a belle of the present day. You 
would have thought he would have been satisfied with 
my appearance, but he was not, so he plugged my hind 
end with a piece of wood and closed my mouth with a 
wooden stopper, which I considered a bit tough; but he 
said that my sex was safer with one. I was polished 
with a bit of flint, and rubbed down as smooth as 
possible. 
Benjamin was a good man, but a trifle peculiar. He 
used to go off in the woods to have a little sport shoot- 
ing Indians, mostly the Pequots; but he also had a 
fancy for those of other tribes, except the Mohegans, 
with whom he affiliated. He became a close friend ol 
Uncas, the great chief of that tribe. To such a point did 
this friendship reach that he carved on my side a ser- 
pent and tortoise-— the coat of arms of Uncas — and a 
picture of himself without any hair — he may have been 
scalped — a snake swallowing a frog and many other odd 
things. We had lots of good times together, but the 
first real battle we were in took place in May, 1637, where 
we and some friends were joined by Uncas and a number 
of his tribe. Benjamin and Uncas carried the stockade 
by assault on that bright May day, and the slaughter of 
the hostile Indians was dreadful. 
At the close of the Indian wars I was hung up in the 
garret of the old homestead, where I remained on re- 
tired dutj^ except as I was taken out for an occasional 
hunt. 
Time sped on, and old Benjamin Mnn departed this 
life, and I was claimed by his son, I led a quiet, un- 
eventful life for many years, until one April day in 1775 
I was taken down from my peg and heard Rueben 
Munn, who had caught an extra "n" to his name, say, 
"For Lexington!" and we were there in time to get in 
one of the first shots at the redcoats.. 
During the Revolution I did my duty by keeping the 
master's powder dry, and though changing owners many 
times during the war I have never been out of the pos- 
session of a direct descendant of Benjamin Mim. 
I should not have gone out of Benjamin's possession, 
but he was promoted to be a colonel, and had to give 
up his flintlock for a sword. I have a pleasant heme, an<l 
though my working days have passed I know I shall be 
well provided for in my old age, for the present master 
thinks a lot of me. 
(As told per) Henrv N, Munn, 
The Knight Mystery. 
Boston, Aug. 6. — The daily papers have another story 
concerning young Richard M. Knight, who so mysterious- 
ly disappeared from Bemis, Me., last fall, while on a 
deer hunting trip. This story, founded on the assertions 
of unreliable backwoodsmen, says that young Knight ap- 
peared at a house in Grafton, N. H., a few- days after hi- 
disappearance, and was^ seen by the w'oman of the house. 
Then all trace of him is lost. But the imagination of 
the backwoodsman has located him in New York, where 
he is living with the girl his father and mother did not 
wish him to marry. Young Knight's parents have been 
interviewed by the enterprising newspaper reporter. They 
calmly assure him that such a story is simple nonsense. 
They never opposed any girl ; there was none to oppose. 
Other statements of fact in the newspaper yarn are based 
upon that which never existed. The fakeists will have to 
try again. Mr. and Mrs. Knight, the young man's father 
and mother, are done with fakes, frauds and mediums. 
They continue to receive letters from mediums and 
. clairvoyants, offering to find their son, and all hinting at a 
consideration. These communications go unanswered. 
' One general answer must suffice for all. The finding of 
young Knight, dead or alive, will, be suitably rewarded, 
Nothing will be given in advance. Special. 
* . 
The Forest akd Stream is put to press each week on Tufesday. 
Correspondence intended for publication should reach us at th/ 
Jstest by Monday and as ni«ah ^Ijpr ss practicable, J 
I 
