“Oh!” Jeanne whispered. “Then I hope we get him.”
“Looks as if we might.” The moose-trapper’s face shone with hope. “He’s the finest specimen we’ve seen yet.”
Moments passed, moments that were packed with suspense. Now the great brown creature stood sniffing at the entrance to the trap. Now he advanced a step or two. Now he thrust out his nose in a vain attempt to reach a branch that was inside. Jeanne laughed low. He surely cut a comical picture, long legs, extended neck, bulging eyes.
Another step, two, three, four, five.
“He—he’s inside!” Jeanne breathed.
Yes, the moose was inside. He was munching twigs and small branches, yet nothing happened. The suspense continued. Would he satisfy his hunger and leave without springing the trap? Jeanne studied the moose-trapper’s face. She read nothing there.
Of a sudden the moose, seeming to grow impatient of his small twigs, reached far out for a large balsam bough, and bang!—the trap was sprung.
Startled, the moose sprang forward. Next instant he was racing madly about the small enclosure. Almost at once an opening appeared and he dashed through it to disappear from sight. “He—he’s gone!” Jeanne exclaimed.
“Only into the larger corral.” The moose-trapper chuckled. “He’ll find a number of old friends there. They will tell him they’ve found a good boarding place. Soon he will be as happy as any of them. And say!” he cried, “What a grand big fellow he is! Jeanne, I believe you have brought good luck with you.”
“I—I hope so.” Jeanne beamed.