THE 
NEW MONTEREY 
North Asbury Park.N.J 
) 
The Resort Hotel 
Pre-Eminent 
Directly on the Ocean 
Opens June 28 
American Plan 
Superior A-la-Carte Grill 
Interesting Social Life 
Capacity 500 Guests 
Daily Concerts and Dancing 
Golf that Makes You Play 
18 Hole Course 
Hot and Cold Sea Water 
in Rooms 
Wonderful Ocean Bathing 
New Swimming Pool Adjoining 
On “The New Jersey Tour 
A Road of Never Ending Delight” 
Sherman Dennis, Manager 
N. Y. Office: 383 Madison Ave. 
Telephone Vanderbilt 4990 
McDonnell & Co., Brokers 
Members N. Y. Stock Exchange 
Winter Resort 
THE MASON 
ST. PETERSBURG, FLORIDA 

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Health and Prosperity 



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ARMY SPECIAL 
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IM 


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For 5-Passenger Cars $12.00 
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For Fords $10.00 
McMILLAN AUTO BED CO, 
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and silently the heavily burdened file 
swung around a bend and disappeared. 
After a frantic sweeping of the 
“skeets” and sweat, we shouldezved “our 
junk” and stumbled on. The trail 
quickly assumed a dryer, firmer base 
and gradually the corduroy was dis- 
placed by a smooth, deeply worn groove 
in the dark, fibrous earth of the swamp 
border. It was really not the edge of 
the swamp, but a broad, flat island, a 
few inches above the level of the 
swamp. Then a clearing and the bank 
of a ten-foot channel that wound into 
the clearing and curled out again as 
quickly as it had entered. 
A lazy snail’s pace current showed 
our direction and after a fly-fighting 
stretch of stiff shoulders and aching 
backs we hurried into the canoes and 
shoved off around the bend. Bushes 
crowded down over the low, moss deep 
bank, making it look like an alley 
through the fern and palm department 
of a florist’s greenhouse, while the 
humid swamp odors heightened the im- 
pression. Only the mosquitoes reminded 
us that this was Quebec in July. 
A snake would have developed curva- 
ture of the spine in following that 
creek. 
FTER what seemed to be miles the 
channel edged over towards the 
base of one of the hills which stood at 
the edge of the broad swamp plain and 
then widened into little coves and nar- 
rowed till the paddles touched the 
bushes at either side. The banks on the 
hillward side became firmer, lilies 
crowded the small recesses in the chan- 
Here a sandy bottom was clearly 
visible through the three-foot depth of 
clear water—it was strangely uneven 
and pitted in big cup-shaped prints. 
The bank sod was torn and broken, the 
wet sandy strip at the edge showed a 
hopeless confusion of big hoof prints; 
it looked like a barnyard. 
We had seen them before and occa- 
sionally a moose or a pair of red deer 
had been sighted across a lake, but 
never had we seen a watering place 
with such a churn of hoof prints. 
Our progress became more careful 
and silent; we followed the channel 
more closely as it turned about as 
though lost. Doc was leading when I 
saw him dig his paddle deep into a 
silent backwater that brought the canoe 
to a quick rest. He was at a bend that 
curved into another cove snuggling up 
to the hills. The cove was small, not 
more than twenty feet across; its 
smooth, dark waters were choked with 
a blanket of green lily pads. 
In the center, belly deep in the cool 
water, stood a magnificent bull moose. 
I never saw a bigger thing on four legs, 
short of Barnum’s pachyderms or the 
sloppy hippo at the zoo. 
It will identify you. 
But there was nothing sloppy about 
this bird, he moved slowly, lazily, and 
without apparent effort. His great 
head was lowered, ripping up mouth- 
fuls of green lily pads by the roots; 
then he raised his head, the heavy 
haired mane and throat dripping water 
and streaming lily strands hanging 
from his mouth. He moved indolently 
towards us, coming into shallow water, 
pulling up pads as he came. We were 
concealed by the curtain of branches 
which choked the creek channel; the 
wind was blowing towards us; he raised 
his dripping head to munch the luscious 
mouthful of pads and stems. He was 
not ten feet away, facing us, his near- 
sighted little eyes looking in our direc- 
tion, but not seeing us. The huge head 
was crowned by broad spreading ant- 
lers that swept back over his shoulders 
as he swung at the swarm of flies. 
He was a monster, a beauty. He 
grunted and snorted, and then, kneel- 
ing, rolled over in the shallow water 
and stumbled again to his feet, wet and 
glistening, like a dark, shining metal 
statue, 

On the Trail of Old Lobo 
(Continued from page 273) 
would disappear in a flash and the 
chance of a lifetime would be gone. 
I have no faith in aiming over a 
target to make up for the drop of the 
bullet. It is too uncertain and usually 
results in failure. I did not dare take 
a chance on losing a moment to change 
the sights or even to kneel for a 
steadier shot, but took quick aim and 
fired. The wolf whirled, snarled and 
bit at his foreleg. The guide said, 
“You heet him, doctor.” Two more 
quick shots while he was jumping and 
snarling apparently did not reach him, 
but served only to help him locate us, 
and when he did so he disappeared like 
a flash into the woods. My heart was 
in my mouth for I feared I had lost 
him. 
We walked around the edge of the 
lake and perhaps twenty minutes later 
reached the spot where old lobo had 
stood. Extensive blood stains on the 
shore made us think he was badly hit. 
We certainly hoped so for we wanted 
to get this grim terror of the North, 
who annually kills from twenty to 
thirty deer besides a host of smaller 
animals. He fears nothing but man 
and when very hungry does not hesi- 
tate to attack him. The Canadian gov- 
ernment offers a liberal bounty for 
every wolf killed. 
Page 312 
