We were off at daybreak, and going over the hills at a lively gallop. Crossing to Caraway Pike, in the Cedar Meadows, an hour later, we stampeded a lot of moose. One of them, a great bull, ran ahead of us, roaring with fright, his antlers rattling upon bush and bough, his black bell hanging to the fern-tops.
"Don' never wan't' hev no argyment with one o' them air chaps 'less ye know purty nigh how 't's comin' out," said D'ri. "Alwus want a gun es well es a purty middlin' ca-a-areful aim on your side. Then ye 're apt t' need a tree, tew, 'fore ye git through with it." After a moment's pause he added: "Got t' be a joemightyful stout tree, er he 'll shake ye out uv it luk a ripe apple."
"They always have the negative side of the question," I said.
"Don't believe they 'd ever chase a man if he 'd let 'em alone."
"Yis, siree, they would," was D'ri's answer. "I 've hed 'em come right efter me 'fore ever I c'u'd lift a gun. Ye see, they're jest es cur'us 'bout a man es a man is 'bout them. Ef they can't smell 'im, they 're terrible cur'us. Jes' wan' t' see what 's inside uv 'im an' what kind uv a smellin' critter he is. Dunno es they wan' t' dew 'im any pertic'lar harm. Jes' wan' t' mux 'im over a leetle; but they dew it awful careless, an' he ain't never fit t' be seen no more."
He snickered faintly as he spoke.
"An' they don't nobody see much uv 'im efter thet, nuther," he added, with a smile.
"I 'member once a big bull tried t' find out the kind o' works I hed in me. 'T wa'n' no moose—jest a common ord'nary three-year-ol' bull."
"Hurt you?" I queried.
"No; 't hurt 'im." said he, soberly. "Sp'ilt 'im, es ye might say. Could n't never bear the sight uv a man efter thet. Seem so he did n't think he wus fit t' be seen. Nobody c'u'd ever git 'n a mild o' th' poor cuss. Hed t' be shot."
"What happened?"