IN A DANGEROUS FIX.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXI, Issue XII, 17 September 1898, Page 387

IN A DANGEROUS FIX.

AN ADVENTURE WITH A MOOSE. The man who has a moose head in his house must expect cross-question-ing from every one who sees it, and the head which I possess is such a fine one, is so big and fierce and sullen, that, rather than talk so much, it seems easier to write the story out. My cousin Jack and I were in the woods of Maine one fine afternoon after the frosts had begun to come, but before the snow had fallen. At that time bull moose are very wary and fierce. We were equipped, of course. No one goes into the woods without a gun and a knife—at least, I don’t since the day when, perfectly helpless, I watched a big bear eating ants at a dead tree. All I could do, at last, was to say ‘Shoo!’ and watch him skip out of sight; and since this little affair with the moose I shall never go about without a revolver, too. We had come to what is called a ‘swale,’ that is, a sort of dry swamp where brakes and grass grow high and the trees are far apart. I always look, in such a place, for old cast horns, and suddenly I found what for years 1 had hoped to find—the skulls of two bull moose, with the great branching horns interlocked. There they had killed each other, and the bears and fishers had eaten their bodies. I cried aloud with delight, and putting aside my gun, started to disentangle the horns from the grass that had grown up around them. My cousin hastened to help me. Waugh! It makes me cringe when I think of it now. There is no mistaking the cry of a moose. He came at us straight through a big bush—it was too late to seize the guns. ‘Tree! tree!’ I cried, and seeing Jack leap for a maple, I started up a birch. My bull crashed behind us, and his horns rattled on the branches like cudgels. It is hard work to climb a straight, bare trunk! The breath went out of me of fright; I had no mind—l was simply arms and legs climbing. When I reached the crotch, his horn struck against my foot, and I heard him coughing below me like a bull-dog. I drew myself securely into the crotch, and looked about for Jack. He was safely nested some thirty feet from me, and so I looked down at the gentleman below. ‘Confound you!’ I said, ‘you long-legged, black-maned, hooked-nose villain!’ He was stamping and bellowing furiously. ‘A pleasant end,’ I said, angrily, ‘to be killed and eaten by a moose.’

‘He wouldn’t eat you,’ said Jack, laughing nervously. ‘He might as well,’ I replied, sulkily, ‘after he has killed me.’ Never believe that animals have no expression of feature and no language. I never saw such anger in a human face, and the grunts and gurgles from his enormous throat expressed the essence of disappointed rage. ‘He will go soon, won’t he?’ asked Jack, unhappily. ‘He may stay hours,’ I answered, gloomily. I had all the opportunity I required to study a moose, and to find out how poorly the human frame is adapted to roosting in a tree. The monster below walked restlessly about, pawing and stamping. His horns were very large—fifty-seven inches across—with many points. He was shaggy as a cocoa-nut, tall as a step-bidder, ugly as a walrus. While he fretfully tore the bark from small bushes, and stripped them of their leaves, I tried all the soft places in my body on the small, hard limbs of the birch, and in his crotch Jack shifted more and more uneasily. At last the moose struck against

Jack’s rifle, where it leaned against a tree. It fell with a rattle, and the bull stopped and sniffed at it. Then he raised his great hoof and brought it downupon the lock. The barrel flew one way. the stock another, and Jack groaned. ‘There goes sixteen dollars.’ he said.

‘lf only in that same process he might have committed suicide!’ I grumbled.

1 was in fear lest he should likewise spoil my rifle, and stamp on the horns of the dead moose. They were in full sight, and I could see the bones of the dead warriors scattered about. Fortunately, none of them attracted his notice.

Our discomfort increased, and we began to be cold. It was after four o'clock, and the sun was low in the west. I looked about under the arches of the woods and seemed to see the spirits of frost lurking behind distant trunks. Jack, never as strong as I, was getting very pale. So soon as the sun was down the cold would strike in, and then how soon Jack would tumble from his tree I could not say. There was no one to help us; camp was two miles away. Only accident could bring one of our friends that way. Something had to be done, and I studied the ground carefully. My rifle leaned against a tree about thirty feet from my own, and about fifty feet from Jack’s. The ground seemed even and hard, and all ferns that might entangle me were trampled into the ground by the bull. Just beyond the rifle was a group of three birches, closely set. If I could get down, rush to the rifle, and dodge behind the birches, I might make a fight for it. I looked again at Jack. His lips were white, and his head was low. He was making a silent struggle against the cold. We had been there more than an hour, and the last gleam of sunlight vanished as I looked. My resolution strengthened. The moose stood just below me, broadside on, looking at me out of the corner of his wicked eye. His original rage had settled into a sullen determination and he stood rooted in surly obstinacy. Big and black he looked, formidable, a tremendous antagonist, all bone and muscle and sinew and horn, with terrifying hair and malignant glance. My heart almost failed me; but something had to be done.

‘Jack,’ I said, ‘call him under your tree.’

‘What are you going to do?’ he asked, frightened for me. ‘Never mind,’ I answered; ‘but see if you can attract him over to where you are.’ Jack let his legs down stiffly from the crotch where he sat all huddled up, and kicked his heels against the trunk. ‘Here! You brute, here!’ he called. The moose stalked over to him and stood looking up. He gritted his teeth, and snapped them like a steel trap. The sound echoed in the silent place. As quickly and quietly as I could I lowered myself to arm’s length, and dropped. When I struck the ground 1 sprang and ran; but as I fixed my eye on the leaning rifle, I heard a bellow from the moose, a shrill cry from Jaek, and knew that the beast was after me. I heard his hoofs pounding behind me, and felt all in an instant, the dread of being struck in the back, hurled to the ground, and trampled to death. My knees nearly failed me. Then I was seized with anger, and felt a mad desire to face about and fight with empty hands. But I ran. It was all over quickly. I passed the rifle and snatched it up with my left hand, then at the next jump I caught with my outstretched one of the three birches, and as I had done many a time as a boy. swung myself at right angles away from my course and behind the little clump, stopped, and poised and cocked my rifle. The moose swerved and tried to follow, but as he struck furiously at me with his horn his shoulder struck the birch. The tree groaned, but it was stout as a pile. All this I felt rather than saw or understood. He plunged forward on his course, then stopped. As he wheeled I fired, but huge as he was he was quick as a cat, and I had no certain aim. He came at me like a whirlwind, bellowing. I jumped again behind my friendly birches, and as he passed I pumped a new cartridge into the barrel, and raised ray rifle for aim. The dead moose were his undoing. Upon that spot three noble bulls were fated to be fatal to

one another! He caught his foot in the locked horns, and they threw him as if he had stepped into a trap. The horns, locked still, such was their strength—still locked they lie on my great table now—went spinning into the bushes, and he came to the ground. Just a second's time as he rose gave me my chance. I fired at his shoulder as he gained his feet. Yet unshaken, he started towards me while I stood tugging at the lever of my rifle, which for a moment treacherously stuck. I had determined not to move. Then down he fell. What a crash! The ground seemed to shake. Yet. still he struggled, and half-rose. I raised my rifle for another shot. We w’ere not ten feet apart as I looked over the barrel. Once he tried, twice he tried, then paused for a third effort to rise. Looking at me. rearing his noble head, his eyes blazed hate and anger, his deep throat cried mortal defiance.

I held my fire in admiration, and for a second waited. Then his proud head drooped, he fell upon his side, stretched out his limbs, and with one long quiver died.