“Crowd along,” consented Browning. “I don’t mind getting close enough to that fellow to get a good look at him. If it wasn’t out of season I’d have that head of horns!”
“Aren’t they magnificent?” asked Merriwell, with enthusiasm.
The guide looked at Merriwell as if to receive his assent.
Hans Dunnerwust had rushed to the shore in a wild burst of speed, and was now hopping wildly.
Suddenly he caught sight of Merriwell and the others in the canoe.
“A teer! A teer!” he shrieked. “Didn’t you seen him? He roon vrum me like a bolicemans, t’inking dot he voult shood me. Put noddings vouldn’t shood me oudt uf seasons!”
“I don’t know about that,” grunted Browning. “Fools, as game, are never out of season, and the fool-killer is always gunning for them.”
“Yes; go on,” said Merriwell to the guide. “As I said, a little fun won’t hurt us if it isn’t of a kind to hurt the moose. See how he is swimming! That’s a sight to stir the most prosaic heart.”
John Caribou did not need urging. He dipped the paddle deeply into the water, and the canoe shot away in pursuit of the swimming animal.