“Whoop!” he screeched, when he drew near the tent. “Yaw. See vot got me, eh? A moose’s teer head got me de horns py!”
It was a hot afternoon, and the sweat was fairly streaming from his round, red face. He was panting, too, almost as loudly as the moose had panted while it drew the canoe across the water.
Merriwell and Diamond came to the door of one of the tents, and Browning, Bart Hodge and John Caribou looked from the other.
A more astounded party would have been hard to find.
“Where did you get that?” asked Merriwell, thinking at once of the shot they had heard in the direction taken by the moose.
“Id is a moose’s teer head,” announced Hans, holding it up. “See mine hornses?”
“I can see that it is a moose head; but where did you get it?”
The other members of the party were as surprised as Frank and equally as anxious for an answer to his questions. The guide looked as if he might have given an answer himself, but he only folded his arms and stared at the head with shining eyes and impassive features.
“Pushes vos hanging to him in a dree,” said Hans, and then, in his own peculiar way, he proceeded to make them acquainted with the manner in which he discovered it.