“CREEPING” THE MOOSE.
“The moose!” exclaimed Rob Rogers, unable to remain silent any longer.
But a warning gesture from the Woodranger enjoined silence again, and,
wondering what his object could be now, the boys obeyed without a word.
Three minutes passed, seeming to them half an hour, when for the second
time they heard the strange call. This time, however, it came from an
opposite direction to the one before, and was farther away.
“It is as I opined,” declared the Woodranger; “there be two o’ ’em. But
they be drawing together. It means a fight at their meeting-place.”
“I wish I could see it!” exclaimed the four boys in the same breath and
using exactly the same words.
“It’s a good night for moose-creeping,” mused the Woodranger. “The wind
is right for us,” wetting one of his fingers and holding it up to prove
what he had said. “I may be committing a great indiscretion, seeing you
are mere novices in woodcraft, but if you have a mind to obey me, I’ll
resk it. It’ll be a goodish tramp, and it has got to be made as the
painter creeps. The moose is wary,――is a tough creatur’ when aroused.
At this time o’ the year he is the most dangerous o’ all the quadrupeds
that stalk the forest. Them out to-night are on the war-path. Foller
me if you want to see a sight worth a night’s perambulating, but do it
with light heels and a clear head.”
The Woodranger then carefully covered the fire, and without further
words started into the forest, skirting the base of the mountain with
that silent, rapid step of his, which puzzled the boys to imitate. By
this time the full moon was peering over the crest of the mountain on
the east, giving the wild scene that peculiar lustre belonging to its
light. Not a breath of air stirred the tree-tops, while the atmosphere
had that clear crispness belonging to October.
Speaking to his young companions only at rare intervals, and then in
whispers, the Woodranger continued to thread the forest like a shadow
for more than a mile. The boys did their best to move as silently as
he, but somehow the dry twigs always seemed to be where they stepped,
though in all that distance the moccasined feet of their guide had not
given back a sound.
As soon as they had left the base of the mountain, their course had
been through a growth of hard woods, beech, maple, walnut, with the
accompanying smaller growths of kindred nature. The surface of the
ground was, for the most part, uneven, and often they were forced to
make considerable detours in order to get around huge boulders piled in
their way. Sometimes, too, they were forced to climb sharp ascents, and
then descend broken declivities. During all this time, no sound of the
moose had reached their ears.
But now the Woodranger paused on the summit of a rocky hill, covered
with a growth of oaks, which was not so dense but that the moonlight
threw broad bars of silver across their path. As if anticipating what
was coming, the forester bent his head forward in a listening attitude,
while his whole form remained as motionless as a statue. The four boys,
without questioning his motives, did as he did, though keeping so quiet
soon brought pains to every joint.
The call of the moose was now plainly heard, and freighted with greater
anger and impatience than before. Its reply came almost instantaneously
this time, and from so near at hand that the younger listeners could
not help starting with surprise.
“They are going to meet, as I thought, by the little pond half a mile
below here,” said the Woodranger, in his cautious whisper. “Lads, if we
go on, it must be with a proper trailing o’ good jedgment. It isn’t
the knack o’ a good guide to worry his comrades, but knowing a lad’s
wanton waste o’ care and patience, I don’t want you to run your heads
into the slipping noose without proper words spoken. I have promised to
get every one o’ you home in presentable shape, and I ’low I think more
o’ that leetle word’n all the moose round old Pawtuckaway. Let me see
your weepon, Norman.”
Our hero handed the forester his rifle, and the other, holding it so
the moonlight fell fairly upon it, looked carefully at its priming, and
also scanned the firearm from butt to muzzle.
“You put in the amount o’ powder I told you, lad?”
“I did, Woodranger.”
“And rammed the lead down keerfully, properly wadded?”
“Yes.”
“Let me take your hand, lad.”
When the guide had taken the proffered hand and held it fully a minute,
he loosened his clasp, and, giving back Norman his rifle, declared:
“You’ll do, lad. Robby I know o’ old; but it won’t do any harm for me
to look at your priming, Robby. Often one’s futur’ depends on the way
he has placed a grain o’ powder.”
Rob’s weapon passing satisfactory examination, he then looked at
the guns of the Stark boys, both of which he re-touched with a few
grains of powder from his horn, after which he looked closely at the
flints. As he had done with Norman, he held the hand of each, and found
Billy labouring under great excitement. Saying nothing of this, the
Woodranger continued:
“You will walk next to me, Norman, then Johnny and Billy, with Robby to
kiver the rear. Remember under no circumstances are you to fire until I
give the signal. I know o’ a good kiver for us, which we will reach at
our next perambulation. The breeze still comes from the west-sou’west,
and the night is favourable for you to see an amazement you’ll ne’er
disremember, unless that ol’ bull disapp’ints us. You ne’er can tell
what a bull moose is going to do next. Mebbe this one is mad enough to
foller to the eend. _Creep!_”
With the utterance of the last word, the Woodranger stealthily advanced
again, his companions at his heels in the order mentioned. To Norman,
more than to his young companions, this noiseless march through the
wilderness was something strange and thrilling, though he had never
felt calmer in his life. While he had never seen one, he knew that the
moose was the monarch of the New England forests. If the Woodranger
had shown unusual caution in allowing them to accompany him so far, he
understood the reason underlying his action, and he resolved it should
be no fault of his if the other ever had reason to regret the risk he
was taking.
He was in the midst of these reflections when the forester again
stopped, and motioned for his companions to do the same. They had now
gained the edge of a thicket of hemlocks, a few rods in length, which
grew on a slight eminence of land. Through this brush barrier was to
be seen, here and there, a glimmer of water. But they had not taken
a second glance about them before the cry of one of the moose, now
clearer and more startling than ever, was heard.
“He’s near by!” whispered Rob. “I wonder where――”
The Woodranger checked him with a motion of the hand. Then he dropped
silently upon his hands and knees, and began to crawl into the midst
of the hemlocks, beckoning for the others to follow. Nothing loath,
they soon gained his side. At that moment a loud splash in the water
was heard. Then they gazed on a sight well worth all the pains they had
taken.
Outlined in the clear moonlight, with a vividness which exaggerated
his size and made him seem to the boys like a monster beast, the moose
stood in plain sight of the curious watchers. The water of the pond
reaching nearly to his knees, he had thrown his antlered head up,
expanded his nostrils, and sniffed the still air for danger, or an
answer to his challenge.
As they watched the giant creature, he swayed his head to and fro with
a sort of seesaw motion, without moving the body or limbs. At that
moment Norman felt the Woodranger’s hand laid on his arm, and, as the
grasp tightened, he was led, as if by intuition, to look toward the
forest on their left. He could scarcely suppress an exclamation of
amazement, as he looked on an exact counterpart of the first moose,
except that the newcomer, which was moving through the growth at a
shambling trot, was larger and more fierce-looking than the other.
How the ponderous and ungainly creature, with an apparently clumsy,
unwieldy gait, could move with such ease and silence, was a mystery to
the young onlookers. But, as noiselessly as he had come, it was certain
his rival had been warned of his approach. The head of the waiting
moose stopped its gyrations, but the grating of his teeth was plainly
heard.
When within fifty yards of the moose in the water, the newcomer halted.
He was now nearly opposite our little party, and would have afforded
a good mark for the Woodranger’s rifle. But his weapon, as well as
those of the boys, was single-barrelled. Should he prove successful
with his shot, it would in all probability arouse the other moose to
attack them, and prudence demanded that he move with extreme caution in
challenging two such foes. Then, too, he had a desire nearly as strong
as that of his young companions to see what the fierce animals would do
to each other.
At that moment, however, a change suddenly came over the attitude of
the smaller moose, which began to sniff the air in an uneasy manner.
The meaning of this was made apparent by the words of the Woodranger,
spoken in a cautious whisper:
“The wind has changed! He has scented us. We are in for an amazement!”