Three days later another fine bull fell to my party. Just at sunset he was called out from across a pond, and strolled with that majestic woodland swagger through the shallow water. The first shot so confused him that he turned and came directly towards us, but soon veered off. At a closer range this might have been interpreted as a fierce charge of the dying bull, though it was merely an aimless start of surprise. He fell, with the ball behind his shoulder, and we found him quite dead. It was a fatal one, though it failed to stop him until he had gone fifty yards.
There was one section I had not visited, and this was to the east, in the direction of the brook which had proven too small for floating logs. So it was that after pulling the cabin door to, I made tracks toward the stream, which I knew must be asleep under four or five inches of ice and two feet of snow.
In half an hour's time I had reached the bank and crossed over, keeping close to it all the time. I had not gone far beyond the ravine-like formation with the brook hugging its lowest point, when there were unmistakable evidences of large game. Moose it was. Tracks as large as a cow, great rents in the snow crust, through which the brown earth showed in spots; these were some of the traces. I went back across the ravine and proceeded up-stream, following the east bank; saw several fresh tracks, but they were cows, and along in the afternoon, while travelling up an old brook, I saw the imprints of a large bull, and they were big ones, together with a cow and calf. It did not take me long to decide what to do, and as they followed the brook I knew that they had not heard me. The wind was favorable and they were working up
Photographed from Life.
into it. Finally they left the brook and that necessitated more caution on my part. I had covered about half a mile and I heard the cow calling. Suddenly she came into view. I worked up to within forty yards of her in hopes to find the bull, but ran into the calf, a two-year-old; luckily he did not see me. Things were getting interesting, with a moose on my left and another in front of me. Working my way cautiously along I heard the bull in the thick growth. He was so covered that I could hardly see him. By careful inspection, one antler and part of his shoulder showed. Raising my rifle I fired, at which he stepped into the clearing and stood defiant. What a noble looking fellow he was, and a monster in size as he stood there shaking his head, blood running from his mouth and nostrils. Once again I fired. As the last one struck he went down, the shot breaking his shoulder blade—another victim of the 30-30.
The experience of a young New Yorker will serve to exemplify both the uncertainty of moose calling and the manner in which it is prosecuted. He was hunting in the Bear River woods, accompanied by one of the most expert guides of that section. Two nights of calling proved fruitless. The sportsman frankly told his guide he had no faith in it, and that he did not believe a moose would come to the call of a man. This considerably ruffled the guide's conceit, and he resolved, if possible, to make a lasting impression to the contrary on the mind of his employer. That afternoon an ideal place for calling was chosen. The tent was pitched beside a giant boulder, on one side of which a narrow, open bog stretched away between wooded banks, and on the other a sort of natural park extended to the foot of a ridge covered with hard wood. The guide exacted the promise that his companion would not shoot until he gave the word. All arrangements being complete, as the sun was nearing the western horizon, the guide climbed to the top of the boulder and sounded the call.
Almost immediately, from the ridge, about two miles away, came the deep-voiced answer of an old bull. A few minutes sufficed to show that he was coming at a rapid pace. The guide continued to call at regular intervals, and in a few minutes another answer was heard far down the bog, though this time from a smaller moose. A few seconds later brought a reply from a third, in another direction. The sport was getting exciting. The guide came down from his perch on the rock and stationed his employer and himself behind a smaller boulder, over which it was possible to look while lying on the ground. The guide thought the young moose would not come up for fear of the larger ones, and of course the one he wanted was the monster that had first answered. In that, however, he was disappointed. The distance was considerable, and while the big bull was still a long way off he was