Hunting and Trapping Stories; a Book for Boys/The Moose Hunt

by J. P. Hyde Price

WHERE THE MOOSE COME TO DRINK.

A moose hunt had been agreed upon. There were only four in the party; a hunter, a boy, and two backwoods Indians. Before sunrise in the morning the four had all their goods packed in a couple of canoes, and were off down stream to the moose-grounds. It was early in in the spring and in places the snow still lay deep. The wind was biting cold robbing the sun of its warmth. At sundown camp was pitched near the moose-ground, and after a hot supper the men were ready to turn in.

Any one who enters the great forest for the first time,—places where man seldom goes—is struck with the deathly stillness. A sense of loneliness creeps over the mind, for there is no hum of insects, no song of birds, not even the sighing of the breeze breaks the peaceful calm in the deep endless forest. There is not a hut or cabin, or human being within a long day's travel.

Breakfast was served piping hot, goods were packed securely, and by sunrise the hunt had begun. The Indians dived straight into the woods, crossing lightly and swiftly between the trees. The snow began to deepen, snow-shoes were put on and the traveling was then easier. Suddenly the party came across some huge foot-prints. The Indians stopped at once and smiled grimly— here was the game.

The moose must have been an immense fellow judging by his footprints, which traveled hither and thither, showing that the creature had been walking about. The chase now became swift and stern. The Indians kept up a killing pace and never once did they halt, or even slacken until the boy caught his toe in a hidden rock and nearly turned a somersault. All hands had to wait for a few minutes while the boy took the snow out of his eyes and got his second wind. In starting off again the party came upon two sets of tracks, showing that there were a pair of moose ahead of them, and that they were moving swiftly. By-and-by a running stream was crossed and here the tracks ended. There were no foot-prints on the opposite bank and the boy was sure that this was the end of the moose hunt. The Indians separated at once, one going up and the other going down the stream. In a few minutes the upstream Indian found the trail and signalled to the other to follow.

The boy was beginning to find out that hunting in the Northern woods was hard enough work. The tiny icicles one the branches hurt his eyes until he looked as though he had been crying and his heart thumped against its ribs as if it would break.

After about a mile of straight running the tracks divided. Here a halt

MOOSE RUN DOWN BY INDIANS.

was called and a hasty council of war held. It was decided that two Indians would take one trail, and the man and boy the other trail. It was not long before they came in sight of a fine bull moose. The creature scented them and trotted away at a great speed, but the nimble Indians followed the trail like a pair of wolves. Suddenly they came to a clearing in the forest and saw that their victim was in trouble. The moose had taken to the open and gotten into deep snow. With a yell the Indians bore down upon the animal which was floundering in deeper and deeper. A few struggles, however, brought it where the snow was not so heavily packed and it looked as though the old bull would escape, but the Indians could make faster time over the snow than the moose. They managed to close up the distance until the leading Indian was not more than thirty yards away. He stopped short, raised his rifle, took a careful aim and fired. The bullet went true and the moose tumbled on its side badly hurt. The second Indian came up and put in another bullet. The moose was now furious and struggled to turn on its enemies, but its strength was gone. A third shot killed it.

While all this was going on the man and the boy were running down the dead moose's mate, and finding it hard a task. They cornered their game among the trees. The moose faced them, showing fight. The man fired first and missed his shot, the moose charging at once, but the trees prevented it from reaching its enemies. The boy knew that if the brute was not quickly dispatched it would kill one of them. As the moose turned the boy steadied himself against a tree and took careful aim. He kept his head and did not fire until the moose was within fifteen yards of him, then he let go and immediately slipped behind a tree for protection. The shot was fatal, the moose reared up and then fell dead. The boy shouted in excitement and thereby guided the Indians to the spot. They had been wondering how their guests had fared, and were surprised to find the moose dead. They thought that the best that the man and boy could do would be to tract the beast down until they could come and help kill it. There was rejoicing in camp that night, for two moose killed within an hour is good hunting.

The Indians took their guests through another part of the forest two days later, but they did not come across any more moose.

The boy has the head of his first moose finely mounted and hung in his room at home.

A PAIR OF MOOSE RUNNING.