But he had reason in a little while to call down blessings on the head of Hans for this unintentional intervention.
Frightened by Hans’ squawking and the noise he made in running, the moose dashed up and down the shore for a few moments, then took to the lake.
“There he goes,” whispered Browning, roused to a state of excitement.
“Plenty skeer!” said Caribou. “Sometime moose him skeer ver’ easy.”
“He’s going to swim for the other shore,” declared Merriwell, putting down the camera and then picking it up again.
For a few yards the frightened moose made a tremendous splashing, but when it got down to business, it sank from sight, with the exception of its black neck and head and broad antlers, and forged through the water at a very respectable rate of speed.
Merriwell focused the camera on the swimming animal and was sure he got a good picture, then put down the camera and picked up his rifle. He wanted to get nearer the big beast, and he knew he would feel safer with a weapon in his hands in the event of its urgent need.
“Fun now, if want?” said the guide, suggestively, looking toward the moose with shining eyes. “Much fun with big bull moose in water some time.”
“A little fun won’t hurt us, if it doesn’t hurt the moose,” responded Merriwell, who as yet hardly knew just what was in the guide’s mind. “Eh, Browning?”