THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
up in the high mountains to the north of Dease Lake as the result of 
catching influenza from a passenger on the Stickine River boat. I 
reached the valley more dead than alive and had difficulty even in sitting 
on my horse, my intention being to return if possible to civilization at 
once. We plodded along the sodden path in the blazing sunshine, the first 
we had seen for twelve days, and all nature was glorious in its autumn 
colours. I had a fit of the blues, for I had come 9,000 miles and shot nothing. 
Suddenly Albert, who was walking in front, stopped and gazed intently 
at something on the pathway. Albert was a moose hunter from his earliest 
youth and I knew that nothing would cause him to halt but sign of the 
great deer. 
“ A big bull — just gone by — you come,” he jerked out. What could I do 
but say “ yes,” and followed him on tottering legs, for I was so weak that 
I could hardly stand. Fortunately the ground was flat and the bush not too 
dense, so we made good progress through the open forest. There were 
signs that the moose was feeding slowly in front of us, so we proceeded 
very cautiously. Silently as cats we crept on and our moccasins made no 
sound on the green moss. Suddenly Albert turned to me and said, “ Now 
you, go ahead. Moose very near and just going to lie down.” I crept 
forward and had not gone far when I saw a black spot at the back of some 
stunted birches. Moving to one side I saw what I took to be the shoulder 
of the moose. This movement on my part was detected by the animal 
at once, so that he sprang to his feet and stood for an instant gazing at me. 
In a moment a Mannlicher bullet was in his shoulder, and with two or 
three forward plunges he fell to rise no more. Our beast was a splendid 
bull in its prime, with a fine massive head of 60 inches. 
‘‘Now, Albert, I want to know,” I said, ‘‘how you knew that moose 
was going to lie down ? ” 
‘‘Gome,” was all he said, and led me back on the spoor for about 100 yards, 
where we stopped in front of a large dwarf salix full of young green shoots. 
“ See that bush,” remarked Albert, pointing to the small tree; “that 
extra good moose feed. If moose hungry he stay long time feeding. No — 
moose take one bite and drop it so (picking up the fallen twig), so moose 
full and now lie down.” 
It was a fine piece of reasoning and wonderful observation to have 
noticed the single fallen shoot. That is where the child of the woods beats us. 
Where branches are high moose make quite a noise when feeding owing 
to the cracking of the branches. And in still weather I have heard them 
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