463 
October, 1922 
nient over for the evening, we were soon 
between the blankets and dropped off to 
sleep without so much as a grunt from 
any one of us. 
Soon after daybreak we were on our 
way to a bog where Frank claimed he 
never failed to bag a moose inside of 
five days’ hunting. About 500 yards 
from our camp on the bank of the river 
we saw the fresh tracks and dung of a 
big moose. It was our belief that this 
was the old boy that had answered 
Frank's call the night before, but evi- 
dently he had discovered that he was 
being decoyed and had made for safer 
territory. Deer and moose signs were 
common, and some of the trails that led 
to the drinking holes and passages across 
the river I noticed were worn down to 
more than a foot in depth. Taking our 
time and walking as noiselessly as pos- 
sible, we reached the bog in a little more 
than an hour’s walk. There must have 
been four or five acres in this bog, with 
a deadwater of about an acre at one end ; 
truly an ideal spot for moose. 
WT sat behind a windfall, silently 
watching until noon, then dropped back 
into the woods a little way, where we 
made a small fire and boiled our coffee. 
Lunch over, followed by a smoke, we 
were soon back at our former positions 
behind the windfall, where we sat until 
about the middle of the afternoon. Sud- 
denly we heard a distinct snap a short 
distance back of us. My nerves were 
tense instantly, as I felt that a moose 
was about to crash down upon us, but 
Frank explained the meaning of the 
noise, in a whisper, a few moments later. 
A moose, in his desire to get young 
maple leaves, sometimes will straddle a 
sapling and bear it to the ground with 
his great weight, and ofttimes the sapling 
will break under the strain. An hour 
later Frank proved this to me. We 
had left Roy and Vealla at the windfall 
and were making for a maple ridge 
where we intended to hunt for an hour 
or so when we came upon a maple sapling 
about 3^2 or 4 inches through at the 
largest end that had been snapped off 
about two feet from the ground not long 
before, as the leaves had scarcely begun 
to wither. 
After a short, fruitless hunt on the 
ridge, we joined Roy and Vealla and 
started for camp. Not over fifteen min- 
utes’ walk from the bog a buck deer 
jumped across the trail about 50 yards 
ahead of us. Frank, who was in the 
lead, raised his rifle and fired instantly, 
then ran to where the buck crossed, hop- 
ing to get in another shot, but it only 
showed itself for an instant and was lost 
in the dense timber. “Just showed him- 
self for one jump,” was Frank’s only 
alibi, but Roy turned to me with an 
amused grin spread over his face and 
slowly winked. 
Camp reached and fire made we soon 
had supper cooked and eaten. With 
pipes lit we were sitting around the fire 
framing the trip for the next day, when 
all at once Roy started to snicker to him- 
self, and he kept it up until after re- 
peated requests to let us in on the joke 
he said, addressing Frank: “Some hunt- 
ers ought to have a couple ’a cowboys 
along to rope the game and tie them to ’ 
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