132 
FOREST AND STREAM 
March, 1920 
Just One Shot 
]W[ AYBE you have waited days for 
it. You don’t want to chance 
missing because of poor sights. 
LYMAN SIGHTS 
make accurate shooting natural. Combination 
Rear Sight No. lA, shown here, brings the 
— front sight close up in a 
circle, and allows a clear 
view of the game. Receiver 
Sights with the same princi- 
ple, if you prefer them. 
Then there are Ivory Bead 
Front Sights _ that show up 
sharply against bounding 
game, and a Folding Leaf 
Sight with combination 
crotch and bar to replace the 
factory sight. Fully de- 
scribed in the 
Tree Lyman Book 
of sights for every purpose 
and every gun. Send for it. 
Lyman Gun Sight Corp. 
110 West St. 
Middlefield, Conn. 
ITHACA WINS 
EVERYTHING 
at the 
Atlantic 
Indian Shoot 
1. Jay Clark, Jr., won 
Atlantic Indian Cham- 
pionship. 
2. Jay Clark, Jr., won high 
over all on 1 6 yd. targets, 
294 x 300. 
3. Hank Pendergast and 
Jay Clark, Jr., tied on all 
targets, including 100 at 
21 yards, 377x400. 
4. H. K. Curtis won 
over all in Cla 
363 x 400. 
5. Jay Clark, Jr., won 
over all first day, 1 49x 
6. Pendergast and Clark 
tied for high over all 
second day, 145 x 150. 
Any man can break more 
targets with an Ithaca. 
Doubles, including war tax, 
$45.00 and up. 
Singles, including war tax, 
$700.00 and down. 
Catalog free. 
ITHACA GUN CO. 
Box 25, Ithaca, N. Y. 
Army Auction Bargains* 
Tents $4.25 op 
Saddles 4.65 up 
Uniforms 1.50 up 
Teamharness 26.85 
C. W. revolvers $2.65 up 
Army Haversacks .15 up 
Knapsacks .75 up 
Army Gun slings .30 up 
f Spring. Rem. cal. 30 single shot rifle for model 
190S cartridges, S7.77 Ball cart. S3.S0 per 100 
' 1 5 acres Army Goods. Large illustrated cyclo- 
‘ pedia reference catalog— 428 pages— issue 
1920, mailed 50 cents. New Circular lO cents 
FRANCIS BflNNERMAN SONS. 501 Broadway. Hew York 
place, we had a bit of buck fever. In 
the next place I am no camera man, and 
this was almost the first shot I had taken 
with the machine. Then, too, the light 
was bad and all the rest. Still we got 
one shot at her, and would have gotten 
more but our orand new camera stuck in 
the roll, and we were nervously trying to 
make it go, and eagerly watching this 
splendid picture of wild life, when, with 
one silent leap, amazingly silent, she dis- 
appeared in the sea of tiny Christmas 
trees and spired spruce that covered the 
bank. 
We were the first to go in that summer, 
and the game had not been disturbed 
since the previous year. Thus everything 
promised well. And it was with eager- 
ness that we plied our poles and pushed 
away up the foaming stream. 
For a few miles we were absorbed in 
watching the bottom as we drifted across 
deep pools, for there, in the silent depths, 
we could see big schools of suckers. We 
could watch where pods of whitefish lay 
drowsing in the crystal waters and see 
the trout sculling slowly away as we 
neared them. From time to time a 
salmon leaped or a brace of them flashed 
up stream like submarines after a keen 
chase. Beaver cuttings began to show 
in the edge of the backwaters. Sand- 
pipers teetered along shore within easy 
gunreach. And from time to time we 
saw a flock of shell-drake, mother and 
young, go spattering ahead of us and 
around the bend, flappers all, except the 
parent birds. They scurried ahead of us 
’till cornered, and then dove beneath the- 
canoe where we could see them .swimming 
like feathered turtles ’till the swirling 
stream hid them once more. 
W E were thus absorbed when Fred, 
the leading guide, suddenly 
paused in his poling, and stood 
rigid as a setter at point. Slowly we 
crept up to him till all three canoes were 
just around the bend, and then we saw, — 
fifty feet away from 1 us — Our First 
Moose. 
It was a big cow, for all the world 
like a mule; and she stood there while 
we crept closer, forty feet, twenty, wrink- 
ling her big soft nose, and eyeing us 
with an expression so human she seemed 
to say, “Nqw what in the world have 
we here?” 
She was standing in a clump of alders, 
right on the edge of the stream. Her 
long hind legs set a mite backward, 
like a grasshopper’s'. And right there 
as we watched, minute after minute in 
tense interest, we could see the explana- 
tion of a lot of things we had heard about 
moose. 
Every hunter has marvelled at the 
amazing distance from which the moose 
can smell a man, the weather conditions 
being right. From half a mile to even 
a mile away they can hit the scent. Well, 
a careful watching of that big, soft nose, 
almost as pliable as ears, with its moist 
surface and smelling nerve ends ten 
times as big and numerous as those of a 
setter’s nose, will explain sufficiently. Of 
all the wild folk of the New Brunswick 
Woods the moose has the best smelling 
equipment. 
Then there are his legs. Just watch a 
moose plow through a dead fall with 
its heart-breaking tangle of branches. 
Watch a moose wade through mud up to 
his shoulders as fast as a man can paddle 
a canoe in clear water. Watch a moose 
leap through a tangle of alder thicket 
that would strangle a man, and see how 
easily, how silently he does it. Then 
search for the explanation. It’s in his 
long legs and the set of them, the grass- 
hopper kick, — that is the little trick 
which explains the whole thing. Those 
odd, massive and yet delicate legs of his 
can push him along at an amazing gait; 
faster the second mile than the first; 
faster the fifth than the third. He is the 
old original bog - trotter, born and 
brought up in the pre-historic bogs where 
the cave man roamed. And to this day 
he has not forgotten one jot of the art. 
Watch him, as we shall later, go through 
dense thicket, and dead-wood-snarled bog 
at NIGHT TIME, with the ease of a 
trotter on green hard turf. Then you 
begin to realize the amazing patent Mr. 
Moose has in those oddly .set legs of 
his. 
We lay there in tense interest watch- 
ing. That moose could see our every 
move. For now we were not twenty-five 
feet from her. The nervous twitching 
of her ears and nose showed how tensely 
she was watching us, trying to get our 
scent. The wind was strong, right from 
her to us. In fact, we could smell her. 
But something about our quiet attitude 
disarmed her. Her neat hoofs tapped 
at the tiny cobbles of the bank, with the 
barest suggestion of the impatient deer 
stamp. But no whistle or snort came 
from her. She seemed indeed half in- 
clined to come on. Her mane was slight- 
ly a-bristle, hut not with anger. Just 
amazed curiosity and interest. Till with 
a movement of those legs of hers, she 
simply faded in the thicket. And we 
went on, elated at our good luck. 
Then, just around the bend we saw 
why Mrs. Moose was there. A little 
this-year calf standing knee deep in the 
lucent, cool waters of the Tobique. 
We crept up with our three canoes, the 
poles unavoidably tapping, tapping on 
the stone strewn bottom. But baby 
moose stood watching with all the artless 
curiosity of his mother. In fact, the 
leading canoe took ten shots with the 
camera at him as he stood there. Fred 
said to me, “Doctor, I believe that moose 
will come right up to us if we call him.” 
So I got out of the canoe, standing in 
clear sight on the clean gravelled bank, 
and with my camera pointed at him I 
called. 
But you will understand that calling 
a baby moose is different, decidedly differ- 
ent from calling a bull. 
T HE New Brunswick guides had a 
moose caller at an exhibition in New 
York. He gave the calls beautifully, 
in masterly fashion. But here is the odd 
thing about it all, — the crowd expected a 
noise like a steam fog-horn in a tunnel. 
They were disappointed in the volume. 
It wasn’t wild enough to match their 
fancy of what an able-bodied moose 
should furnish a New York audience. So 
one of the guides called old Indian Jim 
(continued on page 148) 
