FOREST AND STREAM 
103 
wise his guide will 
make him get “down- 
charge.” A period of 
waiting ensues — there 
may be something 
handy. A faint light in 
the east appears. The 
caller clears his throat and 
blows through the call to clear that from possible 
moss or twigs. Then he raises it to his lips and 
sounds the full call of the cow, but in a subdued 
manner,-for there may be a bull in the immediate 
vicinity. As he finishes the long, quavering wail, 
starting in a high pitch and descending about an 
octave, the silence that ensues is absolutely uncanny, 
so great is the contrast with the sonorous call. The 
seconds tick by on your watch, your heart beats as 
loud as if it were on a table before you. You are 
afraid to breathe, it makes so much noise. 
But all in vain. There is no answer. A little bird 
comes fluttering to a bush next you, and flies off 
with a peep of fright on seeing you. Two minutes 
—five minutes—seven minutes—it seems much longer 
until you consult your watch. The caller is 
convinced that the quarry is not near. Once 
more he raises the birchen horn and trum¬ 
pets the “starter” through the frozen air. 
This is a full-voiced call designed to be 
heard for miles, in case the calling-place is 
favorably situated to sound the country 
round. No finesse is needed, just a high- 
pitched, penetrating sound. Again that pe¬ 
riod of concentrated listening in the exag¬ 
gerated silence. 
T HE light is stronger now, and you are 
getting impatient. Your senses re¬ 
spond hysterically to every sound. An 
owl hoots from a neighboring tree and is 
cursed under your breath, for you fear it 
may frighten off a fearful bull. A trout 
splashes in the lake near you; by the noise 
he must be a three-pounder at least. The 
jays wake up and begin their astonishing 
repertory of cries. A hornet booms by 
with such a drone that before it passes it 
fools you into thinking it must be a cow. 
A big bullfrog will hoax you every time at 
first. You listen hard; and yet when that 
faint answer comes you may not recognize 
it. The guide may nod off towards the 
• south, but you hear nothing. 
Ha! What was that? Surely no sound 
that a great moose could make. It was like 
the distant stroke of an axe, or maybe a 
dog barking a mile away or more. You 
look inquiringly at the caller and point 
towards the spot. He nods affirmatively 
and your heart gives a bound. If you are 
predisposed to have bull-moose fever, now 
is the time for it to develop. This is 
what you came so far for, and paid your 
license-fee, and thought and dreamed about! 
The man whose heart doesn’t beat wildly 
when he knows that a bull-moose is com¬ 
ing to the call, is no sportsman—he is a 
jellyfish, pure and simple! 
But our moose is heard quite clearly 
now. He is not at all so far away as we 
thought. He has been lying down, prob¬ 
ably facing in the opposite direction, and 
low my leader. 
There is no wind 
stirring, and in this heavy 
swamp it wouldn’t be noticed if 
there were, so we can move right 
upon the game. It is a question of 
fooling Mr. Bull by means of 
conversation, for he is very 
much on his guard now. 
Charlie has been “kiddin’ ” 
him with challenges as we 
approached, and if he detects the fraud, good 
night! Each man steps in the footprints of his 
predecessor. There are only three of us, but 
that is one too many. Let us hope, that’s all. 
Charlie speaks bull boldly, and follows with the 
raucous snarl of a cow and the whine of a calf. The 
idea is to impress the bull that another family is 
coming and the other moose too, for the calves are 
the very devil sometimes, and are apt to straggle 
and give the alarm. As we work into the soft swamp, 
Charlie estimates that we are very near; in fact we 
can already hear them moving, though very faintly. 
The old bull is still speaking, sometimes savagely, 
often in a coaxing way, as if explaining to 
the old lady that there is nothing to fear. 
T last we are all three seated on our 
haunches in the soft, wet moss, wait¬ 
ing for the guide to make up his 
mind. The moose are not fifty yards 
away. We can hear them whining and 
grunting and browsing as if they were in 
full sight. There are but two things to do: 
take a position in the path or direction in 
which the beasts are feeding, or boldly, 
quietly and quickly walk up to them. In 
any ordinary country the latter is the usual 
method. But here?—they would almost 
surely get our scent. Charlie had not for 
some minutes made any sound through the 
call. He didn’t dare to risk it, at such 
close quarters. At last however he stuck 
the mouth of the call into the moss and 
emitted a peculiar squeal or whine such as 
a calf-moose makes when it is lost or in 
distress. Charlie had learned it from a 
rich experience in bringing up calves. Then 
we listened in doubt. If a dead silence 
were to follow, Charlie would immediately 
call “bull” as loud as he could and tell us 
to rush in and try to get a shot before the 
beasts stampeded. But there was no break 
in the sounds of feeding. Two minutes 
passed, and Charlie was evidently at his 
wits’ end. 
Then suddenly we saw a strange thing. 
A slight rustling was heard, and look! 
There, in a thick copse of tangled spruces 
and maples and blackberry bushes, was the 
gleam of a yellow antler! Yes, the tips of 
a good-sized one, but nothing more. Not 
a man dared to breathe, nor even to point 
his rifle that way, for fear of startling the 
big beast. It seemed wonderful that he did 
not get our scent, for he was not over 
twenty yards off. Yet we could not see 
a square inch of his head or body—nothing 
but the tips of that big antler. Not a 
movement did he make; he might be a part 
of the landscape. It seemed as if it would 
be a contest of who could keep still the 
longest. Meanwhile we were keeping up 
Courtesy Mr. S. H. Wither- 
bee, Ledgetop, Port 
Henry, N. Y. 
we could not hear him well. He speaks 
out boldly now and often. The caller shakes A 
his head. “That bull’s mated !” he remarks x\ 
in a disgusted voice. 
“What? Won’t he come?” you ask. 
“I’ll soon tell ye,” says Charlie; and 
raising the call, he sends a savage “O-wah!” 
towards the swamp where the bull lurks. 
Before he takes the call from his mouth 
the answer comes back: “IVah! Wah!” 
Mated, there’s no doubt o’ that. Damn! 
And for the next half-hour Charlie pro¬ 
ceeds to ignore that bull, in spite of his 
savage talk. But no further answer comes, 
and at last Charlie turns to us and says, 
“Well, what do you say? Shall we still- 
hunt ’im?” 
S O be it, for there is nothing else to 
do,. Occasionally a pair of mated 
moose will come to the call, the cow 
generally leading, but when they are set¬ 
tled down in some fine swamp with good 
feed they are likely to stay there, the bull 
merely threatening with direst punishment 
any intruder who would interfere with his 
matrimonial arrangements. 
Now watch your Uncle Ned. Off comes 
everything that is not absolutely needed. 
All extra clothing, sweater, heavy shoes, 
etc., are discarded. The light sneakers re¬ 
place the heavier wear. The emergency 
lunch is placed in the back trousers pocket, 
and likewise the mittens—if taken at all. 
It is now a matter of walking, and, how¬ 
ever cold it may be now, you’ll be warm 
enough in five minutes. Don’t carry along 
a single unnecessary ounce. 
Now for a still-hunt, not in the open 
country where the fallen foliage has bared 
it, but in the thick jungle of a swamp 
grown up with every sort of scrub stuff. 
It is a mile away and the going is hard, 
much harder than it will be a month from 
now when the frosts have reaped their 
full harvest. At last we are on the swamp’s 
edge. It will be at first a matter of fol- 
