Curtis did not finish the sentence. He stopped suddenly, looked hard at the bushes ahead of him, listening intently all the while, and finally he drew his paddle out of the water and gently poked Don in the back with the blade. When Don faced about to see what he wanted, Curtis laid his finger upon his lips, at the same time slowly and silently turning the bow of the canoe toward the nearest bank. Just then Don heard twigs snapping in front of him, the sound being followed by a slight splashing in the water as if some heavy animal were walking cautiously through it. His lips framed the question: “What is it?” and Curtis’s silent but unmistakable reply was: “Moose!”
For the first and only time in his life Don Gordon had an attack of the “buck-ague.” His nerves, usually so firm and steady, thrilled with excitement, and his hand trembled as he laid down his paddle and picked up his rifle. He had not yet obtained the smallest glimpse of the animal, but his ears told him pretty nearly where he was.
As soon as he had placed his rifle in position for a shot, Curtis gave one swift, noiseless stroke with his paddle, sending the canoe away from the bank again, and up the stream, Don trying hard to peer through the bushes, and turning his body at all sorts of angles in the hope of obtaining a view of the quarry; but the alders were thick, and he could not see a dozen yards in advance of him, until Curtis brought him to a place where the bank was comparatively clear, and then Don discovered something through a little opening in the thicket. He raised his hand, and the canoe stopped.
“That thing can’t be a moose,” thought Don, rubbing his eyes and looking again. “It’s too big, and besides it’s black.”
In twisting about on his seat to obtain a clearer view of the huge creature, whatever it was, Don accidentally touched the paddle, the handle of which slipped off the thwart and fell to the bottom of the canoe. The effect was magical. In an instant the dark, sleek body at which Don had been gazing through the opening in the bushes gave place to an immense head, crowned with enormous ears and wide-spreading palmated antlers, and a pair of gleaming eyes which seemed to be glaring straight at him. It was a savage looking head, taken altogether, but Don never took his gaze from it as his rifle rose slowly to his shoulder. He looked through the sights for an instant, covering one of the eyes with the front bead, and pressed the trigger. The rifle cracked and so did the bushes, as the animal launched itself through them toward the bank with one convulsive spring. Their tops were violently agitated for a moment, then all was still, and Don turned about and looked at Curtis.
“You’ve got him,” said the latter, dipping his paddle into the water and sending the canoe ahead again.
“I’ve got something,” replied Don, “but it can’t be a moose.”
“What is it, then?”
“I think it is an elephant.”
Curtis laughed until the woods echoed.