“Plumdum! You’ll be killed!” Poor Jeanne shrieked.
The visitors vanished.
“Come on.” Florence seized Jeanne by the arm, “You can’t do anything about that!”
“He’ll be killed!” the little French girl screamed.
Slowly, as the moose came on, Florence led her companion back. It did seem as though Plumdum would be killed. Yet, quick as a flash, he avoided every toss of those massive antlers.
Then came a touch of comedy. A stout clothesline was stretched three times across the monster’s path. Heaving his antlers high for one more try at Plumdum, he brought them squarely into these lines. At once he was entangled. Florence laughed at his frantic efforts to break loose. But Jeanne, dashing forward, seized the small dog to carry him away.
She was not an instant too soon. The moose, having torn the line from its hooks, gave vent to one more bellow of rage, and was after them. Before them was a high board fence, and in the fence a swinging gate. Pushing her companion before her, Florence crowded through the gate. The moose, only a step behind them, thrust his nose into the opening just as the gate slammed shut. A chain, hung with two heavy rocks, held it tight. Florence added her weight to that of the stones by dropping on the chain, and Mr. Moose had his nose pinched in a manner he would not soon forget.
When at last he had freed himself, he went swiftly and silently away into the brush. The fight was over. Peace again reigned in Snug Harbor. Jeanne and Florence enjoyed one more night of repose. And tomorrow was another day.
CHAPTER XII
THE CRIMSON SPOT
The next morning Florence lay dreaming luxuriously in bed. Without knowing why, she thought of smiling Tim O’Hara and his Adventurers’ Club of the air. On her last trip to the mainland she had found a letter from him.