"Hit him, Owen!" panted Dale. "Hit him in the head!"
"I will—if I can," was the answer, and Owen advanced swiftly but cautiously.
"Stop! I shoot heem!" screamed Jean Colette, and raised his fowling-piece. Bang! went the weapon, and the moose received a dose of bird-shot in his left flank, something which caused him to kick and struggle worse than ever.
Owen now saw his opportunity, and, bending forward, he dealt the moose a swift blow on the shoulder. The beast struck back, but Owen leaped aside, and then the ax came down with renewed force. This time it hit the moose directly between the eyes. There was a cracking of bone and then a convulsive shudder. To make sure of his work, the young lumberman struck out once more, and then the game lay still.
"Yo—you've finished him," said Dale, after a pause.
"Yes, he's dead," put in Andrews, as he gave the game a crack with his own ax, "for luck," as he put it.
"Vat a magnificent creature!" exclaimed Colette. "Bon! Ve vill haf de fine dinnair now, oui?" And his eyes twinkled in anticipation.
"Did he hurt you?" asked Owen, turning from the game to his chum.
"He gave me a pretty bad dig with his hoof," was the reply. "I guess I'll have to have that bound up before I do anything else. He came kind of sudden, didn't he?"
"Those hunters up the mountain drove him down here. I suppose they'll be after him soon."