“I can see something ahead there,” Thad remarked, presently.
“That’s the tent, all right,” remarked Jim. “I only hopes as how she ain’t too bad cut up now. ’Twas nearly new, and good, and stout; so I guess the ole chap he had some trouble gettin’ loose from the same.”
They found the tent where it had caught on a sprout, and torn free from the branching antlers of the moose, commonly called his horns.
“Not so bad after all,” remarked Jim, when he had examined the extent of the damage made by the tent’s being so forcibly carried off. “I kin patch it up easy, when I gits a chance in the boat, to-morry. Guess as haow we gut off right smart, all things considerin’, Thad.”
And the young scoutmaster was ready to echo these words, when he got to thinking how one of a dozen things might have accompanied the mad rush of the moose through the camp.
They never did know what had really caused his charge; whether some vindictive spirit of rage provoked the huge beast; or that he fancied a rival bull were challenging him to mortal combat, just as in the case of the fellow, whom Sebattis had previously lured within gunshot, with his seductive moose call.
The balance of the night gave them only broken sleep; because of the sudden and rude shock of this awakening. Bumpus hugged his new gun close to his side; and raised his head so often to listen, that both Giraffe and Allan vowed they would be compelled to chase him outside if he didn’t get busy, and capture some sleep right away.
Morning came in due time, and they found that little damage had been done by the rush of the moose, beyond some rents in the canvas of the tent.
Once more they started forth, and all that day plodded on, making many miles, and by evening reaching the spot where Jim said they could have their canoes and luggage carried over to Portage Lake by a man he knew, who owned a team and a wagon.
“How far is it across from here?” asked Thad, seeking information.