The moose, a magnificent specimen, as large as a large horse, was slowly making his way toward them, sinking nearly to his belly in the deep snow. A moose’s sense of smell is very keenly developed but a fairly strong wind was blowing toward the boys and, as they kept very quiet, he was unaware of their presence until he was less than thirty feet from them.
“If he charges jump for that tree,” Bob whispered.
As soon as the moose saw the two boys he stopped and for a moment stood gazing at them as though undecided what to do about it.
“Look, Bob,” Jack whispered, “No wonder he’s mad. Look at that right shoulder.”
Bob looked and saw that the shoulder was badly torn and was bleeding freely.
Bob did not have time to speak for, at that moment the moose, evidently deciding that, in some way, the two boys were responsible for his injury, lowered his head and with an angry snort plunged forward.
“Quick old man. He’s coming. Grab your snow-shoes,” he shouted as he made for a big spruce with low branches.
Fortunately their packs were at the foot of this tree and as Bob leaped for the lowest bough and swung himself up Jack quickly handed them to him. Although the snow was deep and the moose was unable to make fast time, there was no time to lose and Jack barely escaped the horns as he swung himself up beside Bob.
“I thought you’d never get those bags up,” Bob said with a sigh of relief.
The moose stood at the foot of the tree angrily pawing the snow and sending call after call through the forest.