42 
Aunt Hannah at Home. 
After the solemn and depressing air of the black forest 
the light and life of the open hardwood growth seemed 
doubly grateful, though the frost still clung to the leaves 
and made difficult still-hunting in the open beech woods. 
I was not out for meat, however, but rather in search of 
rest by way of a day's easy-going on the ridge. 
Four days in the "blow-down" after the elusive bull 
moose had about worn out my hot desire for moose 
meat. During those four days we had seen eleven moose, 
counting them regardless of age and sex. Only two of 
these were desirable bulls, but neither of them offered 
anything like a possible shot. Another was a small 
horned three-year-old, which I declined to make my 
choice, preferring to wait for a shot at a big bull. The 
moose we had seen had given us plenty of diversion, and 
what we saw and learned was worth the long hours' hard 
trailing and the exhaustive labor in the blow-down, the 
cedar swamps and the boggy ash swales. 
Among other things we learned was the call the cow 
moose gives when separated from her calf. Still more 
interesting was the cry of the youngster when mamma 
had gone away and left him alone confronted by two big 
male humans. 
The latter cry we had practiced, also the mother's call, 
so that my hunting companion, who can imitate or call 
almost any animaf or bird in the North Woods, was 
able on several occasions to so confuse the young moose 
that they would run directly from their anxious parent 
and to cause the old moose to give voice to loud and 
solicitous calls, all of which was carefully noted and 
stored away for future use. 
On the ridge the ripened beech nuts were attracting 
such an array of interesting birds and animals that a day 
among them was better than reading volumes by the best 
writers about our feathered and furred neighbors of the 
forest. 
The birds and small four-footed folks seemed grateful 
for the warm sunshine, and there was already considera- 
ble noise and motion in the trees and among the dry 
leaves, where the beechnuts had fallen. I was casting 
about for a comfortable seat where I might sit a few 
hours and watch the gathering of the harvest. Birch 
buds and beechnuts were plentiful, and just beyond, in 
the edge of the black growth, spruce buds were to be 
gathered. Half a dozen dead snags nearby were crowded 
with sundry succulent worms and toothsome bugs, which 
were an attraction for the hungry woodpecker folk. 
Having found the right spot I was about to climb up 
to an inviting seat on the leaning fork of a yellow birch, 
when I heard hasty footsteps in the leaves behind me, 
and then the crack of a dry limb, broken, it seemed, be- 
neath the weight of a careless hunter. I turned, and 
there, 60 yards away, just outside the edge of the black 
growth, stood an immense moose. Instinctively the rifle 
was raised, and the white jack sight sought and steadied 
down on the broad foreshoulder of the great animal. 
Firm and easy the rifle covered the game, and the hunt 
was practically finished. I had time to think it over, 
and the train of thought was somewhat like this: "It's 
too easy; a shame to take such a shot; isn't it unsports- 
manlike to 'slam' him without some warning? But then 
I've hunted hard and faithfully for five days, and I've re- 
fused to shoot twice because the moose were not up to 
the caliber I needed. Now that the goddess of the hunt 
has sent this noble quarry to me what awful fate might 
be mine if I refused it." Then I thought how easy it 
would be to "jumper" out a moose from here — not a 
tree to cut nor a yard of woods to be swamped — it was 
like driving him into the camp yard. It was too easy 
indeed. 
All this time — thirty seconds — the moose was standing 
partially concealed by a combination of birch and maple 
trees, browsing on a tall winter beach bush. The height 
of the nose from the ground made me conclude that it 
must have been the largest moose that ever indiscreetly 
came out of the blow-down to browse in the glare of the 
sun on an open ridge. 
I waited to see his magnificent antlers. One step 
forward would disclose them, and I was determined to 
feast my eyes on his magnificent proportions before the 
final shot. I was coolly watching him through my Ly- 
man receiver sight, both eyes open and the white bead 
was still resting steadily on the chosen fatal spot. One 
step forward and all would be over. He was moving. 
With sighting eye close to the rifle, a firm grasp and a 
pressure on the trigger steady and cumulative. I waited 
but a second, and then I saw plainly that the head of 
my moose was as hornless as a July jackrabbit. Down 
went rifle, hammer, heart and hopes. I recovered 
quickly. She was a magnificent cow, and here was a 
good opportunity to watch her and, perchance, learn 
something of moose habits. 
As she stepped around briskly, nipping small limbs 
from the winter beach, she took no apparent precautions 
as to noise, nor did she seem to be on the alert, as are the 
deer, caribou and bull moose when feeding. This may 
or may not have been du& to the fact that she had been 
on this range and had lived unmolested all her life. 
For hours at a time I have watched caribou on the sum- 
mit of Mt. Katahdin as they pawed away the snow and 
fed on the tender mosses that grow there, and they ap 
parently relaxed all vigilance while feeding there. In the 
lowlands the caribou have, in most cases, been in a 
hurry to reach some distant point. On only one occa- 
sion have I been able to watch a caribou feeding in the 
lowlands. Some of the cow moose we saw this fall were 
instantly alarmed and ran like frightened rabbits; others 
went away slowly and in a more dignified manner. 
I at once determined to make the most of this op- 
portunity. A minute later I found that another combina- 
tion of trees screened the cow, and I began the tortuous 
work of creeping nearer to her. The leaves were still 
crisp and noisy, and under them were twigs and dry 
limbs waiting to cry out a warning. 
Slowly and with infinite care the moccasined foot was 
lowered in the leaves, and if a twig was felt a* new place 
had to be tried. Sometimes it took a full minutes to go 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
a yard. It took ten minutes to work over to the open 
space, where I expected to see the cow. When that spot 
was gained, no cow was visible. She had apparently 
taken alarm and silently slipped away in the black growth 
near at hand. In my disappointment all vigilance was 
relaxed, and with little hopes of detaining the cow or 
getting another glimpse of her, I gave the call we had 
heard the calves give when seeking their mother. 
This cry resembled no other sound I have heard in the 
woods.. It is an explosive, and is somewhat like the bark 
a large dog gives when suddenly alarmed. Written, it 
would be something like "Bouah!" and the calf gives it 
three times in quick succession, and after a brief pause 
adds another more emphatic "Bwahl" 
In this bark, however, there is much expression, and 
we could usually detect the fear and anxiety of the Calf 
and then note the reassuring or impatient reply of the 
mother. The sounds the cow gave voice to were never 
harsh or unmusical, though in the call to her young 
there was none of the seductive melody heard in her 
long-drawn-out love song early in October. 
As I uttered the last note or bark in my attempt to 
imitate the distressed call of the calf, I saw the cow lying 
in a small depression not 30 feet away. As she heard 
my cry she paid me the very flattering tribute of merely 
laying back one ear and continuing to chew her cud 
much as a barnyard bossie would do. 
I instantly stood stock still, so did my heart. My stalk 
had been alarmingly successful. She might have heard 
my heart thump when it again resumed its functions. 
Lying with her back and foreshoulders toward me, she 
was so foreshortened that I first took her to be a calf or 
a yearling, but the gray along her ridge pole showed her 
to be a grown-up lady, and not a small one either. A 
small dead juniper tree was directly between hie and 
her eye. 
Standing perfectly still, I watched her for a full min- 
ute, then she moved her head forward a few inches, as if 
to change her range of vision, and her eye was full on 
me. Believing that the slightest movement on my part 
would start her wildly leaping from her bed, I froze in 
my tracks. It seemed a full minute before she looked 
away, and my desire to relax was irresistible. I enjoyed 
a brief respite before the cow again turned her head and 
again looked long and steadily at me. She seemed to 
be wondering how that stump came there, and trying to 
recall whether it had been there when she laid down. 
It was the guess 1 "Maybe InjUn; inaybe stump;" and 
her conclusion seemed to be, "Guess stump," That ended 
her observation for the time, and I slowly and painfully 
worked back a yard and sat down on a small log. 
It is my belief that deer and moose are deficient in the 
discrimination of colors. On several occasions I have 
sat and watched deer, and have had them stare steadily 
at me at short range, and never detect me or realize the 
supposed danger of the proximity of man. On these 
occasions I have worn a mackinaw coat of fearful and 
wonderful pattern and color scheme. The colors are 
chiefly yellow, red, blue and gray, plentifully interspersed 
with fir balsam gum, ashes, clay and other honest stains 
incidental to life near to nature and the earth. True, 
these colors are all of the autumn woods, the sky and the 
trees, but nothing but reckless man could have made 
such a blending of colors or lack of blending colors as 
there is in that mackinaw suit. But that cow moose laid 
there calmly chewing her fine-cut, and surveyed that 
coat, and finally guessed it was a stump. She was not 
exceptionally stupid, for other moose, deer and various 
small animals, and even a few birds, have done the same, 
the animals seeming to rely on motion or scent to tell 
them of danger. 
They all note smoke quickly, and are uniformly 
alarmed at the thinnest puff. I found, however, that 
black mittens were at once looked on with suspicion. 
Just what sort of a stump that moose figured it out to 
be will probably remain a secret locked in her bosom. 
Possibly the cedar chips and spruce spills in my whiskers 
aided the illusion, though it was an unconscious decep- 
tion. 
After being seated, I underwent another brief careless 
scrutiny, and stood the ordeal better. Watch in hand, I 
timed the cow's chews, and noted that she cut her spear- 
head seventy-three chews per minutes. This information 
is given freely to science. Sometime I hope to make 
other observations for comparison. She may have been 
nervous, and consequently masticating over-hastily. 
Aunt Hanna lay basking in the warm sunlight only 
a few minutes before she was discovered by the inevita- 
ble red squirred. He was as much exercised over his 
discovery as if she was the first cow moose ever seen on 
the range. 
"Hey, fellers!" he screamed, "come and see what's eat- 
in' all the beechnuts! Br-r-rr-rrrr-chut-chut-chut, quee, 
quee, quee!" and with unparalleled impudence he leaped 
on the juniper tree above the moose's head and began 
heaping epithets on her. Auntie never noticed him, and 
after a few minutes, he left off and began his labors of 
hiding beechnuts where he would probably never find 
them. 
In a few seconds he worked over where he saw me, 
and he seemed to choke with rage. He started to scream, 
but gulped it down, leaped on a projecting limb and 
pressed his right hand over his heart to stop its thump- 
ing while he listened so intently that he must have heard 
my limited ticket expiring. Then he sat up and pressed 
both hands on his chest and listened again. Satisfied that 
I was making all the noise in the woods, he swelled his 
cheeks in anger, while his eyes flashed vengeance. First 
lie patted softly on the limb with his forefeet, then more 
emphatically with his hindfeet, and then did a hornpipe 
with all four feet, all the while chittering and gnashing 
his teeth and making as much noise as a steam sawmill. 
"Here's the cr-r-reature who stole all the beechnuts 
on the ridge," he shrieked wildly, "come on, boys, let's 
skin 'im and eat 'im alive." 
That was what he had threatened to do with Auntie, 
and emulating her dignified example, I sat still and let 
the bloodthirsty monster wear out his rage. 
The cow paid not the slightest attention to all this row, 
but went on in her silent rumination. 
When the red pirate had gone away, a gorby (Canada 
jay) soft of voice and sad-eyed, came down and perched 
pear the moose, and after looking us both over, whistled 
[Jan. 18, 1903. 
softly, but gave no word of warning to the moose; no, 
sign of encouragement to me. Then he flew silently 
away toward the black forest. 
Not so with his quarrelsome blue playmate, who flew 
over, wheeled and came down with noisy nutter and- 
alighted with ostention about four feet above my eyes. 
Good-by. peaceful scene, was my conclusion. 
The bluejay sat eyeing me sharply for a minute, his! 
crest erect and aggressive. Then he smoothed down his 
war bonnet and settled his feathers and smiled in a 
friendly way, as if to say, "Now, old chap, let's be: 
friends." 
I sat perfectly quiet. This passive attitude he received 
as an effrontery. After fidgeting for a moment, he looked 
at the moose, then at me. His war bonnet was again' 
erected, feathers fluffed up, and an air of battle pervaded 
the scene. 
"Cheeay! Assassin! Murderer and robber of birds' 
nests. I'll pick you to a frazzle in two seconds. D'ye 
hear me?" 
This was too much. Aunt Hannah stopped chewing, 
her spearhead and looked about inquiringly for a mo- 
ment, then, after a glance at the jay that plainly said, 
"Imbecile bird," resumed her siesta. 
"I'll bring my gang, and we'll do you up in two rounds! 
Cheeay, yeeay!" and over the treetops he fluttered, only 
to forget us the moment he saw another opportunity for 
a quarrel. 
After a monotonous period of waiting, I decided to 
have some action. A mild shuffling in the leaves failed to 
attract the moose's attention. Taking a small dry limb, 
I broke it with a sharp snap. The cow's left ear went 
back. Another break; right ear back; third break, chew-, 
ing ceased. 
The cow turned her head toward the black growth, put 
both her ears forward and gazed intently into the gloomy 
depths. Presently she resumed her former attitude and 
ruminations. Two minutes I waited, casting about for 
some method of arousing the moose from her reverie 
without alarming her. 
Suddenly she made a great leap forward, clearing 
about 10 feet at a bound, and coming directly toward me. 
Then I, too, made a great leap, but riot forward. Re- 
treating quickly, I found my inclination was to raise the 
hammer of my rifle. The cow stopped within 20 feet of 
me and looked me over. At first she took me for a 
lumber camp hunter, and had visions of her parts deco- 
rating the interior of a lumber camp pork barrel. A ( 
second glance must have showed her that I lacked that 
sleek, well-groomed appearance that lumber camp hunt- 
ers affect. Then she got angry. The hair on her neck 
bristled and stood on end; so did mine. Her eyes were 
wide and staring; so were mine. Her heart was beating 
violently; mine too. Her manner plainly said, "Young 
feller, I can kick the wadding out of you, and for two 
bites of moosewood bark I'd do it, too." 
My outward attitude was, "Old cow, I could throw you 
on your back in two seconds, and if it wasn't for your 
lacking horns I'd carry you down the bark road on my 
shoulders." 
It was a game of pure bluff. The moose turned her j 
head toward the black growth; I followed her gaze, butj 
could see nothing there. She took a quick step toward J 
me, and things were looking bad. To have retreated i| 
further would have been to have left the only good ij 
climbing tree I could find, beside it might have meant 
ignominious flight, and possible pursuit, and there was 
real danger in that. 
I decided to open conversation with her to try my 
powers of persuasion. "Where are you going?" I asked j 
in a voice that I did not recognize. Perhaps I would . 
have added, "my pretty maid," but my throat was too 
dry for further utterance. I wanted to telephone Mr. • 
Carleton to come and get his cow before she got into 
trouble. 
The moose stopped at the first word, turned her head 1 
disdainfully aside, but watched me narrowly with one red 
and gleaming eye. She walked slowly away a dozen 
paces, and my heart came back into my chest with a 
thump. When she stepped on the dry leaves she made 1 
scarcely a sound. Her movements were a revelation in 
still-hunting. She stepped over every limb and twig, 
never a sound from her as she moved quickly but grace- 
fully and silently, away. She stopped and stood for 
some seconds about 35 yards away, and presented a most 
magnificent sight. I cannot describe her. Take Carl 
Rungius' "Alert," remove antlers and bell, substitute 
light, hardwood growth for the more sombre background, 
and you have her. Tall of withers, magnificent pro- 
portions, head high in the air, and power, freedom and 
fearlessness in every curve. Her long back and heavy 
shoulders were superbly moulded, her rounded buttocks 
as fair of line as a racing yacht. Built for speed, and 
power, and yet how gracefully and quickly she could 
move, with none of that knock-kneed, wobbly look the 
captive moose all appear to have. She was a thorough- 
bred, and seemed to realize it. I wanted my camera, and 
felt like bending the rifle around a tree. 
The cow moved away, circling toward the black growth 
noiselessly, never failing to watch me closely, yet there 
was no apparent fear, no precipitate flight. Near the 
edge of the black growth I stopped her with a call. Then 
I tried a call for the calf, which I hoped to bring out into 
the open growth, but he was too wise and made no re- 
ply. At this call the cow seemed to waver for a moment, 
looking back at me, then she plunged into the gloomy 
woods, and I heard a great crashing as she heedlessly 
forced her way through the forest, breaking great dead 
limbs and snags in her flight. 
Quarter of a mile away, her trail showed where she 
had been joined by the calf, and together they were 
traveling in a long, swinging trot southward toward the 
safety of the blow-down. 
At this season (early part of November), the cow 
moose and bulls were not likely to be found together. 
The cows with their calves were ranging in the open, 
while the bulls stayed close to or actually inside the 
blow-down. I saw two bulls together on Nov. 1, and 
found where both of them had been rubbing their horns 
on small fir trees. From a point 3 feet from the ground 
up to a point 8 or 9 feet high all the bark had been, 
scraped off the trees. 4> . 
The larger bull had made some deep abrasions in the 
