Their camp-door stood open for ventilation; and a keen touch of frost, mingling with the night air which entered, made the fragrant warmth delightful.
When supper was ended, and the tin vessels from which it had been eaten, together with all camp utensils, were duly cleaned, Herb seated himself on the middle of the bench, which he called “the deacon’s seat,” and luxuriously lit his oldest pipe. His brawny hands had performed every duty connected with the meal as deftly and neatly as those of a delicate-fingered woman.
“Well, for downright solid comfort, boys, give me a cosey camp-fire in the wilderness, when a fellow is tired out after a good day’s outing. City life can offer nothing to touch it,” said Cyrus, as he spread his blankets near the cheerful blaze, and sprawled himself upon them.
Neal and Dol followed his example. The three looked up at their guide, on whose weather-tanned face the fire shed wavering lights, in lazy expectation.
“Now, Herb,” said Garst, “we want to think of nothing but moose for the remainder of this trip; so go ahead, and give us some moose-talk to-night. Begin at the beginning, as the children say, and tell us everything you know about the animal.”
Herb Heal swung himself to and fro upon his plank seat, drawing his pipe reflectively, and letting its smoke filter through his nostrils, while he prepared to answer.
“Well,” he said at last, slowly, “it seems to me that a moose is a troublesome brute to tackle, however you take him. It’s plaguy hard for a hunter to get the better of him, and if it’s only knowledge you’re after, he’ll dodge you like a will-o’-the-wisp till you get pretty mixed in your notions about his habits. I guess these English fellows know already that he’s the largest animal of the deer tribe, or any other tribe, to be seen on this continent, and as grand game as can be found on any spot of this here earth. I hain’t had a chance to chase lions an’ tigers; but I’ve shot grizzlies over in Canada,—and that’s scarey work, you better b’lieve!—and I tell you there’s no sport that’ll bring out the grit and ingenuity that’s in a man like moose-hunting. Now, boys, ask me any questions you like, an’ I’ll try to answer ’em.”
“You said something to-day about moose ‘crunching twigs,’” began Neal eagerly. “Why, I always had a hazy idea that they fed on moss altogether, which they dug up in the winter with their broad antlers.”
“Land o’ liberty!” ejaculated the woodsman. “Where on earth do you city men pick up your notions about forest creatures—that’s what I’d like to know? A moose can’t get its horns to the ground without dropping on its knees; and it can’t nibble grass from the ground neither without sprawling out its long legs,—which for an animal of its size are as thin as pipe-stems,—and tumbling in a heap. So I don’t credit that yarn about their digging up the moss, even when there’s no other food to be had; though I can’t say for sure it’s not true. In summer moose feed about the ponds and streams, on the long grasses and lily-pads. They’re at home in the water, and mighty fine swimmers; so the red men say that they came first from the sea.
“In the fall, and through the winter too, so far as I can make out, they eat the twigs and bark of different trees, such as white birches and poplars. They’re powerful fond of moose-wood—that’s what you call mountain ash. I guess it tastes to them like pie does to us.”