650 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Nov. 23, 1912 
but silence reigned all about us, except the 
melancholy hooting of a great owl close by. 
We waited fully twenty minutes and then 
tried another, but after repeated efforts we de¬ 
cided to give it up, as it was so dark we could 
not have seen our game, so back to our canoe, 
to camp and into our bags. 
The next morning w r e were up long before 
dawn, and after a hasty cup of coffee made over 
the remaining embers, we put on jackets and 
moccasins and climbed into our canoe for a 
paddle to the eastern side of the Great Lake. 
We certainly appreciated the short paddle, 
as it helped to warm us up, as the lake was cov¬ 
ered by a thick mist which seemed as cold as 
ice, but m ten minutes we reached the eastern 
side of the lake and disembarked. A short dis¬ 
tance from the shore was a thick spruce covert. 
Here we decided to remain hidden and to give 
our call, as we could see the big swamp at the 
end as well as on the sides. 
After listening a few minutes Lew gave his 
hoarse call three times and waited. I was just 
going to ask him if he had heard a noise on our 
right, when he said, “Listen, hear that?’’ and 
sure enough from the swamp on our right came 
a loud “Bwah, bwah.” It sounded like a large 
goose and would have fooled any novice, but 
when you have once heard a moose call, you 
never forget it, and in a few more minutes he 
let out his “Bwah, bwah, bwah’’ as if request¬ 
ing an answer from the supposed cow, but as 
he was fairly close, we dared not call again. In 
an hour a slight wind sprang up, and we imme¬ 
diately made tracks for our canoe lest he get 
wind of us and clear out of the locality alto¬ 
gether. 
We quietly paddled across the lake and after 
eating a good breakfast took down our tent and 
moved our outfit about a mile down the lake so 
as not to disturb the big fellow. 
We spent the day in cruising and fishing 
around the lower shore, but refrained from 
doing any shooting, although we raised flocks 
of black ducks at every bend in the lake and 
river, but as we had great sport with our rods, 
we contented ourselves with a generous catch 
of the speckled beauties. That night it rained, 
but toward midnight the wind changed to north¬ 
west, and at dawn it was cold. Lew whispered 
in my ear, “Come on, get out, it’s fine morning 
to call; we’ll get that big cuss to-day.” 
We made our voyage across the lake and 
took our station, Lew on top of a handy rock 
and myself concealed on his left. 
Again Lew gave his call, and in five seconds 
we had an answer, the same deep bark; in fact, 
it was the deepest tone I have ever heard. Lew 
said: “By gosh ! that must be some old grand¬ 
father; I’ll bet .he has a pair of horns on him 
like a chandelier,'” and I felt sure I was going 
to get a crack at something that day. 
In another few minutes he gave a couple 
of short barks and Lew motioned me to be 
ready. Fortunately there was absolutely no 
wind. You could not have smelt a Gloucester 
banker sixty feet away. I lit a safety match, 
but not a breath was stirring, and to make mat¬ 
ters better the sun was just rising over the tops 
of the green woods directly in front of us. 
Once more Lew called, putting his horn 
close to the ground and giving a low, whining 
call with a decided gurgle on the end, and as 
he threw down his horn he looked at me and 
said: “I did the best I could on that call,” and 
the next second he whispered excitedly, ‘ By gad, 
look out! Here he comes !’’ 
At first I did not see him, as he was sneak¬ 
ing down along the edge of the spruce thickets, 
stopping every now and then to get sight of us, 
but on he came until he got within about ninety 
yards, then crossed over in front of us. Lew 
gave me the signal for first shot and I put my 
big .45-70 up and drew a bead on his shoulder 
“old wabei.” 
and fired. He, however, did not jump at the 
shot, and I thought I had missed him and gave 
him another. “Shoot lower,” yelled my com¬ 
panion and once more I fired, aiming about six 
inches lower. Then he reared up on his hind 
legs and turned to go back from where he came, 
but I hit him once again and he ran a short dis¬ 
tance, then made his final plunge and after a 
few kicks, he was ours. 
We quickly ran to where he lay. He was 
a wonderful specimen. I counted twenty points, 
the shovels of the horns being fourteen inches 
wide and the antlers having a maximum spread 
of forty-nine inches, both being very even. 
We immediately commenced skinning the 
head and quartering him. It took us three days 
to get him to the last lake. After continuous 
hard packing and portaging and canoeing, where 
with the help of a team of oxen, we brought 
the outfit and our moose to the little village of 
Clyde. 
How proud we felt both over our victory, 
and as we were unloading who would congratu¬ 
late us but old Mac, as he said: “Mon! Mon! 
ye hae the recht kind now, as how did ye man¬ 
age tae get sic a big yin. Ma boi! I hae the 
utmost respec for your hunting qualities and am 
verra proud o’ ye. Its a muclcle shame there’s 
nae Scotch in ye.” 
After shaking hands with the old chap and 
the usual backwoods gentlemen at the little cross 
roads store, I immediately prepared for my trip 
homeward. This was the best of all my trips, 
and as the great head hangs on my wall, I ask 
myself, “Did I get the right one this time?” 
Well, let my readers give me the answer. I, 
at least, am satisfied. 
FORGETFULNESS. 
On election day, 1912: Gone and forgotten, 
except by a little household in Utica and some 
good neighbors, 
James Schoolcraft Sherman, 
Vice-President of the United States. 
—New York Sun. 
BARRINGTON RIVER—SMALL GAME IN SIGHT. 
