Cottages 
How to Build and Furnish 
Them 
By WILLIAM S. WICKS 
(Eighth Edition) 
The most popular book on the 
subject ever written. Full expla- 
nations how to build cabins of all 
sizes with directions and numer- 
ous illustrations. Everything from 
a shack to the most pretentious 
Adirondack structure is included. 
Pictures and plans of fireplaces; 
how to build 
stairways, etc. 
chimneys; _ rustic 
134 pp. (43 full-page illustrations 
and 57 figures). Bound in cloth. 
9 x 6”. 
Price $2 postpaid. 
BOOK DEPARTMENT 
Forest and Stream 
221 West 57th Street 
New York City 

In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. 
getting ambitious, had tried to do the 
same later with a bull. But we found 
to our dismay that when we rushed the 
bull to get alongside for the mount, he 
could whirl around quicker than we 
could turn. In fact the cow and the 
bull both had fought us clear off the 
lake on that occasion. So we did not 
get our picture, but we did get the 
thrills of the hand-to-hand fight. 
We plotted once more, and came to 
the conclusion that if we wanted to ride 
a bull we should have to get him in 
seme place where he couldn’t move 
faster than we could. And, of course, 
the logical place was a swamp. So 
we lay for the old bull in the swamps. 
And we got him, too, that is, we got 
alongside. But instead of running, 
Mr. Moose just bumped his _ nose, 
backed into the reeds, and faced us 
with lowered horns, bared teeth, and 
blazing eyes. It was like trying 
to jump the barbed wire in no 
man’s land. For every time we turned 
he faced us, and any sudden spring 
from the canoe would have tipped it, 
leaving one man upset right under the 
front feet of a fighting bull, and the 
other somewhere in the air on the horns 
of the mighty warrior. So again we 
backed out. 
For a real wild bull moose is no pet. 
In the first place, his horns weigh about 
a pound for every inch of spread. That 
is to say, a moose with a spread of 
sixty inches will have horns weighing 
a little over sixty pounds. And to get 
hit with these is just about equal to 
a head on collision with a Ford. Also 
back of these horns are the mighty 
neck muscles of a beast considerably 
bigger and heavier than the average 
horse. Also, Mr. Horse turns his back 
to you when he intends a kick. But 
Mr. Moose puts up his hoofs in true 
boxer style, prodding with them in such 
fashion that he can push them right 
through a man’s chest. And besides 
these are the yellow teeth, able to grip 
and bite and tear with terrific power. 
We couldn’t make a frontal attack 
with any real hope. So we had backed 
out while the backing was good, and 
planned anew. And our idea was this. 
Any real fighter can be stampeded. If 
he gets the idea of battle in his brain 
he will battle right on to the end. But 
if you can surprise him and get him on 
the run, then that idea will persist along 
enough to get a picture. 
Also we counted on our experience 
with wild animals. All of them 
will run if you leave them a clear 
way out. Of course, I except the 
wounded beast, or the mother with 
young, or the bull in mating season. 
And it was this we counted on in this 
ride. 
We would leave the moose what 
seemed an easy getaway. But handi- 
capped with the deep mud he could go 
It will identify you. 
only slowly, while we could turn in be- 
hind him, catch up, and then ride him. 
So the instant the great head came 
up to us, we shot forward with wild 
yells. We slapped the water with pad- 
dles till it sounded like volley shooting 
with rifles, but always we were careful 
to leave an alluring opening so that he 
seemed to have a dignified avenue of 
retreat. 
And to our joy, it worked! 
One instant the magnificent old bull 
faced us. His eyes glared red fire. His 
mane rose and fell. His yellow teeth 
were bared, and his nostrils, red as 
blood snorted foam and muddy water. 
Then he began to side-step and finally 
as we turned in behind him, he tried to 
break into a run. We had him going 
all right. And our blood thrilled to the 
fact that now we had a fighting chance 
for the mount. 
In a few seconds we were alongside, 
and I rose in the prow of the canoe. 
Harry put me right at his rump, and 
over I went on the broad and bristling 
back. 
But the instant I touched him he shot 
up in the air like a torpedo. I felt like 
the start of a swift journey to the 
moon. One instant I grabbed wildly 
for any hand hold, and then, whirling, 
struck the bog feet first and sunk into 
my chin; hopelessly bogged down right 
under the tail of the bull. In fact I 
could feel his back feet trying to kick. 
Showers of water and mud shot through 
the air till I was almost blinded. But 
above all the racket I could hear the 
camera man talking turkey to the rang- 
ers and shouting, “Turn me right. How 
can I get a picture if you keep spin- 
ning around like a top. Head me for 
the moose it. I didn’t get that pic- 
ture. Keep me headed for the moose!!” 
You see, when I landed on him, the 
moose made one wild drive right at the 
scow with the camera in it. And both 
the rangers, intent on saving the ex- 
pensive camera, swerved around, but 
each in a different direction. Also the 
old scow, once started whirling, kept it 
up merrily. In spite of the language 
of the camera man, it was a’ minute 
or so before the camera was headed 
right and steady once more. 
In the meantime I was striving to 
keep my chin above the bog. Harry 
hurried to me with the canoe, and with 
both hands gripping the nose of it, I 
pried myself loose and aboard once 
more. Then we set about to round up 
the moose, which was waltzing unde- 
cided toward one and then toward the 
other enemy in front. He had evidently 
realized that a straight ahead was his 
best trick. 
So we got around him again. And 
this time I yelled to Harry, “Put me 
right on his back.” 
You see, my shirt was bagging out 
with mud, my pockets were filled with 
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