Cyrus began to have an occasional twinge of uneasiness about the possible length of the siege, after his first exuberance subsided; but the younger boy, his short terror overcome, had no misgivings. He coquetted with the moose through a thick screen of foliage, shook the branches at him, gibed and taunted him, enjoying the extra fury he aroused.
But suddenly the old bull, having kept up his wild movements for nearly an hour, resolved on a change of tactics. He stood stock-still and lowered his head.
“Goodness! He has made up his mind to ‘stick us out!’” gasped Cyrus.
“What’s that?” said Dol.
“Don’t you see? He’s going to lay siege in good earnest—wait till we’re forced to come down. Here’s a state of things! We can’t roost in these trees all night.”
The hemlocks were throwing ever-lengthening shadows on the grass. A slow eclipse was stealing over everything. The motionless moose became an uncouth black shape. Garst muttered uneasily. His fingers tingled for his rifle—a very unusual thing with him. His eyes peered through the creeping darkness in puzzled search for some suggestion, some possibility of escape.
“If it were only myself!” he whispered, as if talking to his hemlock. “If it were only myself, I wouldn’t care a pin. ’Twould do me no great harm to perch here for hours. But an English youngster, on his first camping-trip! Why, the chill of a forest night might ruin him. He wouldn’t howl or make a fuss, for both those Farrar boys have lots of grit, but he’d never get over it. Dol!” he wound up, raising his voice to a sharp pitch. “Say, Dol, I’m going to try a shout for help. Herb must be getting anxious about us by this time. If we could once make him hear, he could try some trick to lure this old curmudgeon away, or creep up and shoot him. Something must be done.”
Fetching a deep breath, Cyrus sent a distance-piercing “Coo-hoo!” ringing through the night-air. He followed it with another.
But, so far as he could hear, the hails fetched no answer, save from the moose-jailer. The brute was stirred into a fresh tantrum by the noise. He charged the hemlocks once more, butted and shook them like a veritable demon.
When his paroxysm had subsided, and he stood off to get breath, Garst hailed again.