ball made his way in no uncertain strides 
through the tangled mass of burned trees 
on that hillside. Somehow, I grew more 
confident, now that it seemed I would 
have shooting till the moose reached the 
top of that big hill, so I waited till his 
course had taken him above the line of 
tops of the clump of small trees be- 
hind which he stood until he located me. 
Then I had as pretty a straight-away, up 
hill shot as any hunter could wish at a 
distance of about 175 yards. I missed! 
B y this time Boomer had come up with 
me and climbed up behind me on the 
cedar root mound. For the first 
time he saw the bull and taking in the 
situation with the rapid brilliancy of an 
Irish mind, offered these comforting 
words: “Don’t miss him, “Gosh, he’s a 
damn fine bull!” Just as if I did not al- 
ready know that much! Those fine 
golden bro\NTi antlers on the head of that 
magnificent, sleek looking bull, going up 
that slope through the snow flurry with 
stately stride at unbelievable speed, 
looked too good a prize for me to lose. 
I had just forced another cartridge 
home, determined to be even more delib- 
erate this shot, when the bull, now a full 
200 yards away, suddenly turned to the 
right, swinging almost directly broadside 
on, as I afterward learned, to obtain the 
cover of a little ravine which extended 
diagonally across the ridge. The bull 
had no sooner changed his course, when 
my gun spoke for the fourth time. 
Pumping in the fifth shell, I stood ready 
with my last hope, but my quarry was 
gone. “I saw him go down with the last 
shot!” Boomer ventured cheerfully. In- 
sisting that I could hear the bull running 
and that he had merely crossed over the 
brow of the first ridge, I waited for him 
to cross what I supposed was a dip in 
the hillside and show himself again, going 
over the top of the big hill — all the while 
cursing my luck, the set trigger and ap- 
praising my markmanshlp in no uncer- 
tain language. The breaking of dead 
limbs, like the noise of a bull running, 
continued, but the guide insisted that the 
moose was down and trying to get up. 
.With more haste than caution we crossed, 
from where I had done the firing, toward 
where the moose had disappeared. It 
was necessary to travel through the 
coolie a hundred yards or more ana per- 
haps an additional fifty on the dry slope 
before we were on ground sufficiently ele- 
vated to see any considerable distance. 
When about fifty yards from where the 
bull disappeared, we saw a big palm 
waving above the tangled windfalls of 
the bum. Not until then was I con- 
vinced that the guide was right. 
In the meantime, I had re-filled the 
magazine and now approached carefully. 
About twenty-five paces away from the 
big fellow I climbed upon a trunk of a 
down pine four or five feet from the 
ground to get a better view. The Bull’s 
hind feet and left front foot, were under 
his body and his right front foot ex- 
tended straight in front of him seeming 
to support his weight, apparently the po- 
sition in which he had gone down in a 
crash at his headlong gait; just the dis- 
tance from where the bullet struck that 
the impetus of his speed had carried him. 
Another rod and he could have gone com- 
pletely around the big hill under the 
cover of the little ravine, to obtain which, 
he had fatally changed his course. He 
seemed paralyzed but aside from the ex- 
pression in his eyes, which I read as pa- 
thos, his position suggested that he was 
just getting up from an interrupted nap. 
Just then the moose made a desperate 
effort to regain his feet and did manage 
to rise nearly a yard from the ground on 
his right front foot. This alarmed the 
guide who warned me that if the moose 
got to his feet he would charge, so I 
carefully placed another 129 gr. .256 just 
behind the point of the bull’s shoulder. 
Gradually then, the fine head settled 
down on the naked poles among which he 
had fallen. 
After taking pictures we measured the 
head and looked for the results of my 
first four shots. The spread was an 
even four feet between the fifth points on 
each side and 50 inches at the widest 
place. The antlers were the most symet- 
rical I had ever seen, nine even points on 
each side; the corresponding points on 
each antler being almost exactly alike. 
while the two massive front spikes, 
strongly suggesting huge crawfish nip- 
pers, came out in front almost as far 
from the base as the g;reat palms, each 
12 x 32 inches, extended behind and had 
large brown beads, covering spikes and 
palms nearly to the tips of the points. 
Each antler measured thirteen inches in 
circumference at the base and for mas- 
sive, consistent symmetry, left nothing to 
be desired. Evidently the bull was not 
old, for his perfect bell measured ten 
inches and there was not a scratch on the 
face or ears — which are so often split 
and scarred from fighting. 
We were back at the shack with the 
head, the heart and a lobe of liver by 
eleven o’colck. The afternoon was spent 
quartering the meat and getting it into 
camp. At the time I purchased my gun 
the summer previous, I had my misgiv- 
ings about the 129 gr. bullet being heavy 
enough for moose. All my doubts were 
set at rest when we opened the carcass 
of this bull. Only my fourth shot had 
taken effect. The bullet struck on the 
right side six or eight inches above the 
heart and perhaps half that distance back 
of the shoulder, just beneath the back- 
bone where the copper jacket went to 
pieces, tearing the underside of the back- 
bone frightfully and making hamburger 
of lungs and liver. Of the bullet, only 
three pieces of the copper jacket could 
be found, and they were two or three 
inches apart, deeply embedded in the 
crushed part of the backbone. 
On the paddle back across Corrie Lake 
that evening we took three pickerel of 
about two pounds each and a ten pound 
Great Northern pike. It had been a full 
day and after a supper of moose tender- 
loin, et cetera, sleep came easily. The 
dishes did not get washed till next morn- 
ing. 
T here must be an end to all hunting 
stories and this one has already 
grown tedious enough, but to those 
of us who are so fortunate as to have 
these experiences they never end but live 
on and on in memories, ever growing 
sweeter. I could detail to you how the 
next day was spent cleaning the head 
and preparing the moose hams for the 
long journey home; that fairyland trip 
the following day to Mad Lake — a height 
of land lake, clear as the air itself; how 
at Lake Seseganaga portage that day, 
while Boomer “biled the kettle,” made 
toast and warmed up the slices of moose 
heart and tongue over the coals of the 
open fire, I jumped a big buck that 
whistled a dozen times or more though I 
could not get a shot at him; about the 
next day’s trip up Eight-mile Lake when 
the gruide kept in the middle of this nar- 
row wonder-lake with the canoe while I 
pussy-footed along the top of the high 
green, timbered ridges forming its shore 
line but saw no game and no fresh sign 
excepting that of caribou ; about the trip 
out to the trading post with the meat and 
head, when we spent two hours on Rain- 
bow Lake looking for Gordon Lake por- 
tage; of Boomer setting a bear trap at 
the moose carcass, and catching a fine 
cross fox that was devoured by timbei; 
.(CONTINUED ON PAGE 612.X 
On the way out Lee paused and faced the camera 
