Andy followed suit. Tubby, not having been wise enough to keep his footwear close to his hand, had some difficulty in finding his shoes. Consequently when he did finally emerge, looking like a small edition of an elephant down on its knees, he found that the others had succeeded in gathering the scattered firebrands together again, and that some fresh pine was already flaming up, so dispelling the darkness.
Indeed, the growing warmth of the resurrected fire did not feel disagreeable in the least, for the night air was exceedingly chilly.
“Great Jupiter! Was that really a Jabberwock?” demanded Tubby, when he joined the other pair by the fire, holding out his chubby hands to the warmth as if the sensation felt very good.
“It was a bull moose,” replied Rob, without a moment’s hesitation.
“But what ailed the critter,” demanded Andy, “to make such a savage attack on our brush shanty, and dash through the half-dead fire like he did? That’s what I’d like to know. Rob, does a bull moose do such things always?”
“I’m sure I can’t say,” replied the other. “They are stupid creatures, I’ve always heard, and apt to do all sorts of queer stunts. It may be one of the animals could be taken with a mad streak, just as I’ve read a rhinoceros will do, charging down on a hunter’s camp, and smashing straight through the white tent as if he felt he had a special grievance against it. All I know is, that was an old bull moose, for I saw his big clumsy horns.”
Tubby shook his head, not yet convinced, and mumbled:
“I never saw a Jabberwock. I’m not sure there is any such strange beast in the world, but that didn’t resemble what I thought a moose was like.”
“You’ll have to prove it to him, Rob,” ventured Andy, “for when Tubby doubts he is like a wagon stuck in the mud: it takes a mighty heave to pry him loose.”
Thereupon Rob leaned forward and taking up a blazing brand that would serve admirably as a torch, he walked around until he found what he was looking for.