“You can’t see the corral fence for the trees,” the moose-trapper explained in a whisper. “Only here and there you catch a glimpse of it. We built a four-foot fence of woven wire at first. But the moose,” he chuckled, “they didn’t know it was a fence, so they lifted their long legs and hopped over the top of it. After that we put poles above the wire. That worked better. We—”
“Listen!” Jeanne broke in. “What was that?” Her keen ears had caught some sound from behind.
“Might be a moose,” Vivian whispered. “It is a moose. Look!”
“Oh!” Jeanne started back.
“He won’t harm you,” Vivian whispered.
The moose, not a stone’s throw away, was trying in vain to reach the lowest branch of a balsam tree.
“How huge he is! And such terrible antlers!” Jeanne crowded close to her companions.
“He’ll be losing those antlers soon,” Vivian whispered back. “They grow new ones every year. He—”
At that moment the moose, whose keen ear had apparently detected a sound, made a quick, silent move. Next instant he was gone.
“He—he vanished like magic!” Jeanne exclaimed. “And with never a sound.”