He had bolted for good, vanished into the mysterious deeps of the primeval forest, whether hurt unto death, or merely "nipped" in a fore-leg, as Herb inclined to think, nobody knew.

"It's too dark to see blood-marks, if there are any, so we can't trail him to-night. If he's hit bad—but I guess he ain't—we can track him in the morning," said the guide; as, after an interval of listening, the rescued pair dropped down from their perches. "Did he chase you, boys? Where on earth did you come on him?"

Talking together, their words tumbling out like a torrent let loose, Cyrus Garst and Dol Farrar gave an account of the past two hours—strangest hours of their lives—filling up the picture of them bit by bit.

"Whew! whew! You did have a narrow squeak, boys, and a scarey time; but I guess you had a lot of fun out of the old snorter," said Herb, his rare laugh jingling out, starting the forest echoes like a clang of bells. "You've won those antlers, Dol—won 'em like a man. Blest, but you have! I promised 'em to the first fellow who called up a moose; and nary a woodsman in Maine could have done it better. I'm powerful glad 'twasn't your own death-call you gave. I'll keep my eye on you now till you leave these woods. Where's the horn?"

"Smashed to bits," answered Dol regretfully.

"And the camp-kettle?"

"Lying by the spring, over there on the knoll, unless the moose kicked it to pieces," said Cyrus.

"My senses! you're a healthy pair to send for water, ain't ye? Let's cruise off and find it. I guess you'll be wanting a drink of hot coffee, after roosting in them trees for so long."

Garst led the way to the spring. Its pretty hum sounded like an angel's whisper through the night, after the tumult of the past scene. Herb fumbled in his leather wallet, brought out a match and a small piece of birch-bark, and kindled a light. With some groping, the kettle was found; it was filled, and the party started for camp.

"I heard the distant challenge of a bull-moose a couple of hours ago," said the guide, as they went along. "I never suspicioned he was attacking you; but after the camp was a' ready, and you hadn't turned up, I got kind o' scared. I left Neal to tend the fire and toast the pork, and started out to search. I s'pose I took the wrong direction; for I hollered, and got no answer. Afterwards, when I was travelling about the bog, I heard a 'Coo-hoo!' and the noises of an angry moose. Then I guessed there was trouble."

"Won't Neal look blue when he hears that he was toasting pork while we were perched in those trees, with the moose waltzing below!" exclaimed Dol. "Well, Cy, I've won the antlers, and I've got my ripping story for the Manchester fellows. I don't care how soon we turn home now."

"You don't, don't ye?" said the guide. "Well, I should s'pose you'd want to trail up that moose to-morrow, and see what has become of him."

"Of course I do! I forgot that."

And Dol Farrar, who had thought his record of adventure and triumph so full that it could hold no more, realized that there is always for ambition a farther point.

Neal did feel a little blue over the thought of what he had missed. But, being a generous-hearted fellow, he tasted his young brother's joy, when the latter cuddled close to him upon the evergreen boughs that night, muttering, as if the whole earth lay conquered at his feet:—

"My legs are as stiff as ramrods, but who'd think of his legs after such a night as we've had?

"I say, Neal, this is life; the little humbugging scrapes we used to call adventures at home are only play for girls. It's something to talk about for a lifetime, when a fellow comes to close quarters with a creature like that moose. I said I'd get the better of his ears, and I did it. Pinch me, old boy, if I begin a moose-call in my sleep."

Several times during the night Neal found it necessary to obey this injunction, else had there been no peace in the camp. But, in spite of Dol's ravings and riotings in his excited dreams, the party enjoyed a needed ten hours' slumber, all save Herb, who, as usual, was astir the next morning while his comrades were yet snoring.

He got his fire going well, and baked a great flat loaf of bread in his frying-pan, setting the pan amid hot ashes and covering it over. Previous to this, he had made a pilgrimage to the distant spring, to fill his kettle for coffee and bread-making, and had carefully examined the ground about the clump of hemlocks.

The result of his investigation was given to the boys as they ate their breakfast under the shade of a cedar, with a sky above them whose morning glories were here and there overshot by leaden tints.

"I guess we've got a pretty fair chance of trailing that moose," he said. "I found both hair and blood on the spot where he was wounded. I'm for following up his tracks, though I guess they'll take us a bit up the mountain. If he's hurt bad, 'twould be kind o' merciful to end his sufferings. If he ain't, we can let him get off."

"Right, as you always are, Herb," answered Cyrus. "But what on earth made the creature bolt so suddenly? If you had seen him five minutes before he was shot, you'd have said he had as much fight in him as a lion."

"That's the way with moose a'most always. Their courage ain't that o' flesh-eating animals. It's only a spurt; though it's a pretty big spurt sometimes, as you boys know now. It'll fail 'em in a minute, when you least expect it. And, you see, that one last night didn't know where his wound came from. I guess he thought he was struck by lightning or a thunder-ball, so he skipped. Talking of thunder-balls, boys," wound up Herb, "I shouldn't be surprised if the old Mountain Spirit, who lives up a-top there, gave us a rattling welcome with his thunders to-day. The air is awful heavy for this time of year. Perhaps we'd better give up the trailing after all."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Dol indignantly. "Do you think a shower will melt us? Or that we'll squeal like girls at a few flashes of lightning? 'Twould be jolly good fun to see old Pamolah sending off his artillery."

"Well, there'd be no special danger, I guess, if we were past the heavy timber growth before the storm began. There's lots of rocky dens on the mountain side where we could shelter under a granite ledge, and be safer than we'd be here in tent. Or we might come a-near our old log camp. I guess, if that's standing yet, you'd like to see it. Say! we'll leave it to Cyrus. He's boss, ain't he?"

Cyrus, desperately anxious to know whether it would be life or death for the wounded moose, and regarding the signs of bad weather as by no means certain, decided in favor of the expedition. The campers hurriedly swallowed the remainder of their breakfast, and made ready for an immediate start.

"In trailing a moose the first rule is: go as light as you can; that is, don't carry an ounce more stuff than is necessary. Even a man's rifle is apt to get in his way when he has to scramble over windfalls, or slump between big bowlders of rock, which a'most tear the clothes off his back. And we may have to do some pretty tall climbing. So leave all your traps in the tent, boys; I'll fasten it down tight. There won't be any human robbers prowling around, you bet! Bears and coons are the only burglars of these woods, and they don't do much mischief in daytime."

The guide rapidly gave these directions, his breezy voice setting a current of energy astir, like a wind-gust cutting through a quiet grove, while he rolled his indispensable axe, some bread that was left from the meal, and a lump of pork into a little bundle, which he strapped on his back.

"Now," he said, "if that trail should give us a long tramp, or if you boys should take a notion to go a good ways up Katahdin, or anything turns up to hinder our getting back to camp till nightfall, I've our snack right here. I can light a fire in two minutes, to toast our pork; and we'll wash it down with mountain water, the best drink for climbers. I could rig you up a snug shelter, too, in case of accidents. A woodsman ain't in it without his axe."

To what strange work that axe would be put ere night again closed its shutters over granite peaks and evergreen forest, Herb Heal little knew; nor could he have guessed that the coming hours would make the most heart-stirring day of his stirring life. If he could, would he have started out this morning with a happy-go-lucky whistle, softly modulated on his lips, and no more sober burden on his mind than the trail of that moose? f5M2YT7yXUDDKMxabQBBG7slQCG76PGWW+PcmnvoujDCfZoEEayPqzyAWYeTIXNF

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